“Who is it?” he called imperiously, and
took a half dozen rapid strides toward the foot of
the staircase. Then I heard him mutter something;
there was the crash of a falling body, the slam of
the outer door, and, for an instant, quiet. I
screamed, I think. Then I remember turning on
the lights and finding Halsey, white with fury, trying
to untangle himself from something warm and fleecy.
He had cut his forehead a little on the lowest step
of the stairs, and he was rather a ghastly sight.
He flung the white object at me, and, jerking open
the outer door, raced into the darkness.
Gertrude had come on hearing the noise, and now we
stood, staring at each other over—of all
things on earth—a white silk and wool blanket,
exquisitely fine! It was the most unghostly thing
in the world, with its lavender border and its faint
scent. Gertrude was the first to speak.
“Somebody—had it?” she asked.
“Yes. Halsey tried to stop whoever it
was and fell. Gertrude, that blanket is not
mine. I have never seen before.”
She held it up and looked at it: then she went
to the door on to the veranda and threw it open.
Perhaps a hundred feet from the house were two figures,
that moved slowly toward us as we looked.
When they came within range of the light, I recognized
Halsey, and with him Mrs. Watson, the housekeeper.
ONE MYSTERY FOR ANOTHER
The most commonplace incident takes on a new appearance
if the attendant circumstances are unusual.
There was no reason on earth why Mrs. Watson should
not have carried a blanket down the east wing staircase,
if she so desired. But to take a blanket down
at eleven o’clock at night, with every precaution
as to noise, and, when discovered, to fling it at
Halsey and bolt— Halsey’s word, and
a good one—into the grounds,—this
made the incident more than significant.
They moved slowly across the lawn and up the steps.
Halsey was talking quietly, and Mrs. Watson was looking
down and listening. She was a woman of a certain
amount of dignity, most efficient, so far as I could
see, although Liddy would have found fault if she
dared. But just now Mrs. Watson’s face
was an enigma. She was defiant, I think, under
her mask of submission, and she still showed the effect
of nervous shock.
“Mrs. Watson,” I said severely, “will
you be so good as to explain this rather unusual occurrence?”
“I don’t think it so unusual, Miss Innes.”
Her voice was deep and very clear: just now
it was somewhat tremulous. “I was taking
a blanket down to Thomas, who is—not well
to-night, and I used this staircase, as being nearer
the path to the lodge When— Mr. Innes called
and then rushed at me, I—I was alarmed,
and flung the blanket at him.”
Halsey was examining the cut on his forehead in a
small mirror on the wall. It was not much of
an injury, but it had bled freely, and his appearance
was rather terrifying.
