But although I know now that Joseph knew perfectly well who had struck him and that his very soul was seething with anger, it shows the almost incredible self-control of the man that his voice was as impassive as ever.
“Not the slightest, madam.”
He must have been intensely curious.
That searching of the house by the police, what did it mean?
But he said nothing, asked no questions.
A perfect upper servant, Joseph.
A very perfect servant.
The incident did not add to my peace of mind.
I would lie in my bed at night and imagine that I heard stealthy movements, faint stirrings.
Nor were these limited to the lower floor; sometimes they were over my head, and once indeed in my very boudoir, next to my bedroom.
When I called out sharply they ceased and were not renewed.
It was on the second day after Norah’s experience, and sitting alone in my study that evening, that I decided to spy on my house; to lock myself securely in my room and listen to it.
And this was less difficult than may appear.
The old speaking tubes in the house are simple of operation.
To use them one opens them and drawing a long breath, expels it into the tube.
The result is a wail of no mean calibre, wherever the tube may lead.
But, once opened, these tubes are excellent conductors of sound, and as during a long invalidism my dear mother had managed her household from her bedroom, some four of these tubes led to the chamber which I now occupy, practically forgotten but still serviceable.
Joseph was out, but Clara was in the pantry.
I shall never forget her face when I told her to go to the wood cellar and to bring me a small piece of wood to the library.
“And a knife, Clara.
A very sharp knife.”
“A knife, ma’am?
A butcher knife?”
“The sharpest one you can find, Clara.”
She was still staring at me as I turned and went out, and it shows the state of nerves in the household that after she had brought me the knife she turned and ran like a scared rabbit. I cut my wood—and also my finger—and in the end I managed to prop open all the tubes except that in the pantry.
After I had sent Clara to bed I opened that one also, and by midnight I was safely locked in my room with the lights out, and ready for my vigil.
For the first hour nothing happened.
I heard Joseph come in the back door, apparently pick up the knife, mutter something and put it away.
I heard the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing, and gathered that he was taking a little refreshment up to bed with him.
And then, until one o’clock, there was a complete silence.
At that time I began to hear a faint sound.
It came from the drawing room, and was too far away to identify, but it was unmistakable.
Now and then it stopped, only to resume again.
It was a stealthy scraping, rather like that of a mouse nibbling at a board.
And indeed, as it went on interminably, I believed that that was what it was.
The tube ran through the old walls, and we are liable to onsets of mice, as are all old houses.
I do not know how long it lasted, or when it ceased.
It stopped abruptly, and although I listened intently there was nothing further.
No stealthy footsteps followed it.
The silence was complete.
I was up early the next morning, a trifle ashamed of the whole proceeding, to remove the strips of wood.
The drawing room was undisturbed, as was the rest of the lower floor.
But Joseph was to interpret those sounds for me that very morning, and with my breakfast tray.
“I think we will not be troubled again, madam.”
“Troubled?”
“At night.
I have found the means by which the person entered.”
And so indeed he had.
According to his story he had gone into the drawing room to open it, and had set the rear door open.
On the upper step he noticed some bits of putty, and on examining it he found that it was soft.