I built a small fire of paper and kindling, and thrust in the rug.
It began to blaze, although not as rapidly as I had hoped.
I stood there watching and wondering about the dampers; like most women, I know nothing about a furnace. I wandered about, waiting for that slow combustion to become effectual, examined the windows and the door to the area way, and was retracing my steps forward to the furnace again, when I stopped suddenly.
Some one was moving about over my head.
I pulled myself together.
The dogs had not barked. It must be Joseph, Joseph who had heard the whining in the speaking tubes and come down to investigate.
But to have Joseph discover me burning that rug would have been disastrous.
I turned out the furnace light at once, and went back toward the foot of the stairs, where the small light still burned.
To my horror, I saw that light go out, and heard the bolt slipped in the door above.
“Joseph!” I called.
“Joseph!”
It was not Joseph.
The footsteps had ceased, but there was no answering call.
Somebody, something, was lurking there overhead, listening.
The thought was horrible beyond words.
I was crouched on the foot of the staircase, and there I remained in that haunted darkness until daylight. At dawn I crept up the stairs and half sat, half lay, on the narrow landing.
Perhaps I slept, perhaps I fainted.
I shall never forget Joseph’s face when, at seven o’clock, he unlocked the door and found me there.
“Good heavens, madam!” he said.
“Help me up, Joseph.
I can’t move.”
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No.
You locked me in, Joseph.
I’ve had a terrible night.
You—or somebody.”
“I locked you in, madam?
At what time?”
“About two o’clock, I think.”
“I was not downstairs after midnight,” he said, and helped me to my feet.
He got me into the pantry and made me some coffee.
Norah was not yet down; my household slept badly those days, and therefore late.
He had had a shock, however.
His hands shook and his face was set.
I can still see him moving about, his dignity less majestic than usual, making the coffee, laying a doily on the pantry table, fetching a cup and saucer from the dining room.
While he waited for the coffee to boil he made a tour of the first floor, but reported everything in order.
The drawing room door and windows were locked.
“But I would suggest, madam,” he said, “that we change the lock on the front door.
Since Miss Sarah’s key is missing it is hardly safe.”
Norah came in as I finished my coffee, and she gave me a queer look. But I did not explain.
I went up and crawled into my bed, and I did not waken until Joseph came up with a tray of luncheon.
He came in, closed the door, drew a table beside the bed, opened my napkin and gave it to me.
Then he straightened and looked at me.
“I have taken the liberty of destroying the rug, madam.”
My heart sank, but he spoke as calmly as though he had been reporting that the butter was bad.
“The dampers were wrong,” he said.
“It’s a peculiar furnace.
You have to understand it.”
He looked at me, and I looked back at him.
Our relations had subtly changed, although his manner had not.