The three strings — A Closer Reading

th a joyful exclamation Evelyn rose to her feet--the servants had come at last. As she started for the hall door she came face to face with the room-bell register--the indicator moved slowly downward and stopped at the printed word: “Library.”

Evelyn stared at the indicator in perplexity. Pshaw! the register was out of order; it was the front door bell which had rung. Stopping long enough to turn off the gas burning in the range she hastened upstairs to the front door, only to find the vestibule empty. She stepped out on the doorstep and glanced up and down, but except for a motor vanishing around the corner, the street was deserted.

Considerably perturbed Evelyn reëntered the house, and it was some seconds before she mounted the staircase to the second floor. Her lagging footsteps were accelerated by the sudden thought that perhaps her step-father had returned and gone straight to his room and, supposing from the opened windows that the servants were downstairs, had rung for the butler. He always carried his latch-key; but her mother had mailed her his latch-key!

Evelyn’s hand fell from the portières to her side and she drew back, then, suppressing her growing nervousness, she parted the portières and stepped into the library. She had advanced half across the room before she became aware that a stranger sat half facing her near the great stone fireplace.

Evelyn retreated precipitously; then, gathering her wits, she demanded a trifle breathlessly:

“How did you get here?”

Her question remained unanswered; and anger conquering her fright, Evelyn stepped up to the chair and for the first time obtained a full view of the stranger’s ashen face and wide-staring eyes. Instinctively she bent nearer and her hand sought his pulseless wrist; its icy chill struck her with terror. With one horrified look into the dead eyes she fled from the room.

EVELYN never knew how she reached the front door, but as she dashed out into the vestibule she almost fell into the arms of a tall neatly dressed woman standing on the doorstep. For a breathless second she clung to the newcomer in silence.

“Matilda!” Only in moments of stress did Evelyn ever address her mother’s housekeeper by her first name. “Thank God you are here!”

Mrs. Ward gazed at her in alarm. “What’s wrong, Miss Evelyn?” she asked. “Come inside, Miss,” coaxingly, growing conscious that Evelyn was swaying upon her feet. Supporting the half fainting girl, she led her into the billiard room which opened from the hall to the right of the front door. Once in the room Evelyn collapsed on the nearest chair.

“Oh, don’t go,” she begged as Mrs. Ward stepped toward the hall. “Don’t leave me.”

“Only for a moment, Miss; I left my bag outside the house,” and Mrs. Ward, disentangling her skirt from Evelyn’s clutching fingers, disappeared into the hall to return shortly with a glass of water in one hand and her bag in the other. She dropped the latter on Evelyn’s trunk as she entered the room.

“Take a sip of water, Miss Evelyn,” she said, retaining her hold of the glass as Evelyn’s attempts to take it in her shaking hand proved futile. “Are Jones and the cook here?”

“No.” Evelyn was only equal to monosyllables.

“They haven’t come!” Mrs. Ward looked shocked. “All the servants were to leave Atlantic City this morning on the first train. No wonder you were frightened, Miss Evelyn, all alone in this big house.”

“But I was not alone.” Evelyn pushed aside the empty glass; she felt refreshed by the cold water and the presence of Mrs. Ward restored her to some degree of composure. “There’s a dead man upstairs!”

The glass slipped from Mrs. Ward’s hand and broke on the highly polished floor.

“Are you mad?” Mrs. Ward spoke more roughly than she realized, and Evelyn’s angry flush caused her to modify her tone to its customary civility. “Are you in earnest, Miss Evelyn?” Evelyn nodded vigorously, and Mrs. Ward’s comely face paled. “It’s--It’s not Mr. Burnham?”

“No; I have never seen the man before.”

Mrs. Ward stared blankly at Evelyn, then roused herself. “Hadn’t I better go and investigate?” she asked. “You may be mistaken, Miss; perhaps the man’s only asleep.”