THE THREE STRINGSCHAPTER ITHE FIRST MOVE
THE THREE STRINGS
EVELYN PRESTON ran lightly up the steps of her home and inserting her latch-key in the vestibule door, pushed it open just as the taxi-driver, following more slowly with many an upward glance at the blind-closed windows, reached her side.
“Put the suit case down,” she directed. “I’ll have the front door opened by the time you get the trunk here.”
The cool if somewhat stale air of the closed house which met Evelyn as she stepped across the threshold of the open door was refreshing after the glare of the asphalt pavements, for Washington was experiencing one of the hot waves which come in late September and make that month one to be avoided in the Capital City.
Evelyn, intent on calling a servant, paused midwayin the large hall as the taxi-driver’s bulky figure blocked the light in the front doorway. Without waiting for directions he lowered her motor trunk from his shoulders and stood it against the wall.
“Shall I leave it here, Miss?” he inquired.
Evelyn, busily engaged in searching for change in her purse, nodded affirmatively, and the man propped himself against the door jamb and waited for his pay.
“Thank you, Miss,” he exclaimed a moment later, his politeness stimulated by the generous tip which accompanied Evelyn’s payment of the taxi fare. “Would you like me to carry your trunk upstairs?”
“No; the butler will take it up, thank you.” Evelyn’s gesture of dismissal was unmistakable, and the man hitched uncomfortably at his cap, glanced furtively up the hall and then back at Evelyn who, totally unconscious of his scrutiny, stood impatiently waiting for him to go. He opened his mouth, but if he intended to address her again he thought better of it, and with a mumbled word banged out of the front door.
Evelyn turned at once and sped to the back stairs, but call as she did, no servant responded and the blind-closed windows made the passageway dark and unfriendly. With an impatient exclamation Evelyn returned to the front hall; theservants had evidently not arrived from the seashore to open the house for her.
She stopped only long enough to push her trunk into the billiard room just off the hall and pick up her suit case, then she went rapidly upstairs to her bedroom which, in its summer covered furnishings, looked very inviting to her tired eyes. Four nights in a sleeper and three extra hours added to the tedium of her journey from the west by a hot-box which had delayed her train’s arrival in Washington, had made her long for home comforts.
Going over to the windows Evelyn drew up the blinds and opening the sashes thrust back the shutters, then, tossing off her hat and coat as she moved about her bedroom, she finally jerked open the suit case and tumbled about its contents until she found the garments she sought. In doing so she unearthed a letter from her mother, and she smiled as her eyes caught the words:
“I am sending the servants to the city on the fifteenth, which gives them a day to open the house and have it aired before you get there. Now be sure and reach Washington on the sixteenth. Your Father will be very angry if——”
The remainder of the sentence was on the opposite sheet, but Evelyn did not trouble to read further; instead her slender fingers made mince-meatof the letter and as the torn pieces fluttered to the floor she sighed involuntarily.
Her mother, with her usual inconsistency, had evidently not troubled to study time-tables in deciding that her daughter could not reach Washington by the 15th, and in her own mind Evelyn wondered if the servants would be dispatched from Chelsea in time to reach there before night. The importance of time figured very little in Mrs. Burnham’s indolent sheltered life; her contention that prompt people wasted a great deal of time was frequently borne out by those who waited in impotent wrath for her to keep her engagements.
Evelyn changed into her dressing gown and then, sometimes colliding against furniture in the darkened house, made her way through her mother’s bedroom and boudoir, her step-father’s suite of rooms and into the library which opened from his bedroom, pulling up window shades and letting in fresh air and sunshine as she went. Back once more in her own room she tested the electric lights and was thankful to find the current turned on; apparently Mrs. Ward, her mother’s housekeeper, had attended to some of the details of moving back into their city house.
Encouraged by her success with the electricity, Evelyn tried the water in the bathroom and finding it running, filled the tub and with the aid of anelectric plunger, soon luxuriated in a hot bath. But upon emerging she did not immediately complete her toilet, the comfortable lounge exerted too great an appeal to her weary muscles, and taking a silk quilt from a nearby cedar chest she settled down amid soft pillows and was soon in dreamless slumber.
Some hours later Evelyn awoke. It took her several minutes to recall where she was as she sat up rubbing her sleepy eyes. Her windows faced the west and the afternoon sunshine filled every cranny of the room. Evelyn consulted her watch—fifteen minutes past two. With a bound she was on her feet and a second later was dressing in haste, her actions stimulated by pangs of hunger. She had eaten only a modest breakfast on the train, counting upon a hearty luncheon at home. She paused long enough in her dressing to go to the telephone in the library and call up several friends, only to be told by Central that the telephones she wanted had been disconnected for the summer.
A trifle discouraged Evelyn returned to her bedroom and resumed her dressing more slowly. Whom could she get to go out to tea with her?—Marian Van Ness. Evelyn brightened, but paused on her way to the library; what use to telephone, Marian was probably at the State Department and would not leave there until five o’clock. She couldget her to dine with her at the Shoreham, but in the meantime she was exceedingly hungry and to wait until seven o’clock—
Evelyn picked up her hat and then laid it down again as an idea occurred to her. Why not forage about the kitchen for eatables? The idea appealed to her the more she considered it. If the servants did not arrive she could go for Marian, whose apartment house was around the corner, and they could dine together; for the present a cup of tea and a few crackers would stay her appetite.
A few seconds later Evelyn was speeding down the staircase on her way to the kitchen. A visit to the butler’s pantry brought to light a package of crackers concealed in a tin box and a canister of her mother’s favorite Orange-Peko tea. Tucking her treasures under her arm Evelyn sought the kitchen and there to her delight found on investigation that she could light the big gas range. It took her but a moment to fill the water kettle, and humming a song she continued her researches in the orderly kitchen. An unopened jar of peanut butter and another of snappy cheese turned up on one of the shelves, and gathering plates and cooking utensils together she was soon enjoying toasted cheese and crackers and a delicious cup of tea.
She was about to refill her cup when the silence of the sunny kitchen was broken by the imperativeringing of the bell. With 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 acrossthe 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:
“Who are you?”
No reply.
“How did you get here?”
Silence.
“What do you want?”
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.