HOME AGAIN

The two dark figures, giving a glance through the rain in either direction, stole down beneath the stately marble steps of N Washington Square, and Matilda unlocked the servants’ door. They slipped inside; the door was cautiously relocked. Breathless, they stood listening. A vast, noble silence pervaded the great house. They flung their arms about each other, and thus embraced tottered against the wall; and Mrs. De Peyster relaxed in an unspeakable relief.

Home again! Her own home! Odorless of pot-roasts and frying batter-cakes. The phrase was rather common and sentimental but, in truth, this was “home, sweet home.”

And free of that unthinkable Mr. Pyecroft!

While Mrs. De Peyster leaned there in the blackness, gathering strength, her mind mounted in sweet expectancy to her suite. Only a few minutes of soft treading of stairways certainly they could avoid arousing Jack and she would be locked in her comfortable rooms. A cautious bath! Clean clothes! Her own bed! All of the luxuries she had been so long denied!

Cautiously they crept through the basement hallway; cautiously crept up the butler’s stairs and turned off through the door into the great hall of the first floor; cautiously they crept up to the drawing-room floor and trod ever so softly over woven treasures of the Orient, through the spacious ducal gloom. One more flight, then peace, security. With unbreathing care, Mrs. De Peyster set foot upon the first step of her journey’s end.

And then, suddenly, the servants’ bell burst into ringing. And there was a terrific hammering against the servants’ door and also against the door in the boarding.

“Matilda what’s that?” breathed Mrs. De Peyster.

“M maybe the police saw us come in,” breathed Matilda.

They did not pause for discussion. Discarding caution, they plunged frantically and noisily up the stairs; until from out of the overhead blackness descended a voice:

“Stop! Or I’ll shoot!”

It was Jack’s voice.

They stopped.

“Who are you?” the voice demanded.

They clung to each other, wordless.

“Who are you?” repeated Jack.

Their voices were still palsied. They heard his feet begin determinedly to descend. Mrs. De Peyster loosed her grip on Matilda’s arm and vanished noiselessly downward.

“Speak up there,” commanded Jack, “or I’ll fire on the chance of getting you in the dark.”

“It’s only me, Mr. Jack,” trembled Matilda.

“What, Matilda!” cried Jack; and from above, like an echo transposed an octave higher, sounded another, “What, Matilda!”

“Yes, Mr. Jack. Yes, ma’a yes, Mary.”

“But where the devil have you been?” exclaimed Jack, coming to her side.

Mary had also hurried down to her. “Matilda, the way you ran away from us!”

“I got a er sudden message. There was no time

“Never mind about explaining now,” interrupted Jack. “Go down and stop that racket before they break in the doors. And thank God you’re here just in time, Matilda! You’re just the person to do it: housekeeper, caretaker. But be careful if they’re reporters. Now, hurry.”

Jack and Mary scuttled back to the haven of upstairs, and Matilda shivered down through the blackness. As she passed through the lower hall, a hand reached out of the dark and touched her. She managed not to cry out.

“Don’t let them know about me!” implored Mrs. De Peyster.

“I’ll I’ll do my best, ma’am,” quavered Matilda, and glided weakly on.

When she opened the servants’ door, a dripping policeman caught her arm. “Down here, Bill,” he called to the man battering at the door above; and a minute later two officers were inside, and the door was closed, and a light was flashing in Matilda’s face.

“Now, old girl,” said the first officer, tightly gripping her arm and giving it that twist which if a policeman does not give an arm he is no policeman, “what’s your little game, eh?”

“I I live here, sir. I’m the housekeeper.”

“Now don’t try to put that over on us. You know you ain’t.”

“You must be new policemen, in this neighborhood,” trembled Matilda, “or you’d know I am.”

“We may be new cops, but we don’t fall for old stuff like that. I was talkin’ to Mrs. De Peyster’s coachman only yesterday. He told me the housekeeper wasn’t here no more. So better change your line o’ dope. Where’s the other one?”

“Wha what other one?”

“The one what come in here with you.”

“I’m the only person in the house,” Matilda tried to declare valiantly.

“Drop it!” said the officer. “Didn’t the boss tell us to keep our eyes on these here millionaires’ closed houses; all kinds o’ slick crooks likely to clean ’em out. An’ didn’t we see two women come in this house, hey, Bill?”

“Sure I was a block off, but I seen ’em plain as day,” said Bill.

“So I guess,” again the twist that proved him a policeman, “you’d better lead us to your pal.”

He pushed her before him, lighting the way with his flash-lantern, up stairways and back into the dining-room, where she turned on the one shaded electric bulb that had been left connected. In Matilda all hope was gone; resistance was useless; fate had conquered. And when the officer again demanded that she bring forth her accomplice, she dumbly and obediently made search; and finally brought Mrs. De Peyster forth from the china closet.

The officer pulled up Mrs. De Peyster’s veil, and closely scanned her features; which, to be just to the officer, were so distorted that they bore little semblance to the Mrs. De Peyster of her portraits.

“Recognize her, Bill?” he queried.

“Looks a bit like the pictures of Chicago Sal,” said Bill. “But I ain’t ever handled her. I guess she ain’t worked none around New York.”

“Well, now,” said the officer, with policial jocularity, “since you two ladies already got your hats on, I guess we’ll just offer you our arms to the station.”

Mrs. De Peyster gave Matilda a look of frenzied appeal. But Matilda needed not the spur of another’s desperation. For herself she saw a prison cell agape.

“But I tell you I’m Matilda Simpson, Mrs. De Peyster’s housekeeper!”

“If so, who’s the other mourner?” inquired the humorous policeman. “And what’s she doin’ here?”

“She’s she’s” and then Matilda plunged blindly at a lie “she’s my sister.” And having started, she went on: “My sister Angelica, who lives in Syracuse. She’s come to visit me awhile.”

The officer grinned. “Well, Matilda and Angelica, we’ll give you a chance to tell that to the lieutenant. Come on.”

“But I tell you I’m Matilda Simpson!” cried Matilda. She was now thinking solely of her own imminent disgrace. Inspiration came to her. “You say you talked to William, the coachman. He’ll tell you who I am. There’s the bell ring for him!”

The officer scratched his chin. Then he eyed his co-laborer meditatively.

“Not a bad idea, Bill. There’s a chance she may be on the level, and there’d be hell to pay at headquarters if we got in bad with any of these swells. No harm tryin’.”

He pressed a big thumb against the bell Matilda had indicated.

They all sat down, the two officers’ oilskins guttering water all over Mrs. De Peyster’s Kirmanshah rug and parquet floor. But Mrs. De Peyster was unconscious of this deluge. She gave Matilda a glance of reproachful dismay; then she edged into the dimmest corner of the dusky room and turned her chair away from the door through which this new disaster was about to stalk in upon her, and unnoticed drew down her veil.

There was a long, sickening wait. Plainly William had gone to bed, and had to dress before he could answer the bell.

At length, however, William appeared. He started at sight of the four figures; then his gaze fastened on Matilda and grew hard. Mrs. De Peyster tried to collapse within herself.

“Friend,” said the officer, “here’s a lady as says she’s Matilda Simpson, Mrs. De Peyster’s housekeeper. How about it?”

“She is,” William affirmed coldly.

“The devil!” said the officer; and then in a low voice apart to the other: “Lucky we didn’t go no further hey, Bill?” And again to William: “Miss Simpson says this other lady is her sister, visitin’ her from Syracuse. Can you identify her?”

William did not alter a line in his face.

“Miss Simpson has a sister living near Syracuse. I have never seen her. I cannot identify her.”

“H’m,” said the officer.

“Is that all?” asked William.

“Yes, that’ll do. Thanks.”

With a cold blighting glare at Matilda, William withdrew.

“Well, ladies,” said the officer with ingratiating pleasantness, “I’m mighty glad it’s all right. If you have occasion, Miss Simpson, to speak o’ this here little incident to Mrs. De Peyster when she gets back from Europe, just explain it as due to over-zealousness, if you don’t mind desire to safeguard her interests. D’you get me? Headquarters is awful sensitive to kicks from you rich people; and the boss comes down on you like a ton o’ bricks. It’ll be mighty kind o’ you. Good-night. Don’t bother to come down with us. I noticed it was a spring lock. We can let ourselves out.”

When the two policemen were out of the room, Mrs. De Peyster and Matilda collapsed into each others’ arms and their bodies sank limply forward from their chairs upon the dining-table. “Matilda, what an escape!” shivered Mrs. De Peyster; and she lay there, gathering breath, regathering strength, regathering poise, while the officers’ steps grew dimmer and more dim. She was palpitant, yet able to think. Certainly it had been a narrow escape. But that danger was now over. There now remained only the feat of getting into her room, unnoticed by Jack. This they could manage when they were certain that Jack and Mary were asleep.

Relief, hope, courage once more began to rise within her.

Then suddenly she sat upright. Footsteps were sounding below growing nearer heavy footsteps what sounded like more than two pairs of footsteps. She sat as one palsied; and before she could recover strength or faculties, there in the doorway were the two policemen. And with them was a gentleman in a cap and tan summer overcoat buttoned to the chin.

The gentleman was the Reverend Mr. Pyecroft; and the Mr. Pyecroft they had first seen: bland, oh, so bland, with that odd, elderish look of his.

“Met him goin’ down the servants’ steps as we were goin’ out, and he asked us ” the officer was beginning.

But Mr. Pyecroft was already crossing toward Matilda, smiling affectionately.

“My dear Matilda!” He kissed her upon the cheek. “I arrived in New York very unexpectedly less than half an hour ago, and could not delay coming to see you. How are you, sister?”

“Wha what?” stammered Matilda.

Mr. Pyecroft with his bland affectionate smile crossed to Mrs. De Peyster, slipped an arm across her shoulders and kissed her veil somewhere about the forehead. “And how are you, dear sister?” he inquired with deep concern.

Mrs. De Peyster gasped and stiffened.

“You ladies don’t seem very glad to see him,” put in the officer. “When we told him about you two bein’ sisters, he said he was your brother. Is he?”

“Of course I am,” Mr. Pyecroft answered pleasantly. “They weren’t expecting me; therefore this very natural surprise which you observe. Of course, I am your brother, am I not?” patting Mrs. De Peyster’s arm with the appearance of affection, and then closing on it warningly.

Mrs. De Peyster nodded her head.

“Matilda,” turning to her, in frank fraternal fashion, “you might tell these officers that I am not only your brother, but in fact the only brother you have. That is true, isn’t it, sister?”

“Yes,” gulped Matilda.

“Well,” said the officer, “since everything is all right, we’ll be leavin’ you. But, believe me, this is certainly some sudden family reunion.”

When they had gone Mr. Pyecroft calmly removed cap and overcoat and stood forth in his clericals. Again he wore the youngish face of their interview of an hour before. Mrs. De Peyster watched him in sickening fear. What was he going to do? Surely he must now know her identity!

He smiled at them amiably.

“Well, my dears, so you tried to give me the slip. I rather thought you’d bear watching, so I followed you. And when I saw the officers come out without you I knew you had successfully entertained them with some sort of plausible explanation.”

His gaze fixed on Matilda. “So, my dear sister, you’re really the housekeeper here.” He shook his head chidingly. “And the usual crook of a housekeeper, eh trying to make a safe clean-up while her mistress is away. You’re deeper than I thought, Matilda. I understand the whole affair now. You and our sister Angelica had already been planning some kind of a game similar to the one I suggested. I just happened to think of the same thing. I don’t blame you a lot for not wanting to take me into the game; it was quite natural for you to want all there is in it for yourselves. Not the least hard feeling in the world, my dears. But, of course,” apologetically, “you could hardly expect me to give up a rich thing like this, could you?”

His easy, familiar, ironic talk had brought Mrs. De Peyster one large item of relief. Evidently he didn’t suspect who she was yet.

“What are you going to do?” she managed to ask.

“Stay right here with you, my sisters, and in due time we’ll go ahead with our game as per previous specifications.” He surveyed the high, paneled dining-room, sumptuous, distinguished even in the semi-dusk. “Cozy little flat, eh, my dears?”

Suddenly that wide mouth of his slipped up to one side, and he laughed in exultant, impish glee.

“Say, isn’t this the funniest ever! Beats my plan a mile. We’ll make ourselves at home hang out together for the summer in Mrs. De Peysters own house, her own house, and when we hear she’s coming back we vacate and then do our little act of buying out the stores in Lady De Peyster’s name. Was there ever such a lark!” For a moment his low laugh of wild glee cut off his speech. “What’s more, it’s the safest place in the world for us. Nobody’d ever think of our being here!”

Mrs. De Peyster stared at Matilda, Matilda stared at Mrs. De Peyster.

“And it’s just what I needed,” continued Mr. Pyecroft in amicable confidence. “I just had a tip that the police were closing in on me, and I had to disappear quick. An hour ago, I’d never have dreamed of falling into such a safe little retreat as this. Luck favors the deserving.”

Mrs. De Peyster gazed at him, faint.

“And of course, Matilda,” he went on, “if, say, any of the neighbors happen to drop in for a cup of tea and see me, or if the police should manage to trail me here, and they may, you know, of course, Matilda, you’ll speak right up and say I’m your dear brother.”

At that moment it was beyond either of them to speak right up.

“Remember, my dears, that we’re all crooks together,” he prompted in a soft voice, that had a steely suggestion beneath it. “And in case you fail to stand by me it would give me very great pain very great pain, I assure you to have to blow on you.”

Matilda gulped, blinked her eyes, and looked helplessly at Mrs. De Peyster. Mr. Pyecroft turned to the latter.

“Of course, Angelica, dear, you’re going to stand by me?”

Mrs. De Peyster hesitated, then breathed a barely audible “Yes.”

“And you, Matilda, who were always my favorite sister, you, too, will stand by me?”

“Yes,” breathed Matilda.

“Ah,” said Mr. Pyecroft, in a moved tone, “such family loyalty is truly touching. I foresee a most pleasant summer.”