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Updated: May 27, 2025
"MacMechem met violent death the moment he became curious as to the other side of the blue wall," I thought, with a twinge of the superstitious fear which touches prowlers as well as presidents, professors as well as paupers. We were whirling around a corner then, and through the glass and over Estabrook's broad shoulders, I believed I saw again the treetops of the park.
After a moment Estabrook's hands were both clutching my sleeve. "You'll stand by now?" he said, looking up into my face. "I can't ask any one else. You can see that. You'll help? What shall we do?" "Depend on me," I answered him. "We must be careful. Wait! Just let me review these facts. The first move must be for us to send Margaret back into the house.
Estabrook's thin face lighted up with pleasure, for she was devotedly attached to her stepson. "Bring him up here at once," she said. A minute later the young man entered the room. He was a thin, sallow-complexioned young man, with restless, black eyes, and a discontented expression as of one who thinks he is not well used by the world. "Welcome, my dear boy," said the housekeeper, warmly.
I went back to the house then, and it was when I was in my room that I heard the telephone bell and Mrs. Estabrook's soft voice talking very low. I crept out and hung over the stair rail trying to listen. Any one could tell in a second that the poor girl was in fright. "Who was it?" she asked. "Did they learn anything from the boy? How long ago?" There was a pause.
Such was Jermyn Estabrook's story. I have tried, in repeating it, not only to include all the details given by this desperate young man, but to suggest also the coldness and accuracy of his speech. Why? Because the very manner of narration is indicative of the man's character. He belongs to the dry, dessicated, and abominably respectable class of our society. Pah! I have no patience with them.
A light was burning in Mrs. Estabrook's room. I saw the shadows of a man and a woman pass the curtain together. This pretty picture was in my mind as I entered little Virginia's room, where Miss Peters met me with a smile the first human smile I had ever seen on her metallic face.
The new boy, Grant Thornton, was a member of the household. He probably had the run of the house. What more probable than that he should enter Mrs. Estabrook's chamber and search her bureau? This was the way Willis reasoned. He knew that his stepmother hated Grant, and would be very willing to believe anything against him. He would take care that suspicion should fall in that direction.
As curiosity was by no means lacking in the housekeeper's composition, she took it up, and peered at the address through her glasses. It was directed to Mr. Reynolds in a round, schoolboy hand. Mrs. Estabrook's heart gave a sudden jump of excitement. "It's Herbert's handwriting," she said to herself. She examined the postmark, and found that it was mailed at Scipio, Illinois.
When your father dismissed me, without a recommendation, not caring whether I starved or not, he made me his enemy." "But he wouldn't if you hadn't " "Hadn't what?" demanded Ford, sternly. "Taken Mrs. Estabrook's bonds." "Dare to say that again, and I will beat you," said Willis Ford, brutally. Herbert trembled, for he had a timid nature, and an exquisite susceptibility to pain.
Estabrook's key. Enter as quietly as possible. Say nothing to any one. If your mistress should allow more than five hours to go by without calling you, go to her door and knock. If there is no answer, telephone my office. You mustn't allow a second of delay. It will mean danger." Estabrook listened to these instructions with staring eyes. "You know something!" he cried. "Tell me!"
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