Chapter XVI: Midnight Marauders

VICTORIA went upstairs to her room, but it was long before she went to bed. Sophy was fast asleep in her little bed in the corner, and Victoria knew that there was no danger of her waking. The shades at the two windows had been drawn as high as they would go, and the moonlight streamed in, lying in white patches upon the floor and making the room as light as day.

Victoria sat down in the shadow near one of the windows and looked out into the night. Her room was next to that of her aunt, and over the dining-room. Beneath her window was the shrubbery in which Katherine had heard the suspicious sounds a short time since. Beyond lay the flower garden, the beds bathed in the moonlight, and the roses lifting their heads to catch the dew. On the other side of the flower garden was the vegetable patch, and beyond that again the pasture and the woods.

The window near which she sat was directly above the bay-window of the dining-room, the roof of which projected from the side of the house. Vines grew up over the dining-room window and had been trained on either side of Victoria’s, so that in summer time she looked through a veritable bower of green, and this year a pair of bluebirds had built their nest there and sometimes wakened her in the early dawn with their sweet singing.

Victoria sat for a long time quite motionless. She heard her aunt come up to her room and, after a half-hour of activity, subside into the tranquillity of night. She felt it to be a merciful arrangement of human affairs and habits that people were forced to rest for a few hours out of the twenty-four, otherwise the stirring nature of Mrs. Wentworth Ward would know no calm.

She heard Katherine mount to her rooms in the third story, and Honor go to hers on the other side of the house.

At last all was still. Victoria’s brain, wide awake and unusually alert for this hour of the night, was still occupied with the tiresome topics of the afternoon. She felt that she could not sleep until she had imparted some of the new ideas with which it was teeming to some one, and that some one must be Honor. Her sister could not yet be asleep, Victoria thought; so leaving her window wide open, she went across the hall and around the gallery to Honor’s room and knocked softly on the door. Her sister opened it at once.

“What is the matter, Vic?” she asked. “Are you ill? Why, you are still in your dress, and you came up two hours ago!”

“I know it. Hush, Honor, don’t speak so loud! I don’t want any one to hear me. Do you mind if I come in and talk? Are you very sleepy?”

“No, not a bit sleepy. Come in, of course. I want especially to see you. What is the matter, Vic? You have looked so anxious all the afternoon, and not a bit like yourself. What is it?”

“It is all Aunt Sophia,” said Victoria, curling herself up on the foot of the bed.

“Aunt Sophia! Why, what has she been saying? I thought you were too busy, when you were with her, to talk.”

“Is Aunt Sophia ever too busy to say what she wants to?”

“But what was it about?”

“Dave Carney, for one thing.”

Honor laughed. “Surely, my dear child, you are not staying up half the night just because Aunt Sophia sees fit to criticise Dave Carney? If I minded her as much as that, I should never sleep a wink after she had been talking about poor B. Lafferty, who, by the way, declares that she is going to-morrow ‘for certain sure!’ What does she say about Dave?”

“Oh, she doesn’t think he is honest, because she was sure she saw him going into a pawnbroker’s shop. As if that proved anything! She might just as well say that I wasn’t, because I sold the gold and the—” Victoria paused.

“Not quite the same thing,” said Honor, “for you really had the things to sell; but I can’t imagine where Dave Carney gets anything to pawn. But I can’t think why you are so worried, Vic. Aunt Sophia has been saying that sort of thing all our lives.”

“Oh, I know that. It isn’t _that_ I am worried about, of course, Honor. She was speaking about something else, that I hadn’t thought of before. Something about Katherine.”

“What about her?” asked Honor, quickly.

“Well, she said first that she was selfish and extravagant, and then—I really hate to repeat it, Honor, for it doesn’t seem a bit nice, but I must tell you—then she said it didn’t make so much difference as she was going to marry a rich man, or ‘make a good match,’ as she expressed it. Don’t you think it was rather disagreeable for Aunt Sophia to say that? And whom _do_ you suppose she meant, Honor?”

“Mr. Madison, of course.”

Honor’s voice was so peculiar that Victoria glanced at her sharply, but it was too dark in the room for her to see her face very clearly.

“Yes, Mr. Madison; but I don’t see how you happened to guess it so quickly.”

“Chiefly because there is no one else whom Aunt Sophia could possibly mean. There isn’t another man in the neighborhood.”

“But, Honor, have you noticed anything? Do you think that Katherine—well, that she cares for him? Of course he likes her, he couldn’t help liking her, but—oh, I don’t know! It doesn’t seem a bit nice to talk about Katherine this way, and I wish Aunt Sophia hadn’t said anything. I told her that probably they were just good friends, and she said that was almost impossible. Don’t you think that is a most ridiculous idea, Honor?”

“Very ridiculous, and I agree with you that it isn’t very nice to talk about it. I know lots of girls do, and we should be considered very old-fashioned and peculiar not to want to. We are different from most girls, and I think we feel differently about those things. So don’t let us say any more, Vic, unless Katherine wants to speak about it herself.”

“And there is nothing for us to do?”

“No,” said Honor, very quietly, “there is nothing for us to do.” And then, very much to the surprise of Victoria, she hid her face in the pillow.

“Why, are you so sleepy, Honor?” asked the younger sister. “You don’t look so. What is the matter?”

“No, I’m not really sleepy, but—but I think we have talked long enough, Vicky dear! If you don’t mind, I would rather not say any more.”

“But I haven’t been here more than fifteen minutes, Honor, and there is something else that I thought of telling you.”

“Not to-night, please, dear. I would rather not talk any more to-night, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Well, just as you say, of course!” said Victoria, as she got up. “I think you are very queer, though. You said you were glad to see me and that you wanted to talk about something yourself, and now, almost right away, you tell me to go! What did you want to say to me?”

“Don’t be huffy, dear! I know I did want to, but really, I can’t talk about anything more to-night. I—I have a headache.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” cried Victoria, her resentment fading at once. “Why didn’t you tell me so before? I thought you looked different from usual. Can’t I do anything for you? It was a shame for me to come and bother you, but you seemed glad to have me when I came. Shall I bathe your head with cologne?”

“No, I thank you. If I once get asleep, I shall be all right, and it is really pretty late, Vic. It is nearly twelve o’clock. You had better go to bed right away. Good night, dear.”

Honor was almost pushing her sister out of the room as she spoke, and Victoria heard her close and lock the door behind her.

“If Honor isn’t too funny!” she said to herself. “Locking me out, actually! Well, if she isn’t going to worry, there is no need of my doing so. People never do what you expect them to. Honor is certainly queer.

‘Jog on, jog on the footpath way’—

Why, how very peculiar! I am sure I didn’t leave my door open.”

She had reached her own room and paused before the open door. She had certainly not left it open, because of the draught which Sophy would have been in between it and the window. Perhaps the breeze had blown it open, and yet that did not seem possible, for the night was a still one, and it seemed to be growing warmer. She went into the room and found Sophy sitting up in bed.

“Oh, is that you, Vic?” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad! Have you just come up? And did you meet Dave?”

“My dear child, you must be dreaming! Of course I didn’t meet Dave. It is the middle of the night.”

“But Dave just went through here,” said Sophy. “I heard a sound that woke me up, and when I opened my eyes there was Dave just going out the door. Didn’t you see him?”

“Dearest, I know you have been dreaming,” said Victoria, sitting down beside her little sister and taking her hand. “I tell you, it is after twelve o’clock, and Dave is probably sound asleep in his room at the barn. You know he is never upstairs here, and of course he wouldn’t be going through our room at any hour. You have such vivid dreams sometimes, Sophy. Don’t you remember the one about the pony that you thought was here in the room?”

Sophy laughed. “That was a funny one,” she said, “and the other about the animals that could talk, after Peter had been reading those stories to me. Well, perhaps you’re right, Vic, and this was a dream about Dave, but it was a very clear one, and I was frightened when I woke up and you weren’t here. Are you going to bed now?”

“Yes, very quickly, and you must try to go to sleep right away, it is so late.”

Sophy obediently lay down and was soon fast asleep again.

“Funny how the child dreams,” thought Victoria, “and it was funny, too, that I should have left the door open. Something must have blown down in the breeze and waked her up, and that was the noise she heard. Yes, here is a photograph on the floor, and this little book that was near the edge of my table. It must have been a pretty strong wind to blow that off, and yet it seems so warm now.”

And before long Victoria was herself asleep, having dismissed her cares and anxieties with the determination to think no more about them. If Honor was not troubled by them, why should she be?

It seemed to Victoria that she had been asleep but a few moments when she was awakened by a sharp and excited rapping upon her door. It must be morning, however, for instead of the moon which had lighted her room when she went to sleep, the sun was now shining in the heavens, already quite high and well advanced upon his day’s journey.

“Vic,” said Honor’s voice in the hall, “open your door quickly! The most dreadful thing has happened.”

Victoria sprang to let her in.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The house has been robbed,” said Honor. “Burglars have been here, and everything downstairs has been ransacked! Oh, Vic, isn’t it too dreadful?”

Victoria was speechless with surprise and consternation.

“I thought I heard a noise in the night,” continued Honor; “I didn’t sleep very well, and I thought of going down to the dining-room to get a glass of water. Oh, Vic, suppose I had! I should have met them! Instead, I took some water from the pitcher in my room, and I remember setting the pitcher down on the floor with quite a hard thump. It was after that, I think, that I heard a sound like a door shutting. It grew very warm in the night, and I opened my window with quite a noise. I shouldn’t wonder if it had frightened them off.”

“Have they taken much?” asked Victoria.

“I don’t know yet, for everything is in confusion. Blanch came up to tell me. The silver was most of it in my room, fortunately. It is a good thing we are in the habit of bringing it up every night. How do you suppose they got in?”

“I can imagine. Do you remember, Honor, that Katherine thought she heard some one in the shrubbery? I do wonder if the burglar was hiding there! How perfectly horrible it seems!”

“And we walked about there looking for him! I must go up and tell Katherine, and when you are dressed, we will go down and make a careful search.”

In the meantime, Sophy had waked up, and, hearing the news, could scarcely control her excitement. She flew about the room, constantly getting into Victoria’s way, begging to be helped with her innumerable buttons, and asking a thousand questions.

“What is a buggler, Vic?” she demanded. “I always thought a buggler was some kind of a bug, like a buffalo bug, or something of that sort. Is it really a real live man? And what did he want in our house? And how did he get in, Vic, with the doors all locked and bolted? I say, Vic, how did he get in?”

“I don’t know,” said Vic. “Sophy, do please get out of my way! I’m in such a hurry. Go stand by the window, there’s a good girl!”

“But won’t you tell me what a buggler is?” pleaded Sophy. “I won’t stir if you’ll only tell me.”

“It’s a robber. Do you know what that is?”

“Of course I do. That is a sensible name. Any one would know that a robber robs, but a buggler!”

“A buggler doesn’t bug,” said Victoria, laughing in spite of her hurry and dismay. “Let me tell you that it is _burglar_, and not buggler.”

Sophy had by this time taken up her station by the window.

“Why, Vic,” she cried, looking out, “did you know that all the vines are torn round this window? They’re just streaming! What do you s’pose has made ’em so?”

Victoria ran to look.

“They weren’t so last night,” said she. “Sophy, it looks exactly as if some one had climbed up here. Do you think the man could possibly have come in this way?”

She stood by the window, reviewing hastily in her mind the events of the night. She had sat there for a long time and then had left the room. She had been absent not more than fifteen or twenty minutes, and when she came back the door was open. It gave her a most uncomfortable sensation to feel that the robber had actually been in her very room.

“I shouldn’t wonder a bit,” said Sophy. “You know I dreamed Dave Carney went through the room.”

So she had! Perhaps—perhaps, after all, it had not been a dream! Victoria felt a sudden and unaccountable weakness, and she was forced to sit down for a moment. Surely it could not have been Dave Carney who had thus entered the house of his benefactors!

“Sophy,” said Victoria, “don’t say anything about that dream, will you? Promise me that you won’t tell any one that you dreamed that about Dave.”

“Why, no, Vic; I won’t, if you don’t want me to; but why not? Why can’t I tell?”

“I have good reasons, Sophy dear, but I haven’t time to explain them now; but you know it is fun to have a secret with me, isn’t it?”

“Oh, very well,” said Sophy, greatly pleased with the idea. “Yes, I do love secrets with you, Vic. I’ll never tell.”

Downstairs all was in confusion. The dining-room had apparently been entered first, for the most thorough work had been done here. Drawers stood open, closets and sideboard were in confusion. The china had been left untouched, but the silver candlesticks and the old snuffers with their tray were gone, and some small articles in silver and plated ware which had not been carried upstairs at night with the table silver and the service.

A clock, which had stood upon the dining-room mantel-shelf, had been carried into the parlor and left there. No doubt the man or men had been frightened off by the noise which Honor made when she set down her pitcher and afterwards opened her window, for her room was over the parlor. They had gone out by way of the front door, for it was found unbolted. No other door or window had been disturbed, and it was reasonable to suppose that one man had entered by way of Victoria’s room and had then opened the front door to the others, if others there were.

It was astonishing that the man—who no doubt was the one in the shrubbery whom Katherine had heard—should have chosen the exact time during which Victoria was absent from the room to climb up over the dining-room window, and that he had not seen Victoria, when she was sitting in her room, as she said she had been doing for more than an hour. It could only be explained by the fact that she had sat in a low chair a little back from the window, and completely in the shadow. He had probably been watching from the shrubbery, and, not seeing any one and finding the window conveniently open, had determined to enter in that way, whatever his previous plans may have been; and he had chosen exactly the right moment for doing it.

Naturally enough, the Starrs were greatly excited by this occurrence, and none more so than Mrs. Wentworth Ward. She quite resented the fact that she had slept peacefully and unconsciously through the whole episode, and seemed to take it as a personal grievance that she had not awakened and descended in person to confront the burglar. The opportunity for that having passed by, she consoled herself by making active investigations into the amount of loss that had been sustained by her nieces, and by trying to fit the cap of guilt upon some member of the household.

“It is absurd to think the man got in through Victoria’s room,” said she. “It could not be! Her room is directly next to mine, and I should have heard him. I am a very light sleeper, I assure you. Besides, how could he have had the luck to choose the very time of all others when Victoria was out of the room? What if the vines are torn? That proves nothing. No, no! Depend upon it, some one _in this house_ opened the front door and let them in. You know very little about that extremely ignorant maid of yours. I have no doubt she was an accomplice.”

They had finished breakfast when Mrs. Ward made this statement and were again in the parlor, and while they were talking, Mr. Madison was seen approaching the house. He had come to ask Honor and Katherine to go out on the river with his sister and himself that afternoon.

When he came in, Victoria glanced quickly from one sister to the other. She was surprised to see that Honor was the one who looked embarrassed. Her color certainly changed, and her manner was somewhat stiff. Katherine, on the contrary, greeted the newcomer with her customary frankness.

“You are just the very one we need,” said she. “Here we lone, lorn women—the only man in the family laid up with a broken leg—have been robbed! The only wonder is that we were not murdered as well.”

They told him the history of the night, and Madison’s advice was that the matter should be placed in the hands of detectives at once. He offered to do it for them, and thought it probable that their property would be recovered, as such articles as the clock, and various other things that had been taken from the parlor, would be of no use to the burglars unless they were pawned. The silver candlesticks, on the contrary, could be melted down.

“I think it couldn’t have been a very experienced thief,” said Roger. “An old hand would have known better than to take plated things, as you say some of them were. However, we will tell the whole story to the detective. Suppose you leave things here just as they are. I will bring a man out from Boston in the first train I can get. I could telegraph, I suppose, for one to come, but it is just as well to move quietly in these matters, and perhaps it will not take any longer to go to town. I am inclined myself to the theory that the man came in the second-story window. The open door which Miss Victoria found, and the torn vines seem to point to that.”

“I do _not_ agree with you,” said Mrs. Wentworth Ward. “My nieces, Mr. Madison, quite against my better judgment, have insisted upon employing two very inferior servants. One is the kitchen maid, who knows absolutely nothing—in fact, to use a slang expression to which I seriously object—is as green as the island she came from. The other is a farm boy, whom they picked up no one knows where. I have no doubt that he could give some information in regard to this robbery. Ellen Higgins, my own maid, who is here, tells me that this boy is behaving most unaccountably this morning. When he heard of the robbery, he first became very pale indeed, and then turned very red, and since then he has shown every evidence of guilt. In addition to this, with my own eyes I saw him going into a Boston pawnbroker’s shop a day or two ago, as I told my niece Victoria only yesterday.”

“Well, we will tell all that to the detectives,” said Madison. “They will soon find out who the guilty one is.”

As he spoke, his glance fell upon Victoria. At the mention of Dave Carney she too had become very white. She was thinking of Sophy’s dream. She almost wished that she could get speech with Roger Madison alone. She should like to tell him the whole story and ask him if there were not some way of saving Dave from the iron hand of the law. She felt that if he were arrested, it would stain his reputation forever.

She did not for a moment believe that he was guilty, and yet—there was Sophy’s dream! Was it her duty to tell Mr. Madison this, or not? She would certainly not give her Aunt Sophia the benefit of the information. In the meantime Peter spoke.

“I know more about Dave Carney than any of you,” said he, “and you needn’t try to make me think that he had anything to do with it. I’ve been with him a lot, and I know him, and nobody has any right to say anything about him in connection with it.”

But confidently as Peter spoke he too felt uneasy, for he distinctly remembered the occasion of his first meeting with Carney.

He had been stealing apples!