Chapter XI: In the Clock Case

Roger had quite made up his mind that nothing should induce him to enter the doors of his cousin's home again; and after Mr. Marsh and Edgar had left him, he hurried back to Princess Street, his heart full of rage, and took his family into his confidence. Everyone agreed with him that he had been treated shabbily, and Polly was loud in her declamations against Edgar. It was Mrs. Trent who tried to soothe the boy's angry mood, and pointed out to him that the present occasion was an opportunity for showing a magnanimous spirit.

"You don't mean to say you will make me go to the Rookery to-morrow, do you, mother?" Roger asked hotly.

"No, dear, certainly not," she answered. "You shall do as you please, but—"

"Then I shan't go," he broke in, "so that's settled."

"I shan't go, either," declared Polly.

"You interrupted me in the midst of my sentence, Roger," Mrs. Trent told the little boy in a tone of gentle reproof. "I was going to say that you shall do as you please, but that by to-morrow I trust you may see things in a different light. Edgar has treated you badly, that I grant, but I hope you will forgive him, especially as you say he offered you an apology, and let him see, by going to the Rookery, that you do not bear malice in heart."

Roger made no response but when, that evening, his father said his uncle had sent a message to him to the effect that he should expect to see him on the following day, he realised that he would have to overlook his cousin's cowardly conduct and consent to be his guest. "I daresay Edgar is really sorry, and if so I suppose I ought to forgive him," he remarked to Polly. "And, though I really don't want to go to the Rookery, Aunt Janie always gives us a very good tea; so, all things considered, perhaps we'd better go."

"Very well," agreed his sister, "I daresay you're right. I don't care so much about the tea, but I should like to see the gardens and the greenhouses."

"And the horses," supplemented Roger with a brightening face.

So the following afternoon found Polly and Roger the guests of their cousin at the Rookery. There was unwonted shyness in Edgar's manner as he met them in the hall and escorted them into the drawing-room to speak to his mother, and he glanced askance at a bruise beneath Roger's right eye, which he knew had been caused by his fist whilst Polly and Roger both felt the awkwardness of the situation.

Mrs. Marsh greeted her little niece and nephew very cordially, and introduced them to her friends—two fashionably dressed ladies; she inquired for all at home, and then told them they might do whatever they liked to amuse themselves as long as they did not get into mischief. After that she dismissed them, and Edgar led the way upstairs to the large room which had been his nursery, where he still kept all his most treasured belongings, including several mechanical toys and a big rocking-horse which had always been the envy of his cousins. Edgar was on his best behaviour and tried to make the time pass pleasantly for his visitors. He showed them his 'Pilgrim's Progress' and was gratified by their admiration of its illustrations, which were indeed very fine.

"It's the best mother could get for money," he informed them with great satisfaction. "I expect it's a much better book than yours, isn't it?"

"Oh yes!" Polly admitted readily; "but I like our old book best."

All sense of awkwardness had died away now, and the three children were on the best of terms with each other. By-and-by Edgar suggested a game of hide-and-seek.

"We can hide anywhere in the house we like," he said, "and the nursery shall be 'home.' Which of us shall hide first?"

"Oh, let me!" cried Polly eagerly.

"Very well," the boys agreed, and Roger added, "I don't suppose we shall be long finding you."

"Don't be too sure of that," she retorted. "How long will you give me to find a hiding-place?"

"Five minutes," Edgar replied, "and no longer, mind." Accordingly the little girl left the boys in the schoolroom, and, after shutting the door behind her, stole softly downstairs. She peeped into the dining-room, but there seemed no hiding-place there, unless she got behind a curtain, which of course would be searched immediately. "I wish I could think of some really good place," she murmured, as she stood in the centre of the hall hesitating which way to turn. "Perhaps I'd better go up in the attics, there are several lumber rooms, I know, but the boys will be certain to search them carefully."

Then suddenly a brilliant idea flashed through her mind, and her face broke into smiles. She thought she knew one place where she could conceal herself where the boys would never dream of looking for her, but she must be quick and not waste time or the five minutes' grace allowed her would be up before she had safely secreted herself.

At one side of the hall was a baize-covered swing door leading into a passage, at the end of which Mr. Marsh's study was situated. Polly pushed open the swing door, and a minute later she stood on the threshold of the study. There was nobody in the room, and closing the door she turned her attention to the tall clock, which, as has already been said, stood against the wall near the writing-table. With fingers trembling with eagerness, the little girl opened the door of the oak case of the clock and peeped inside.

"There's heaps of room for me," she reflected triumphantly as she scrutinised the swinging pendulum and the heavy iron weights of the old time-piece. "It will be a splendid hiding-place. I am sure I can get in, and if I do stop the clock I can easily set it going again. The boys will never think of looking for me here. But I must hurry."

It was not so easy to get into the case of the clock as she had anticipated it would be, for the door was nearly two feet from the ground, but she succeeded in effecting the feat; and, once inside, she found she could stand upright, though she was obliged to keep in one position owing to the narrowness of the case. She laughed softly to herself as she stood there, listening, ready to shut the door of her hiding-place the minute she should hear sounds of anyone approaching the room. Thus she waited several minutes; but, before very long, the silence was broken by Edgar's voice in the passage, saying:

"I don't suppose she's in the study, but we'll have a look. I expect she's upstairs in the attics somewhere. We must be sharp or she'll manage to get 'home.'"

Polly smiled to herself and hastily drew the door of the clock case close. It shut with a "click," and she was in complete darkness. She heard the boys making a hasty search of the room, then followed the sound of a door slammed, retreating footsteps, and after that complete silence. The searchers had never thought of looking inside the case of the old clock.

"What a famous joke!" thought Polly delightedly. "Now, whilst they're in the attics I'll slip back to the schoolroom. I shall be on the laughing side this time."

But she was not so sanguine on that point when, having allowed a few minutes to elapse, she tried to push open the door of her hiding-place, for to her dismay it would not move. Then it dawned upon her that she had made herself a prisoner. Evidently the clock case could only be opened from the outside.

At first the little girl was more vexed than startled at her situation as she reflected that her cousin and brother would make merry over it, and it was not until she had shouted again and again and, knocked loudly, without bringing anyone to her assistance, that she began to experience a distinct sense of alarm; but even then she was not very frightened, for she felt certain her uncle would visit his study on his return from business, he would doubtless have letters to write, so she consoled herself with the hope that she would not be a prisoner very long.

The minutes dragged slowly on, and Polly began to wonder if there were spiders in the clock, or perhaps earwigs—she had a great horror of earwigs. She had noticed that the inside of the case was very dusty, as though it might harbour all sorts of creepy, crawly things; and suddenly she thought she felt something on her neck, and uttered a cry of fright. It proved to be only her imagination, however.

"Oh, this is terrible!" she exclaimed, now thoroughly alarmed. "I'm getting so hot, I believe I shall be suffocated. Oh, will nobody come to let me out! Roger! Roger!" And she beat against the door of the clock case with her hand; then listened, but not a sound was to be heard.

"I expect the boys have given up looking for me and are having tea," she thought miserably, with a pang of self-pity, and she shed a few tears, for she was beginning to feel hungry, and thirsty too. She pushed desperately against her prison, but the old oaken case was firmly secured to the wall, and she could not move it though she exerted all her strength; then she tried to change her position, for she was growing cramped, but there was not room for her to do so. Supposing, after all, no one came into the room that night and she had to remain there till morning, how awful that would be; and the worst of it was, she could not tell how time was passing, shut up there in the dark. It appeared to poor Polly that she had already been imprisoned for hours.

Meanwhile, Roger and Edgar were searching the house from attic to basement; and it was not until tea-time that they ceased their quest. Mrs. Marsh had driven out with her visitors, so the boys had their tea alone in the dining-room, for, as Edgar remarked, it was no good waiting for Polly to turn up, she could have her tea when she chose to appear.

"I can't think where she can be," Roger said, a trifle uneasily, when, after tea, he and his cousin strolled out into the garden. "I suppose nothing can have happened to her?"

"What could happen to her?" questioned Edgar. "It's stupid of her to keep away like this." Then, as they encountered a gardener, he asked him if he had seen Polly anywhere about the grounds, only to receive a decided reply in the negative.

About six o'clock Mrs. Marsh and her friends returned from their drive, and were greatly astonished to hear of the little girl's disappearance; and then Mr. Marsh arrived upon the scene and was informed that his niece was missing.

"The little monkey is hiding to cause a sensation," he said with a smile. "Why, Roger, you appear alarmed! That's foolish."

"Polly would not stay away at tea-time if she could help it," the little boy responded gravely. "I know she must be hungry, because we had dinner early. Suppose she should be shut up somewhere unable to get out—in, a chest, perhaps, like the bride in 'The Mistletoe Bough'?"

Everyone laughed at this suggestion; it seemed so very improbable.

"Oh, she'll turn up presently, never fear," said Mr. Marsh consolingly. "I shouldn't look for her any further. I expect she's laughing in her sleeve at you all the while." He had been standing, talking, in the hall, and now he pushed open the baize-covered swing door to go to his study. "You boys can come and look at my stamps and coins if you like," he proceeded. "I don't think Roger has ever seen them. Good gracious! What on earth is that? Why, someone's calling for help!" And he hurried down the passage, followed by the boys, and entered the study.

"Oh!" wailed a muffled-sounding, frightened voice, though no one was to be seen. "Come quickly! Oh, please do come and let me out!"