The Window at the White Cat | Page 4

left, I was
nervous and could not sleep. I expected him home at any time and I
kept listening for his step down-stairs. About three o'clock I was sure I
heard some one in the room below mine--there was a creaking as if the

person were walking carefully. I felt relieved, for I thought he had
come back. But I did not hear the door into his bedroom close, and I
got more and more wakeful. Finally I got up and slipped along the hall
to his room. The door was open a few inches and I reached in and
switched on the electric lights. I had a queer feeling before I turned on
the light that there was some one standing close to me, but the room
was empty, and the hall, too."
"And the paper?"
"When I saw the room was empty I went in. The paper had been pinned
to a pillow on the bed. At first I thought it had been dropped or had
blown there. When I saw the pin I was startled. I went back to my room
and rang for Annie, the second housemaid, who is also a sort of
personal maid of mine. It was half-past three o'clock when Annie came
down. I took her into father's room and showed her the paper. She was
sure it was not there when she folded back the bed clothes for the night
at nine o'clock."
"Eleven twenty-two," I repeated. "Twice eleven is twenty-two. But that
isn't very enlightening."
"No," she admitted. "I thought it might be a telephone number, and I
called up all the eleven twenty-twos in the city."
In spite of myself, I laughed, and after a moment she smiled in
sympathy.
"We are not brilliant, certainly," I said at last. "In the first place, Miss
Fleming, if I thought the thing was very serious I would not laugh--but
no doubt a day or two will see everything straight. But, to go back to
this eleven twenty-two--did you rouse the servants and have the house
searched?"
"Yes, Annie said Carter had come back and she went to waken him, but
although his door was locked inside, he did not answer. Annie and I
switched on all the lights on the lower floor from the top of the stairs.
Then we went down together and looked around. Every window and

door was locked, but in father's study, on the first floor, two drawers of
his desk were standing open. And in the library, the little compartment
in my writing-table, where I keep my house money, had been broken
open and the money taken."
"Nothing else was gone?"
"Nothing. The silver on the sideboard in the dining-room, plenty of
valuable things in the cabinet in the drawing room--nothing was
disturbed."
"It might have been Carter," I reflected, "Did he know where you kept
your house money?"
"It is possible, but I hardly think so. Besides, if he was going to steal,
there were so many more valuable things in the house. My mother's
jewels as well as my own were in my dressing-room, and the door was
not locked."
"They were not disturbed?"
She hesitated.
"They had been disturbed," she admitted. "My grandmother left each of
her children some unstrung pearls. They were a hobby with her. Aunt
Jane and Aunt Letitia never had theirs strung, but my mother's were
made into different things, all old-fashioned. I left them locked in a
drawer in my sitting-room, where I have always kept them. The
following morning the drawer was unlocked and partly open, but
nothing was missing."
"All your jewelry was there?"
"All but one ring, which I rarely remove from my finger." I followed
her eyes. Under her glove was the outline of a ring, a solitaire stone.
"Nineteen from--" I shook myself together and got up.
"It does not sound like an ordinary burglary," I reflected. "But I am

afraid I have no imagination. No doubt what you have told me would
be meat and drink to a person with an analytical turn of mind. I can't
deduct. Nineteen from thirty-five leaves sixteen, according to my
mental process, although I know men who could make the difference
nothing."
I believe she thought I was a little mad, for her face took on again its
despairing look.
"We must find him, Mr. Knox," she insisted as she got up. "If you
know of a detective that you can trust, please get him. But you can
understand that the unexplained absence of the state treasurer must be
kept secret. One thing I am sure of: He is being kept away. You don't
know what enemies he has! Men like Mr. Schwartz, who have no
scruples, no principle."
"Schwartz!" I repeated in surprise. Henry Schwartz was the boss of