around to face her—grill her, she thought.
'I couldn't see very well,' she admitted, 'but it was Francis, because he answered me.'
'You talked to him, eh?'
“He couldn't talk, but—'
“But you say he answered. What do you mean by that, Miss—er—”
'He did. You see, he could make a kind of thudding noise somehow. Like a heavy tap on the floor. So-' She swallowed. It didn't even sound plausible to her. It sounded ridiculous, and yet it was true.
'Its true!' she cried aloud. 'He did answer me! He pounded once for 'yes' and twice for no.' I asked if it was Francis!'
'Pounded, eh?' Chief Blake seemed to take what she said perfectly literally, and he looked about him.
Tom Gahagen said, 'Maybe you weren't as smart as you thought you were, Luther. Could be, you were seen. Better search the whole place. . . . What d'ya say, Blake?'
'If the young lady's so sure—'
'I'm absolutely sure!' Mathilda told them desperately.
So the house was searched. She went along. She had to see it for herself. The cellar. They thumped the stone walls. They shifted the low pile of coal with a long shovel. Then the kitchen, cupboards, pantry. The dining room. She saw Gahagen lift the long tablecloth
and look under. It struck her as absurd, as if a man like Francis were a child, hiding from them. They searched the sitting room. Not there. They looked thoroughly into the clothes closet in the hall.
The woman of the house stood by, against walls. She followed along and stood contemptuously back and watched. She was arrogant and sulky and sure.
'There's nobody here,' she kept saying.
They went upstairs. Three bedrooms, more closets, a bath—a cubbyhole off the hall. No living thing. No dead thing, either. No person at all. They asked about the attic. There was a ladder to let down, and they let it down and a man went up. He came back sneezing.
'Nobody up there,' he said.
And that was all there was to the house.
Chief Blake looked sidewise at Tyl's white face. 'Try the garage.'
The garage was cold and vacant. Just a tin shack. Nobody, nothing in it.
The men poked about the little back yard, lifted the slanting cellar doors with sudden energy and let them down again, slowly. There was nobody in the house or on the grounds except the woman, who stood on the porch now to watch in contemptuous
silence.
'Well,' said Gahagen. He let his shoulders fall helplessly. He looked at Mathilda. They all did.
'But I know he was here!' she said.
'He's not here now, miss,' said one of the men.
'But he was. . . . Grandy!' she wailed for help.
'How long before you met Luther and sent him back to stand watch?' asked Gahagen sharply.
'Not long,' she faltered. 'A m-minute.'
They shook their heads. They shrugged.
She wanted to scream.
'If you're through, I'd be obliged if you'd leave,' the woman said, from the porch, her voice thin and dry with her contempt.
Tyl turned to her. 'What happened?' she cried. 'You know! . . . Mr, Gahagen, don't you see she must know? Why don't you make her tell?'
'Why, you—' The woman's eyes blazed. 'Call me a liar?'
'Hush, hush,' said Grandy. . . . 'Tyl, darling, its possible you were mistaken.'
She moistened her lips. 'No.'
The woman said, 'Now you seen what you seen, you better all get out of here.' She went indoors contemptuously.
Grandy looked at Gahagen. 'Perhaps Mathildas overwrought—' His voice was gentle and sad.
'I'm not!' cried Tyl, knowing that the squeal of desperation in her tone denied her words. 'I'm not.' She tried to make it sound firm and sane.
'Oh, my dear'—in pity.
'Francis was here!”
'Hush.'
Tyl thought,
'Candy? What candy was that, Miss Frazier—Mrs.—' Chief Blake would listen.
'Candy!' she cried. 'That's how I trailed him! He dropped pieces of candy, like a paper chase. . . . They were some of your Dutch chocolates, Grandy. That's how I found the house. Did you think I went looking in every cellar window? Come out here to the front.
I'll show you.' Her voice rang with new confidence.
But on the dull grass, just emerging from its winter brown, there was no glittering little heap of candies now. There was nothing there. Nothing on the grass anywhere.
They stood and looked at the ground. Gahagen scraped with his sole, made a mark.
Grandy said softly, 'Come home, Tyl.'
'No.'
'He isn't here, dear. You saw that.'
'But he was!' she wailed. 'Because I know he was! Grandy, you believe me, don't you?w
'There, there. Hush.'
'This is the little girl that was on the ship?' Chief Blake was asking delicately.
She knew Grandy was nodding. She knew glances flew, now, above her head.
'She's been under a strain,' Grandy said in his soothing way. His voice stroked and patted at the situation, stretching it here, pushing at lumps. He was going to cover over this indecency of the impossible. Everything would seem reasonable and able to be believed, after he had stroked the facts with his voice a while. 'Dreadful strain,' he was murmuring. 'First that, and then Althea's death. Her own sister couldn't have been closer. And now, you see, her husband has gone off without leaving any word. It's no wonder. Poor child.'
They were murmuring too. She could hear the hum of their consent and understanding.
'Its all been terribly confusing,' Grandy said. 'I can't even tell you all of it. But she really— It's no wonder if her senses begin to play her tricks. I think if you'd been through . . . stresses and the bewildering circumstances—' His voice murmured off, died in word-
less sympathy.
Tyl felt frozen and trapped.
Her senses. Here it was again. She did not know what she knew she knew. Here was Grandy saying so! What Francis had said! She did not know what had happened. What she thought she saw, couldn't be trusted. What she thought she remembered, no one else
remembered, and even inanimate things shifted and changed behind her back. Because her senses played her tricks? Did they, in fact? She didn't know, herself, at the moment. She wasn't sure any more.
Gahagen said cheerfully, 'No harm done.'
Blake said kindly, 'Just as well to make sure. Say, that's all right.'
'Never mind, little girl. We understand,' their voices said.
She stood still in utter terror. What it meant, her mind didn't know. But her body was sick with fear.
A taxicab pulled up abruptly. A girl got out. The girl was Jane. She came to them quickly. She was decisive and demanding.
'What is it?' said Jane. 'What are all of you doing here?'
The group shifted to let Jane in. There was a reluctance to say what they were doing here. No one volunteered.
'Ah, Jane, dear child,' said Grandy. . . . 'Gentlemen, this is my little secretary, from the house. . . . Look, dear, let us take Mathilda home in your cab.'
'But wait a minute—'
'I thought Francis was in there,' Mathilda said wearily. 'I thought I'd found him.'
The blond girl's eyes didn't flinch from hers. 'That's strange,' she said. 'Because this is where Press lives.'
'Press?' Grandy said it
'Yeah, the name here is Press, all right,' said Chief Blake.
'You mean Ernie Press?'
'Yeah.'
'Why, I am acquainted with him,' said Grandy. 'Of course. Do you mean to tell me—'
Jane said crisply, 'I'd like to know what this is about, please.'
There was a shocked little silence, the result of her rudeness. Then Gahagen began to tell her.
Mathilda felt strength seeping back into her spine. Jane was no baby doll or child, either. Jane had force. Jane made sense. She listened eagerly. It was a different kind of sense from Grandy's, but sense. Something clear.
Tyl said, 'Yes, and I did communicate, Jane. He did answer me.'
'Let me tell you something,' said Jane in her clear and surprisingly bold voice. 'Francis warned me that if anything ever happened to him, I should look up this man named Press.'
This was odd. Tyl felt the balance shift. She could tell that they were checked, turned back, made to think again.
'He works for the city,' went on Jane. 'The D.P.W.'
'D.P.W.!' cried Mathilda. 'Of course! Yes, yes! Francis got into his car. His car, Jane! It had D.P.W. on it. Ask the gardener.'
Grandy bent forward, as if he drew a line
