The Argosy, September 1915 — page 22: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

236 Mr. Witherbee pondered the trunks again. “ve got a theory,” he said pres- ently. “* Shoot.” Miss Chalmers winced, divining that this was slang. “ Why, it’s like this,” said Mr. With- erbee, putting down his lantern and diagramming his remarks with his cane, “ There’s a prowler about these islands—you know that, of course. “Well, Miss Chalmers sends her trunks on in advance. Some _ boat _ brings ’em down, probably after we’re all in bed. “This chap cruises around and spots the trunks. Then he comes ashore. He finds the house dark. He makes up his mind that everybody has gone away and that the trunks are waiting to be taken aboard the morn- ing boat. So he makes a try at the house. Burglar-alarm goes off—he gets scared—runs like the Old Harry —hops into his boat—au _ revoir. How’s that?” “By Jove, it’s wonderful!” said the tall man. ‘“ By the way, old man, are your ankles cold? Mine are.” ‘“ Accepting your theory, then,” re- marked the man with the pistol, “ who- ever rang the burglar-alarm has al- ready escaped, so we can all go to bed.” “Clever as the deuce! ”’ said the tall man. *“T don’t suppose there is much more use in looking,” admitted Mr. Wither- bee reluctantly. (His ankles were not cold.) “You don’t guess he could have hid in the boat-house, do you?” Miss Chalmers shivered. “It’s locked,” said the armed one. “He wouldn’t bother with the boat- house. You can bet he’s not on the island now. What ’ll we do with the trunks?” “Leave ’em until morning. It’s not going to rain,’ Mr. Witherbee ob- served. “ But, by jingo! I’d like to get that fellow!” THE ARGOSY. “So would I. But what’s the use now? Listen! The folks are calling. I guess we'd better go back and tell them it’s all over.” “All right,” sighed Mr. Witherbee, picking up his lantern. The trio in pajamas turned back to- ward the path. Miss Chalmers put her head forward cautiousfy for another glance. She was just in time to see the figure of the tall man disappear, his pajamas flapping disconsolately about his ankles, his lantern swinging list- lessly. “They’re worse than the boatman,” she commented. Not until the last sign of a light had disappeared, and only when she could no longer hear sounds from the direc- tion of the house, did Miss Chalmers venture from her seclusion. She went back to the dock and sat down on the string-piece. “This is a fine state of affairs,’ she reflected. ‘‘ Now I’ve got to stay. I never thought about the trunks. “ But how will I ever explain? I'll die before I admit I set off that bur- glar-alarm. J’ll not only die, but I'll lie. I'll die lying. Some time to-mor- ses morning I’ve got to announce my- self. “But how? I’m an idiot —but I won't admit that either. “Why did I run? That’s what I should like to know—why? I’ve been behaving like a child.” Presently she shuddered, but it was not because there was a chill in the air. She was thinking of pajamas. “J shall never wear them again,” she murmured. ‘‘ Thank Heaven, I brought—” At this point her thoughts very naturally drifted to a consideration of some place to sleep. She had no liking for camping out under the stars if she could help it. She wanted a roof over her head. Sneaking back to the open window in the Witherbee House was out of the question; anyhow, it was_ probably shut and fastened by this time. She COPMICLOOKS (E@)