He thought, at first, that Mrs. Ruleson had a dinner party, then he remembered Roberta’s reverence 275 for the Sabbath, and knew she would not permit any dancing and feasting so near its daybreaking. The Sabbath observance was also his own strong religious tenet, he was an ardent supporter of Doctor Agnew and his extremist views, and therefore this illumination in the Ruleson mansion, so near to the Sabbath-day, offended him.
“Roberta knows that I am particular about my good name, and that I am jealously careful of the honor of the Sabbath, and yet—yet! Look at my house! It is lit up as if for a carnival of witches!” Then he hurried the cab man, and his keys being in his hand, he applied the latch-key to the lock. It would not move it, and the noise in the house amazed him. He rang the bell violently, and no one answered it. He raged, and rang it again. There was plenty of movement in the house, and he could plainly hear a man’s voice, and a guffaw of laughter. He kept the bell ringing, and kicked the door with his foot.
Then a passionate voice asked what he wanted.
“I want to get in. This is my house.”
“It is not your house. It never was your house.”
“What number is this?”
“Twenty-three, Western Crescent. What Tomfool asks?”
“This is my house. Open the door, or I will call the police.” He did call the policeman on the beat, and the man said, “A new family moved in yesterday, Sir, and I was taken from Hillside Crescent, 276 only two days ago. I am on the night watch. I havena seen any o’ them yet, but there seems to be a big lot o’ them.”
“Do you know where the family went, who lived in twenty-three previous to this new tenant?”
“I heard they went abroad—left in a great hurry, as it were.”