“Big Hen was right when he warned me,” she repeated, eyeing suspiciously the several passengers in the Fifth Avenue bus.
They were mostly early shoppers, however, or gentlemen riding to their offices. She had noticed the number of the street nearest her uncle’s house, and so got out at the right corner.
The change in this part of the town since she had walked away from it soon after seven, amazed her. She almost became confused and started in the wrong direction. The roar of traffic, the rattle of riveters at work on several new buildings in the neighborhood, the hoarse honking of automobiles, the shrill whistles of the traffic policemen at the corners, and the various other sounds seemed to make another place of the old-fashioned Madison Avenue block.
“My goodness! To live in such confusion, and yet have money enough to be able to enjoy a home out of town,” thought Helen. “How foolish of Uncle Starkweather.”
She made no mistake in the house this time. There was Gregson—now spick and span in his maroon livery—haughtily mounting guard over the open doorway while a belated scrubwoman was cleaning the steps and areaway.
Helen tripped up the steps with a smile for Gregson; but that wooden-faced subject of King George had no joint in his neck. He could merely raise a finger in salute.
“Is the family up, sir?” she asked, politely.
“In Mr. Starkweather’s den, Miss,” said the footman, being unable to leave his post at the moment. Mr. Lawdor was not in sight and Helen set out to find the room in question, wondering if the family had already breakfasted. The clock in the hall chimed the quarter to ten as she passed it.
The great rooms on this floor were open now; but empty. She suddenly heard voices. She found a cross passage that she had not noticed before, and entered it, the voices growing louder.
She came to a door before which hung heavy curtains; but these curtains did not deaden the sound entirely. Indeed, as Helen hesitated, with her hand stretched out to seize the portière, she heard something that halted her.