“I never thought that Professor Waite would peep or listen,” Cynthia whispered.
“He would not,” I replied aloud. “He must be at work there hanging pictures or doing something else of the sort.”
“Then he would make more noise,” Cynthia suggested, as the hat continued its stealthy movements.
“It may be some one else who has put on the Professor’s hat as a disguise,” Milly gasped.
“That was the reason I covered up the money,” Adelaide replied, in a low voice. “You had better put it away, Tib.”
I hastily bundled my money into the safe and locked the door, and we sat for some moments quietly watching the transom, but the spectre did not come again. Winnie entered a few moments later and seemed greatly interested by our accounts of the incident.
“Do you suppose that it could have been one of that band of Italian bravos who has climbed up on the fire-escape and who intends to murder us?” she asked with an assumption of terror.
“Hush,” I whispered, pulling her dress, and pointing to Milly whose eyes were staring with fright.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Winnie; “can’t you tell when I’m joking? It was Professor Waite. Of course it was Professor Waite. He has been in love with Adelaide ever since she complimented him on his appearance at their first meeting. He is dying for a glimpse at her fair face, and as she won’t join his painting class he relieves his yearning heart by gazing over the transom.”
There was more joking, and Milly’s fears were as quickly quieted as they had been raised. Professor Waite had undoubtedly been at work in the studio, I insisted, and I knocked on the door and called his name.