She could also remember that his voice still sounded different from the voice that had been Bob Galvin’s. She could not forget that first telephone call — the night that Bob had arrived in New York.
It had been Betty’s intention to return home tonight. Bob had phoned to tell her not to come. Business was taking him from town, he had said. Hodgson had gone away.
Bob had spoken in a kindly manner when he referred to the faithful old servant. He had decided that Hodgson deserved a vacation. So he had sent him away on a trip South.
There was a new man to take Hodgson’s place while the old servant was gone. Briggs was the name of the substitute. But Briggs would also be away tonight. The house would be empty. So Bob had told Betty to wait until to-morrow.
Yet Betty had not obeyed. She felt that she had stayed long enough at Alice Wheeler’s. So she had packed a suitcase and had come to the old house late in the evening.
She had found the house solemn and gloomy; a huge pile of blackness. Nevertheless, she had entered — using a key which she always carried — and had gone upstairs to her room.
Despite the fact that this had been her home since childhood, the place had seemed forbidding. Betty had passed quickly through the darkness of the downstairs hall and had hurried up the stairs, anxious to gain the seclusion of her room.
Once there, she locked the door. Her qualms ended, she had gone to bed and had fallen asleep.
But now she had awakened — suddenly and unaccountably. She was positive that some unaccountable noise had caused the awakening.
BETTY felt apprehensive. She listened for a few minutes. Finally she extinguished the light and placed her head uneasily upon the pillow.