Drawing her darning basket toward her she began mending some of the family stockings, and from her seat by the window listened to the sounds made by the old housekeeper, as she moved about in the next room.
Suddenly there was a sharp cry, followed by a fall. Phœbe was startled for a moment. Then she realized it was not Elaine who had fallen, but that the trap door in the floor had been carelessly dropped into place. Her heart beat a little faster then, but she kept her seat and even attempted to thread a needle. Her alert ears heard Elaine run to the mantel. There was a long pause; then a wailing cry of distress.
Phœbe smiled grimly and went on with her work. The discovery had come a little sooner than she had expected. What curious whim could have urged Elaine to examine the treasure now, in the middle of the afternoon? She had never done this before, reflected Phœbe.
In the adjoining room a dead silence prevailed. “She’s counting,” mused the girl. “She’s trying to find out how much is gone, and who took it. Perhaps she’ll lay it to ghosts. Anyhow, she won’t have the slightest idea that I know her secret.”
Then something happened that gave her a shock. Without warning the handle of the connecting door turned and the next moment Elaine stood on the threshold confronting her.
The woman’s face was dark and contorted with rage. She clasped and unclasped her talon-like fingers spasmodically, as if longing to take the girl by the throat and strangle her then and there.
Phœbe glanced at her, frowned, and calmly bit off her thread of darning cotton.