Judith turned away without further remark. The shrewdness of the woman astonished and perplexed her. Possibly old Elaine was right, and could, if she chose, induce Uncle Eliot to speak. Otherwise she would scarcely have dared to thus defy all interference with her autocratic whims. It was also possible that the paralytic old man was so completely under Elaine’s influence that he would readily follow her suggestions.
Jonathan Eliot had always been a hard, stubborn man, even to his sweet, beautiful daughter Molly. As Judith remembered him, sitting stolidly in his chair that morning when she had forced herself upon his presence, he appeared a living mummy, lost to all recognition of his surroundings. Yet, if Elaine could arouse him at will, and his mind retained its natural poise, there was really danger that he might turn the Darings out of their refuge. Judith would not employ the law; she dared not; but she resolved to consult Judge Ferguson.
Acting upon this determination she at once put on her hat and started for the lawyer’s office.
Phœbe, seeing Miss Halliday busy in the hen-house, left her window and turned to examine the mysterious connecting door between her room and that of the housekeeper. In broad daylight it did not appear especially interesting. It was a heavy, old-fashioned door with a big keyhole in the lock. But when Phœbe stooped down she discovered a thick cloth had been placed on the opposite side, which effectually prevented her from examining the next room. She pushed a long hat-pin through the hole but failed to dislodge the cloth.
Next, she turned her attention to the transom above the door. It had once been made to swing open, but was now tightly nailed shut. Over the glass had been nailed a thin board, which fully covered it; but it was nailed to Phœbe’s side of the transom and the girl at once decided that here might be a way to discover what those mysterious midnight sounds meant.
She went into Phil’s room and searched in his tool chest for some instrument with which to remove the board from the transom. Just then Cousin Judith passed out of the front gate on her way down town, and Phœbe was all alone in the upper part of the house—except, of course, gran’pa, who could not interfere.
She selected a chisel and a hammer, and returned to her room. She drew her stand before the door and by means of a chair mounted to its top. From this elevation her head almost reached the ceiling, and she was able to work comfortably. Quickly prying the nails from the board with the chisel, Phœbe removed it and found a pane of clear glass behind. It was dingy with dust; but by rubbing clear one corner she found herself looking into Elaine’s room.
It was much like her own room, yet even more poorly furnished. A big, broad oaken table stood in the center—a heavily constructed affair that seemed out of place in a bedchamber. It was bare of even a cloth. A small dresser stood at one side; a bed was in the opposite corner; two stiff chairs and a rag carpet completed the furniture of the room, which denoted extreme neatness and cleanliness. Really, there was nothing here pertaining to the mysterious or unusual.
But Phœbe was not satisfied. Those sliding sounds, the old woman’s ecstatic murmurings, must be explained. After a moment’s thought, the girl climbed down from the table and with the chisel managed to cut a square corner out of the thin board. Then she replaced it as it had been before, putting one nail loosely into the corner she had removed, so that while the board over the transom appeared to be intact and undisturbed she could easily slide the corner from its place and so obtain a “peephole.”
Observing her work critically from the floor she decided no one would ever notice that the board had been tampered with. So she returned the tools to Phil’s chest, rearranged her room, and with the complacent idea that she had accomplished a clever feat awaited the moment when she might make an important discovery.