“Why, what else can it have been, cook?” asked Miss Deveen.
“Mum, I don’t pretend to say. I’ve knowed cats do queer things. We’ve two on ’em—the old cat and her kitten.”
“Did you ever know cats unlock a secretary and take out the papers, cook?” returned Miss Deveen.
“Well, no, mum. But, on the other hand, I never knowed thieves break into a house two nights running, and both times go away empty-handed.”
The argument was unanswerable. Unless the thieves had been disturbed on each night, how was it they had taken nothing?
Miss Deveen locked the door upon the room just as it was; and after breakfast sent George to the nearest police-station. Whilst he was gone I was alone in the dining-room, stooping down to hunt for a book in the lowest shelf of the book-case, when Janet Carey came in followed by Cattledon. I suppose the table-cover hid me from them, for Cattledon began to blow her up.
“One would think you were a troubled ghost, shaking and shivering in that way, first upstairs and then down! The police coming!—what if they are? They are not coming after you this time. There’s no money missing now.”
Janet burst into tears. “Oh, aunt, why do you speak so to me? It is as though you believe me guilty!”
“Don’t be a simpleton, Janet,” rebuked Cattledon, in softer tones. “If I did not know you were not, and could not, be guilty, should I have brought you here under Miss Deveen’s roof? What vexes me so much is to see you look as though you were guilty—with your white face, and your hysterics, and your trembling hands and lips. Get a little spirit into yourself, child: the police won’t harm you.”
Catching up the keys from the table, she went out again, leaving Janet sobbing. I stood forward. She started when she saw me, and tried to dry her eyes.