But she advanced a little farther, somewhat warily, and sniffing the air as she did so. Certainly it was not a skunk that had been cornered, and it was not likely that the creature was ferocious.
Having finally arrived within six or eight feet of the end of the pile, the maid stooped cautiously and peered into the little tunnel. A moment later, she gave a piercing scream, picked up her skirts, and fled to the house.
Again and again she raised her voice as she ran, but fortunately her vocal efforts did not again touch the high-water mark of that first cry, which, as it proved, had awakened Mrs. Simpson.
The girl scuttled through the lower part of the house, and was flying up the stairs, when her mistress appeared at the top of the first flight.
“What in the world is the matter, Mary?” Mrs. Simpson demanded.
As she put the question, she clutched at her heart, for her thoughts had instinctively gone to her missing husband, and she imagined that the maid must have had some news of Simpson, or, perhaps, had even found his body on the front doorstep.
Naturally, therefore, the girl’s information was not reassuring.
“Oh, Mrs. Simpson!” she cried. “There’s been a murder as sure as you live! There’s a dead man under that pile of lumber in the back yard! I saw his feet!”
Mrs. Simpson’s face was as white as her nightdress.