At this moment Sheila, who was standing with Jean by the window, watching the automobiles constantly coming and going in front of the hotel, uttered a sharp cry. As Nathalie turned towards the child as if to still her, she heard her exclaim: “Oh, Jean, there’s the funny ’phone man! See, there he is! Don’t you remember, he’s the man who put the black trumpet on top of his head when he was in the ’phone-box?” Sheila always called the receiver a “black trumpet.”
Nathalie, aroused by the remark, mechanically allowed her glance to follow the direction of the child’s finger, as she pointed towards Mr. Keating, who was coming up the walk leading to the hotel. Unconsciously she bent forward, and with alert eyes watched the man, for she had again seen that peculiar motion of the head that had identified him as the man whom she had seen digging in the woods.
But Sheila’s exclamation had been overheard by the detective, who stepped quickly to the child’s side, crying: “What was that you said, little girl, about a funny ’phone man? Tell me about him.”
The man’s manner was so abrupt and commanding, that Sheila shrank back against Nathalie, and shyly hid her face. But the girl, startled also by Mr. Grenoble’s abruptness, with a quick glance at his face, cried, “Yes, Sheila, tell the gentleman what you saw.” Oh, yes, she remembered now that the two children had told her about this “funny ’phone man” whom they had seen at the hotel one day, but she had paid no attention to their prattle at the time.
Sheila, with a quick upward glance into the girl’s face, as if instantly divining the seriousness of the situation, answered, “Why, that’s the man I saw in the ’phone-box,” again pointing towards the Count, who had stopped to chat with a lady on the walk. “He put the black trumpet right up on top of his head, like this,”—she imitated the man’s motion,—“when he was talking through the ’phone.”
“Did you see him, too?” questioned the detective, turning towards Jean, his eyes suddenly illumined with an odd gleam. Jean nodded silently, and then, seeing that further confirmation was needed, in his odd, hesitating English, repeated the same words, accompanied by the same motion, as the little girl.
The detective nodded absently, still with that odd gleam in his eyes, and then walked hastily towards the door. As he reached it, as if suddenly remembering their former conversation, he turned towards the occupants of the room and, with slow deliberation, said, “Well, ladies, I think our problem is still unsolved; however, I will look into the matter and let you know the result in a few days.” With an abrupt nod he motioned to the manager, whose kindly face was strangely perturbed, as he quickly followed him from the room.
Nathalie and the children, a few mornings after the conference at the Sunset Hill House, were standing in front of the big white Roslinwood barn watching Teddy and Billy, two little black pigs that were the delight of Sheila’s heart. But they were tantalizing joys, for as soon as they caught sight of their admirer, as they peered out of the big barn-door, with their bright, bead-like eyes, they would scurry away as quickly as their round, shiny black bodies would permit, greatly to that young lady’s disappointment.
As Sheila ran to gather a roadside nosegay, and the boys hurried homeward, for Philip had promised to teach them some new military tactics in their soldier-drill at the Liberty Fort, Nathalie, beguiled by the calm stillness of the woods, sat down on the seat under the trees where the sign, “Hit the Trail,” showed that was where the path started that led through Lovers’ Lane.
The woods, aglow with the yellow and reds of the maples, were strangely still that beautiful September morning, save for the occasional chirp of some belated songster, or the loud caw of a crow as he signaled to his mates, who were making a noisy clatter in some leafy retreat of the greenwood.