Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 156, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 June 1920 — The House of Whispers [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The House of Whispers

By WILLIAM JOHNSTON

Co»yrtrat *y Little. Brown a Co.

CHAPTER I.—Continued. ‘ Although I tried to pretend an inin their conversation and absent ly answered their questions about my family, my thoughts kept constantly recurring to the strange trouble of the girl across the hall, her plight interesting me far more than the purpose for which my great-uncle had •ent for me. I had expected that he would broach that subject himself, but the coffee arrived and still the conversation had been limited to stilted family chat. As we returned to the living room, I decided to give him a lead: “My mother wrote me—* I began. “Oh, yea,” said old Rufus, looking relieved. - “Yes, yes. of course," echoed Mrs. Oarton I waited for or the other of them to proceed but for some reason they both seemed at a loss for words. “You tell him, Rufus," said my great-aunt at last His tired old eyes studied my countenance carefully, searcbingly, as if lie was trying to read my soul. “What is it?" I asked impatiently. “It Is this," said old Rufus, speaking slowly and with effort as 4f he hated to disclose his intentions. -Three days from now—that will be Sunday morning—my wife and I are going to Maine to be gone for some months. We have leased a furnished cottage there and shall take our servants and our motor with us. We do not like to leave this apartment wholly untenanted, and It occurred to Mrs. Gaston that you might occupy it in •ur absence.” I am afraid my countenance at that moment must have betrayed my consternation. My great expectations vanished, blew up. disappeared. They did not want me for an heir but for a caretaker. What a fool I had been to Imagine for one moment that this penurious old couple had contemplated doing anything for me. They wanted me to do something for them. A sarcastic refusal of their proffer trembled on my lips but was stayed by my speaking: “It will enable you to save your room rent. Mr. Gaston will pay the rent in advance before we go. There will be no one here to serve your meals so you will have to get them elsewhere, but I will arrange with my laundress to come in once a day to make up your room, and you'll be under no expense." Her suggestion that I would have no room rent to pay decided me. Two other considerations also Influenced me. It might be a plan on the part of the old people to try me out and oee If I was trustworthy, and then, dwelling under the same roof with Barbara Bradford, I might have opportunities of seeing her again, and -who knows, perhaps of assisting her out of her mysterious plight “I shall be very glad Indeed to come," I found myself saying. “It nice of you both to think of me."

• "Well consider the matter settled," (announced old Rufus. “We are unnesed to guests here, so you had better ifiemt at ten on Sunday, an hour after Urn have started.” "Rufus,’" ’ suggested my great-aunt apprehensively, “had you not better give him the combination of the wall safe? My jewels are there, and in case there should be a fire—" "Why not take them with yoaT I 'The* are a nuisance when you are MMeVr"” she objected.

“A safe deposit box would be better. then.” “No,” said old Rufus shortly. “Both my safe deposit boxes are full and there is no use hiring another one. The jewels will be all right where they are. In case of fire you can remove them to a place of safety. This is the combination —see that you remember it —six right, four left, two right, eight left, 6,428.” * “I'll remember lt,' r I replied, mentally repeating it over and over again. “And now, my dear,” said the old gentleman, “if you will get the keys from my desk, we can permit our nephew to depart.” My great-aunt left the room to do his mission. The minute she was safely out of hearing old Rufus’ whole manner underwent a startling change. Into his deep-set gray eyes came a look of terror. His face became ashen, and the withered hand with which he clutched my arm was trembling violently. "Listen, boy,” he hissed, leaning forward that he might speak into my ear and looking about apprehensively as if he feared to be overheard. “Listen — there’s something ‘ wrong here." My first thought was that he had been suddenly stricken with senile dementia, but recalling his perfectly rational conduct throughout the rest of the evening, I dismissed the theory as absolutely untenable. His fear, whatever caused it, certainly seemed very real. “Something wrong?” I repeated, wonderingly. “What do you mean? What is it?” He clutched my arm in a still tighter grasp, and his voice, suppressed to a terrified whisper, became more insistent. “I don’t know,” he breathed. “I wish I did.” He glanced timorously about and went on. “There’s something wrong! I sense It. I feel it. I cannot find out what It Is. All kinds of queer things happen. lam always hearing voices—whispers, whispers, whispers! That is why we are going away. My wife thinks It is on account of my health. I don’t want her to know. Please, please, Spalding, find out what it is before we return. I have no son. There is no one else but you to do It. Solve the mystery for me. Find out about the whispers. Promise me you will. Ssh—not a word to her! Not a word!" He withdrew his hdld on my'arm and laid his finger on his lips as he heard his wife returning. With a visible effort he straightened up, and when she entered the room he apparently had entirely recovered his selfpossession and was his natural self again, a dignified, world-weary old mam “I can’t find your Rufus." said my great-aunt, “you had better get them yourself.” The minute he left the room she hastened to my side and she, too, began to whisper mysterious warnings, exhibiting a terror hardly less than her aged husband’s. “This is a house of mystery," she announced, “I’m always hearing strange sounds here. He doesn’t know" —with a nod in the direction old Rufus had gone, “and I do not want him to. That is the reason lam taking him away. Solve the mystery of it before we return. Pll pay you. I’ll make it well worth your while.” Her husband's shuffling in the passage warned her of his return, and she quickly dropped my arm. As he entered she was telling me in quite normal tones to be sure to remember her to my mother the next time I wrote. Old Rufus handed me the keys, explaining which was which. “And remember,” said my greatuncle, as he escorted me to the door, “you are not to come until Sunday morning at ten, after we have gone. And remember the combination of the safe —Remember 1” The insistent way in which he repeated the word conveyed to me forcefully that what he most wanted me to remember was the strange warning he had given me, and as I clasped his hand in parting I tried by the firmness “of my let him know that I understood. “Remember," repeated my aunt. too. as she stood there in the door a little behind him. at the same time giving me a significant look. Yet. puzzling as had been the conduct of both of them, my memories that night were not of their warning nor of the combination of the safe nor of the hour at which I was to arrive. They were of the most beautiful eyes I ever had seen and of the haunting terror written in them. CHAPTER 11. Sunday morning came at last It was hardly eight when I set out for my new quarters, taking with me only one small handbag and leaving my two trunks for the expressman. In the time intervening since my visit to the Gaston home I had done but little except speculate on the mysterious warnings that both of the old people had surreptitiously given me, It seemed so uftbriy improbable and im-

possible that there could be any inexplicable mystery about a home In a modern, up-to-date apartment house in the center of a civilized city. And if there was a mystery, why did they stay there? Why didn’t they move? Yet, as I pondered over the matter, I was convinced that both my greatuncle and his wife were rational. I dismissed without hesitation the theory that there could have been any supernatural happenings to affright them. It was probable, I decided, that their fears might have been played on ,by some conspiracy on the part of their servants to induce them to spend a season in Maine. Perhaps there was some specter from my greatuncle’s past now rising to confront him that he was seeking to hide from his wife. It might be thqt'she knew of It or had received threats and was trying to conceal the matter from him.. There are few men of millions without some secret shameful pages in their lives. As I remembered that old Rufus Gaston's dollars had been made in South America, all that I had heard and read of plots and counterplots below the equator came buzzing into my brain. If such should be the case, that some betrayed conspirator now was seeking vengeance, more than ever I welcomed the unexpected chance that had thrown this opportunity for adventure In my prosaic path. Yet maybe their warnings were justified. There was Barbara Bradford, who lived under the same roof, on the very floor with them. She seemed to be caught in the web of some plot, to be living in fear of some mysterious peril. Was she, I wondered, In any way connected with the mystery that overhung the Gaston home? Did my great uncle and his wife know her? Her mission to the park had been to get some papers. Could they have been in any way involved with what was menacing my great-uncle’s peace of mind? How I regretted now that I had not asked the Gastons if they knew Miss Bradford. How I welcomed the opportunity I was now to have of living in the same apartment house with her, close at hand if ever I could serve her. I was glad now that circumstances had prevented my going to France with Birge and Roller. As I arrived at my great-uncle’s corner, I saw Miss Bradford approaching from the opposite direction. She was in riding togs. I timed my steps to reach the corner as she did. Would she, I wondered, consider our strange meeting a few evenings before sufficient introduction to justify her speaking to me. “Good morning, Mr. Nelson,” she greeted ine pleasantly. “Making an early call, aren’t you?” “I’m coming here to live for a while,” I answered, falling into step with her. “The Gastons are going to Maine and have asked me to occupy their apartment while they are away.” As we chatted we had entered the building, and as before I went into the elevator with her. As I left her at the door, wondering if she had had any more encounters in the park, yet hardly daring to ask, she turned to me, half apologetically, and said: “Mr. Nelson, since you’ve come to live here in the house, I must be careful. We have' not been introduced, and my people will think it strange if they see me speaking to you. You understand, don’t you? You must not speak to me ,or recognize me until —” “Until what?” I cried eagerly. “Until we can manage to be properly introduced.” “Yet,” I insisted, “you promised to let me help you." “I have not forgotten. Pm grateful, really I am. Perhaps I may call on your services. I may have to. If I do, HI find some way of letting yon know.” “Some secret way,” I suggested, half sarcastically. “Perhaps,” she laughingly nodded as we separated. As I took out the keys my greatuncle had given me and entered the apartment, I looked about me with a wholly new Interest. That little word “mine" makes a vast difference in the way we regard things. Now that these luxurious quarters were to be my home, temporarily at least, I looked about curiously. Certainly at first glance there was nothing mysterious in the atmosphere. Setting my bag down I began an Immediate inspection of the rooms. The Gaston apartment, I discovered, occupied one whole side of the sixth floor of a twelve-story building. Around the elevator shaft that came up through the center was a small square court with four doors, two opening into the Bradford apartment opposite and two Into the one I was occupying. The east apartments were known as Six A and the west as Six B. The door by which I had entered led into a lofty foyer, connecting by sliding doors with a great dining room, and beyond it, in the front of the house, with a reception or living room that ran the entire width of the apartment Back of the elevator, with a separate door for the servants’ use, were the kitchen, the butler’s pantry, a servant’s sitting

room and two bedrooms. From the foyer a long hall ran almost the length of the building. On the servants’ side It was blank as to doors, save for the passage from the pantry to the dining room, but- on the other side several doors opened Into spacious sleeping rooms, each with its own bath. As I was wondering which of the bedrooms my great-aunt had expected me occupy, I noticed still another door which I found led Into a small bedroom on the servants’ side of the house but unconnected with their quarters. While it was less elaborately furnished than the rooms opposite, it was comfortable'enough, and it had a spacious bathroom adjoining. The fact that the bed here had been left turned down was evidence enough that it was Intended for my occupancy. Returning to the foyer to get my bag and unpack it, I was startled by the ringing of the front doorbell. I sprang eagerly to answer it It must be Miss Bradford. Probably she had reconsidered and had decided to take me into her confidence. Who else could it be? There was no one else who knew I was in the apartment. It must be Miss Bradford! With anxexclamatlon of welcome on my lips I flung open the door. A man stood there —an utter stranger. - In my disappointment I was almost closing the door in his face, but as if anticipating my thought he quickly advanced one foot over the sill and kept It there. “Well,” I demanded, almost savagely, “what do you want?” “Oh, it is you, is it?” he replied, eyeing me with what seemed to me a most insolent stare. “What do you mean?” I asked, bewildered. Certainly I never had seen this person before. He was short and stocky, with sparse nondescript hair and weak, shifty blue eyes. His face

had an unhealthy pallor, as if he had lived long away from the sunlight, and was sunken in as if from undernourishment, yet the breadth of his shoulders and his huge rough hands seemed to indicate physical strength beyond the ordinary. “You’re Mr., Spalding Nelson, aren’t you?” “That’s my name,” I answered shortly. “Mr. Gaston’s —” He paused, as if trying to recall the relationship. “Mr. Gaston’s great-nephew.” “I guess you are him, all right,” he said, in a manner of evident relief. “I’m Mr. Wick, the superintendent of the house.” ■ “Of course,” I answered, feeling rather foolish at my own vexation. “Mr. Gaston told me you were coming in this morning,” he hastened to explain. “He gave me a description of you," Mr. Wick went on, unperturbed, “and the boys in the hall were pretty sure it was you that came in, but—•" “But what?” “I couldn’t understand it You didn’t announce yourself. It seemed funny, your coming in with the young lady from next door.” “It just happened that way,” I explained, now understanding his mystification. “I met her as I was coming in.” , “Twice,” he said, rather insolently. “I can’t see that it is any of your business,” I retorted angrily, “if it happened a dozen times.” His manner at once became apologetic, and be hastened to offer obsequious explanations. “Mr. Gaston asked me to take particular notice. The other evening when you were coming to dinner he told me to tell the hall boys to look at you closely so that they could identify you as the right party when you came in today. That was how it happened. You see, sir, in a house of this sort we have to be careful. It doesn’t do to let strangers prowl about without finding out who they are and what they are doing.”

The hero’s troubles begin.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

"Something Wrong Here—in This House—I Tell You!”

“You Must Not Speak to Me or Recognize Me Until—"