But Jim and Nora seemed happy. At the bank Jim had found waiting for him a private office with a new oak desk and a bronze plaque saying mr. haight v.-pres. Old customers dropped in to wish him luck and ask about Nora, not without a certain vulturous hope.
The little house was popular, too. The ladies of the Hill called and called, and Nora gave them tea and smiles. Sharp eyes probed corners, looking for dust and despair; but they were disappointed, and Nora giggled over their frustrated curiosity. Hermy was very proud of her married daughter.
So Mr. Queen decided he had been an imaginative fool and that Calamity House was buried beyond resurrection. He began to make plans to invent a crime in his novel, since life was so uncooperative. And, because he liked all the characters, he was very glad.
* * *
The twenty-ninth of October came and went, and with it the published figures of the Federal draft lottery in Washington. Jim and Carter Bradford drew high order-numbers; Mr. Queen was observed to drop in at the Hollis Hotel early on the morning of the thirtieth for a New York newspaper, upon reading which he was seen by Mark Doodle’s son Grover to shrug and toss the paper away.
The thirty-first was mad. People on the Hill answered mysterious doorbells all day. Menacing signs in colored chalk appeared on pavements. As evening came on, costumed gnomes began to flit about town, their faces painted and their arms flapping. Big sisters complained bitterly about the disappearance of various compacts and lipsticks, and many a gnome went to bed with a tingling bottom.
It was all gay and nostalgic, and Mr. Queen strolled about the neighborhood before dinner wishing he were young again so that he, too, might enjoy the wicked pleasures of Hallowe’en. On his way back to the Wright house, he noticed that the Haight place next door was lit up; and on impulse he went up the walk and rang his ex-doorbell.
But it was Pat, not Nora, who answered the door.
“Thought you’d run out on me,” said Pat. ”We never see you anymore.” Ellery fed his eyes for a moment. ”Now what?” demanded Pat, blushing. ”If you aren’t the wackiest man! Nora? It’s the famous author.”
“Come in!” called Nora from the living room. He found her struggling with an armful of books, trying to pick up more from disorderly stacks on the floor.
“Here, let me help you,” said Ellery.
“Oh, dear, no,” said Nora. ”You just watch us.” And Nora plodded up the stairs.
“Nora’s turning the second bedroom upstairs into a study for Jim,” explained Pat.
Pat was stacking books from the floor in her arms and Ellery was idly examining titles on the half-filled bookshelves when Nora came downstairs for more books.
“Where’s Jim, Nora?” asked Ellery.
“At the bank,” said Nora, stooping. ”An awfully important directors’ meeting¯” And just then a book slid off the top of the fresh pile in her arms, and another, and another, while Nora crouched there, horrified at the cascade. Half the books were on the floor again.
Pat said: “Oh, look, Nor! Letters!”
“Letters? Where? Of all-They are!”
One of the volumes which had fallen from Nora’s arms was oversized and fat, bound in tan cloth. From among the leaves some envelopes had tumbled.
Nora picked them up curiously. They were not sealed.
“Oh, three poky old envelopes,” said Pat. ”Let’s get going with these books, or we’ll never be through, Nora.”
But Nora frowned. ”There’s something inside each one, Pat. These are Jim’s books. I wonder if . . . ” She removed a single sheet of folded notepaper from one of the envelopes and spread it smooth, reading slowly to herself.
“Nora,” said Mr. Queen, “what’s the matter?”
Nora said faintly: “I don’t understand¯” and returned the sheet to its envelope. She took a similar sheet from the second envelope, read it, returned it to its envelope, the third, read it . . . And as she thrust it back into the third envelope, her cheeks were the color of wet sand. Pat and Ellery glanced at each other, puzzled.
“Boo!”
Nora whirled, shrieking. In the doorway crouched a man wearing a papier-mache mask; his fingers were curled before his fantastic face, opening and closing hungrily.
Nora’s eyes turned up until they were all whites. And then she crumpled, still clutching the three envelopes.
“Nora!” Jim ripped off the ludicrous Hallowe’en mask. ”Nora, I didn’t mean¯”
“Jim, you fool,” panted Pat, flinging herself to her knees by Nora’s still body. ”That’s a smart joke! Nora dear¯Nora!”
“Look out, Pat,” said Jim hoarsely; he seized Nora’s limp figure, scooped her up, half-ran up the stairs with her.
“It’s only a faint,” said Ellery as Pat dashed into the kitchen. ”She’ll be all right, Patty!”
Pat came stumbling back with a glass of water, which slopped over with each step.
“Here, wench.” Ellery took it from her and sped up the stairs with the glass, Pat treading on his heels.
They found Nora on her bed, in hysterics, while Jim chafed her hands and groaned self-abasements.
“Excuse me,” said Ellery. He shouldered Jim aside and put the glass to Nora’s blue lips. She tried to push his hand away. He slapped her, and she cried out; but she drank the water, choking. Then she sank back on the pillow, covering her face with her palms. ”Go away,” she sobbed.
“Nora, you all right now?” asked Pat anxiously.
“Yes. Please. Leave me alone. Please!”
“Go on, now,” said Jim. ”Leave us alone.”
Nora let her hands fall. Her face was swollen and puffed.
“You, too, Jim.”
Jim gaped at her. Pat steered him out. Ellery shut the bedroom door, frowning, and they went downstairs.
Jim made for the liquor cabinet, poured himself a stiff Scotch, and tossed it down with one desperate motion.
“You know how nervous Nora is,” said Pat disapprovingly. ”If you hadn’t had too much to drink tonight¯”
Jim was angry, sullen. ”Who’s tight? Don’t you go telling Nora I’ve been drinking! Understand?”
“Yes, Jim,” said Pat quietly. They waited. Pat kept going to the foot of the stairs and looking up. Jim shuffled around. Ellery whistled a noiseless tune.
Suddenly Nora appeared. ”Nora! Feeling better?” cried Pat.
“Worlds.” Nora came downstairs smiling. ”Please forgive me, Mr. Smith. It was just being scared all of a sudden.” Jim seized her in his arms. ”Oh, Nora¯”
“Forget it, dear,” laughed Nora. There was no sign of the three envelopes.
Chapter 8
Hallowe’en: The Scarlet Letters
When Jim and Nora came up on the porch after dinner, Nora was quite gay.
“Pat told me about that silly mask, Jim Haight,” said Hermy. ”Nora dearest, you’re sure you’re all right?”
“Of course, Mother. All this fuss over a scare!”
John F. was studying his son-in-law in a puzzled, secretive way. Jim seemed a little sheepish; he grinned vaguely.
“Where’s Carter, Pat?” demanded Hermy. ”Wasn’t he supposed to go with us to Town Hall tonight?”
“I’ve a headache, Muth. I phoned Cart to say I was going to bed. Night!” Pat went quickly into the house.
“Come along, Smith,” said John F. ”There’s a good speaker¯one of those war correspondents.”
“Thanks, Mr. Wright, but I’ve some work on my novel. Have a nice time!”