# Tranquillity House/Chapter 6
### CHAPTER VI
#### THE NEXT DAY

THERE are simply no words in which to tell how I felt as I stood there by the door, carrying the papers from the chest in my wrapper, and Mr. Cookson coming up the stairs, bound straight for that room. I hadn’t a doubt that he had finished sooner than I had expected, and, not finding the chest, was hurrying right to the next place to hunt for it—Uncle's room! It was a terrible moment for me. I could not make up my mind what to do—and so did nothing but wait for the coming catastrophe! I hope I shall never again be called upon to live through such a dreadful five minutes.
But, singularly enough, the unexpected happened! Mr. Cookson came along the hall, still on tiptoe, and at the door where I stood he stopped! My heart absolutely stood still with fright. But in another instant he had passed on, stepping softly, and I heard him going up the stairs at the other end of the hall to the floor above, where his own room was.
The suspense had been so great that I was almost too weak to move. My knees fairly shook, but somehow I opened the door and got across the hall to the other room without being seen or heard. I had just closed our door when I heard the footsteps coming down again. Connie was pretty nearly as frightened as I had been, for she thought surely I was going to be caught. We listened breathlessly while the footsteps passed and went on downstairs again. I can only suppose that he had gone up to his room for some other tool to complete his work. I wanted awfully to go out again and see what he looked like when he discovered the hiding-place was empty. But we both decided it would hardly be safe, so I listened as best I could from behind our closed door.
It seemed a long time after that that we heard him coming up again, and we thought of course he’d go straight into Uncle's room. But he didn’t. He passed on and up the stairs at the far end and did not come down again, though it seemed to me I waited half the night, standing by our door. At last, when I felt certain he had gone for good, I peeped out and saw the usual faint light in the hall from the floor below. I even got up courage enough to go softly to the head of the stairs, and could see that all was as usual down on the landing, the window-seat appearing as if it had never been touched. Plainly, all was over for that night!
But even so, there was little sleep left for Connie and me during the hours that remained before morning. Too much had happened, and there was a great deal to decide. In the first place, we had to think what to do about the contents of the chest—all the letters and papers that were now lying in a heap at the foot of our bed. I suggested going back for the chest, now that it was evident Cook son was not coming down again. We could put the things back in it and lock it in our closet, or put it in the old secretary-desk there, as I had heard Tomkins once suggest. But Connie declared that either place was far from safe, for Cookson would probably make some excuse to get at them, even if she were still there in the room.
“The safest thing for you to do,” she declared, “is to put them in my suitcase and take them over home with you in the morning. As long as they’re in this house, he will get his hands on them somehow, I believe. But he’d never guess they’re over there!”
I couldn’t but agree with her, though I did suggest that we ought to let Tomkins know about them, if we could. He seemed to be the only other person that was in the secret, and of course it was impossible to tell Uncle yet, while he was in that state. She said she would keep watch for Tomkins, if he returned from the hospital sometime, as he probably would, and let him know about it at the first convenient moment. Then I suggested handing them over to Father for safe-keeping, but she reminded me that as Uncle seemed to want the whole thing kept a secret, that would hardly be fair. So I concluded I’d lock them up in my lowest bureau drawer, where all my own treasurers are and where even Mother never thinks of looking. When the right time came, we could return them to either Uncle or Tomkins.
After the hectic night we’d had, neither of us seemed able to settle down to sleep, and it was nearly five next morning when I dropped into a dose. Miss Carstair bustled in at seven-thirty and found Connie feverish and restless and wasn’t at all pleased with things. I breakfasted alone, shortly after, waited on by Beulah, who was still big-eyed and tearful and inclined to be talkative over poor Uncle's sudden collapse. But my mind was too full of what I had before me, to give her much attention.
Miss Carstair telephoned the hospital before I left, and we learned that Uncle’s condition was no worse, and that he’d passed a comparatively restful night. He was still partly paralyzed and could not speak. But the doctors were more hopeful of his recovery than they had been the day before. Miss Carstair said this was really better news than she had expected, so we were very much cheered.
Then came the task of getting the suitcase out of the house without questions being asked. I made the excuse of taking home some clothes of Connie’s, and put them in the case while Miss Carstair was having her breakfast. Without waiting for any more remarks, I left at once, telling Connie I’d be back in the afternoon, just as soon as school was over. Then I went out to the stairs.
As luck would have it, who should be coming up the stairs from his breakfast at that very moment, but old Cookson himself. I must have turned fairly green as he came along, for, of all the people I didn’t want to see, he was the one most unwelcome. I thought he looked haggard and as though he’d passed a sleepless night, and he seemed to eye me with a rather questioning gaze as we passed and nodded good morning. If he could have but guessed what I was carrying in that harmless-looking suitcase, I can’t imagine what he would have done or said. To me, it seemed fairly to shriek at him for notice, of course. But he passed on without a word, and with a great sigh of relief I escaped from the house and hustled across the park.
At home, another trying session awaited me. I had thought I’d rush those papers and things into my bureau drawer at once and have them under lock and key. But Mother followed me right up to my room and wanted to hear all about everything, as I’d had little chance to give her details about Uncle. Then she asked if I’d brought Connie's clothes over for the laundry, and started to open the suitcase herself.
“Oh, wait a moment!” I cried distractedly. “They’re all mixed up with some things of mine. I’ll get them out.” She answered that I was late for school already and had better let her attend to it. And, actually, she was just opening the bag when a loud yell from Baby Ralph, who had tumbled and bumped his head, sent her hurrying downstairs. It was most providential. I thankfully removed the papers and locked them up in my drawer and hurried off to school, with my head in such a whirl as it had never before been in.
As if that weren’t enough excitement for one twenty-four-hour interval, I had another amazing adventure that same afternoon. As the weather in the morning had been mild and free from snow or ice, I had ridden to school on my bicycle. Before closing-time that afternoon, a light snow began to fall; but I got home before it was very bad, and, in fact, it stopped shortly after I reached the house. Finding all as usual at home, I decided to go right over to Tranquillity, for I could hardly wait to see if there were any new developments.
Connie and I had a short cut between the two houses that we sometimes used when we were in a great hurry. It led from our back garden over the fence, through a thick mass of shrubbery in the park, and along the river edge to the kitchen door of Tranquillity. About half-way along the park, on a little Knoll above the river, there was a tiny old cemetery plot that had long ago been used by Uncle’s ancestors. It was fenced in by a low box hedge, and there were just a few stones in it, flat slabs lying on the ground, or only slightly raised from it. There was a quaint old stone bench under a great tree in the middle, and Uncle was very fond of sitting there in the summer and watching the river.
On coming out of the thick rhododendron shrubbery—most of the bushes were so tall they were above my head—what was my astonishment to see Mr. Cookson just stepping over the low hedge of box around the plot and coming in my direction, with a big bundle, done up in paper, under his arm. That he was dumfounded at seeing me was evident. He hesitated, stopped short, and then apparently decided to behave as if nothing unusual were happening, and came along with his head bent and his eyes on the ground. I hardly knew how to act—whether to pretend I didn’t notice him or to pass the time of day. But as it was foolish to act as if he weren’t there when he had to brush right by me, I simply nodded to him when he came up. He returned the nod with such a savage expression that I was glad to hurry away from him as fast as I could. But what he was doing off on that little path, at that time of day, I couldn’t fathom.
If this was puzzling, however, something else that I noticed a moment later was more than that—it was baffling! I had supposed, of course, that he had come across the grounds from Tranquillity, and I became interested in tracing back his footprints in the light “tracking-snow,” as the hunters call it. I had followed them as far as the little cemetery, when something queer seemed to happen to them. Instead of skirting along the outer edge of the box hedge, as would have been natural, he seemed to have stepped from inside the plot. And all round the old stone seat the snow was very much trampled; I couldn’t guess why, unless he had stopped there and rested, perhaps. The bundle he was carrying had seemed heavy, and the bench itself looked as if he might have rested it there, as the snow was disturbed.
I didn’t have time to stop and make any further investigations, so I walked on. But I hadn’t gone more than five feet when I suddenly realized something with an actual shock. There were no footprints from the plot to the house!
First I stood stock-still in surprise. Then I took to my heels and ran all the way to the house, watching at every step to see whether any footprints would appear. But they did not, and I burst into Connie’s room, breathless with running. Fortunately, Miss Carstair was not around at the moment.
“Have you seen or heard Mr. Cookson lately?” I panted as I kissed Connie.
She looked at me curiously. “Naturally, I haven’t seen him,” she replied, “but I happen to have heard him, just a few minutes ago. He passed the door just as Miss Carstair was going to her room and asked her to mail a letter for him in the village if she was going down. Then he went on downstairs. I thought he went into the library—from the sound.”
“A few minutes ago! a few minutes ago!” I stuttered, sinking into a chair and staring at her, wild-eyed.
“Whatever is the matter with you?” she demanded; and as soon as I could get myself together, I explained to her what had happened.
“I thought the only explanation could be that he had been sitting there on that stone since before the snow began, though it certainly would have been a long, cold wait,” I ended. “But if what you say is so, he must either have used an aëroplane or taken a flying leap from this house to the spot. How do you explain it?” I demanded, with a rather poor attempt at humor.
But Connie was too dumfounded to explain anything, and we simply sat and stared foolishly at each other!