# The House in the Hedge/Chapter 12

pp. 149–162.

### XII
#### WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT

I don't think Aunt Myra was especially delighted to see Jocelyn Hare, for Jocelyn isn't her style. She's tall and big, with a lot of red-brown hair, and a complexion to dream of. I suppose she's what you'd call a man's woman, and never looks better than when in a riding habit. The men call her a “good sport” and a “dandy fellow,” and she's always had a heap of admirers. She's really very nice, but I suppose one is likely to be rather critical of a possible sister-in-law, and I did wish that Jocelyn's coloring wasn't quite so intense and that she wasn't quite so fond of admiration. Auntie was tickled to death to have Larry back. Next to the Major, Larry is the one best bet with auntie. And she likes Ned, too. In fact, auntie has a soft place in her heart for anything that's a man.
It was too late to call at the House in the Hedge that afternoon, even if I could have got away, but I did want Mr. Reed to know that I had returned when I had promised to, and so I sent Peter over just before dinner with a big bunch of yellow nasturtiums and a card on which I wrote, “The Sun announces her safe return.” When Peter came back he brought a note. The writing was Mr. Tully's, but there was a scrawly “R. H.” at the bottom in pencil. It said, “A Sun Worshiper sends thanks and homage and rejoices in the return of his deity.”
After the others had gone to bed that night Larry came over to my room for a chat, and I put out the light and we sat at the open window in our dressing-gowns and had a regular talkfest. Of course a good deal of it was Jocelyn.
“I don't mind telling you, sis, that she's got me hooked for fair,” he said finally, tossing his cigarette out of the window. I watched it fall and disappear in a little shower of sparks on the lawn.
“You like her, don't you?” he asked with a trace of anxiety when I didn't say anything.
“I suppose I do,” I answered, “only——”
“Only what?” he asked impatiently.
“Nothing, Larry dear. I guess I'm just a little bit jealous.”
“Jealous! Gee, that's like a girl! I don't see what you've got to be jealous about. I've got to marry sometime, sis; and besides, it won't make any difference with you and me, you silly!”
I knew better, but I didn't say so. Instead:
“Of course it won't,” I said. “We won't let it. Have you asked her yet, Larry?”
“N-no, not exactly. Of course she understands, and I think she—er—likes me in a way. What do What do you think?”
“I'm sure she does, dear. How could she help it? Only——”
“There you go again! Only what?”
“I think she likes a good many men, don't you?”
“I say, now, that's a bit catty, isn't it? I dare say she does like other fellows; she's fond of a good time and—er—all that; but she isn't a coquette, if that's what you're hinting.”
“No, I didn't mean that——”
“For that matter, every girl likes chaps to get soft on them; it's their darned vanity; I know.”
“Not every girl, Larry. There are plenty of them, I guess, who don't care for—that sort of thing.”
“Pshaw! Homely ones, then!”
“No, really, Larry. I'm not handsome like Jocelyn, but I'm not homely, am I?”
“Rather not, sis! But you—you're different somehow.” I laughed.
“I'm different in that way,” I answered, looking across through the starlit darkness at the yellow gleam beyond the hedge. “I don't want a lot of men to—to admire me. I—want just one man to, Larry.”
“Hello!” he laughed. “Look here, sis, what's up? You sound absolutely spoony! Has Ned—er——”
“Ned!” I said scornfully.
“Well, you needn't bite my head off. He isn't a bad sort, I can tell you that, Miss Insolence. I've known him four years now and I've never seen him do a thing that wasn't straight. You might do a heap worse than take Ned. Besides, old girl, he likes you terribly.”
“Ned is a dear boy,” I answered, “but I don't care for him and never shall. It—it's quite likely that I shall never marry anyone.” Larry laughed as he lighted another cigarette.
“Listen to that,” he scoffed. “Much you know about such things, sis. Why, you're only—eighteen, isn't it?”
“I'm almost nineteen,” I answered with dignity. “And I fancy I know just about as much of 'such things' as you do. You're only twenty yourself.”
“Well, as for that, a man sees more of life than a girl does,” he said complacently, “and learns more. But, look here, old girl, if it isn't Ned, who is it?”
“I haven't said it was anyone,” I answered uneasily. “It—it isn't anyone yet.”
“Oh, come now, 'fess up! You've got someone on your mind. I can tell.”
“Then you'll just have to find out. You evidently know a lot more about it than I do.”
“Hm. All right. Keep it to yourself. But I tell you right now that I've got to look him over first, miss. Girls are babes in arms when it comes to sizing fellows up. They think if his mustache curls nicely, and he looks good in evening clothes, and doesn't eat with his knife, that he's a little Mr. All Right.”
I giggled.
“Supposing he doesn't have any mustache, and you've never seen him in evening clothes, and don't know how he eats?”
“Well, you're just as likely to get fooled on something else,” he muttered. “You let me look him over first, old girl; it may save some trouble.”
“I will, Larry,” I answered gravely.
“Promise?”
“Hope to die.”
“That's all right then. Now, about Jocelyn, sis. Don't you think you might sort of—sort of—find out how I stand with her, eh? Of course I couldn't marry her until I was through law school, but I wouldn't want some other chap to come along and make a steal meanwhile.”
“I'll try,” I said.
“That's a good girl. Just sort of work around, you know, and find out. But don't let her suspect what you're up to, sis. I think a lot of that girl. I guess it would sort of break me up if—if she didn't care.”
“She will, Larry, she does; I'm sure she does.”
“Hm; well, you find out. I say, how's the Human Mystery coming on?” He waved his cigarette at the House in the Hedge. Any more discoveries? You haven't said much about him in your letters lately.”
“There isn't a great deal to tell,” I answered. “But the mystery is all up.” I told him what I could about Mr. Reed without betraying any confidences, and Larry was quite interested.
“You take me over some day, sis, and let me get a look at him. Poor devil! Maybe I might cheer him up a bit. Gee, but I'd hate to be in his fix. Look here!” He turned suddenly and stared at me hard. “That isn't the chap, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean 'the one man' you were spouting about. You haven't gone and fallen in love with a crip, have you?”
“The idea, Larry! You think of the funniest things!”
He settled back with a grunt of relief.
“Because that wouldn't do, you know. You're too good to be anybody's trained nurse, old girl. I wouldn't allow that for a minute. Of course, he may be all right after they operate, but you can't count on that, There was Bussigny, who got hurt in football. They did everything they could for him, but it wasn't any use——”
“Listen!” I cried softly.
“What?”
“Didn't you hear him?”
“Him? Who?”
“Fairfax. I'm sure I heard him mew. It sounded as though he were over there in the corner. Perhaps he's up in a tree, the poor dear, and can't get down. He's terribly nervous about trees.” I leaned out and called him softly: “Fairfax! Fairfax! Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”
We listened, but there was no answer. Larry yawned.
“I guess you imagined it. Anyhow, if he's up a tree he's perfectly safe until morning.”
“If he is up a tree,” I answered severely, “he's very unhappy and wants to get down. I shall look for him.”
“Good game!” said Larry. “I'm with you. We'll have a midnight cat hunt.”
So we sneaked downstairs in the dark, hand in hand, giggling like children. Larry bumped his knee against the consol in the hall and said “darn,” and that made me giggle so hard that I couldn't find the chain at the door for the longest time. When I did, I discovered that it hadn't been put up and that the door was unlatched, besides. I determined to speak to the servants about it in the morning.
Out on the porch we reefed up our dressing-gowns and went down the steps and across the lawn toward the corner. The grass was very wet and I lost one of my bedroom slippers and had to stand on one foot while Larry searched for it. It was much too dark to see things distinctly and Larry walked into a flower bed and said “Wow!” as the wet leaves slapped his bare ankles. When near we got over the tree with the platform I whispered to him.
“We mustn't make a noise,” I cautioned, “because Mr. Reed is in the downstairs room where the light is, and we might wake him He doesn't sleep well at night.”
“The light's gone out,” answered Larry. “How do you expect to call Fairfax if you don't make a noise?”
I hadn't thought of that, and while I was wondering whether it would be safe to call very, very quietly, Larry said, “Hush!” and seized my arm. “There's someone over there beyond the hedge,” he whispered. “Listen.” And sure enough we could hear voices speaking very low and then footsteps on the walk. We stood and strained our ears, but we couldn't hear what was being said.
“Who do you suppose it is?” I whispered in Larry's ear. “Burglars?”
He sniffed. “Shut up and listen,” he said.
The footsteps went on slowly along the walk, stopped, and went on again. And then, quite distinctly, a voice said “good-night,” and Larry swears that he heard a kiss. I didn't, though. A moment later a form appeared beyond our wall and passed us some forty feet away along the road. All we could be certain of was that it was a woman, and in a minute she was out of sight in the darkness and from the House in the Hedge came the sound of the front door closing gently. Larry chuckled.
“Let's follow,” he whispered, “and see where she goes to.”
“Larry Pryde!” I said. The idea! It—it wouldn't be fair. Besides,” I added, we couldn't in these things. My feet are sopping wet now.” We moved back toward the house. “I suppose it was someone calling on the cook,” I said.
“Not likely,” answered Larry. “I'm afraid your friend the political economist is a gay deceiver, sis.”
“Mr. Tully! The idea! I—I wish you could see him, Larry,” I laughed. “He's scared to death of a woman.”
“Well, that's all right, but it must have been he who was in the garden. The other chap can't move, you say. And there isn't anyone else, is there?”
“N-no, but Mr. Tully——” The idea was too ridiculous.
“Hello!” muttered Larry, and stopped.
“What is it?” I asked nervously. Larry was staring toward the house. After a moment he laughed and went on across the lawn.
“I guess I'm getting the jumps,” he said. “I could have sworn that I saw someone go up the steps.”
“Nonsense! You couldn't, Larry,” I said. “Why, you can't even see the steps from here.”
“Just the same,” he began. But at that moment I said, “Oh!” and he stopped and turned around.
“What's the row?” he asked.
“Nothing. That is, I—I turned my ankle. Please, let's hurry. I'm sure we'll both catch cold.”
“All right. Want any help?” But I was already running ahead of him toward the house. I was at the door before he had climbed the steps, and as he joined me, I gave an exclamation of dismay.
“Now I've done it” I giggled. “I pulled the door to, and it's latched!”
“Well, you are a wonder!” he said disgustedly. “Now what are we going to do?”
“Perhaps there's a window unlocked,” I suggested.
“Perhaps there isn't.” He tried those on the front of the house, but they were all fastened tightly. “I tell you what, sis. You just look the other way. I'm going to shed my dressing-gown and shin up to the porch roof and wake Ned.”
“Well, but please be careful and don't make any noise,” I begged.
“Oh, what's the difference? We might just as well ring the door bell, I suppose, only Aunt Myra would have a conniption. Here goes.” I heard him scrambling up the post and then crawling over the edge of the roof. “All right,” he called down. “Don't forget my gown.”
Two or three minutes later the door swung open. Larry had wrapped a quilt around him and come down.
“Ned thought I was a burglar,” he chuckled, “and wanted to lick me. Got my gown? All right. Good-night, old girl. See you in the morning. Gee, I bet I can sleep a few!”
After I was in bed, I lay awake a long time trying to reason things out. You see, I hadn't told Larry everything. I hadn't told him that I had found the front door unlatched when we went out and latched when we came back. And I hadn't told him that it wasn't a turned ankle that made me say “Oh!” out there on the lawn, but the sudden appearance of a dim light in one of the upstairs rooms. And that room was the one next to mine and the one occupied by Jocelyn Hare!
I thought and thought and thought, until my head was all muddled up, but couldn't make any sense of the mystery. Of course, it might all be only a set of coincidences, but things fitted together so well that I couldn't believe that. It was easy enough to suppose that the servants had forgotten to lock the front door, and that Larry had only imagined the person at the steps. But how explain the fact that the door had been locked when we returned? As for the dim light in Jocelyn's room, that amounted to nothing in itself, but taken with all the other happenings, it looked strange. And then, I wondered whether Larry had found the chain-bolt on the door when he came down after awakening Ned. If he had, he had made no mention of it. Perhaps he had not noticed it. It would certainly be difficult for me to explain how, by merely pulling the door shut, I had put the chain up inside!
I dozed off, finally, only to wake up with the recollection that we had forgotten to search for Fairfax!