“Yes!” he said excitedly. He pointed to the tiara of Elizabeth the Second, sloped awry upon her head. “Lock up and then no robbers can get. I show you.”
“Good God!” snorted Humphrey.
As they went in to dinner, a wind that had been soughing through the leaves swelled in gusto; the front door swung open with a bang and a sharp breath of impending winter swept into the hall.
“Autumn’s over,” Edith mourned. “Shut the door, will you, Westgate?”
She shivered slightly as she sat down at the table, and sent upstairs for a cape. When the butler had left the dining room she took off the tiara and handed it to Westgate.
“Take this now—it makes me uncomfortable. And after dinner do what I said.”
“What’s that?” demanded Humphrey.
“He’s going to keep it for me.”
“Why not me?”
“I guess she thinks it’s safer with someone in the family,” said Westgate dryly.
“See here—I’m much closer to being in the family than you are.”
Pan-e-troon, applying himself to the legerdemain of many forks, did not speak but watched their faces in turn. Stimulated by the unusual situation in which he found himself, he was doing much thinking. Here was a most valuable headdress. Here was a young man who did not have a dollar when he reached Chicago. Secondly, here was Miss Cary’s fiance, and he knew from the magazines he read that the least likely suspect was only too often the one most capable of villainy. And chiefly, here was the city of Chicago swarming with gangsters and criminals—and in it, defenseless against their wiles, was the goddess, Miss Cary.
She was a goddess. He had lit his small savage flame at her altar, and the minutes fanned it until Edith could feel its white heat cut through the candlelight. She loved to be loved, and she liked it that this odd little package from another zone should respond to her. She would have gone further to make him enjoy himself, save for the general unpleasantness of her own situation. That Westgate should come back just when she had yielded every point, when everything had been settled in a way to please her family!
She was glad when the dinner was over. She walked out on the front terrace for a moment.
“Come out here, Mr. Troon. There’s a north wind and maybe you can feel your home in it.”
“North wind say many thing.”
“What does this one say?”
“Me, I don’t know big say. My uncle he know. He know where fish, where hunt, where bad danger. Always he tell from north wind.”
“Will you be glad to get home?”
He shook his head doubtfully and beamed as he always did when he spoke of adverse circumstances.
“Born poor race, poor people; work hard always.”
It was growing colder. They went into the library for coffee.
Pan-e-troon picked up the drum again and began singing low in time to the strum of his fingers:
“Ben pay—en pay
Pane ina Kohna—
Ben pay—en pay
Pane ina Kohna——”
“What’s he groaning about?” said Humphrey.
“It’s some tribal song.”
Pan-e-troon explained:
“This song is north wind when it mean danger. This here part about danger.”
Westgate came downstairs in his tail coat, and took a chair very carefully indeed.
“I’m worth twenty thousand dollars as I sit,” he said. “Do I look it?”
“I sing song about danger,” announced Pan-e-troon.
“Sing it to yourself!” said Humphrey impatiently.
“No; go on—I like it,” said Edith. Pan-e-troon continued soulfully:
“Em sto—poh bay
Em sto—poh bay
Pane ina Kohna—”
“Pain in a corner is right!” exclaimed Humphrey. Pan-e-troon now launched into a gayer number as if to compete with the louder winds outside:
“Bik-bik-bik-bik
Ata-woona-woa
Bik-bik-bik-bik
Ooh—ooh—OOH!”
“Magic song,” he interpolated.
“Bik-bik-bik-bik—”
Humphrey threw up his arms desperately.
“This chink is driving me crazy! Can’t you make him sign off?”
He went to the radio and turned it on, dialing to a loud band. Pan-e-troon’s voice faded off.
“Don’t you see you’re boring us to death?” demanded Humphrey.
Pan-e-troon was aghast.
“Miz Cary no like?”
“No!”
Pan-e-troon laid down the drum and licked his lips.
“You no like because magic song,” he said. “Somebody bad here no like magic song. It tell about danger.”
“Just what do you mean?”
“Pan-e-troon have eyes to see. He see other eyes and they look at great fine headdress that cost many hund’ed dollar.”
All three stared at him. Edith said mischievously:
“So that’s it! I’m interested. Now that I think of it, Westgate could use the chaplet very nicely—and as for you, Humphrey, I haven’t yet understood why it had to be delivered before father arrived.”
Humphrey did not laugh.
“I explained that—”
“Never mind now. Tell us all, Pan-e-troon.”
Westgate began taking off his coat.
“Here—I’m not wearing this thing.”
“Nonsense, Westgate. Anyhow, it’s Humphrey that Pan-e-troon really suspects.”
“Why, the mangy yellow tramp!” cried Humphrey. “I ought to kick him out of this house.”
The Eskimo’s eyes glinted on his.
“No kick Pan-e-troon,” he said. He turned to Edith. “Sorry you no like song. I go way now. You keep lock. All much ’blige.”
“But I do like—”
Laughing politely, yet with an air this time of not laughing at all, he ducked his head and hurried from the room.
“We can’t let him go!” Edith cried. “You’re absurd, Humphrey—as if he meant anything.”
“Didn’t he, though! And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he has his eyes on that tiara himself.”
“Besides, it’s getting colder outside and he probably can’t find his way home.”
“He’ll find his way,” said Humphrey. “Those people are like Indians.”
But when after twenty minutes Pan-e-troon had failed to come downstairs, Edith stood up.
“I’m going to find him—he may be committing hara-kiri or something.”
“More probably he’s at your jewel box,” said Humphrey.
“I’ll go with you,” Westgate offered.
“Then I’ll go too.”
“See here,” said Westgate. “It seems to me it’s going too far to extract a promise from a man and then watch him besides. I told you I wouldn’t speak to Edith on personal matters unless you were within hearing distance.”
“And I’m going to see that you don’t. I don’t want you harrowing her with any ‘explanations’ of your conduct last year.”
“I’ve already—” Westgate broke off hopelessly. “What’s the use?”
They went up to the east wing, where the three men had been installed. Wind was sweeping through the upper corridors, and Edith shivered as Westgate closed a window at the end of the gallery. She knocked on the door of Pan-e-troon’s room, and at the touch it blew open with a bang.
His hat and his magazines were gone; the room was empty.
“I’ll bet he crawled out the window,” Humphrey said. “And I’m going to look in my room and see if he took my silver brushes with him.”
A moment later he called:
“No, here they are—” Humphrey’s voice broke off as his own door slammed suddenly shut.
“Say, what is this?” he called a moment later. “Are you doing anything funny to that door, Westgate?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, it won’t open. Is there a key out there?”
“No.”
The knob was manipulated from both sides without success.
“You’re locked in all right,” said Westgate, and added consolingly, “Anyhow, it’s nearly bedtime.”
“Like fun I’ll stay locked up here all night! I’ll—”
Westgate took off his coat and handed it to Edith.
“Now, when I say ‘Hep!’ you shove, Humphrey, and I’ll pull, and we’ll see what we can do. It may just be jammed. All ready? Hep!”
At the word Westgate’s body hit the door again, and Humphrey pulled at the knob—whereupon it came off neatly in the latter’s hand and he sat down violently.
“There’s a door between the two bedrooms,” suggested Edith. “We’ll try that.”
They went into Westgate’s room. There too the window was inexplicably open, and hardly had they crossed the threshold when the door blew shut behind them. Westgate jumped to the knob and then groaned:
“This one’s jammed too! This is getting phony.”
Humphrey’s voice reached them through the wall in a muffled roar:
“Whah you boo boom? Onagona—”
“We’re locked in too!”
The door between the two bedrooms was to be as unamenable to persuasion as the others. Westgate looked out the window.
“Wouldn’t these rooms be sure to have gratings?”
“Father was afraid of kidnapers.” She raised her voice. “Humphrey, there’s a ventilator over the door. We can talk through that.”
They heard him moving furniture to stand on; a moment later his voice reached them clear and wild:
“If you think I’m going to stand for this! If you think I don’t know—”
“Humphrey, we’re just as helpless as you are.”
“Then who did it? Doors don’t lock themselves.”
“Looks like the Eskimo.”
“Ring your call bell, Humphrey,” said Edith. “I’ve tried this one, but it must be broken.”
Westgate sat down and considered.
“Somebody wanted us to be locked in our rooms tonight,” said Westgate. ” That’s all I can make out.”
“What I want to know is what you two are doing,” demanded Humphrey.
“Oh, we’re dancing nose to nose,” said Westgate disgustedly. “To a new tune called Pain in a Corner. Ever hear it?”
“I mean, what are you talking about? I hope you’re not trying to explain—”
“You can hear every word we say.”
“I don’t call this hearing.”
“You’re using your ears, aren’t you?”
“But I have to stand on top of a chair on top of a sofa—”
“I didn’t promise anything about a chair and sofa—”
“Sh—sh!” Edith whispered suddenly. “There’s some one outside the door, walking very quietly.”
“Hey, you!” cried Westgate. “Who’s that? We want to get out of here!”
There was no answer, but the shuffle of footsteps continued. Then they both started as they saw the handle of the door turn very quietly, turn back into place.
“Who’s that?” Westgate cried. “Hands up or I fire!”
As he was unarmed and had no means of knowing whether or not his commands were obeyed, his threat was somewhat superfluous. The footsteps lisped off and died away.
“Well, if it was a burglar at least he can’t get the—” Westgate broke
