"Four short and two long--all right, sir."
"And--Flannigan, here's something for you, on account."
"Thank you, sir."
Dal turned to go out, tripped over the rug, said something, and passed
me without an idea of my presence. A moment later Flannigan went out,
and I was left, huddled against the wall, and alone.
It was puzzling enough. "Four long and two short!" "All but the powder!"
Not that I believed for a moment what Max had said, and anyhow Flannigan
was the sanest person I ever saw in my life. But it all seemed a part
of the mystery that had been hanging over us for several days. I felt my
way across the room and knelt by the pans. Yes, they were there, full of
paper and mounted on bricks. It had not been a delusion.
And then I straightened on my knees suddenly, for an automobile passing
under the windows had sounded four short honks and two long ones. The
signal was followed instantly by a crash. The foot bath had fallen from
its supports, and lay, quivering and vibrating with horrid noises at my
feet. The next moment Mr. Harbison had thrown open the door and leaped
into the room.
"Who's there?" he demanded. Against the light I could see him reaching
for his hip pocket, and the rest crowding up around him.
"It's only me," I quavered, "that is, I. The--the dish pan upset."
"Dish pan!" Bella said from back in the crowd. "Kit, of course!"
Jim forced his way through then and turned on the lights. I have no
doubt I looked very strange, kneeling there on the bare floor, with a
row of pans mounted on bricks behind me, and the furniture all piled on
itself in a back corner.
"Kit! What in the world--!" Jim began, and stopped. He stared from me to
the pans, to the windows, to the bric-a-brac on the mantel, and back to
me.
I sat stonily silent. Why should I explain? Whenever I got into a
foolish position, and tried to explain, and tell how it happened, and
who was really to blame, they always brought it back to ME somehow. So I
sat there on the floor and let them stare. And finally Lollie Mercer got
her breath and said, "How perfectly lovely; it's a charade!"
And Anne guessed "kitchen" at once. "Kit, you know, and the pans
and--all that," she said vaguely. At that they all took to guessing! And
I sat still, until Mr. Harbison saw the storm in my eyes and came over
to me.
"Have you hurt your ankle?" he said in an undertone. "Let me help you
up."
"I am not hurt," I said coldly, "and even if I were, it would be
unnecessary to trouble you."