At half-past twelve the Purdys returned, and at one o'clock the motor car brought its load from the village.
"Well, well, Mr. Bowen, how do you do?" the hostess greeted them as they arrived. "And dear Mrs. Bowen, come right in and lay off your bonnet."
The wide hall, with its tables, chairs and mirrors offered ample accommodations for hats and wraps, and soon the party were seated on the front part of the broad verandah that encircled three sides of the house.
Mr. Bowen was stout and jolly and his slim shadow of a wife acted as a sort of Greek chorus, agreeing with and echoing his remarks and opinions.
Conversation was in a gay and bantering key, and Mrs. Pell was in high good humor. Indeed, she seemed nervously excited and a little hysterical, but this was not entirely unusual, and her guests fitted their mood to hers.
A chance remark led to mention of Mrs. Pell's great fortune of jewels, and Mr. Bowen declared that he fully expected she would bequeath them all to his church to be made into a wonderful chalice.
"Not a bad idea," exclaimed Ursula Pell; "and one I've never thought of! I'll get Mr. Chapin over here to-morrow to change my will."
"Who will be the loser?" asked the rector. "To whom are they willed at present?"
"That's telling," and Mrs. Pell smiled mysteriously.
"Don't forget you've promised me the wonderful diamond pin, auntie," said Iris, bristling up a little.
"What diamond pin?" asked Mrs. Bowen, curiously.
"Oh, for years, Aunt Ursula has promised me a marvelous diamond pin, the most valuable of her whole collection haven't you, auntie?"
"Yes, Iris," and Mrs. Pell nodded her head, "that pin is certainly the most valuable thing I possess."
"It must be a marvel, then," said Mr. Bowen, his eyes opening wide, "for I've heard great tales of the Pell collection. I thought they were all unset jewels."
"Most of them are," Mrs. Pell spoke carelessly, "but the pin I shall leave to Iris "
At that moment dinner was announced, and the group went to the dining room. This large and pleasant room was in front on the right, and back of it were the pantries and kitchens. A long rear extension provided the servants' quarters, which were numerous and roomy. The house was comfortable rather than pretentious, and though the village folk wondered why so rich a woman continued to live in such an old-fashioned home, those who knew her well realized that the place exactly met Ursula Pell's requirements.
The dinner was in harmony with the atmosphere of the home. Plentiful, well-cooked food there was, but no attempt at elaborate confections or any great formality of service.
One concession to modernity was a small dish of stuffed dates at each cover, and of these Mrs. Pell spoke in scornful tones.
"Some of Iris' foolishness," she observed. "She wants all sorts of knick-knacks that she considers stylish!"
"I don't at all, auntie," denied the girl, flushing with annoyance, "but when you ate those dates at Mrs. Graham's the other day, you enjoyed them so much I thought I'd make some. She gave me her recipe, and I think they're very nice."
"I do, too," agreed Mrs. Bowen, eating a date appreciatively, and feeling sorry for Iris' discomfiture. For though many girls might not mind such disapproval, Iris was of a sensitive nature, and cringed beneath her aunt's sharp words.
In an endeavor to cover her embarrassment, she picked up a date from her own portion and bit off the end.
From the fruit spurted a stream of jet black ink, which stained Iris' lips, offended her palate, and spilling on her pretty white frock, utterly ruined the dainty chiffon and lace.
She comprehended instantly. Her aunt, to annoy her, had managed to conceal ink in one of the dates, and place it where Iris would naturally pick it up first.
With an angry exclamation the girl left the table and ran upstairs.
CHAPTER II
THE LOCKED ROOM
Ursula Pell leaned back in her chair and shrieked with laughter.
"She will have stuffed dates and fancy fixin's, will she?" she cried; "I just guess she's had enough of those fallals now!"
"It quite spoiled her pretty frock," said Mrs. Bowen, timidly remonstrant.
"That's nothing, I'll buy her another. Oh, I did that pretty cleverly, I can tell you! I took a little capsule, a long, thin one, and I filled it with ink, just as you'd fill a fountain pen. Oh, oh! Iris was so mad! She never suspected at all; and she bit into that date oh! oh! wasn't it funny!"
"I don't think it was," began Mrs. Bowen, but her husband lifted his eyebrows at her, and she said no more.
Though a clergyman, Alexander Bowen was not above mercenary impulses, and the mere reference, whether it had been meant or not, to a jeweled chalice made him unwilling to disapprove of anything such an influential hostess might do or say.
"Iris owes so much to her aunt," the rector said smilingly, "of course she takes such little jests in good part."
"She'd better," and Ursula Pell nodded her head; "if she knows which side her bread is buttered, she'll kiss the hand that strikes her."
"If it doesn't strike too hard," put in Mrs. Bowen, unable to resist some slight comment.
But again her husband frowned at her to keep silent, and the subject was dropped.
It was fully a quarter of an hour before Iris returned, her face red from scrubbing and still showing dark traces of the ink on chin and cheek. She wore a plain little frock of white dimity, and smiled as she resumed her seat at the table.
"Now, Aunt Ursula," she said, "if you've any more ink to spill, spill it on this dress, and not on one of my best ones."
"Fiddlestrings, Iris, I'll give you a new dress I'll give you two. It was well worth it, to see you bite into that date! My! you looked so funny! And you look funny yet! There's ink marks all over your face!"
Mrs. Pell shook with most irritating laughter, and Iris flushed with annoyance.
"I know it, auntie; but I couldn't get them off."
"Never mind, it'll wear off in a few days. And meantime, you can wrap it up in a blotter!"
Again the speaker chuckled heartily at her own wit, and the rector joined her, while Mrs. Bowen with difficulty achieved a smile.
She was sorry for Iris, for this sort of jesting offended the girl more than it would most people, and the kind-hearted woman knew it. But, afraid of her husband's disapproval, she said nothing, and smiled, at his unspoken behest.
Nor was Iris herself entirely forgiving. One could easily see that her calmly pleasant expression covered a deeper feeling of resentment and exasperation. She had the appearance of having reached her limit, and though outwardly serene was indubitably angry.
Her pretty face, ludicrous because of the indelible smears of ink, was pale and strained, and her deep brown eyes smoldered with repressed rage. For Iris Clyde was far from meek. Her nature was, first of all, a just one, and, to a degree, retaliatory, even revengeful.
"Oh, I see your eyes snapping, Iris," exclaimed her aunt, delighted at the girl's annoyance, "I'll bet you'll get even with me for this!"
"Indeed I will, Aunt Ursula," and Iris' lips set in a straight line of determination, which, in conjunction with the ink stains, sent Mrs. Pell off into further peals of hilarity.
"Be careful, Iris," cautioned Mr. Bowen, himself wary, "if you get even with your aunt, she may leave the diamond pin to me instead of to you."
"Nixie," returned Iris saucily, "you've promised that particular diamond pin to me, haven't you, Auntie?"
"I certainly have, Iris. However often I change my will, that pin is always designated as your inheritance."
"Where is it?" asked Mr. Bowen, curiously; "may I not see it?"
"Where is it?" asked Mr. Bowen, curiously; "may I not see it?"
"It is in a box in my lawyer's safe, at this moment," replied Mrs. Pell. "Mr. Chapin has instructions to hand the box over to Iris after my departure from this life, which I suppose you'd like to expedite, eh, Iris?"
"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to poison you," Iris smiled, "but I confess I felt almost murderous when I ran up to my room just now and looked in the mirror!"
"I don't wonder!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen, unable to stifle her feelings longer.
"Tut! tut!" cried the rector, "what talk for Christian people!"
"Oh, they don't mean it," said Mrs. Pell, "you must take our chaff in good part, Mr. Bowen."
Dinner over, the Bowens almost immediately departed, and Iris, catching sight of her disfigured face in a mirror, turned angrily to her aunt.
"I won't stand it!" she exclaimed. "This is the last time I shall let you serve me in this fashion. I'm going to New York to-morrow, and I hope I shall never see you again!"
"Now, dearie, don't be too hard on your old auntie. It was only a joke, you know. I'll get you another frock "
"It isn't only the frock, Aunt Ursula, it's this horrid state of things generally. Why, I never dare pick up a thing, or touch a thing without the chance of some fool stunt making trouble for me!"
"Now, now, I will try not to do it any more. But, don't talk about going away. If you do, I'll cut you out of my will entirely."
"I don't care. That would be better than living in a trick house! Look at my face! It will be days before these stains wear off! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Aunt Ursula!"
The old lady looked roguishly penitent, like a naughty child.
"Oh, fiddle-de-dee, you can get them off with whatcha-call-it soap. But I hope you won't! They make you look like a clown in a circus!"
Mrs. Pell's laughter had that peculiarly irritating quality that belongs to practical jokers, and Iris' sensitive nature was stung to the core.
"Oh, I hate you," she cried, "you are a fiend in human shape!" and without another word she ran upstairs to her own room.
Ursula Pell looked a little chagrined, then burst into laughter at the remembrance of Iris' face as she denounced her, and then her expression suddenly changed to one of pain, and she walked slowly to her own sitting room, went in and closed the door behind her.
It was part of the Sunday afternoon routine that Mrs. Pell should go to this room directly after dinner, and it was understood that she was not to be disturbed unless callers came.
A little later, Polly was in the dining-room arranging the sideboard, when she heard Mrs. Pell's voice. It was an agonized scream, not loud, but as one greatly frightened. The woman ran through the hall and living room to the closed door of the sitting room. Then she clearly heard her mistress calling for help.
But the door was locked on the inside, and Polly could not open it.
"Help! Thieves!" came in terrified accents, and then the voice died away to a troubled groaning; only to rise in a shrill shriek of "Help! Quickly!" and then again the moans and sighs of one in agony.
Frantically Polly hurried to the kitchen and called her husband.
"One of her damfool jokes," muttered the old man, as he shuffled toward the door of the locked room. "She's locked herself in, and she wants to get us all stirred up, thinkin' she's been attacked by thugs, an' in a minute she'll be laughin' at us."
"I don't think so," said Polly, dubiously, for she well knew her mistress' ways, "them yells was too natural."
Old Purdy listened, his ear against the door. "I can hear her rustlin' about a little," he said, "an' there, that was a faint moan mebbe she's been took with a spell or suthin'."
"Let's get the door open, anyway," begged Polly. "If it's a joke, I'll stand for it, but I'll bet you something's happened."
"What could happen, unless she's had a stroke, an' if that's it, she wouldn't be a callin' out 'Thieves!' Didn't you say she said that?"
"Yes, as plain as day!"
"Then that proves she's foolin' us! How could there be thieves in there, an' the door locked?"
"Well, get it open. I'm plumb scared," and Polly's round face was pale with fright.
"But I can't. Do you want me to break it in? We'd get what for in earnest if I done that!"
"Run around and look in the windows," suggested Polly, "and I'm going to call Miss Iris. I jest know something's wrong, this time."
"What is it?" asked Iris, responding to the summons, "what was that noise I heard?"
"Mrs. Pell screamed out, Miss Iris, and when I went to see what was the matter, I found the door locked, and we can't get in."
"She screamed?" said Iris. "Perhaps it's just one of her jokes."
"That's what Purdy thinks, but it didn't sound so to me. It sounded like she was in mortal danger. Here's Purdy now. Well?"
"I can't see in the windows," was his retort, "the shades is all pulled down, 'count o' the sun. She always has 'em so afternoons. And you well know, nobody could get in them windows, or out of 'em."
Ursula Pell's sitting room was also her storehouse of many treasures. Collections of curios and coins left by her husband, additional objects of value, bought by herself, made the room almost a museum; and, in addition, her desk contained money and important papers. Wherefore, she had had the windows secured by a strong steel lattice work, that made ingress impossible to marauders. Two windows faced south and two west, and there was but one door, that into the living room.
This being locked, the room was inaccessible, and the drawn shades prevented even a glimpse of the interior. The windows were open, but the shades inside the steel gratings were not to be reached.
There was no sound now from the room, and the listeners stood, looking at one another, uncertain what to do next.
"Of course it's a joke," surmised Purdy, "but even so, it's our duty to get into that room. If so be's we get laughed at for our pains, it won't be anything outa the common; and if Mrs. Pell has had a stroke or anything has happened to her, we must see about it."
"How will you get in?" asked Iris, looking frightened.
"Bust the door down," said Purdy, succinctly. "I'll have to get Campbell to help. While I'm gone after him, you try to persuade Mrs. Pell to come out if she's just trickin' us."
The old man went off, and Polly began to speak through the closed door.
"Let us in, Mrs. Pell," she urged. "Do, now, or Purdy'll spoil this good door. Now what's the sense o' that, if you're only a foolin'? Open the door please do "
But no response of any sort was made. The stillness was tragic, yet there was the possibility, even the likelihood, that the tricky mistress of the house would only laugh at them when they had forced an entrance.
"Of course it's her foolishness," said Agnes, who had joined the group. She spoke in a whisper, not wanting to brave a reprimand for impertinence. "What does she care for having a new door made, if she can get us all soured up over nothing at all?"
Iris said nothing. Only a faint, almost imperceptible tinge remained of the ink stains on her face. She had used vigorous measures, and had succeeded in removing most of the disfigurement.
Campbell returned with Purdy.
"Ah, now, Mis' Pell, come out o' there," he wheedled, "do now! It's a sin and a shame to bust in this here heavy door. Likewise it ain't no easy matter nohow. I'm not sure me and Purdy can do it. Please, Missis, unlock the door and save us all a lot of trouble."
But no sound came in answer.
"Let's all be awful still," suggested Purdy, "for quite a time, an' see if she don't make some move."
Accordingly each and every one of them scarcely breathed and the silence was intense.