h that
question no end of others.

I asked them when her arm had been hurt, and was getting well in those
days when she seemed to be in a dream, with her silent thoughts and her
frightened face. For hours she would sit in the window at night, looking
out into the park, as you know, and daytimes, when you were away, many
is the time I have found her on her bed, shaking with her misery and
tears.

I asked those questions, too, when one night--a month ago--she came into
my bedroom, walking like a ghost in her bare feet.

"Margaret," she whispered, trembling, "I can't wake Mr. Estabrook. I
haven't the courage to. I want you to come to the front windows."

"Yes," said I. "What is the matter?"

"Oh, I don't know!" she cried. "Come. Come. He is there again!"

I had crept through the cold hall with her, and we kneeled down together
under the ledge. Moonlight was on the street. The shadows of the trees
moved back and forth slowly.

"Look! Now! Behind that post over the way!" she said, pinching my arm.
"Do you see him?"

"See who?" I gasped. "What is it? I see nothing."

"He stretched his hands out!" she cried. "He isn't real! You see
nothing?"

"Nothing," said I.

"I was afraid so!" she cried, and broke away from me and shut the door
of her own room in my face. Nor have I ever since been able to get a
word from her concerning that night.

It was about the same time I discovered that, though she almost never
left the house, she was telephoning for messenger boys when she thought
I was out of hearing. It set my curiosity on edge, I tell you. I began
to watch. And then I discovered she was sending out little envelopes and
getting little envelopes in return. All my old training with Mrs.
Welstoke came back to me; I made up my mind to be as sly as a weasel.
Finally my chance came.

I had been out to do some shopping and walked home across the park. Just
as I came within sight of the house, I saw a messenger boy come down our
steps. I ran as fast as my old limbs would carry me, until I caught up
with him.

"Little boy!" I said.

He looked around, half frightened and half impudent.

"There's been a mistake!" I told him. "Where did the lady tell you to
take the message."

"Why, to the man with the gold teeth," said he.

"There's a mistake in it," said I. "Give me the envelope."

He looked at me suspiciously.

"Not on yer life," he said. "You'll get me in trouble. I won't open it
for anybody."

"But there's