Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Twelve
I did not believe Emma’s story. It was not that I thought she was
lying, but she was exhausted and nervous. In her overwrought condition, it
would be easy for her to imagine she had seen the eyes of the painting move.
“I can tell you don’t believe me,” Emma. “But I swear it’s true!”
“The bedroom was quite dark when you were there,” I said. “You
probably were mistaken, Emma.”
“Then I must be losing my mind! Those horrible eyes blinked and
moved sideways in their sockets! I—I saw it!”
“Emma,” said Florence. “Whether the eyes of the painting moved or
not, this is no place for you. Come on back to Greenville with us.”
“No, I have to stay. Perhaps I did get excited.” Emma averted her
face.
“The paintings in this house are the ghastliest things I’ve ever
seen,” I said. “But I imagine one could get used to them after a few days.
Emma, would it make you feel more comfortable if Florence and I stayed with you
tonight?”
“Yes, of course, only I’d not ask you to do it. And Mrs. Conrad
might object.”
“We could pay for our room. Since she takes tourists, I don’t see
why she should object to us. If we’re staying, though, we’d better phone home.”
Flo and I went out into the hall, intending to speak with the
mistress of the house about getting a room for the night and using her
telephone, but when we neared the open door of the parlor, we heard voices
within. I motioned to Flo to keep quiet and listen. We lingered in the hallway,
eavesdropping.
“I tell you, I’ll not send the girl away,” Mrs. Conrad was saying.
“She’s a good worker, and I’m tuckered out trying to keep up this big place and take in tourists.”
“It’s dangerous to have anyone here, and you know it, Earnestine,”
Mr. Conrad retorted. “Do you want us to get into trouble?”
He broke off abruptly. “There’s someone in the hall.”
Mrs. Conrad came out, looking even more frazzled and run-down than
before. Flo apologized for the intrusion and said we’d like a room for the
night. Mrs. Conrad frowned and started to refuse, but I interrupted her.
“We expect to pay for our room, of course,” I said.
“What do you think, Glen?” the woman asked, turning to her
husband.
“Might as well pick up a bit wherever we can,” he muttered. “I’ll
get the register and you girls better sign it like regular overnight guests.
There’s state regulations, you know. It will be a dollar in advance.”
Between us, Flo and I paid the fee. When I signed the register, I
noticed that the last guest who had spent a night at the Old Mansion had been a
man by the name of J. D. Merriweather from Chicago, assigned to room seven.
“Where’s your luggage?” asked Mr. Conrad.
“We brought none with us,” Florence explained. “We just brought
Emma down and had no thought of remaining.”
“Well, I guess it will be all right, though we don’t usually take
folks without luggage,” the man said. “I’ll let you have room seven!”
“No, Glen! Not that room!”
Mr. Conrad glanced angrily at his wife.
“Room seven hasn’t been dusted,” Mrs. Conrad said. “Put them in
number ten. They’ll like that much better.”
Odd, I thought. Emma had just dusted room seven.
“Why can’t we share Emma’s room?” Florence asked. “I’m sure she
wouldn’t mind.”
“It would save bed linen,” Mrs. Conrad agreed. “Will you take dinner here? That will be
twenty-five cents apiece.”
“No, we thought we’d go next door to the café,” I said, without
consulting Florence.
The prospect of hash and rice pudding held no allure, and besides,
I did not wish to make Emma extra work.
“Thom Vhorst keeps a mighty poor table,” Mr. Conrad said. “You
won’t like it, in my opinion.”
“Well, we’ll see,” I said, unmoved.
We returned to the kitchen to tell Emma that the Conrads had
agreed we might stay the night. Emma was toiling over the hot stove.
“I’m glad you have decided to stay,” Emma said. “Of course you may
share my room. I’ll not feel so lonesome with company.”
Next Episode (Coming Soon)
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