Paste Jewels

“But what could it have been?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Thaddeus, “unless it was a stray cat in the house.  The sweeping sound may have been caused by a cat scratching its collar—or purring—or—or—something.  At any rate, things appear to be all right, my dear, so let’s go to sleep.”

Thaddeus’s assumed confidence in the rightness of everything, rather than his explanations, was convincing to Mrs. Perkins, and in a very short while she was sleeping the sleep of the just and serene; but to Thaddeus’s eye there came no more sleep that night, and when morning came he rose unrefreshed.  There were two problems confronting him.  The first was to solve the mystery of the swept library floor; the second was to do this without arousing his wife’s suspicions that anything was wrong.  To do the first he deemed it necessary to remain at home that day, which was easy, for Thaddeus was more or less independent of office-work.

“I’m glad you’re not going down,” said Mrs. Perkins, when he announced his intention of remaining at home.  “You will be able to make up for your loss of sleep last night.”

“Yes,” said Thaddeus.  “It’s the only thing I can do, I’m so played out.”

Breakfast passed off pleasantly in spite of a great drawback—the steak was burned almost to a crisp, and the fried potatoes were like chips of wood.

“Margaret seems to be unfamiliar with the art of cooking this morning,” said Thaddeus.

“So it would seem,” said Bessie.  “This steak is horrible.”

“The worst part of it is,” said Thaddeus, “she has erred on the wrong side.  If the steak were underdone it wouldn’t be so bad.  Isn’t it a pity Edison can’t invent a machine to rarefy an overdone steak?”

“That would be a fine idea,” smiled Bessie.  “And to take a Saratoga chip and make it less like a chip off a granite block.”

“I don’t mind the potatoes so much,” said Thaddeus.  “I can break them up in a bowl of milk and secure a gastronomic novelty that, suitably seasoned, isn’t at all bad, but the steak is hopeless.”

“Maybe she heard that cat last night, and thought it was a burglar, just as we did,” Bessie suggested.  “I can’t account for a breakfast like this in any other way, can you?”

“No,” said Thaddeus, shortly, and then he had an idea; and when Thaddeus had an idea he was apt to become extremely reticent.

“Poor Thad!” thought Bessie, as she noted his sudden change of demeanor.  “He can’t stand loss of sleep.”

The morning was spent by Thaddeus in the “noble pastime of snooping,” as he called it.  The house was searched by him in a casual sort of way from top to bottom for a clew to the mystery, but without avail.  Several times he went below to the cellar, ostensibly to inspect his coal supply, really to observe the demeanor of Margaret, the cook.  Barring an unusual pallor upon her cheek, she appeared to be as she always had been; but with the waitress it was different.  Mary was evidently excited over something, but over what Thaddeus could not, of course, determine at that time.  Later in the day, however, the cause of her perturbation came out, and Thaddeus’s effort to keep Bessie from anxiety over the occurrence of the night before was rendered unavailing.  It was at luncheon.  The table was set in a most peculiar fashion.  The only china upon it was from an old set which had been discarded a year previous to the time of this story, and Bessie naturally wanted to know why, and the waitress broke down.

“It’s—it’s all we have, ma’am,” said she, her eyes filling with tears.

“All we have?” echoed Mrs. Perkins in surprise.  “Why, what do you mean?  Where is the other set?”

“I don’t know,” protested the waitress.

“You don’t know?” said Thaddeus, taking the matter in hand.  “Why don’t you know?  Isn’t the china a part of your care?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the maid, “but—it’s gone, sir, and I don’t know where.”

“When did you miss it?” asked Thaddeus.

“Not until I came to set the table for lunch.”

“Was it in its proper place at breakfast-time?”

“I didn’t notice, sir.  The breakfast dishes were all there, but I don’t remember seeing the other plates.  I didn’t think to look.”

“Then it wasn’t a cat,” said Bessie, sinking back into her chair; “we have been robbed.”

“Well, it’s the first time on record, I guess, that thieves have ever robbed a man of his china,” said Thaddeus, calmly.  “Have you looked for the plates?” he added, addressing the waitress.

“No, sir,” she replied, simply.  “Where could I look?”

“That’s so—where?” said Bessie.  “There isn’t much use looking for dishes when they disappear like that.  They aren’t like whisk-brooms or button-hooks to be mislaid easily.  We have been robbed; that’s all there is about that.”

“Oh, well,” said Thaddeus, “let’s eat lunch, and see about it afterwards.”

This was quite easy to say, but to eat under the circumstances was too much for either of the young householders.  The luncheon left the table practically untouched; and when it was over Thaddeus called his man into the house, wrote a note to the police-station, asking for an officer in citizen’s clothes at once, and despatched it by him, with the injunction to let very little grass grow under his feet on the way down to headquarters.  He then summoned the waitress into the library.

“Have you said anything to Margaret about the china?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“What did you say?”

“I told her as how wasn’t it funny the way it had went, sir.”

“And what did she say?”

“Nothing, sir.  Only she seemed to think it was funny, because she laughed.”

“And what did you say then?”

“Nothing, Mr. Perkins.  Margaret and me have very little conversation, because she don’t fancy me, and prefers talkin’ to herself like.”

“H’m!” said Thaddeus.  “Talks to herself, does she?”

“All the time, sir,” returned the waitress, “and she seems very fond of it, sir.  She laughs, and says things, and then laughs again.  She does it by the hour.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a week, sir.  I noticed it first last time I had my day out.  I didn’t get in until nearly eleven o’clock, and I found her sitting at the table havin’ supper and talkin’ and laughin’ like as though there was folks around.”

“She was entirely alone, was she?” asked Thaddeus.

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you do when you came in?”

“I said ‘Hello’ to her and sat down opposite to her at the table, where there was a place set, and I told her I was glad she had something to eat and a place set for me, because I hadn’t had any supper and I was hungry, sir.”

“Did she make any reply?”

“No, sir.  She looked at me kind of indignant, and turned out the gas and went up to bed, leaving me in the dark.”

Thaddeus’s brow grew thoughtful again.  It wrinkled into a half-dozen lines as he asked:

“Why didn’t you speak of this before?”