The Thinking Machine Collected Stories Part 94

"To watch Mrs. van Safford and see where she goes."

"I wouldn't have done it before, but I will now." Hatch responded promptly. The bull-dog in him was aroused. "I want to see what the joke is."

It was ten o'clock next evening when Hatch called to make a report. He seemed a little weary and tremendously disgusted.

"I've been right behind her all day," he explained, "from eight o'clock this morning until twenty minutes past nine tonight when she reached home. And if the Lord'll forgive me--"

"What did she do?" interrupted The Thinking Machine, impatiently.

"Well," and Hatch grinned as he drew out a notebook, "she walked eastward from her house to the first corner, turned, walked another block, took a down town car, and went straight to the Public Library. There she read a Henry James book until fifteen minutes of one, and then she went to luncheon in a restaurant. I also had luncheon. Then she went to the North End on a car. After she got there she wandered around aimlessly all afternoon, nearly. At ten minutes of four she gave a quarter to a crippled boy. He bit it to see if it was good, found it was, then bought cigarettes with it. At half past four she left the North End and went into a big department store. If there's anything there she didn't price I can't remember it. She bought a pair of shoe-laces. The store closed at six, so she went to dinner in another restaurant. I also had dinner. We left there at half past seven o'clock and went back to the Public Library. She read until nine o'clock, and then went home. Phew!" he concluded.

The Thinking Machine had listened with growing and obvious disappointment on his face. He seemed so cast down by the recital that Hatch tried to cheer him.

"I couldn't help it you know," he said by way of apology. "That's what she did."

"She didn't speak to anyone?"

"Not a soul but clerks, waiters and library attendants."

"She didn't give a note to anyone or receive a note?"

"No."

"Did she seem to have any purpose at all in anything she did?"

"No. The impression she gave me was that she was killing time."

The Thinking Machine was silent for several minutes. "I think perhaps--" he began.

But what he thought Hatch didn't learn for he was sent away with additional instructions. Next morning found him watching the front of the van Safford house again. Mrs. van Safford came out at seven minutes past eight o'clock, and walked rapidly eastward. She turned the first corner and went on, still rapidly, to the corner of an alley. There she paused, cast a quick look behind her, and went in. Hatch was some distance back and ran forward just in time to see her skirts trailing into a door.

"Ah, here's something anyhow," he told himself, with grim satisfaction.

He walked along the alley to the door. It was like the other doors along in that it led into the back hall of a house, and was intended for the use of tradesmen. When he examined the door he scratched his chin thoughtfully; then came utter bewilderment, an amazing sense of hopeless insanity. For there, staring at him from a door-plate, was the name: "van Safford." She had merely come out the front door and gone into the back!

Hatch started to rap and ask some questions, then changed his mind and walked around to the front again, and up the steps.

"Is Mrs. van Safford in?" he inquired of Baxter, who opened the door.

"No, sir," was the reply. "She went out a few minutes ago."

Hatch stared at him coldly a minute, then walked away.

"Now this is a particularly savoury kettle of fish," he soliloquized. "She has either gone back into the house without his knowledge, or else he has been bribed, and then--"

And then, he took the story to The Thinking Machine. That imperturbable man of science listened to the end, then arose and said "Oh!" three times. Which was interesting to Hatch in that it showed the end was in sight, but it was not illuminating. He was still floundering.

The Thinking Machine started into an adjoining room, then turned back.

"By the way, Mr. Hatch," he asked, "did you happen to find out what was the matter with Miss Blakesley?"

"By George, I forgot it," returned the reporter, ruefully.

"Never mind, I'll find out."

At eleven o'clock Hutchinson Hatch and The Thinking Machine called at the van Safford home. Mr. van Safford in person received them; there was a gleam of hope in his face at sight of the diminutive scientist. Hatch was introduced, then:

"You don't know of any other van Safford family in this block?" began the scientist.

"There's not another family in the city," was the reply. "Why?"

"Is your wife in now?"

"No. She went out this morning, as usual."

"Now, Mr. van Safford, I'll tell you how you may bring this matter to an end, and understand it all at once. Go upstairs to your wife's apartments-they are probably locked-and call her. She won't answer but she'll hear you. Then tell her you understand it all, and that you're sorry. She'll hear that, as that alone is what she has been waiting to hear for some time. When she comes out bring her down stairs. Believe me I should be delighted to meet so clever a woman."

Mr. van Safford was looking at him as if he doubted his sanity.

"Really," he said coldly, "what sort of child's play is this?"

"It's the only way you'll ever coax her out of that room," snapped The Thinking Machine belligerently, "and you'd better do it gracefully."

"Are you serious?" demanded the other.

"Perfectly serious," was the crabbed rejoinder. "She has taught you a lesson that you'll remember for sometime. She has been merely going out the front door every day, and coming in the back, with the full knowledge of the cook and her maid."

Mr. van Safford listened in amazement.

"Why did she do it?" he asked.

"Why?" retorted The Thinking Machine. "That's for you to answer. A little less of your time at the club of evenings, and a little less of selfish amus.e.m.e.nt, so that you can pay attention to a beautiful woman who has, previous to her marriage at least, been accustomed to constant attention, would solve this little problem. You've spent every evening at your club for months, and she was here alone probably a great part of that time. In your own selfishness you had never a thought of her, so she gave you a reason to think of her."

Suddenly Mr. van Safford turned and ran out of the room. They heard him as he took the stairs, two at a time.

"By George!" remarked Hatch. "That's a silly ending to a cracking good mystery, isn't it?"

Ten minutes later Mr. and Mrs. van Safford entered the room. Her pretty face was suffused with colour: he was frankly, outrageously happy. There were mutual introductions.

"It was perfectly dreadful of Mr. van Safford to call you gentlemen into this affair," Mrs. van Safford apologized, charmingly. "Really I feel very much ashamed of myself for--"

"It's of no consequence, madam," The Thinking Machine a.s.sured her. "It's the first opportunity I have ever had of studying a woman's mind. It was not at all logical, but it was very-very instructive. I may add that it was effective, too."

He bowed low, and turning picked up his hat.

"But your fee?" suggested Mr. van Safford.

The Thinking Machine squinted at him sourly. "Oh, yes, my fee," he mused. "It will be just five thousand dollars."