The Mayor's Wife. Green Anna Katharine

thought, “Is this one of the unaccountable occurrences which have given the house its blighted reputation?” but I said: “Nixon let you in. I don’t know whether any one else is below. Mayor Packard has not yet come home.”

      “I know; Nixon told me. Would you—would you mind,”—how hard she strove to show only the indignant curiosity natural to the situation—“do you object, I mean, to going down and seeing?”

      “Not at all,” I cheerfully answered, glad enough of this chance to settle my own doubts. And with a last glance at her face, which was far too white and drawn to please me, I hastened below.

      The lights had not yet been put out in the halls, though I saw none in the drawing-room or library. Indeed, I ran upon Nixon coming from the library, where he had evidently been attending to his final duties of fastening windows and extinguishing lights. Alive to the advantage of this opportune meeting, I addressed him with as little aggressiveness as possible.

      “Mrs. Packard has sent me down to see who laughed just now so loudly. Was it you?”

      Strong and unmistakable dislike showed in his eyes, but his voice was restrained and apparently respectful as he replied: “No, Miss. I didn’t laugh. There was nothing to laugh at.”

      “You heard the laugh? It seemed to come from somewhere here. I was on the third floor and I heard it plainly.”

      His face twitched—a habit of his when under excitement, as I have since learned—as with a shrug of his old shoulders he curtly answered:

      “You were listening; I was not. If any one laughed down here I didn’t hear ‘em.”

      Confident that he was lying, I turned quietly away and proceeded down the hall toward Mayor Packard’s study.