Last
night the lights had gone off unexpectedly and Billy, the Japanese
butler and handy man, had said that he had seen a face at one of the
kitchen windows--a face that vanished when he went to the window.
Servants' nonsense, probably, but the servants seemed unusually
nervous for people who were used to the country. And Lizzie, of
course, had sworn that she had seen a man trying to get up the
stairs but Lizzie could grow hysterical over a creaking door. Still
--it was queer! And what had that affable Doctor Wells said to her
--"I respect your courage, Miss Van Gorder--moving out into the
Bat's home country, you know!" She picked up the paper again.
There was a map of the scene of the Bat's most recent exploits and,
yes, three of his recent crimes had been within a twenty-mile radius
of this very spot. She thought it over and gave a little shudder
of pleasurable fear. Then she dismissed the thought with a shrug.
No chance! She might live in a lonely house, two miles from the
railroad station, all summer long--and the Bat would never disturb
her. Nothing ever did.
She had skimmed through the paper hurriedly; now a headline caught
her eye. Failure of Union Bank--wasn't that the bank of which
Courtleigh Fleming had been president? She settled down to read
the article but it was disappointingly brief. The Union Bank had
closed its doors; the cashier, a young man named Bailey, was
apparently under suspicion; the article mentioned Courtleigh
Fleming's recent and tragic death in the best vein of newspaperese.
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