A Bar of Soap

But Mr. Harbison did not smile. He was thoughtful for a minute. Then: "I don't believe he is delirious," he said quietly, "and I wouldn't
be surprised if he has happened on something that--will be of general
interest. I think I will stay with him tonight."

After that, of course, none of the others would confess that he was
afraid, so with the South American leading, they all went upstairs. The
women of the party sat on the lower steps and listened, but everything
was quiet. Now and then we could hear the sound of voices, and after
a while there was a rapid slamming of doors and the sound of some one
running down to the second floor. Then quiet again.

None of us felt talkative. Bella had followed the men up and had been
put out, and sat sniffling by herself in the den. Aunt Selina was
working over a jig-saw puzzle in the library, and declaring that some of
it must be lost. Anne and Leila Mercer were embroidering, and Betty and
I sat idle, our hands in our laps. The whole atmosphere of the house
was mysterious. Anne told over again of the strange noises the night
her necklace was stolen. Betty asked me about the time when the comfort
slipped from under my fingers. And when, in the midst of the story, the
telephone rang, we all jumped and shrieked.

In an hour or so they sent for Flannigan, and he went upstairs. He came
down again soon, however, and returned with something over his arm that
looked like a rope. It seemed to be made of all kinds of things tied
together, trunk straps, clothesline, bed sheets, and something that
Flannigan pointed to with rage and said he hadn't been able to keep his
clothes on all day. He refused to explain further, however, and trailed
the nondescript article up the stairs. We could only gaze after him and
wonder what it all meant.