NEDL TRANSFER
HN IMUS Z
THAT AFFAIR
AT ST. PETERS
EDNA A. BROWN


KD5509
No.256
Church Periodical Club

PERIOD
CHURC
UNDED
MARYANN DRAKE FARGO
INCORPOR
-2681-41-800
Traveling Library
In Memoriam
Lillian M. Derby
St. Paul's Church
Lynnfield Centre, Mass.
1925





OLLUT


THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S









Oohn Goss
“Do YOU THINK IT WAS HORRID OF ME TO COME HERE?” – Page 85.


KD5509
Published, April, 1920
HARVARD
COLLEGE
COPYRIGHT 1920,
By LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD Co.
All Rights Reserved
THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
Horwood Press
BERWICK & SMITH CO.
NORWOOD, MASS.


TO
THOSE WHO WERE SURE I COULD,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
“Not wholly in this busy world nor
quite beyond it, lies the garden that
I love."





CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
SUNDAY MORNING
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11
CHAPTER II
SUNDAY AFTERNOON .
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20
CHAPTER III
SUNDAY EVENING
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40
CHAPTER IV
MONDAY AFTERNOON . .
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59
CHAPTER V
MONDAY AFTERNOON–CONTINUED . .
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79
CHAPTER VI
MONDAY AFTERNOON-CONTINUED .
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97
CHAPTER VII
. . . . . .
MONDAY EVENING
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. 111
CHAPTER VIII
MONDAY EVENINGCONTINUED . . . .
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.
. 128


CONTENTS
CHAPTER IX
PAGE
TUESDAY MORNING
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. 136
CHAPTER X
TUESDAY EVENING
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. 147
CHAPTER XI
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON . . . .
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. 163
CHAPTER XII
WEDNESDAY EVENING
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. 182
CHAPTER XIII
WEDNESDAY EVENING—CONTINUED . . .
. . . 200
CHAPTER XIV
THURSDAY AND FRIDAY . . . . .
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. 212
CHAPTER XV
SATURDAY AFTERNOON . . . . .
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. 230


ILLUSTRATIONS
“Do you think it was horrid of me to come here gul
(Page 85) . . . . . . . . Frontispiece
FACING
We both watched Anna's girlish figure as it came
down the walk . . . . . . . . . . 102
PAGE
Her face changed from white to crimson and she
looked appealingly at me . . . . . . 178
“Will you explain to us, Mr. Farrell, how the little
bag belonging to that box happens to be here
in your study?” . . . . . . . . . 208





THAT AFFAIR AT ST.
PETER'S
SUNDAY MORNING
HY the parish of St. Peter's ever
considered me eligible for the
office of junior warden, I do
not know. Anybody less likely than myself
to be selected as a pillar of the church would
be hard to find, and a young man of twenty-
eight is not often considered sufficiently re-
sponsible to hold down that job. Yet here
was I, Preston Perrin, solemnly passing the
plate on Sunday morning on the left of the
center aisle, time-honored post of the junior
warden, while Dr. Converse, the senior officer,
collected envelopes and bills on the right-hand
side of said aisle, the side where sat “the”
people of the church.


12 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
For thirty years my father had been senior
warden of St. Peter's and when I was a boy
of nineteen he died. After finishing college
and taking a run around Europe, I came back
to Hollywood as an assistant in the National
Bank. I always liked the little town, for it
was near enough to New York to permit me
to take in all the worth-while plays and operas
and to keep in touch with my college mates.
Mother died so long ago that she was only a
beautiful memory to me, but Aunt Kate did
her best to make up to me for being mother-
less. When, two years after Father, she left
me alone in the old Perrin mansion on Main
street, for a time I felt that I could not en-
dure the solitude of that house, but when
I was ready to settle down to work, the place
seemed home and I was glad to get back and
to keep it open, whether I was there or not,
under the care of old Mary, who had served
the family for many years.
It was doubtless out of respect to my fa-
ther's memory that when I was only twenty-
three, the parish put me on the vestry, though


SUNDAY MORNING
13
I have my suspicions that they wished to en-
courage more systematic church attendance.
But I really had an affection for St. Peter's
and I liked the rector. In fact, we were good
friends. Three or four years my senior, he
also was a Princeton man, fond of tennis and
tramping, recreations which I enjoyed as
much as he did. Not a remarkable preacher,
he was a conscientious pastor who did his
duty as he saw it with a sturdy and unoom-
promising honesty under conditions that were
often trying, for like all other parishes, St.
Peter's had its saints and its sinners, its :
cranks, its rich and its poor.
I liked the rector, Fred Farrell, and always
backed him in vestry meetings when some of
the older and more conservative men were
inclined to veto his plans for branching out
and making the church more of a community
institution. I didn't always understand what
the Reverend Fred was aiming at, but I be-
lieve if you have a man to run a church, in
permitting him a fair show. Supposedly, he
is a specialist in his line, and ought not to be


SUNDAY MORNING
15
when Mary came down the long wistaria per-
gola. “You are wanted on the telephone,"
she announced unceremoniously.
It is one of my trials that Mary will never
show me proper respect. I cannot induce
her to add a “sir” when addressing me, and
though, when I am entertaining guests, she
does condescend to address me as “Mr. Pres-
ton,” she will not call me “Mr. Perrin." I
can't fire the faithful old soul, but I hope the
heavenly record-keeper enters my patience
with her on the credit side of my account.
When she came into the June morning with
that unceremonious message, I suppressed my
wrath, left my iris and went into the house,
utterly unsuspicious of what awaited me.
A telephone is a daily mystery. We vol-
untarily put ourselves, our ease, our very
happiness, at the mercy of a bit of wire and an
imperious bell. Its summons may mean the
extinction of all the joy life holds, and know-
ing this possibility, I wonder we ever an-
swer the call. True, it may bring one all
earthly bliss, but either way, it is a risk. All
W-


16 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
unaware of what was coming I took down the
receiver. “Yes?" I inquired. “This is
Perrin."
“Preston,” said Fred Farrell's voice, "will
you come straight over to the church?
Don't stop for anything. It is most impor-
tant."
“But, Fred—" I began. Dinner would
be ready in half an hour. Morning service
was over the congregation dispersed.
What on earth could necessitate my presence
at St. Peter's ?
“Don't stop a moment, Preston," Fred
went on. “I can't tell you what has hap-
pened, but I need you the worst way.”
Before I could say another word he shut off
the connection most impolitely, leaving me
stupidly staring at the telephone, with the
receiver held in a hand yet showing the effect
of my Sunday-morning gardening.
My clothes showed it, too, and though I
made all possible haste, ten minutes passed
before I was in condition to present myself
to the critical view of the populace of Holly-


18 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
the junior warden at church, after church
hours.
St. Peter's stands on a quiet residence
street of Hollywood, wide and shaded. The
adjacent houses occupy large grounds and
are set so far back from the street that they
are practically invisible in their surrounding
groves of trees and shrubbery. The church
is the prettiest one in town, a little gem in
its way, and I never approach without experi-
encing a sense of satisfaction in its fine lines
and the drapery of its clinging vines. To-
day, I did not linger over its outward charms,
but entered at once by the central door.
As I expected, the interior was empty of
its congregation, but towards the front, just
below the chancel steps, stood Fred Farrell
and the organist, Henry Thompson. Both
were still in their cassocks.
Fred's eyes were bent on the door as though
expecting me, and with a half-exclamation,
he started at once down the aisle. Thomp-
son followed more slowly, and both were look-
ing extremely serious.


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 21
Before Fred could reply, Buckley appeared
from the passage leading from the church to
the rector's study and the sacristy. I should
explain that St. Peter's, like many churches,
is built as a rectangle with a semicircular
apse. At the right of this apse, beyond the
chancel steps, is a short passage leading di-
rectly to a side entrance to the church, and
having upon one side the rector's study, and
on the other, a small sacristy, used by the
Altar Society in making preparations for the
communion services. On the other side of
the apse, across the church, a similar passage
leads to the parish-house, which contains as-
sembly-rooms, kitchen and the choir-room,
where the choir puts on its vestments, previ-
ous to entering the church through the con-
necting passage.
The safe in question is in the narrow, low-
ceiled hall between the study and the sacristy.
The hall, finished in dark oak paneling, con-
tains six doors, those at the ends opening into
the church and outward to the side street; two
on the right, one giving admission to the cel-


22 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
lar and the other to the study; two on the left,
one of which belongs to the sacristy, and the
last door, while exactly like all the others in
appearance, is really a blind, and opens to re-
veal the safe, built into the wall.
We had crossed the chancel and found our-
selves with Mr. Buckley, the treasurer of the
church, looking into the empty passage and
at the open safe. Inside its black cavity were
some parish record-books, the big silver alms.
basin, and four small silver plates, which
Buckley had just brought from the church,
but at one side showing a big empty space,
usually piled with maroon-colored flannel
bags, each inclosing a piece of silver.
“Is the colonial set gone?” I finally found
breath to ask. For St. Peter's boasted two
sets of communion silver, one the gift of a
State governor during pre-Revolutionary
days; taken out only at Easter and Christ-
mas; and a more modern one for ordinary use.
“The colonial set is gone,” Buckley re-
plied solemnly. “The set your father pre-
sented is gone; the big silver ase is gone, and


SUNDAY AFTERNOON
23
some other pieces, among them, that little
square silver box Mr. Farrell keeps his wafers
in.”
We were all stumped by the magnitude of
the theft. Of course, as far as monetary
value went, a few hundreds would cover the
loss, but the associations of that colonial serv-
ice were priceless. No church in the vicinity
boasted such a treasure. All the inhabitants
of Hollywood took pride in its existence,
whether or not they attended St. Peter's. To
think of that set being melted by a common
thief was enough to sicken us all. It was
desecration in more senses than one.
“Who replaced the silver in the safe?” I
inquired. “Who saw it last?”.
“Let us come into the study and sit down,”
Buckley suggested.
As he spoke, he closed the heavy iron door
of the safe, threw off the combination, locked
the protecting wooden door, drew out the key,
and reaching beyond the electric light fixture
on the other side of the passage, hung the key
on a nail driven into a tiny niche above the


24 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
bracket. Thus concealed, it could not be
seen by any one and could be found only by a
person who knew where to feel for it.
“Let me tell you all I know," said Fred
Farrell as we seated ourselves around the
table in his study. It is a pleasant room at
any time of year with its latticed windows
displaying delightful vistas. Today, they
were half-open, admitting whiffs of fragrance
from gardens near by, and from where I sat,
I could see swaying elm-boughs and hear rob-
ins and an oriole, little detached voices quite
mad with summer and joy.
“We held a communion service at half-past
nine,” Fred began. “At about a quarter to
the hour, I unlocked the safe and took out
the silver in readiness for whatever member
of the Altar Society should come to prepare
for service. I knew there would be few peo-
ple present and took only two pieces of silver
from the safe, a chalice and a paten-dish, both
from the set given us by Preston's father."
“What member of the Altar Society came
to help you?" I inquired as Fred paused.


SUNDAY AFTERNOON
25
ar-
“Sophie Dennison," he responded, with
a glance at me and a quirk of his eyebrows.
Fred has funny eyebrows. I don't know
whether he can help it or not, but it sometimes
seems as though they possessed independent
life and acted apart from any of his volition.
I have seen him stand at the reading-desk and
proclaim St. Paul's advice on getting mar-
ried in the most impressive manner, while all
the time, those eyebrows were cocked at an
impudent angle that gave to his reading, an
entirely different interpretation, turning the
solemn advice of a saint into a farce, and of-
fering the congregation a most amusing side-
show. Fred, by the way, is a bachelor, and
that is another link between us, for we are
both afraid of being married by capture and
force.
Now, when he spoke of Sophie Dennison,
his eyebrows gave him away. He suspected
me of liking her; I suspected her of liking
him, and I wasn't quite sure whether that
state of affairs pleased me.
Sophie had lived in Hollywood all her life,


26 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
not the least attractive girl in a community
rather noted for its pretty maidens. Yet her
attraction did not lie in mere prettiness of
feature. Other girls possessed equally good
profiles, equally pleasant eyes and wavy hair,
but lacked Sophie's peculiar charm. I think
myself, that it consisted in her very uncom-
mon grace of movement. Sophie never
pounded or tripped or swayed or strode like
other girls; I suppose she must have walked,
but she did it with the quiet grace of a wood-
land creature. In some former existence, she
must have been a dryad.
When Fred mentioned Sophie's name, I
composed my face and glared severely at his
eyebrows, though I feel sure he didn't know
how they were acting.
“Miss Dennison,” repeated Buckley.
“Just what did she have to do with the serv-
ice?"
“She put the linen on the altar, arranged
the flowers in a brass vase—I don't know
why she didn't use the silver one, perhaps
because I forgot to take it from the safe.


28 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
wardens. You know it, don't you, Preston ?"
“Y-yes," I replied guardedly. “That is,
I have had it imparted to me and I think I
have it written down somewhere, but as a
matter of fact"I added in a burst of frank-
ness—“I have never yet succeeded in work-
ing it."
Buckley laughed outright. “And you are
the assistant cashier of our National Bank,"
he commented.
“This church safe antedates the flood," I
began heatedly. “Knowing the combination
doesn't prove one can open it."
Fred's eyebrows were again mocking me,
but he came to my rescue.
“The combination never works easily,” he
explained. “Unless you are careful to turn
the dial several times to the left before begin-
ning to set the figures, you may work for an
hour and the cogs won't catch."
“Why hasn't it been repaired?" demanded
Buckley with a touch of asperity. He is one
of the influential men in the parish, and in-
clined to be a little dictatorial in manner.


30 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
ily. “I finished with my music, Miss Denni-
son and I talked a moment or so, and then I
went to the organ to practise. I didn't leave
it until twenty minutes to eleven, when three
or four members of the congregation came in.
Then I went directly to the choir-room."
“What became of Miss Dennison?” asked
Buckley.
“She went out almost immediately. I saw
her as she passed the organ desk. It was not
more than five minutes after Mr. Farrell
left."
There fell a silence, broken at last by
Buckley.
“Did any one come into the church while
you were practising?”.
Thompson ran his hand through his hair as
though his head ached. He looked tired and
pale. Thompson does not exercise enough.
I must recommend to him the cultivation of a
garden.
“A choir-boy came to speak to me, two or
three, in fact, but they did not stay. They


SUNDAY AFTERNOON
31
did not even cross to this side of the church,
the side where the safe is."
“Was the outside church door leading to
the study unlocked this morning?" I inquired.
“It was not,” said Fred. “It never is.
It is possible for any one to leave by that way,
but no one could enter, for it is a spring-
lock and I carry the only key."
Producing his ring, he indicated the key.
“It is always in my possession and no one
could have come in by that door, not even the
sexton.”
“The sexton—" began Mr. Buckley.
“You know that Perkins has been with us
for fifteen years," Fred interrupted. “I
think we may count him out of the question."
"Well, it is a fine muddle," said Buckley
perplexedly. “As far as I can see, the only
people who had a chance to steal the silver are
Thompson and Miss Dennison!”
Fred laughed outright. “Include me, too,
Mr. Buckley,” he said. “I carry the only key
to the outer door and I know the combination
Мате


32 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
of the safe. Accuse me rather than either of
the others."
“Don't be absurd, Fred Farrell," said Mr.
Buckley, but he had the grace to look
ashamed. “Why not ask Miss Dennison to
tell us just how she left things? Was she at
the eleven o'clock service?”
“No," Fred replied, and again his eye-
brows gave a quirk. “I did telephone the
Dennison house, intending to ask her that, but
Mrs. Dennison said she was out of town, went
immediately after the early service and would
not be back until eleven to-night.”
Mr. Buckley grunted again. Fred turned
on him like a flash. “Her going was entirely
unexpected,” he snapped. “Mrs. Dennison
said friends came for Sophie in a motor-car
and gave her only a few moments to dress.
“One thing remains to be accounted for,”
he went on in a quieter tone. "A window in
the sacristy is open, one overlooking the slope
of the cēmetery down the hill to the river.
Some one might have entered by that window


SUNDAY AFTERNOON
33
and have rifled the safe during the eleven
o'clock service."
“How did the window happen to be open?”
Buckley demanded.
“I suppose Miss Dennison found the
sacristy stuffy and forgot to close it when she
left."
“Grossly careless of her," commented Mr.
Buckley.
“If any one went or came by the sacristy
window he might have been seen by somebody
in the churchyard," said Thompson. “On
such a fine morning, people may have been
decorating graves and would notice anything
unusual."
“If they came, how are we to know who
they were?” the treasurer demanded.
“I'll step out,” said Thompson, “and see
whether there are fresh flowers on any graves.
If there are, we shall know the family who
brought them and that, at least, will be some-
thing to start from.”
While he was gone, we decided to call a


34 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
O
vestry meeting in the rector's study that aft-
ernoon at four to decide whether to put the
case immediately in the hands of a detective.
Buckley wanted to telephone to New York
at once and have one present at the meeting,
but we persuaded him to wait. The moment
the theft became public, a terrific scandal was
due in Hollywood and neither Fred nor I
could bear to have it come out that Sophie
Dennison was the last person known to han-
dle any of the missing silver.
We were yet arguing about the detective
when the organist returned from his stroll
through the cemetery. As he came in, I
thought his face wore an odd expression.
“Did you find any fresh flowers?”' Buckley
demanded abruptly.
“On one lot only,” Thompson replied.
“Where?” asked Fred.
Thompson hesitated a second. Then he
looked in my direction. “On the graves of
Mr. Perrin's father and mother," he replied.
Fred told me afterwards that he would have
given a hundred dollars for a permanent pic-


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 35
ture of my face when Thompson made this an-
nouncement. I would have given an equal
amount for the privilege of knocking off the
organist's countenance its very peculiar ex-
pression. Without a word, I rose and
crossed the hall to the sacristy. Its west win-
dow commanded a view of the entire ceme-
tery, sloping to the river in the valley, and I
immediately looked in the direction of the
Perrin lot. In the center rose a simple gran-
ite shaft, with smaller stones marking the
resting-places of individual members of the
family. Very distinctly in the bright sun-
shine gleamed two bunches of yellow flowers
which I took to be iris, resting upon the
graves of my parents.
The other three had followed and also
looked in the direction of my stupefied gaze.
I was dumb with amazement. The whole
morning had seen me at home, as Mary could
testify. Who had been decorating my family
lot? There were no Perrin relatives in Hol-
lywood; my only relation in town was a dis-
tant cousin of my mother, an elderly, rather


36 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
eccentric lady, who, because years ago, when
I, as a boy of ten, sent on an errand, had
rushed into her immaculate house without
wiping my shoes, still regarded me with in-
tense suspicion. When I made one of my
rare calls on Cousin Esther, she never failed
to request me to clean my boots before en-
tering, and always narrated the exact amount
of soap and water required to remove the ex-
treme pollution of the side hall upon the occa-
sion of my youthful visit.
Cousin Esther seldom left her house and
it was not at all probable that she had done
so that morning, or if she did, that she
brought those flowers to the churchyard.
Who on earth had placed them there?
Fortunately Buckley seemed not to notice
my surprise. It did not strike him as strange
that filial feeling should prompt such action.
“Well, Preston, if you were in the church-
yard, did you notice any one about the build-
ing?''he inquired.
“I was not in the cemetery," I replied
stiffly. “I don't know who put those flowers


SUNDAY AFTERNOON
37
there. What became of the flowers from the
altar?” I demanded, turning to Fred, “those
Miss Dennison arranged ?”
“Why, after the service at eleven another
member of the Altar Society came, that pretty
maid of yours, Anna Leonard. She put the
protecting cover over the altar and took away
the flowers. I told her to leave half at John
Baker's where one of the children is ill, and
the rest for Mrs. Hart, who is just back from
an operation in town. These can't be the
flowers that were used at service."
“Were they iris?” I persisted.
Fred looked puzzled. “I can't recall what
the flowers were this morning. I think they
were white, but really, I don't know. They
were faintly fragrant, for I remember notic-
ing the odor."
Turning to Thompson, I asked if he knew
what flowers had been used that morning
upon the altar of St. Peter's. Neither had
he noticed, but was under the impression that
they were yellow.
I turned patiently to Buckley. “I don't


38 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
know," he said. “I couldn't have said
whether there were any flowers in church
or not. I never notice such trifles. I can't
see that it is of the least importance, any-
way."
“You might think it of importance,” I re-
marked severely, “if some person or persons
unknown had taken the liberty to decorate
the graves of your family. I want to know
where those flowers came from.”
"They are not the church flowers, Pres-
ton," interposed Fred. “Anna Leonard
would not have disposed of those in any way
but as I directed her. And it is neither
here nor there who put the iris in the church-
yard; that is, it has nothing to do with the
missing silver. If you didn't put them there
yourself, of course you are not in a position
to say whether you saw anybody around the
open sacristy window, and that is what we
want to find out."
“Let us go home,” proposed Buckley. “It
is long after time for dinner. We will get
the vestry together at four and see what can
are


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 39
be done. I wish that Converse were in
town.”
I echoed this wish with all my heart, realiz-
ing for the first time that the absence of the
senior warden in Washington made me tem-
porarily the executive officer of the parish.
Whatever action the vestry should vote to
take would devolve on me to carry out.


III
SUNDAY EVENING
RED asked me to take dinner at the
rectory and I invited him to come
home with me, because I knew his
deaf and elderly aunt would not be so annoyed
over his absence as would Mary over mine.
Aunt Grace is so very hard of hearing that
Fred does not have to explain anything at all
to her; she simply accepts everything he does
as quite right and to be expected. And be-
cause nobody who comes to the rectory can
ever make her understand what is wanted,
Fred is bothered less than most pastors by in-
opportune calls. Deafness in a housekeeper
has its advantages. Mary's hearing is par-
ticularly keen.
Fred would not come with me so I went
home alone, rather glad on the whole, for I
had considerable to think over. Aside from
40


SUNDAY EVENING
41
nce
the theft of the silver, I was anxious to know
who put that iris on the Perrin lot. My rea-
son told me that it could not possibly have
been Sophie Dennison, but somehow I wanted
to think there was a chance of it. Sophie
was not like other girls, and though we were
perfectly good friends and I often called at
the house, she had never given me the least
ground for thinking she had any preference
for me. If she ever did indicate this, it might
be in an unusual way.
Mary was not unpleasant over my lateness;
in fact, she did not comment upon it as I ex-
pected, and the meal seemed none the worse
for the delay. While Anna was bringing my
salad, it occurred to me that she would surely
know what flowers were used in church.
When I asked, she looked a little surprised.
“They were white, Mr. Perrin, and yet not
quite white either,” she replied. “Snap-
dragon, I think they are. You have them in
your garden later in the summer."
“Oh, they were hothouse flowers?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” said Anna. "They came from


42 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
the florist's. Miss Dennison put them first in
the big silver vase, and then tried them in a
brass one. We both liked it better, because
the flowers were sort of yellowish.”.
Leaning back in my chair, I looked at Anna.
If she had been present when Sophie arranged
the flowers, she must have been at church long
before the service at eleven, must have visited
the sacristy.
“Were you helping Miss Dennison this
morning?" I inquired, trying to speak as
though my question was quite ordinary.
“Not exactly, sir,” said Anna, placing a
plate of toasted crackers before me. “Aunt
Mary said I might go home for an errand be-
fore church, so I started early. I was to stop
after the second service and take the flowers
about for Mr. Farrell, but I had some bits of
clean altar linen to replace in the sacristy, so
I went in there on my way down home. Miss
Dennison saw me coming and let me in by the
study door. I stayed only a minute, just to
put away the linen and to speak with her
about how the flowers looked."


SUNDAY EVENING
- 43
"You are sure they were snapdragon?” I
repeated. “They couldn't have been iris?"
“No, sir,” said Anna. “I know iris. We
have had it once or twice lately. This is the
first time snapdragon has been sent.”
Anna spoke in a perfectly natural manner.
“It was getting late,” she added, “so I wiped
the silver vase Miss Dennison decided not
to use and put it in its red bag and back in
the safe and then I went out."
I meditated for a second. So here was an-
other person who had visited the safe that
morning!
“Did you happen to notice whether there
was a window open in the sacristy?" I in-
quired and then stared in amazement. Over
Anna's face crept a quick blush, sweeping
cheeks and forehead and leaving her in scar-
let confusion.
“A window, sir?" she stammered. "Why,
no, I don't think one was open. I couldn't
rightly say."
She left the room immediately, and indeed,
there was no reason for her to remain longer.


44 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
But was there any reason for her being so
confused when I spoke about the window?
She had answered all queries about the flow-
ers without showing the slightest emotion of
any kind. I was absolutely at a loss to ac-
count for her embarrassment.
That afternoon, we got together six mem-
bers of the vestry, Buckley, Dr. Lyon, George
Sharpe, Zachariah Lamont, Paul Burner, and
myself. Fred Farrell came on request, and
we had asked Thompson also to be present.
As was to be expected everybody was ut-
terly horrified. Fred was blamed for leaving
the combination off the safe, though Dr. Lyon
and Lamont did crawfish on realizing that it
had been done for years and that it was abso-
lutely necessary for others beside the rector
to have access to the safe. And in our quiet,
law-abiding little community, who could
imagine that this practice would result as it
had done? The rest of us contended that the
locked wooden door was sufficient protection
during the short time that the combination
was off each Sunday.


SUNDAY EVENING
45
We agreed that the affair must be kept as
quiet as possible, and voted to employ a de-
tective at once, with the understanding that
he was to make public nothing he discovered,
without the consent of the vestry. There was
to be but one delay before taking this step;
as soon as Miss Dennison could be seen, pre-
sumably early the next morning, either Fred
or I was to interview her and ascertain
whether she could throw any light on the mys-
tery. In spite of the fact that she left the
church directly after the early service and
was seen by Thompson to do so, Dr. Lyon
maintained a stubborn opinion that perhaps
she had taken the silver home with her to be
cleaned.
The meeting was somewhat stormy and re-
sulted, as I expected, in leaving to me all nec-
essary action. I began by calling up the Den-
nison house to ask for Sophie. Her mother
could have no way of knowing that Fred had
already told me she was out of town, and I
thought it just possible that I could see her
that evening. I was really dismayed to learn


SUNDAY EVENING
47
understand what was wanted, and she in-
formed me that Fred was not at home, had
been called out as soon as he returned from
the vestry meeting. Aunt Grace hinted
vaguely of "trouble” somewhere, but could
not comprehend my shouted request to know
where Fred had gone. I finally hung up the
receiver in despair, told Mary I was going
out, and after my late dinner, required noth-
ing to eat. Then I went to get my car. I
would make a slow tour around Hollywood,
and if I did not find Fred, would go to the
rectory, and, by all the blandishments at my
command, aided by pencil and paper, induce
Aunt Grace to tell me who had summoned
him.
I was saved this trouble. As my car
swung slowly into the street, I saw the Rev.
Fred standing in the bay window of a house
three doors down the avenue. He saw me,
beckoned, and before I could bring the ma-
chine to the opposite sidewalk, was at its
edge, ready to speak.
“Are you going anywhere in particular,


48 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
Preston ?” he demanded at once. “If not,
will you help me in an emergency that has
come up?"
I told my plan and his face brightened.
"That is right in line with what I want done.
These people here-do you know Mrs. Glines?
Well, even if you only know who she is, you
must know the children. Two of the boys are
in our church choir. Mr. Glines is a traveling
man, and a telegram has just come, saying he
is down with pneumonia in Utica. Mrs.
Glines wants to start at once and the children
are to go to their grandmother in Bay View.
There is nobody to take them, but if you
meant to go to Birchfield, you won't mind
going a few miles out of the way and deliver-
ing the kids, will you ?”.
"Not if you go along," I conceded cau-
tiously.
“Oh, that's understood," said Fred.
“Mrs. Glines didn't know which way to turn.
Wait here, will you?”
Fred ran back into the house and I resigned .
myself to my fate. A queer errand indeed,


SUNDAY EVENING
49
те
for a staid young man on a quiet Sunday eve-
ning, to ask a charming girl about some
stolen church silver, and incidentally play
nurse-maid to some kiddies whom he didn't
even know.
When they came out to the car with Fred
and their mother, I found I did know them
by sight. Fred introduced us and Mrs.
Glines thanked me, not at all effusively or
overdoing the matter, but as though she really
meant it. Richard, the younger boy, came
in front with me, a dark handsome little chap,
rather subdued and a trifle awed at what was
going on. Arthur and little four-year-old
Miriam sat with Fred in the tonneau. Our
drive was really made pleasanter by the pres-
ence of the children, for of course we could
not discuss the troubles of the morning before
them, and all three thoroughly enjoyed their
ride.
Mrs. Glines had telephoned her mother, so
the children were expected and both they and
we received a welcome. We could not refuse
to go in for a cup of tea and sandwiches,


50 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
but this stop delayed us and it was after seven
when we started for Birchfield.
The nearer we came to our destination, the
harder it seemed to broach the subject of our
errand. I told Fred it was his job as rector,
and he said it was mine as executive officer
of the parish. We came near a quarrel then
and there, because neither of us knew how to
tackle the matter. Should we pretend that
we were passing and simply dropped in for a
call? We did not know the Aldriches, and on
the face of things it looked queer that So-
phie's rector and the junior warden of her
church should suddenly turn up that distance
from home for a mere Sunday evening call.
The more we talked the more foolish the whole
undertaking seemed, the more impossible to
carry out. Finally, half a mile from Birch-
field, I stopped the car and we sat there won-
dering what to do.
We might have been sitting there yet, but
for a piece of pure luck. Down a shady lane
lighted partially by the moon, came a stroll-
ing group of people out for a quiet walk in


SUNDAY EVENING 51
the summer night. As they approached, my
heart gave a sudden thump. Only Sophie
Dennison ever moved like the slender figure
walking toward us, accompanied by a stout
man, evidently not young. Behind followed
two other ladies.
I think sheer instinct took me out of the
car; certainly it was not self-interest, for that
would prompt me to remain quiet and unno-
ticed in the dusk. But before I knew what I
was doing, I was standing beside the machine
and accosting Miss Dennison. Fred followed
more slowly.
Having taken the plunge and committed
myself.irretrievably, my spirits rose. Sophie
seemed pleased to see us, but not surprised,
and immediately assumed that we merely
chanced to be passing through Birchfield on
some excursion. Since Fred, who is a min-
ister of the gospel, permitted this misappre-
hension to pass uncorrected, I did not explain.
If his conscience can stand the strain, mine is
more than equal to that light load.
Sophie introduced Dr. and Mrs. Aldrich


52 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
and Mrs. Craig, their married daughter, who,
I gathered, was Sophie's classmate at college.
They were returning from a stroll and to offer
a lift for the rest of the way home was the
most natural thing in the world. So, in a
very simple manner, we presently found our-
selves seated on the wide porch of the Aldrich
house.
Still, there seemed no opportunity to
broach the subject of our real errand, but be-
fore long Dr. Aldrich was called to the tele-
phone. On the whole, I must modify my pre-
vious remarks about telephone bells. They
are not an unmitigated curse.
In a moment Dr. Aldrich called his wife,
who excused herself and entered the house.
I had my mouth open to ask Mrs. Craig to
show me the view in the moon-lighted garden
behind the house, thus compelling Fred to
speak to Sophie, when what must that traitor-
ous fellow do but take the words from my
very tongue!
“What are those flowers against the
hedge?” he asked her. "How wonderfully


SUNDAY EVENING
53
clear-cut they are. Would it be too damp to
stroll over for a nearer look?”
“No, I don't think it is wet,” said Mrs.
Craig, rising as she spoke. “We can keep to
the gravel walks. Sophie, won't you bring
Mr. Perrin?"
Sophie also rose and we followed. Fred
was walking fast, with the deliberate inten-
tion, I knew, of increasing the distance be-
tween us.
“I wish it were daylight,” said Sophie.
“You would enjoy seeing this garden, for Dr.
Aldrich loves flowers almost as much as you
do. You should really come over a little later
when it is at its best.”
I was a fool not to ask permission then and
there to see it under her personal auspices,
but I was so upset by the outrageous part I
was called upon to play that I missed my
chance. I could only realize that I had the
opportunity to speak with her alone and that
Fred and the vestry expected me to ask some
questions.
“Sophie," I broke out, “something very


54 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
er
odd happened at church to-day. When Mr.
Buckley went to put away the alms-plates
after service, he couldn't find the other silver.
You didn't by any chance take it home to be
cleaned?"
Sophie stopped where she stood. “The
church silver?” she repeated. “Why, of
course I didn't take it home. It isn't my
business to do so. Mrs. Ward, the head of
the Altar Society, is the only person who ever
does that and she takes it only at Christmas
and Easter. What do you mean? Is the sil-
ver gone?”
"It isn't in the safe," I replied miserably.
“We thought—we hoped-perhaps you might
know_" I stopped, conscious that I was
making a worse mess of an already bad mat-
ter.
“Is the colonial set gone?” demanded So-
phie in a queer, small voice.
“Yes," I replied, also in a low tone.
“Everything but the alms-basin and the
plates which happened to be in the church dur-
ing the second service."
OW
as


SUNDAY EVENING
55
“I never heard of anything so terrible!”
said Sophie. Her voice seemed to come from
a distance like a whisper through the spring
woods. Suddenly she shivered.
“Why!” she gasped. “I put away what
was used for the early service.”
“Sophie!" I burst out, “don't distress
yourself for one moment. All we want is to
know whether by any chance you took it home.
We wouldn't have thought it strange if you
had. But somebody must have robbed the
safe during the eleven o'clock service. There
was a window open in the sacristy-"
“I opened it," said Sophie, turning to me.
“I left it open. Oh, if the thief came that
way, I can never forgive myself!”.
“We don't know that he did. Personally,"
I went on, wildly inventing an opinion as I
spoke, “I think he came in the side entrance
by the study."
“But that door is always locked,” said So-
phie, looking at me with eyes wide. In the
moonlight they shone like pools in her white
face. “What a perfectly appalling thing to


56
THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
happen! Why, Preston, what is Mr. Farrell
-what is the vestry going to do?”
Her calling me by my first name meant
nothing, for we had grown up together in
Hollywood, but it did mean something that
she didn't call Fred by his, for in that mo-
ment of agitation, the name by which she was
accustomed to think of him, would surely have
slipped out.
“We had a vestry meeting this afternoon,"
I explained. “We are going to employ a de-
tective, but it is with the understanding that
he makes absolutely nothing public without
our consent. It may be probably will be
necessary for you to see this man in order to
tell him how things were when you put the
silver in the safe, but you can rest assured
that you need have no other connection with
the matter."
For a moment Sophie was silent. If I had
entertained a wild idea that she might cling
to my arm and beg my protection, my hopes
were dashed.
“It is a very dreadful affair,” she said,


SUNDAY EVENING
57
after a pause. “I cannot imagine how any-
thing I can say will furnish any clue, but of
course I will answer any questions. And I
did open the window for the sacristy was un-
bearably stuffy. Oh, I am so sorry that I
forgot to close it."
“I don't think the window has anything to
do with it," I began, but Sophie cut me
short.
“I shall be sensible, of course, Preston, but
it was very careless of me to leave it, and I
am dreadfully shocked to think of that silver,
especially the colonial set! But you mustn't
consider me at all.”
I had half hoped that Sophie would request
me to take her home to Hollywood that night,
but she did nothing of the sort. She still
seemed agitated as was only natural but we
were now very near Fred and Mrs. Craig.
“It will be best to say nothing?" she asked
in a low tone.
"That is what we thought," I replied.
“Every one at the vestry meeting is pledged
to secrecy. I am to get a detective from town


58 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
to-morrow. But probably something will
leak out sooner or later."
“It won't be kept quiet a week,” said So-
phie. “They say that no woman can keep a
secret. Here are six-eight men who know
this, and one woman. We shall see where
the leak comes!”
“Let us see," I rejoined as we came up
with the others, and I told Fred that we must
be starting back to Hollywood.


IV
MONDAY AFTERNOON
EFORE reaching Hollywood that
night, I telephoned New York and
arranged for a detective to call at the
bank the next day. Both Fred and I thought
it advisable to make the request from out of
town. Nothing was said to connect it with
St. Peter's church.
The detective presented himself at the bank
just before the closing hour, and as his card
was brought to me, I had an opportunity to
give him a thorough glance of inspection.
His appearance impressed me favorably, for
he looked a gentleman and not at all like the
traditional sleuth of romance. He was well-
dressed, tall, with a thin, narrow face and
bright, keen eyes. As he waited to be con-
ducted to my office, he glanced around with
interest. I had arranged so that I could see
him at once and alone. His name, on the card
59


60 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
sent in, read simply: “Mr. John A. Rankin.”
"Mr. Perrin?” he asked as I received him.
“I am sent in response to your message of
last evening."
“Please be seated," I said, indicating a
chair near my desk. “Yes, I sent for some
one to help us in solving a rather mysterious
affair that took place yesterday. Before I
explain, I must ask for your word of honor
that you will make public nothing you may
discover, without permission."
Mr. Rankin smiled, pleasantly, and yet with
a hint of weariness. “My services are at
your disposal, and being strictly professional,
I am bound by the code of my profession to
comply entirely with the wishes of my em-
ployer for the time."
“I didn't know but reporters—" I began,
somewhat confusedly. “You see it is most
important that nothing should be known at
present, because there is likely to be a terrific
scandal in town the minute anything gets
out.”
Mr. Rankin smiled again. “Reporters are


62 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
"I shall wish to see the church and the rec-
tor," he remarked at the close of my narra-
tive. "Is it convenient for you to take me
there?”
It was convenient and we left the bank at
once. Hollywood is such a little town that
no one thinks of driving anywhere within its
radius, and it was not more than five minutes'
walk to St. Peter's. I had warned Fred to
be on call and he joined us immediately from
the rectory. We entered the church through
the side door.
Mr. Rankin laid his hat on the study table
and looked attentively about him while we ex-
plained the situation as it existed on the pre-
vious day. He seemed a man of singularly
few words. Fred started to open the safe,
but Rankin motioned him to wait. For the
first time, he showed himself as a conven-
tional detective, for he produced a powerful
magnifying glass and examined carefully the
iron front.
“A good many people have handled that


MONDAY AFTERNOON 63
knob,” he remarked as he straightened up
again.
“At least four turned the knob yesterday,"
Fred admitted as he began to work the com-
bination and open the door. Rankin flashed
an electric torch into its dark interior, reveal-
ing the alms-plates in their bags and the par-
ish record-books.
“The lock has not been tampered with,"
he commented after an examination, “but of
course there was no need for that, since the
combination was off. I understand that the
outer door was locked and the key hung in
this niche. How many persons know that the
key is customarily put there?”.
Fred lifted his eyebrows. “The church
treasurer, myself, every member of the Altar
Society, which includes some twenty different
ladies. The organist may know, some of the
choir may know, any number of other people
may have chanced to see it put there."
“But, except during services on Sunday,
the safe itself is locked? That is, the combi-


64 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
nation is off but a few hours on Sunday?
For how many hours?”
“I open it usually at about a quarter to
nine. The treasurer puts away the records
and whatever silver has not been put up by
the Altar Society around one o'clock, perhaps
a little before. Four hours would cover the
time. Mr. Buckley, when he has put every-
thing away, throws off the combination."
Rankin walked into the chancel. For some
moments he strolled around, stopping in dif-
ferent places, but always looking back toward
the door into the study passage.
“Is that door closed during services?” he
asked at length.
“Sometimes it is, sometimes not,” Fred re-
plied.
“Was it closed yesterday?”
Fred rubbed his chin, trying to remember.
“It was open during the early service, I am
almost certain. There is no choir then, you
see, and there are seldom more than twenty-
five people present. Yes, I am sure it was
e
a
100
open."


MONDAY AFTERNOON
65
“And how about the second service?".
“Really, I can't recall,” said Fred frankly.
“The door is a little out of my line of vision.
When I am at the altar, I am beyond it in the
apse; when I am at the reading-desk or in
the pulpit, it is behind me. The organist, or
the boys who sit on the left of the chancel
would know."
Rankin approached the altar gates.
“With your permission, I should like to step
inside.”
Fred unfastened the catch. I think neither
he nor I liked to have the detective approach
the altar, but he did so in a most unobjection-
able manner. “May I ask just where you
stand when officiating here?” he inquired.
Fred showed him, and Rankin stood on the
spot. Apparently he was satisfied that the
door into the passage would make no impres-
sion upon the rector from that point. He
then returned to the chancel, walked through
the left-hand choir seats, stopped at the read-
ing desk, stepped for a second into the pulpit,
each time turning to note the angle of the


66 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
passage door. Lastly he seated himself on
the organ bench.
“It is of some importance whether that
door was open or closed during your second
service,” he said after performing all these
evolutions. “If it were open, it would be im-
possible for any one to rob the safe without
being in full view of the members of the choir
seated on the ends of these two rear rows. I
think also, that the organist was in a position
to see any one in the passage, for this mirror
over the keyboard reflects the altar, a part of
the chancel, and as far down the corridor as
the safe. What is this mirror for?"
"To enable the organist to see what the
rector is doing without being obliged to turn
around,” Fred explained. “In that way, he
knows exactly where the service stands and
can come in with the organ at the proper mo-
ment."
“You spoke of your organist,” said Ran-
kin. “He must be asked whether the door
was open or closed. If it was shut, the safe
may have been rifled at any time between


MONDAY AFTERNOON
67
eleven, when the second service began, and
twelve-thirty, when it ended. If it stood
open, the thief visited the church in the very
short period between the time when the young
lady put the silver in the safe and the mo-
ment when the choir entered the chancel.”
Fred and I saw this at once. “Well,” he
said, "Thompson will know. We can ask him
and settle that in short order."
“We will leave that point then,” said Ran-
kin. “Now I want to know about this door
into the cellar. Is it much used?"
“No," said Fred doubtfully, “I don't know
that it is opened very often. It is there, I
suppose, in order that the sexton may take
down waste paper and rubbish from the study
and sacristy without having to carry them
through the church."
“Where is the heating-plant?" Rankin
asked.
“Under the parish-house," I replied.
“Please take me through the parish-
house."
We did so. Rankin seemed interested in
ca


68 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
the choir-room, but in nothing else until we
went down the cellar stairs into the basement.
Here he looked carefully at the heating-plant,
at the gymnasium and lockers and the toilet
rooms. Finally he glanced inquiringly at a
locked door.
“That leads into the church cellar," Fred
explained.
“Who keeps the key?" Rankin asked.
“I suppose the sexton," I replied. “No-
body else has occasion to go in there."
“But the other stairs to the cellar, those
down from the passage where the safe stands,
those lead into that cellar rather than to this
one? Is it possible, if this door was un-
locked, for anybody to cross underneath the
church and to go up the stairs into the study
corridor?”
“If both doors were unlocked,” Fred con-
ceded.
“And how many people have access to the
parish-house basement?" Rankin asked,
glancing at the wash-rooms as he spoke.


70 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
my summons, hot, hurried, and not particu-
larly pleased to be called into the cellar of
the parish-house. I think he expected us
to find fault with his dusting, and assumed a
defensive attitude on general principles, not
waiting to be accused of anything specific.
He unlocked the door at once, but replied
grufly to Fred's inquiry as to whether it had
been open on Sunday morning.
“It was open Saturday, because I had to
get out extra chairs for the Friendly Society.
A lot of trouble they always make me, and
very little thanks I get. I locked it again
yesterday morning before the church school
began to come. It was around half-past nine.
Nobody was here."
We entered a semi-dark space under the
church, a space that but for the mistake of
the architect in making it so low, should have
been utilized long ago as a part of the insti-
tutional work. As it was, a tall man instinc-
tively lowered his head, though there was no
real need. Pipes and funnels crossed and re-
crossed its ceiling, showing where the orig-


MONDAY AFTERNOON
inal hot-air heating had been replaced by
more modern steam. At one side were
stacked extra chairs used for entertainments
and for parish suppers. The floor was dusty
and the air close.
“What an extraordinary number of foot-
prints," remarked Rankin, looking at the
marks on the floor.
“Them pesky boys,” replied Perkins. “I
keep this door locked, for if I don't, they
sneak in and play tag. Last Easter, I got
out the chairs and forgot the door, and the
heathen raged underneath the church during
service, groaning like mad. Boys are the
limit. But they weren't here yesterday be-
cause I locked the door early.”
“We won't keep you, Perkins," said Fred.
“These gentlemen and I want to look through
the cellars, so if you'll give us the key to the
door that comes up in the passage by my
study, you may go back to your lawn.”
“That door isn't locked, sir. That is, it
opens from this side without a key. I have
to use one when I bring down the trash from


72 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
the study, but you can go up without one."
We made no comment on this bit of infor-
mation, but told Perkins to fasten the door
after us, and set forth through the dim cellar.
It certainly needed a thorough cleaning, for
in every corner were piles of dusty rubbish,
boards, discarded furnace-pipes and the
débris accumulated by a sexton of long stand-
ing.
Rankin requested us to keep behind him
while he looked for traces of footprints on
the stairs. Oddly enough, there were none;
the stairs seeming recently swept and much
cleaner than the cellar floor. Arrived at the
top, he again produced his flash-light and
magnifying-glass for a study of the knob, but
for the second time, the results proved un-
satisfactory.
“Any number of people have handled this
knob, also,'' he commented. “But is it not
unusual to have a spring-lock on a door like
this?"
“I don't know," said Fred blankly. “I
never thought about it."


MONDAY AFTERNOON
73
Rankin next gave the sacristy a close ex-
amination, paying particular attention to the
window that Miss Dennison had left open on
the previous morning. This he looked over
inch by inch, both with and without his glass,
and then went outside. Fred and I saw him
examining the turf beneath the window, the
stones of the wall below it and the coping of
the sill. He spent a long time over this task
but said absolutely nothing. Finally, he took
a careful survey of the cemetery, sloping
peacefully to the little river in the valley, and
returned to the church. Fred admitted him
by the side door.
“I wish to ask a few questions, Mr. Far-
rell," he said as he sat down by the study
window. “To begin with, I want you both to
understand that my questions are not in-
tended to cast reflection on the character of
any one; that they are necessary in order to
clear up some point or to place beyond doubt
some person. That I ask, does not imply sus-
picion on my part. This is understood?”
We both assented. Fred sat in the swivel-


74 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
chair by his desk, turned outward to face
Rankin in the window-seat, and I dropped
into the easy-chair near him,
“Miss Dennison,” began Rankin, "is, in
the minds of you both, not to be connected
with the theft?"
“Absolutely out of the question," Fred and
I replied in such complete unison that we
could not have done better had we rehearsed
half an hour.
“Without doubt, she can be eliminated,"
agreed Rankin.
“Unfortunately, she left the window open,"
said Fred, "and this she frankly admits.
She has lived in Hollywood all her life and
is a devout member of this church."
“And Buckley, your treasurer,what
about him?"
“Over sixty, very wealthy, successful busi-
ness man, irreproachable reputation, proud of
St. Peter's, devoted to its interests,” said
Fred concisely.
“Your sexton?".
“Entirely honest, cranky, faithful, doesn't


MONDAY AFTERNOON
75
drink and can't dust; has been with us fifteen
years."
“Your organist?”.
For the first time Fred hesitated.
“Thompson is comparatively a new-
comer,” he admitted. “He has played here
about a year. I have always found him
friendly, interested in his work and very ac
commodating. He came to us with the high-
est of recommendations from a church in
Philadelphia.”
“Is he popular with his choir?"
“Extremely so. We have never had bet-
ter singing nor less friction.”
“Is he married?"
“Yes,” said Fred. “His wife's people
live in Yonkers, and when they left Philadel-
phia, they went to live with them. Thompson
comes over to Hollywood for his work. He
will be here shortly, for we, Perrin and I,
asked him to turn up to-day to tell you what
he knows of the matter."
“Good,” said the detective. For a brief
time he was silent, staring into the distance.


MONDAY AFTERNOON
77
somewhere in his brain, one cog suddenly
fitted into another. I almost heard an audi-
ble click as they slipped together.
“You have no idea where they came from?"
he repeated.
I laid before him my lonely condition, my
lack of relatives, and the fact that nobody was
likely to place decorations on my family
graves. Such a dismal picture did I draw,
that when I finished, I was really grieved over
my own pathetic lot.
“The flowers may yet prove of impor-
tance,” Rankin remarked as I concluded.
“I already knew that some one had been in
the churchyard, for somebody climbed up to
the sacristy window. You have no reason to
think that any one besides Miss Dennison was
in that room?" .
Into my head flashed the information Anna
had volunteered, after being questioned about
the church flowers.
“Why, yes,” I began. “There was some-
body else at least, Anna told me she was
there."


78 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
Fred looked surprised. “Anna?" he in-
quired. “Your maid-Anna Leonard? She
wasn't at early service, Preston. I distinctly
recall all the people who came.”
I explained and the detective again re-
garded me thoughtfully.
“This girl,'' he began, “what sort of repu-
tation does she bear?”
“Anna is a good girl," said Fred. “She
is quite young, you know, only about twenty,
but she is all she should be. Her aunt is Per-
rin's housekeeper."
“How long has this girl been in your em-
ploy?" Rankin asked of me.
“Oh, nine months or so," I hazarded.
"Sometime last autumn, Mary said the work
was too much for her alone and I told her to
find a girl to help her."
“Here is Thompson," said Fred suddenly,
as quick steps sounded on the walk below the
window. He rose to open the door and we
heard an exclamation of surprise, for the new-
comer was not the expected organist, but
Sophie Dennison.


MONDAY AFTERNOON–CONTINUED
RED looked a trifle disturbed as he
ushered Sophie into the study where
both Rankin and I rose to our feet.
Sophie greeted me and glanced at the
stranger. .
“Miss Dennison, Mr. Rankin," said Fred.
The detective bowed and Sophie gave him
a look quite as keen as the one with which he
favored her. Her manner was perfectly calm
and collected, though she was paler than
usual. Accepting the chair I offered, she at
once addressed herself to me.
“I reached home earlier than I expected
and found Mother having a bridge drive, so
I came to the rectory, thinking Mr. Farrell
could tell me whether I should be wanted over
that affair of yesterday. Miss Farrell said
he was in the church study."
79


MONDAY AFTERNOON
81
another member of the Altar Society came to
return some linen she had laundered. We
consulted over the flowers and then I tried
them in a brass vase. We both liked the ef-
fect better, so I carried the flowers and the
brass vase into the church and finished ar-
ranging them there. Anna very kindly dried
the silver vase and replaced it in the safe.
After the service, I took care of the silver
that had been used, put that away also, put
the bookmarks in the Bible on the reading-
desk at the lessons for the day, talked a few
moments with the organist and then went
home."
There was silence for a brief space as So-
phie concluded her simple and direct state-
ment. Then Rankin roused himself from the
reverie in which he seemed plunged.
"Was the outer door of the safe locked
during the service?” he asked.
“Certainly,” Sophie replied. “Anna
locked it when she put away the vase. I was
obliged to unfasten it when I came with the
chalice and the paten-dish.”


82 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
“You are sure the rest of the silver was
in the safe at that time? There is no possi-
bility that it was already missing?” .
“Not the least,” said Sophie promptly.
“The old colonial set is kept in a mahogany
box; the rest of the silver, each piece in its
cloth bag, is piled in the big vacant space at
the left of the drawers and the partitions for
the parish books. If the silver had been gone
I could not have failed to notice."
“Was the door from this passage to the
church open during the early service?” e
“It was,” Sophie promptly assented.
“When you came back to the sacristy, this
other lady-I think you did not mention her
name?"
“Oh,” said Sophie, “Anna Leonard."
“Miss Leonard, then, had gone?"
“Yes. She was on her way to her own
home-she is employed as a maid in Mr. Per-
rin's house. She was coming back for the
service at eleven, and to take care of the
flowers after it.”
“It's odd,” said Fred reflectively, “but I


MONDAY AFTERNOON
83
can't recall seeing Anna at church. Of
course she must have been there but she
couldn't have occupied her usual seat. Most
of the congregation were gone before she
came up to the chancel to take the flowers.”
“Do you always know who is present at a
church service?" Rankin asked, turning to
Fred.
“I don't know that I should want to make
a positive answer to that question,” said
Fred reflectively. “If you asked me to name
all the people present in my congregation at
any one time, I could not do so. Yet if you
ask whether a specific person was there, I
believe that nine times out of ten, my answer
would be correct.”
“That's interesting,” Rankin commented.
“And it is your impression that this Miss
Leonard was not at church yesterday?”
“Yes," Fred assented thoughtfully. "I
am not conscious of her presence during the
service, but of course she did come, as was
expected of her, to attend to the flowers when
it was over.”


MONDAY AFTERNOON 85
Sophie rose, as did we all. On the walk
outside fell the sound of approaching steps.
“That must be Thompson,” said Fred,
turning toward the door.
Sophie glanced around. “There is no
need of my meeting him," she said. “I will
go out through the parish-house."
With a little nod to Rankin, she turned
through the passage toward the church. In-
stinctively, I accompanied her. Fred, his
hand on the door ready to admit Thompson,
hesitated a second, looking back until the
door into the chancel closed behind us.
Once in the shadowy dimness of the church,
Sophie stopped. She wore the simplest little
frock of pink linen and a wide white hat with
a black velvet bow. She looked about sixteen
as she stood there.
“Preston," she asked, “do you think it was
horrid of me to come here? I couldn't sleep
last night for thinking of that silver, the
lovely old colonial set, and the one your fa-
ther gave. I wished I had asked you to bring
me home, but I made the Aldriches let me go


86 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
,
this morning. I found Mother deep in
bridge and I thought I should go crazy if a
detective turned up in the middle of every-
thing. I telephoned to the bank, and they
said you had gone out with a stranger on
business, so I guessed that you were here and
decided to come. I knew Mr. Farrell—bless
him-wouldn't consider it odd. I don't
believe he could think unkindly of any
one. And I've known you so long, Preston;
I was sure that you wouldn't misunder-
stand.”
“Why, it is the most natural thing in the
world that you should want to have an un-
pleasant interview over. Your coming here
lessens the chances of having the matter
talked about."
“I did dread it,” Sophie acknowledged
softly. “But the detective was a gentleman.
I might have known that you wouldn't other-
Sometimes a habit of honesty is an incon-
venience. A person who habitually tells the
truth may find himself unable, much as he


MONDAY AFTERNOON : 87
wishes to do so, to permit a misconception to
pass.
“I'm afraid that I didn't select him per-
sonally," I admitted, “but I can assure you
that if he had been a bully or an ass, I would
have refused to let him interview you."
A dimple appeared at the corner of So-
phie's mouth, but she spoke seriously.
“You are always thoughtful of me, Pres-
ton. Has he any idea who took the silver?”
“If he has, he hasn't told us," I admitted.
“All he has done so far is to ask questions.
His conclusions, if he draws any, he keeps to
himself. He seems to think it of importance
whether this door here from the passage into
the chancel was open or closed during the sec-
ond service.”
Sophie gave the door in question a glance,
and then slowly walked toward the corridor
leading into the parish-house. I kept pace.
Stopping with her hand on the door-knob, she
again looked at me.
“Anna,” she began hesitatingly, “Anna
couldn't have had anything to do with it. I


88 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
feel very sure of that. The silver was there
when I put away the cup and plate. I am
positive that it was.”
“I don't think any one suspects her," I re-
plied. “It seems to me the work of a pro-
fessional thief.”
Sophie smiled again. "I don't agree with
you. In my opinion, it was done by some-
body familiar with the church services and
with the church buildings."
“You may be right," I admitted, “but I
hate to think it is anybody belonging here."
Sophie opened the door to the corridor and
looked dismayed as the sound of voices
reached her.
“There is a meeting going on," she said.
“Probably the Junior Auxiliary. Oh, I don't
mind them, but you had better turn back here,
Preston. Be sure to ask that man whether
he thinks the theft was done by a profes-
sional burglar."
She gave me another smile as the door
closed between us, and I at once returned to
the study.


MONDAY AFTERNOON
89
During my brief absence, Thompson had
evidently told his short story. He greeted
me with a nod and looked at Rankin, who had
apparently asked some question.
“The door into the sacristy passage?” he
repeated. “I am quite sure it was open. It
usually is during service in order to give bet-
ter ventilation in the chancel. Sometimes
when there is too much draught for the boys,
it is closed. If we can step into the church,
it would come to me how the door stood yes-
terday."
We followed him into the church, I thank-
ing my lucky stars that Sophie was safely out
of it. Fred is so utterly unconscious of the
conventions that it would have been just like
him to let those men come out while Sophie
and I yet lingered by the opposite door.
Thompson seated himself at the organ and
glanced into the reflecting mirror above.
“Oh, the door was open,” he said at once.
“I am sure of that."
“That is my impression,” said Fred, but
I suppose any of the choir could tell us."


90 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
“The boys who sat on the ends of these two
seats would certainly be in a position to
know,” Rankin remarked, indicating those of
which he had previously spoken.
“Who sits here, Thompson?” Fred asked.
The organist considered a moment. “In
front, a little chap named Glines. His older
brother in the one just behind.”
“Both those boys are out of town," Fred
commented. “I happen to know that."
“I don't know that their absence makes
any difference," said Thompson. “While
they are the only ones who could actually see
into the corridor, any member of the choir
seated at the left of the chancel would know
whether the door was shut. But I am willing
... to declare positively that it was open."
“I think we may assume that,” said Ran-
kin.
“Any more questions?” asked Thompson.
“If not, I want to practise."
“There are no more at present,” Rankin
replied, and the three of us returned to the


MONDAY AFTERNOON
91
CO
ncer
study, leaving Thompson in the church.
Very soon we heard the organ.
“Is it allowable for me to make an in-
quiry?” Fred asked after a pause, during
which Rankin stood looking from the window.
“If so, have you formed any idea concerning
the thief?”
“I cannot name the individual,” replied
Rankin, turning to face us, “but I think it was
done by a member of your congregation, Mr.
Farrell.”
“Oh, I hope not!” said Fred with a sigh.
"Then you don't think it the work of a pro-
fessional burglar?”
Rankin actually laughed. “It bears all the
ear-marks of an amateur job,” he replied.
“No professional would risk such a theft at
an hour when there were nine chances out of
ten of being caught. As a rule, ecclesiastical
silver isn't a thing an habitual burglar both-
ers with. For one reason, it isn't big enough
booty; for another, it is impossible to dispose
of unless melted, for no pawnbroker would


92 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
handle anything so obviously stolen. Your
pieces were all engraved with the name of the
church, were they not? You can see that
they would be very difficult to realize money
on.
“Again, if a burglar wanted to steal the
church silver, he wouldn't choose a Sunday
morning to do it. Any professional cracks-
man could open that old-fashioned safe in
three minutes. It really isn't the least pro-
tection, you know, against a genuine thief,
nor is that wooden door the slightest barrier.
It would be very easy to enter this church at
night and force the safe.
“Again, this is a clumsy burglary. Had
the thief taken the silver, but left the protect-
ing bags, each inclosing a bit of rubbish taken
at random from the cellar, the loss would not
have been instantly detected. Had the bags
and box remained, even though they held only
bricks and crumpled papers, your church
treasurer would have put away the silver
plates without noticing anything wrong.
Then the theft would not have been discov-


MONDAY AFTERNOON
93
TE
ered until the silver was wanted for use next
Sunday.”
“It sounds reasonable,” I commented
faintly, somewhat disconcerted that Sophie
had shown herself so much more astute in the
matter than I.
“I can't believe any of our people would
do it," said Fred, who looked truly distressed.
“The theft, in my opinion,” Rankin went
on, “was entirely unpremeditated, done on a
sudden impulse by somebody who quite un-
expectedly found it within his power to com-
mit it. Because it was impulsive, I do not
anticipate that the thief will attempt to get
rid of the silver-if that is any comfort to
you. Should he try to pawn it, the broker
will at once notify the police, and being an
amateur, he will not know how to melt it and
make it disposable. Moreover, a guilty con-
science may force a confession or a restora-
tion. That would not surprise me at all. In
any case, I believe that the silver will be re-
covered quite undamaged.”
“It is simply not credible that any of the
re-
COVE


MONDAY AFTERNOON
95
to conclude that the powdery scratch was
made after the storm stopped, which must
have been on Sunday morning.”
Neither Fred nor I had anything to say.
All this reasoning sounded horribly plausi-
ble. Who was the person in our very midst,
guilty of this theft?
“Mr. Perrin,” said the detective, turning
to me after a moment, during which Fred
and I sat looking disconsolately at each other,
"I wish that you would arrange for me to see
this maid of yours—this Anna Leonard.
Can you think of some way that would seem
to her perfectly natural? I don't want to
startle her and of course it would be unwise
to take her into our confidence.".
After considering him a second, I looked
at my watch. “If you can pretend an inter-
est in my flower-garden," I remarked, “I will
take you to the house to look at it, and tell
Anna to bring us some tea."
“Good,” said Rankin.
“But you don't suspect Anna?" I asked
anxiously, recalling Sophie's words in the


96 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
church. “I can't believe she is connected
with the theft."
“I don't think she actually stole the silver,
but I suspect that she knows something we
don't,” said Rankin. “My interest in your
flowers will not be in the least assumed.”
“Will you come, Fred?" I asked, reaching
for my hat.
Fred shook his head. He looked utterly
dejected and wretched. As Rankin and I
left, I found myself thinking that Fred really
ought to buck up and not break his heart
over any erring member of his flock until he
discovered the identity of the sinner.


VI
MONDAY AFTERNOON–CONTINUBD
N our way to my house, I found Ran-
kin a very pleasant companion. He
shed all professional manner and we
chatted on matters of general interest. I
learned that he was a Harvard man, at one
time rather conspicuous in athletics, that he
had traveled and that he was surprisingly
familiar with the condition of the stock mar-
ket. The conclusion I drew was that he must
be a man of independent means, who for some
reason, perhaps as a hobby or a game, had
taken up detective work.
The old Perrin house, or mansion, as Hol-
lywood more often styles it, is charmingly
situated on the wide main street. It is not
so very old, being built in 1790, but fortu-
nately while colonial architecture was un-
corrupted by the horrible creations that later
97


98 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
sprang full-fledged from architectural brains.
It is a dignified three-story gambrel-roofed
house, containing nineteen rooms and sur-
rounded by a fine lawn and garden. My fa-
ther was exceedingly fond of the place, and
even if I did not love it myself, conscience
would require me to keep it in shape for his
sake. As I took Rankin up the long brick
walk leading to the door, he spoke most ap-
preciatively of the house and its setting.
We walked through the central hall to the
garden door and stopped for a moment on the
porch to enjoy the view. Before us a fine
pergola, a mass of purple wistaria, stretched
straight to a sunken garden, around which iris
stands in great clumps, springing from a
smooth-shaven lawn. Rankin gave an excla-
mation of pleasure.
I was gratified at his genuine appreciation,
for I have shown a great many people over
my garden and I know when they assume an
interest they do not feel. As we slowly saun-
tered down the pergola, Mary emerged from
the shrubbery at the extreme end of the gar-


MONDAY AFTERNOON
99
den and came toward us. In one hand she
held a digger and in the other a basket, con-
taining dandelions. Mary is death on dande-
lions. I believe that she looks out the first
thing each morning to see whether one has
dared to show its yellow face on either lawn
or garden; I know that she does not rest at
night if one remains visibly undug during the
day. Whether she eats them I do not know,
for I dislike greens myself, but I do not care
what becomes of them so long as they vanish
from my premises.
Mary smiled pleasantly as she met us.
Perhaps on the whole I am fortunate in my
housekeeper.
“Mary," I asked, “will you send some tea
out by Anna? Tell her to bring it to the per-
gola platform."
“All right," Mary replied with a little nod,
and went on her way, neat and trim in her
clean blue-and-white gingham gown.
“A nice-looking person, your house-
keeper," Rankin commented. “She is an
old-fashioned New England type one doesn't


100 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
mer
OV
often see. I imagine she is devoted to your
interests."
“Oh, Mary thinks she owns me," I re-
plied. “Our acquaintance dates beyond my
memory. She has been with my family for
over thirty years. While she sometimes
tyrannizes a little, she is faithfulness itself.
What do you think of this Pumila? This is
the first year I have had it."
“I think it remarkably beautiful,” said
Rankin earnestly as we suddenly came upon
a carpet of dwarf irises, scarcely eight inches
high, a mass of deep rich purple.
He looked at the bed so long and so silently
that I put him up another peg in my estima-
tion. For the next five minutes he seemed
entirely absorbed in the flowery clumps dis-
posed around their central square of green.
Then he remembered that he was there for a
definite purpose.
“How long will the maid be in bringing
the tea?” he asked. “I don't want to miss
seeing her.”
“Perhaps we had better go to the pergola,”


MONDAY AFTERNOON
101
I agreed, “though I think she will wait until
she sees us turn in that direction."
The wistaria walk ends in a little square
platform above the sunken garden, where
there is an iron table, painted green, and
seats to match. Late on a summer afternoon
it is a very pleasant place. Sophie likes it,
too, though of recent years she visits it only
when Mr. Dennison comes.
“There is something I want you to ask
your maid," Rankin said as we reached the
platform and seated ourselves, each with a
cigarette until the tea should arrive. “Will
you inquire whether she remembers what text
Mr. Farrell preached from yesterday, or
whether a certain hymn was sung, or some-
thing of that nature?”
· "I see," I remarked. “You think she
wasn't at church where she was supposed to
be."
“I am practically certain she wasn't, but I
want to be positive. She was expected to be
present, wasn't she?”.
“She certainly said that her aunt gave her


102 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
permission to start early so that she could go ·
home before time for service. But I don't
see that her not going is any crime. Very
likely when she reached her home something
happened to detain her'; she may have de-
cided to stay and to come to the church only
to take care of the flowers.”
“Quite so," Rankin agreed, “but you have
no objection to putting some such question
as I suggest?”
"Oh, not at all,” I hastened to reassure
him, and as I spoke, the kitchen door opened
appeared with a large tray. Mary
held the door for her and presently followed,
carrying a smaller one.
Rankin and I were talking politics, but we
both watched Anna's girlish figure as it came
down the walk under the drooping wistaria
blossoms. She was dressed in white, with a
little white cap perched on her head. Mary
refuses to wear a cap herself, but she com-
pels Anna to do so. She placed the tray on
the table before me and disposed spirit-lamp,
cups, spoons, sugar, lemon, and cream with a



WE BOTH WATCHED ANNA'S GIRLISH FIGURE AS IT CAME DOWN THE
WALK.- Page 102.


MONDAY AFTERNOON
103
deft hand. Lastly, came a flat basket of
sandwiches. Mary, as I saw from a distance,
was bringing the teapot and a copper kettle
of hot water.
: “Oh, by the way, Anna,” I said, breaking
off in my discussion with Rankin, “I wasn't
at church yesterday, but do you recall whether
Mr. Farrell read a notice about a union meet-
ing to be held in Yonkers? I hope he didn't
forget to give it."
Anna turned absolutely scarlet. From a
pale ivory-white, her face suddenly became
the color of a Jack rose. She gave me a
startled glance.
"I'm afraid I didn't notice, Mr. Perrin.
I–I don't always pay attention to those an-
nouncements."
“Oh, well, it doesn't matter," I replied.
“Bring us some cake, too, Anna."
“Yes, sir, it is all cut and ready,” she re-
sponded hastily, and started back just as
Mary came up. I thought Mary looked at her
keenly as they passed, but I might have been
mistaken.


MONDAY AFTERNOON 105
she was not a girl who was easily flustered.
Presently she returned with the cake and a
message.
“There is a man to see you, Mr. Perrin.
He has brought a paper from the bank.”
“There, I knew I should forget to sign
that!” I exclaimed. “Lucky that Stafford
has sent it over. Excuse me for just a mo-
ment, Rankin. I won't be gone long. Poke
about the garden if you like."
I was not in the house more than five min-
utes and when I returned, found that my
guest had courteously left the cake untouched
until I should return to share it, and was
wandering around the iris border in the
sunken garden. When I reached the plat-
form, he was gazing absorbedly at a magnifi-
cent clump of Gypsy Queen. As I spoke, he
turned and rejoined me, but remained ex-
tremely silent while we finished tea. Then
he offered me a cigarette from his case.
After that, he sat forward with elbows on the
table.
“Mr. Perrin,” he began seriously, "when I


106
THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
came home with you, I thought that my only
errand was to determine whether Anna was
at church yesterday, but I find that I must
go farther."
He paused a moment, to continue, but
speaking even more slowly.
“Doubtless you have thought that some of
the questions asked during the afternoon
have bordered on the impertinent. I am go-
ing to ask a few more"-he stopped and
smiled— some questions that I, personally,
should find hard to answer, but I hope you
have seen enough of me to realize that I would
not ask, were they not necessary, and that I
do so with all respect for your feelings."
"I'll answer anything I can,” I replied,
“but I can't imagine what light I can throw
on the matter. I was here in my garden all
the morning yesterday.”
“A pleasanter place than the church,”
commented Rankin, glancing down where the
purple Pumila, a ribbon of oriental splendor,
lay at our feet. I have always thought King


MONDAY AFTERNOON
107
Solomon's robes must have been that color.
“Tell me, then," he went on, “have you
any reason to suppose that anybody connected
with St. Peter's church bears you a grudge;
would attempt to do you an injury?”
I laid down my cigarette and stared at him
in surprise. “Why-er-no," I finally
gasped. “I can't think of any one. I'm not
precisely the parish pet, but I've grown up
in Hollywood and in that church. I think its
people feel kindly toward me. Sometimes
they don't seem to realize that I am not a
boy now, but I can think of no one who shows
any ill-feeling.”
“Man or woman?” asked Rankin, with a
slight emphasis on the connective.
Again I shook my head. The only fuss I
ever had with the church ladies was when I
rashly agreed to audit the accounts of a cer-
tain society which shall remain nameless, and
though at the time, its treasurer felt that she
could never again meet me socially because I
dared question the accuracy of her arithme-
V


108 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
tic, the matter was adjusted and I have since
associated with the lady on a plane of perfect
peace.
“Well,” said the detective, “drop the
church. Is there any one in the town who
might wish you ill?”.
“I can't think of anybody," I replied, still
somewhat stunned and very greatly puzzled
by the trend of the conversation. “Once,
when we were boys, I fought to a finish with
the red-headed man who runs the fish-market.
But we have never had any words since. And
that fat man who drives the ice-cart-I gave
him a black eye when we were both about thir-
teen. If either of them yet bears me a
grudge, he probably takes it out in over-
charging on my bills.”
Rankin smiled. “I think we may eliminate
both the fishman and the iceman. Now. Mr.
Perrin—the point I am coming to is essential
and I do not mean to pry into your private
affairs—but a young man of your age, and
especially one independently situated as you
are, is usually interested in some girl. I'm


MONDAY AFTERNOON 109
not asking her name, but I do ask whether
you are her only suitor?”
“Mr. Rankin," I remarked stiffly, “this is
unnecessary. I am not called upon to answer
that.”
“Of course you are reluctant to do so," the
detective agreed, “and naturally you think
me grossly impertinent, but considerable de-
pends on your reply.”
“I cannot conceive what connection it can
have with the missing church silver.”
“Nevertheless, it may very well be the point
upon which the whole investigation hinges.
I wish that you would have faith that I am
trying to help you."
There was silence for a moment, during
which I struggled with my feelings. Had
Rankin not already struck me as a man one
might like to count his friend, I would have
arisen then and there and pitched him down
the steps into the ribbon of purple iris.
“I will say this much,” Rankin added, see-
ing that I remained persistently silent. “I
have good reason to think that some one is


110 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
trying to do you a malicious and personal in-
jury. You are the only person who can help
me discover who that some one is.”
For another moment I remained silent.
“If you will tell me what reason you have to
think that,” I said at length, “if I, having
heard it, consider you justified in repeating
your question, I will give you an answer.”
“I should prefer not to tell you my reason
until you have answered," Rankin replied
lazily, “but I will do so if you insist.” .
“I do insist." '
Rankin took his elbows from the table,
leaned back in his chair and from his coat
pocket drew an object which he placed beside
my empty cup. It was a small shallow silver
box about four inches square. He pointed
to an inscription engraved on its lid.
“I take this to be the box Mr. Farrell re-
ferred to as used in some way for his conse-
crated wafers. I picked it up just now in
your iris border."


VII
MONDAY EVENING
-Y cigarette went out while I sat
staring dumbly at that silver box.
To one corner yet clung some frag-
ments of soil, showing where it had been par-
tially embedded. Words not fitting a junior
warden rose to my lips but they found no ut-
terance, for I was literally unable to speak.
“Who put it there?” I asked at length.
“That is what I asked you," replied Ran-
kin imperturbably. “It was placed in the
garden by a person who bears you some ill-
will. Could it have been Anna?”
“I can't imagine that. I pay her promptly
and gave her an extra bill at Christmas, and
I have never taken the slightest liberty with
her. Every word we ever exchanged might
have been heard by the whole town. Most of
them were heard by her aunt."
“I do not doubt it,'' Rankin replied. “Her
111


112 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
attitude toward you was perfectly respectful.
But will you tell me now what man is paying
attention to the girl you both find attractive?”
“You don't know what you are asking," I
replied emphatically. “The idea is too ab-
surd. Even were he a rival, which I am not
ready to admit, he is utterly incapable of any.
thing like this.”
“You don't know of what folly a man in
love is capable,” Rankin observed dispassion-
ately. "To set a limit to what he may do is
impossible.”
“He is my friend.”
“There have been false friends since Cain
killed Abel.”
I set my lips and tipped back in my garāen
chair. My dead cigarette catching my atten-
tion, I laid it on a saucer and lighted another.
Rankin sat regarding me calmly, as though in-
terested not only in his investigation, but in
its effects on me personally. For fully five
minutes we sat in silence, and then, having
taken a desperate resolve, I thrust my new
cigarette into a half-emptied cup of tea.


MONDAY EVENING 113
"I will tell you,” I said, fixing Rankin
sternly with my eye, “not because I have the
slightest faith in your theory but in order
to convince you how ridiculous it is. The
other man in the case, since you put it that
way, is Farrell himself! Do you dare think
for one second, that Fred Farrell put his old
silver box into my garden?”
“No, I don't," Rankin assented promptly
and I was pleased to see that he looked sur-
prised, not to say, dashed. “No, I do not.
But that does not disprove my theory; the
theory still holds good, only we must look
farther for the person."
“Are we all mad?” I said, half to myself.
“Had I better ask Mary whether I walk in
my sleep and brought that piece of silver
here? But of course I didn't, for the box
was used in church at nine on Sunday morn-
ing, and I breakfasted at eight. She will tes-
tify to that.”
Rankin laughed. “Well," he said, rising,
"we do not seem to get any light on this last
development. Please give me Anna's home


114 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
address. Here is the box for you to take
charge of."
“I will have nothing to do with it," I an-
nounced firmly. "Take it to Farrell and tell
him where you found it. No, don't. I want
to be there to see his face when you spring
that on him.”
Rankin regarded me thoughtfully. “I be-
lieve I will do so,” he said quietly. “Can I
see you sometime to-morrow afternoon?
Then, unless I telephone to the contrary, I
will meet you and Mr. Farrell at the church
about four, if that will be convenient for you
both.”
“It is for me," I remarked gloomily, “and
I'll try to have Farrell there, but of course
somebody may die or elope or get married so
he can't come, but I'll corral him if I can."
We did not go into the house but crossed
the lawn to the gate. I was obliged to take
reluctant charge of the silver box, for Rankin
insisted that an official of St. Peter's was its
only proper custodian.
When I entered the library, Mary came to


MONDAY EVENING 115
me where I had flung myself into a big chair,
greatly puzzled and upset in mind. Her ap-
parent errand was to straighten a curtain, but
having done this, she stopped beside me.
“There was a telephone message while you
were in the garden,” she said. “Miss Denni-
son wanted to speak to you, but she wouldn't
let me call you in. She said for you to ring
her up when your visitor had gone."
At once I turned to the desk telephone at
my elbow, only to be told that the line was
busy. Mary still lingered.
"Miss Sophie is a sweet girl," she re-
marked as I hung up the receiver. “Your
father thought a deal of her. He petted her
a lot when she was a little thing. Your Aunt
Kate liked to have her run in and out while
you were away at school and college. I miss
seeing her around.”
"My dear Mary," I remarked patiently,
"you can't expect Miss Dennison to run in
now that there is no lady of the house."
Mary continued to regard me thoughtfully.
"No," she admitted slowly, “that's true.


116. THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
But a lad can run in and out of a lassie's
home.”
“Suppose he isn't welcome,” I observed.
“He'll never know that he isn't if he
doesn't go," said Mary cryptically.
I said nothing more. Mary may run my
house, but she is not going to boss either my
business, my garden or my love affairs. I
took down the receiver and this time suc-
ceeded in getting the line. Sophie answered.
I wonder whether she had been waiting for
my call.
“Yes,” came her voice over the wire. "I
want to speak to you, but I don't suppose we
ought to talk in this way."
“May I come over this evening?" I asked,
and then struck by an inspiration, added:
"Would you care for a drive if I bring my
car?"
There was a perceptible pause at the other
end.
“I think, perhaps, if you could come fairly
early, I'd rather go out in the canoe. Do you
feel like paddling?"


MONDAY EVENING
117
“Rather!" I said emphatically. “I'll be
there by a quarter to seven.”
I am not sure whether Mary heard my side
of this conversation; I suspect that she did,
because at dinner, she brought my coffee in-
stead of sending it by Anna, and quite firmly
suggested that Mrs. Dennison was fond of a
certain white rose growing abundantly in my
garden, that her bush had winter-killed, and
that my blossoms were wasting their fra-
grance on the desert air.
I took the flowers, since I doubt whether
Mary would have permitted me to go with-
out them, and I was glad I did, for Sophie
seemed pleased. She took the whole cool
white bunch into her arms and laid her cheek
against their faces.
“Mother has gone to her room, quite ex-
hausted by bridge,” she said. “I'll put these
dear things in my big brass bowl. You will
find Father on the side lawn.”
I went around the house to discover Mr.
Dennison pensively contemplating an invalid
rambler rose drooping on a trellis. Immedi-
TOO
X-


MONDAY EVENING
119
"and he helped me get out the canoe, so we
wouldn't lose any time. I have found out
something this afternoon."
“You have?” I inquired as I helped her in.
“Let me paddle alone, please. You sit in the
bottom."
Sophie consented and settled herself
among the cushions. I stepped into the
stern and pushed off. “Which way?" I
asked, as the canoe slid into mid-stream.
“Up the river, please, and quite slowly,”
Sophie replied, waving her hand to her father,
who, standing by the rose trellis, returned the
salute.
“Preston,” she went on rather eagerly,
"did you ask that man whether he thought
the silver was stolen by a professional bur-
glar???
“We did, and he most emphatically consid-
ered it an amateur job.”
“Will you tell me what he has done; that
is, as much as you feel free to speak of? I
have a real reason for asking."
After deliberation, I gave her a brief sum-


120 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
mary of things as they stood at the close of
the conference in the study, but I did not men-
tion the recovery of the silver box. Its pres-
ence in my garden was a fact that I could
not yet face with equanimity. Sophie lis-
tened with intense interest.
“I have been thinking all the afternoon,”
she said after a pause, “ever since I was at
the church, and I have made up my mind to
tell you something, Preston. In a way, it is
not my business, but in another it is, because
I am interested in Anna Leonard. She is a
nice, ladylike girl and I have seen a good deal
of her in both the Friendly and the Altar So-
ciety. Do you think Anna is happy?”.
“Why, I don't know," I replied in surprise.
“She does her work and from the little I see
of her she seems cheerful. I suppose her
aunt bosses her; that would be only natural.
I can't imagine Mary's not doing so."
“I think,” said Sophie in a lowered tone,
“that Anna is in love."
“Do you?” I asked. “How does she show
ܙܙ? it


MONDAY EVENING
121
Sophie laughed in my face. I was gazing
at her, keen to detect in her the presence of
whatever symptom she might mention.
“In no way you would ever notice,” was the
exasperating reply. “Let’s accept that as
a working theory. When I went out through
the parish-house this afternoon, the Junior
Auxiliary was just concluding a meeting. I
stopped to talk with Alice Sidgwick-she's
one of the leaders. She is a Friendly Asso-
ciate, too, and she spoke to me about Anna,
who is one of my girls.”
I suppose I looked puzzled, for Sophie took
pains to explain.
· "The Friendly, you know, is a sort of big-
sister society. The associates each have
some less fortunately situated girls in whom
they are supposed to take a special interest.
Anna is one of my group. Miss Sidgwick
told me that Anna is going with a man who
doesn't bear the best of reputations, Thomas
Stetson."
“Humph!” I remarked. “Yes, he works
in the printery when he has a job, which isn't


122 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
often for he drinks like a fish. That's a
pretty state of things."
“So I thought,” Sophie agreed gravely.
“I went to see Mrs. Leonard, Anna's mother,
and she talked very frankly to me about it.
She says Anna is perfectly infatuated with
the man."
“He is a handsome devil,” I remarked. “I
suppose he might appeal to a girl in some
ways, but he is utterly worthless. What is
Anna thinking of?”.
“Does he come to see her at your place?”
“Not that I know of. I imagine Mary
wouldn't permit her to receive him there."
“Mrs. Leonard said Anna's father had for-
bidden him to come to their house. Of course
that is unwise, for it makes them only the
more determined to meet, but I suppose Mrs.
Leonard couldn't be expected to understand
that. What she ought to do-if she can't
make Anna see reason by talking to her—is to
let her see so much of him that she will get
disgusted. Why, what surprises you?”
“Does a girl always get disgusted if


MONDAY EVENING
123
she sees a good deal of a man?” I asked.
“If he is the wrong man-yes,” conceded
Sophie. “Preston, Anna mustn't be per-
mitted to wreck her life over Tom Stetson.”
“I'd as soon undertake to stop an engine
coming head-on, merely by snapping my fin-
gers at it," I responded. “If the girl's
father and mother can't handle the situation,
I don't see how I can interfere. Fred might
-probably will, if you ask him."
“Mrs. Leonard said,” Sophie went on, pay-
ing no attention to this suggestion, “that
Anna was supposed to come home yesterday
morning before church. Through your Mary
she discovered that Anna left your house
about nine, but she never went home at all
and didn't go to church till half-past twelve
when she came to take the flowers."
I looked at Sophie but made no comment.
Rankin had already discovered this.
"I am sorry if Anna is making a fool of
herself," I said as Sophie remained silent.
“Oh, she is being foolish without doubt,
but the reason Alice Sidgwick spoke to me


124 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
ne
was that she happened to be on Walnut street
about eight on Sunday evening, just where
your garden runs through from Main. In-
side the gate she saw Anna and Tom. Anna
recognized her and seemed embarrassed.”
When Sophie imparted this piece of in-
formation, she chanced to be looking at the
ferns along the bank and did not see how
near I came to dropping my paddle. So Stet-
son had been on my premises that Sunday
evening! Beyond the sunken garden lay
another pergola, covered with roses, and
leading to the gate opening on Walnut street.
It was perfectly possible for him to enter by
that gate, never locked, or even to climb the
low stone wall without being seen from the
distant house, and for Anna to meet him
among the shrubbery. What connection had
his coming with the silver box found in the
iris bed?
Sophie had not noticed my absorption and
was speaking again.
“This afternoon, Mr. Rankin asked whether
I saw any one in the cemetery. I didn't, but


MONDAY EVENING
125
when Alice spoke about Anna, it flashed into
my mind that I did see Tom Stetson on the
side street coming from the river.”
“I see," I remarked, “and just about then
Anna was leaving the sacristy.”
“I think,” said Sophie meditatively, “that
she went off somewhere with him.”
“Without doubt,” I responded. For a mo-
ment I was silent, putting two and two to-
gether. Knowing about the silver box as I
did, I could go one step farther.
“Do you think Tom Stetson could have
stolen the silver?” asked Sophie. She was
leaning back against the cushions, looking
absolutely adorable.
“I think we must learn what he and Anna
did on Sunday morning, and how much of a
hold he has on Anna. Is it possible he could
persuade her to show him where that key is
kept?"
“I don't believe she would mean to do so,
or would help him steal the silver,” said
Sophie. “I know Anna quite well; she is
really devout and her church means some-


126 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
thing to her. She would never knowingly
help a theft. I think something like this hap-
pened. I took the flowers into the church
and left Anna in the sacristy, drying the
silver vase I had decided not to use. I think
she saw Tom Stetson through the window and
called to him. He came to her through the
cemetery and climbed in, probably against her
protests, and followed her into the passage,
saw her put away the silver and hang the key
to the outer door in the niche where it is
kept."
“Sophie, you are as good a detective as
Rankin himself,” I said admiringly. “That
sounds mighty plausible. But if Stetson
went off with Anna immediately, where and
when did he leave her to come back to the
church? Rankin thinks the theft must have
been committed between the time you left,
about ten-fifteen, and ten-forty, when the con-
gregation began to come.”
“I don't know where he left her," admitted
Sophie, “but I think he came back and robbed
the safe.”


MONDAY EVENING 127
e
TV
“What sticks me,” I remarked, thought-
fully watching the tiny whirlpools made by
my paddle, “is how the thief, whoever he was,
got away with his booty; how he could carry
it off in plain daylight. The colonial set in
its box must have weighed twenty-five
pounds; that silver vase is at least two feet
tall, and there were several other pieces.
How he could manage that suspicious-looking
load is more than I can see, unless he had a
car waiting.”
“Or a canoe,” said Sophie demurely.
“The river!" I exclaimed. It was true
that the cemetery of St. Peter's slopes to the
river and only the west windows of the
sacristy command it. A high wall prevents
any passer-by looking in from the street.
“Yes, the river," Sophie repeated. “You
may not have known where we are going,
Preston, but we are on our way to see whether
a canoe or a boat has recently been pulled up
on the water edge of St. Peter's cemetery."


MONDAY EVENING
129
“The thief must have used an automobile,"
she said.
“It is quite possible to step from a boat
anywhere along here," I remarked. “If
there were two persons in the canoe, one
could hold it steady while the other stepped
ashore without leaving any trace."
“I think more likely the man had a car,"
Sophie repeated rather soberly
“We can easily find out whether Stetson
owns one,” I replied. “But I am still at a
loss to understand how and when he got all
those red flannel bags out of the church."
“They aren't red, Preston,” explained
Sophie indulgently, “but a very subdued
shade of dark maroon, really quite incon-
spicuous."
“Whatever their color, he had very little
time to remove them,” I continued. “That
is, if Rankin is right about the probable hour
of the theft."
“Shall you tell him about Tom Stetson ?”
Sophie asked.
“I suppose he ought to be informed, but I


132 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
I brought the canoe beside the wharf,
stepped out, and knelt to hold it for her. For
an instant she steadied herself by my shoul-
der.
“Preston,” she said as I pulled the drip-
ping canoe out of water, “I don't believe any-
body else could have given me such a perfect
half-hour as this last. When it is like this,
with the river so mysterious, and the stars
and the immensity of things, and the earth
hushing us all like a great kind mother, I have
to stop talking and listen."
There was a note of apology in her voice.
“Of course there are times to keep quiet,”
I responded.
“Yes,” said Sophie, “but not every one
understands when they are tuning the key-
chord of creation.”
We put the canoe away and went up to the
house where Mr. Dennison sat reading in the
big living-room. As we entered, he laid
aside his paper and smiled at us both over
his glasses. I sat down and talked with him
for a few moments, while Sophie perched on


MONDAY EVENING
135
Sunday-school class and consider the condi-
tion of your poor perishing soul."
I threw a wet sponge at him and the bank
opened for the business of the day.


IX
TUESDAY MORNING
HAD important business on hand that
Tuesday and put the whole affair of St.
Peter's out of my mind, intending to give
it due attention when I should keep my after-
noon appointment with Rankin. But about
eleven, Fred himself came to the wicket,
where I was temporarily taking the place of
the teller. I supposed that he wished to cash
a check, but it seemed not, for he immedi-
ately stepped aside to permit Mrs. Porter to
approach the window, delayed again when an-
other person came behind her. I saw then
that his errand was personal.
When Fred could speak to me without being
overheard, he stated, though in restrained
clerical terms, that there was the dickens to
pay in the Leonard family. Anna had gone
to her home on the previous evening, where
her father took her to task about some good-
136


138 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
“I wish," I remarked, "that we could get in
touch with Rankin immediately."
Fred looked at me. “I am inclined to
think that Rankin has made all the trouble,"
he said rather shortly. “As far as I can
find out, he has been asking numerous ques-
tions about them both. The Leonards
learned for the first time that Anna was off
with Tom Sunday morning when she was
supposed to come home and to attend church.
Hence the row.”
“It's unfortunate," I agreed, “but Rankin
was obliged to do so in order to run down
that other matter." !
Fred looked surprised. I believe, in his
sympathy with Mrs. Leonard's distress, he
had really forgotten the church silver.
“Oh-that!” he said. “Well, perhaps, but
just now it seems to me more important to
save Anna, if it isn't already too late. I
suppose you cannot leave the bank ?”
I shook my head. "Try to find Rankin,"
I suggested. “He may know where Anna
WII Vol.
is.”;


TUESDAY MORNING 139
ea.
Fred frowned impatiently. “When can
you get off ?” he asked.
“Not much before four. I can give you
twenty minutes at noon if that will help.”
“I don't know whether it will." Fred
stepped aside as he spoke to let several cus-
tomers approach the window. He walked
over to one of the writing-desks and stood
there in abstraction until I was again free.
"Don't take it so to heart, Fred," I said
in a low tone. "If Anna left the Leonard
house in a fit of anger, she may not neces-
sarily have gone to Stetson. Perhaps she
spent the night with a friend.”
“I wish I could think so," said 'Fred.
“Well, at any rate, if he has enticed her away,
he shall marry her, if I have to perform the
ceremony by force.”
Pulling his hat over his eyes, he strode out
of the bank. When I could snatch a minute I
stepped to the telephone and called the Holly-
wood Inn. If Rankin was making the town
his headquarters during the investigation,
that was the natural place for him to be.


140 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
When I asked whether a man of that name
was staying in the hotel, the clerk hesitated.
Evidently Rankin had not been there over
night.
“He registered here this morning," came
a reply at length, “but went out immediately
after breakfasting.”
“When he comes in,” said I, “tell him that
the Reverend Frederick Farrell is anxious
to talk with him.”
The clerk agreed to deliver the message and
I went back to my work, conscious that I could
do nothing more to help. At noon I tele-
phoned the rectory but Fred was out and no
word came during the brief period that I was
at home. Aunt Grace did not know where he
was. I wanted to talk with Sophie but did
not think it wise to do so over the wire, and
there was no time to call at her house.
As might have been expected the balance
went wrong that day, and an hour after clos-
ing time found us still feverishly hunting for
a mistake of ten cents. When I heard the
chimes of St. Peter's play their accustomed


TUESDAY MORNING
141
tune and the bell strike four, my patience ex-
perienced a strain, but we were yet pursuing
that elusive dime fifteen minutes later when
Lewis called me to answer the 'phone.
“Hello," I said. “This is Perrin.”
“Preston," came Sophie's soft voice, “are
you going to be able to leave the bank soon?”
“Not till we locate a—a—" by an effort I
suppressed a forceful adjective— a missing
dime. Am I wanted ?”.
“Yes, rather badly,” said Sophie. “When
you can do so, please come to my house. Mr.
Farrell is here."
"Where's Rankin?" I asked.
"I don't know. Go find your dime and
please hurry.”
Any girl but Sophie would have suggested
that I supply the missing coin from my own
pocket, but Sophie has sense. Hurry? I
should be only too glad to do so. I hadn't
been exactly dawdling since we discovered
that we could not strike a balance.
At four-forty, Lewis discovered the mis-
take, his own. We all told him what we


142 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
thought of him, locked up and grabbed our
hats. In ten minutes I was at the Dennison
house.
As I entered the gate, Fred and Sophie ap'
peared, walking up from the direction of the
river and talking very earnestly. Fred's fair
head was bent toward hers and they seemed
absorbed in the subject of their conversation.
Last evening on the river left me with a little
warm feeling in my heart, a precious memory
of a happy hour. For a moment I felt as
though a cold wind chilled that recollection,
but the next second I saw that Sophie was
not in the mood of last evening. That was
still mine alone. Neither of them gave me
any formal greeting.
“What has happened?” I asked immedi-
ately, “and where is Rankin?"
"He telegraphed from New York early in
the afternoon," Fred replied, "that he could
not keep his appointment, and about four,
he telephoned the rectory, after trying in vain
to get you at your house. Anna has gone to
the city. I have the address and I thought,


TUESDAY MORNINH
143
Preston, you would drive me into town.”
“Of course I will," I agreed at once, “but
ought not somebody else to go? How about
Mary, or Anna's mother?”.
Fred looked troubled. “I don't know just
how gentle either would be, 'nor how much
self-control they would show, and yet it seems
as though we should take some woman."
Sophie spoke for the first time. “I want
to go, Preston.".
"Your mother won't let you," I replied
with equal brevity. “We don't know where
we are going nor what we are getting into. I
couldn't take you, Sophie.”
“Will you if Father goes too?" she asked.
“Anna is one of my girls and I am in honor
bound to help her. She needs help now."
“If your father permits it and goes with
us himself, I will take you," I said at length.
“I will ask him," said Sophie, and she went
into the house, leaving us on the lawn.
“After all, why shouldn't she?" asked
Fred. “She needn't go in anywhere; it is
just to have somebody in the car whom Anna


146 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
Sophie emerged from the house and we in-
stantly started across the lawn to meet her.
“Father will go,” she said. “I have told
him and Mother only our anxiety about Anna,
but I think, if you are willing, it is best for
him to know the whole story. If you approve,
we will explain to him about the silver on the
way to town. Mother wants you both to come
in and have something to eat here, so we can
get an early start."


X
TUESDAY EVENING
FTER considering for a moment, I
decided that I ought to go home.
I would have to go anyway for my
car, and at noon I found Mary in such a state
that it seemed only right to tell her how much
better things looked now.
Fred accepted Sophie's invitation, but this
did not make me change my mind. I was
determined to play perfectly fair with both
of them, and if I won Sophie, as I hoped to
do in the end, it would be because, knowing
us both, she made her deliberate choice.
That choice might very well be against me,
for to most girls there is something piquant
in having a clergyman for a lover, something
peculiarly flattering in his attentions. I
knew that I was taking a risk, for Fred was
lovable I cared for him myself. Yet, know-
ing him intimately as I did, with all modesty,
W-
147


148 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
I sincerely believed that Sophie would be hap-
pier with me, simply because I understood her
better. Should she marry Fred, he would
adore her and she would love him tenderly,
but her affection would always have in it a
large element of the maternal. With me, I
thought it would be different; that Sophie
would depend upon me for shelter, not feel
that she must shield and protect me as some
woman will have to do for Fred. He needs
a wife, since he is at the beck and call of
the whole parish.
When I reached home, Mary had evidently
been crying but was more calm than at noon,
though still bitter in her denunciation of
Anna's folly.
“Mary, I don't think it is all her fault,” I
said at last. “It seems to me her father and
mother are partly to blame.”
“Yes,” said Mary grimly, “in the way they
bring up all the young people now. Such go-
ings-on I never saw. When I was Anna's
age, I never had the clothes she wastes her
money on, and I didn't get out every evening,


150 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
started for the Dennison house. They were
ready and we delayed but a moment to let
Fred get his coat from the rectory. I had
hoped that Sophie would sit beside me, but
she promptly got into the tonneau and Mr.
Dennison followed. So Fred came in front.
From Hollywood into New York is not a
long run; one can easily do it in two hours, in
less if the road is clear, but on that lovely
evening there were many machines and I had
to drive carefully. Five miles from home I
punctured a tire.
Fred was a good sport; he got his hands
dirty and his trousers dusty in helping me re-
place it, and we were delayed not more than
ten minutes. As I shut the tool-box, he
looked at me rather apologetically.
“Do you mind if I sit behind ?” he asked.
“You know we are going to let Mr. Den-
nison in on the whole story.”
“Do come,” said Sophie. “I shall need
you to help explain."
“Go ahead," I assented. “The car will
ride just as easily.”


TUESDAY EVENING
151
I could hear very little of what was said
behind me, for we were traveling rapidly,
only catch the occasional murmur of voices
and hear a question in Mr. Dennison's deep
tones. We were on the boulevards now, part
of a procession of cars, numberless, glitter-
ing, a never-ending river of nickel and var-
nish. After a time we turned into side streets
and gradually made our way to our destina-
tion.
Fred leaned over to tell me the number of
the house and we all looked up as I stopped
before it. The neighborhood was respectable
though bordering on poverty, and the house,
exactly like all others in the block, was in
decent condition.
The plan was that Fred should go in, ask
for Mrs. MacDonald, his former parishioner,
and then for Anna. We estimated that he
would be gone at least twenty minutes and I
turned in my seat to chat with the others.
The street was quiet and apparently not one
where there was much traffic, for only an oc-
casional truck passed, but a good many people
ca


152 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
were enjoying the evening, and we were at
once surrounded by a mob of curious chil-
dren, not the children of the extremely poor,
but decently clothed and fed.
“If I had realized we were coming to a
place like this, I would have brought a load
of flowers for the kids," I remarked, for I
suddenly felt selfish, recalling my garden and
all its fragrant beauty spread for me alone.
“I wish we had thought of it,” rejoined
Sophie with a smile that somehow repaid me
for my solitary seat on the way to town. I
wonder whether Sophie smiles in just that
way at other people. I decided to keep watch
and see.
To our great surprise, Fred returned in
less than five minutes, coming out of the house
alone, to step immediately into the car be-
side me.
"Where is Anna?” Sophie demanded at
once.
“Just get us out of this, Preston,” said
Fred, indicating the group of staring chil-
dren, "and run slowly so I can tell you."


TUESDAY EVENING
153
I blew my horn to scatter our spectators
and we moved away at a pace so leisurely that
I was soon obliged to quicken it because the
children showed a marked desire to race
the car. They were shaken off in a minute
and we came to a small park where there was
a sufficient number of automobiles to render
ours inconspicuous. We could safely stop
for a short talk. Fred turned to face the
two in the tonneau.
“Madge MacDonald was not at home,” he
said. “Her husband received me very pleas-
antly. Anna has been there. She came early
this morning, told Madge she would be with
them for dinner and until a friend came to
take her out this afternoon. He came about
four, and Anna said good-by and went with
him."
I did not look around during Fred's story
but there was perfect silence in the tonneau.
“Are you sure it was Stetson who came for
her?” Mr. Dennison asked.
“MacDonald did not see him, but Madge,
who has gone to the theater with a neighbor,


154 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
said the person who called was a handsome,
dark fellow whom Anna greeted as "Tom.'”
"And MacDonald has no idea where they
went?” The question again came from Mr.
Dennison.
“Madge supposes, of course, that Anna
was just in town for the day and that Tom
is to take her back to Hollywood. Madge sus-
pects nothing wrong, but she told her husband
that she felt a little worried because Anna's
friend had plainly been drinking."
Behind me, I heard Sophie give a little
gasp. “Well-1," said Mr. Dennison reflec-
tively, and then there was silence.
“Isn't there anything we can do, Father?”
asked Sophie appealingly after the pause in
which we all sat thinking. There was a
quiver in her voice that somehow set my
heart throbbing. Here in this sordid New
York street, with the lights and confusion
and noise of the city, we seemed very far
from the quiet Hollywood river where, only
twenty-four hours ago, we listened to the
“key-chord of creation.”


156 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
a spark of interest over what to him was an
everyday occurrence. Our only success was
in convincing ourselves that there was noth-
ing we could do beyond the general police call
they would send at once. Every patrolman
in Greater New York would be warned to be
on the lookout for Anna and Tom.
Sophie wanted to stay in the city on the
chance that the two would be picked up at
once, but Mr. Dennison vetoed that. Arrang-
ing for word to be sent to Hollywood if this
happened, we finally started homeward.
Fred sat silently beside me as the car slid
through the soft dusk. Once he offered to
drive if I were tired, but I did not care to be
relieved.
So far as I know, neither Sophie nor her
father spoke during the trip home, but once I
glanced over my shoulder to see her cuddled
close against him like a sorrowful child.
The chimes of St. Peter's were playing as
the car stopped before the Dennison house,
followed by twelve long slow strokes. No
especial farewells were said; I dropped the
P
ver


TUESDAY EVENING
157
silent Fred at the rectory and went home.
Although it was late, I was too disturbed
in mind to feel sleepy and was not anxious to
report our failure to Mary, who would be
waiting to hear and who would probably be
reduced to a state of tearful despair. To
postpone the evil moment, I went from the
garage into the garden, intending to calm my
nerves by a cigarette and a stroll among the
sleeping flowers.
I wandered slowly down the wistaria per-
gola, stopping to enjoy fragrant scents, inten-
sified by the dew, and coming from either
side on soft puffs of wind. What a contrast
to that city street!
As I drew near the pergola platform, I
thought I saw a figure huddled in one of the
iron chairs. The intruder, whoever it might
be, was unconscious of my approach, for I
wore rubber-soled tennis shoes. For a sec-
ond, I stood motionless, and there came to
me the sound of a sob, as of a creature per-
fectly heart-broken. Then, I think, a whiff
of tobacco must have drifted across the plat-


158 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
form, for the figure suddenly sprang up and
a frightened voice gasped “Mr. Perrin!”
“Is it you, Anna?''I asked, throwing aside
my cigarette and coming to the table where
she stood.
“Yes, Mr. Perrin,” she answered, and I
could hear her breath coming in frightened
sobs.
“I am glad you have come home, Anna," I
said, trying to speak in an ordinary manner.
“Mr. Farrell and Miss Dennison and I have
been trying to find you. We went into town
to Mrs. MacDonald's but you had gone.
Anna, where is Tom Stetson?”
There was a silence before Anna spoke.
“Mr. Perrin,” she began, “honestly, I don't
know where he is. He came for me at
Madge's and I went with him. He said we
would be married, but-he had been drinking.
I knew he did sometimes, but, oh-he had
never been like that, not the way he was this
evening. I was frightened and I wanted to
come home. I asked him to bring me back
to Hollywood and said I couldn't be married


162 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
After telephoning Fred I went to my room
as the clock struck one, feeling that I had
earned my repose. But in the moments be-
fore drifting into sleep, I thought over the
day. During its course, three different
epithets had been applied to me. I had been
called a healthy young liar and a disrespect-
ful kid, but the girl I loved was of a differ-
ent opinion. And when a girl, presumably
in the hearing of her father, tells a young
man over the telephone that he is rather a
dear,” how much is the young man justified
in inferring?


WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON 165
wet lawn. The grass was close-clipped, but
still he was stepping cautiously, lifting his
feet high at each step.
“I tried to get hold of you yesterday," he
said, “but couldn't make connections with
either you or Farrell. How did you make
out with your detective and what has he ac-
complished?"
“Good-morning," I replied. “Isn't this
early for you?”
“Just out to raise an appetite. Seeing
you, I thought it was a good chance to ask
about that affair at the church.”
“Well,” I answered rather guardedly, re-
calling the questions asked me yesterday by
the president of the bank, “I engaged the de-
tective. He hasn't told me fully what he
suspects nor what he is doing; in fact I
haven't seen him since Monday, but I have
every reason to think that he is on his job.”
“It will be hard to keep the matter quiet in-
definitely,” replied Buckley, who seemed a
trifle disappointed over my non-committal
answer.


166 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
“It will,” I agreed. “I understand that
there are vague rumors already that some-
thing is wrong. Probably some member of
the vestry told his wife.”
Buckley's face did not change. “I told my
own wife," he admitted, “of course, as not
to be spoken of. You can't send the vestry
an S.O.S. call without making the ladies won-
der. Then your detective hasn't formed a
theory?”
“He hasn't imparted it to me," I replied,
busy over a rose-bush. “I think he has found
what he considers a promising clue, but as I
said, I have not seen him since Monday.
Very likely it may be the end of the week
before there is anything to report. Such
things take time, you know."
“Quite so," said Buckley, looking down at
his neat gaiters, somewhat the worse for his
excursion from the street. “Bless me! how
wet this place is. Well, of course you are
dressed for it. Sad, the death of young
Glines, isn't it?”
“I don't know him," I replied. “Do you


WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON 167
mean those people who recently rented the
old Thaxter place?”.
“Yes, three or four houses beyond yours.
They have been there only about two
months."
“I believe I know Mrs. Glines and the chil-
dren by sight, but I don't recall Glines him-
self.”
“Very promising young traveling man,”
explained Mr. Buckley, preparing to retreat.
“He settled his family here and has been
away most of the time since. It seems he
came down with pneumonia at a hotel in
Utica. They called a doctor and sent for his
wife, who reached him just before he died.
The funeral is to be on Thursday afternoon
if they can make connections with Farrell.
I understand nobody could locate him yester-
day, and all his aunt knew was that he was
trying to straighten a mess for somebody.
He's a good chap, Farrell, but I sometimes
wish that he preached a stronger sermon.”
“I think it is a wonder that he can preach
at all, considering all that he carries during


168 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
the week. If anything goes wrong anywhere
in the parish, everybody flies to Farrell to
set it right. He does an untold amount of
good and keeps at it all day and half the
night.”
“He is a faithful pastor," Buckley ad-
mitted as he reached the gate, “and perhaps
that counts for as much in the end as eloquent
preaching. Let us know when you hear any-
thing definite on that other matter."
I worked away at my roses. Personally,
I consider Fred a fair preacher. He isn't
eloquent; he isn't an orator, but he has a
pleasant voice, he never says anything merely
for effect and he is never guilty of bad taste.
Once he gave us a sermon that made me real-
ize that it may be as bad to leave a duty un-
done as to commit an actual sin. Fred means
every word he says and he practises what he
preaches.
By now the sun was high and the town had
waked to life. Putting away my tools, I went
into the house, bathed, dressed and came down


WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON 169
at half-past seven to find my breakfast served
on the west porch. All was as usual except
that the spoons by my plate were not the old-
fashioned hand-made ones, so I knew Mary
laid the table. .
“How is Anna?" I inquired as I unfolded
my napkin and started on my grapefruit.
“She is asleep,” Mary replied. “She was
that tired I thought I'd let her have her rest
out. I peeped in her door and she hadn't
moved since I left her.”
“We have come out of that affair mighty
well, Mary," I observed. “Anna is through
with Stetson; she told me so last night.”
“And thankful I am to hear it,” said Mary.
"I won't throw it up to Anna, now she sees
her folly, but I can't help hoping Mr. Far-
rell will give her a bit of advice. And it's
good of you not to turn her away."
“I wouldn't think of doing so," I replied,
glancing at the front page of the morning
paper. "What's the use of shoving people
down?”


170 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
“You are like your father, Mr. Preston,"
said Mary simply. “He preferred to help
people whenever he could.”
“Indeed, I wish I were like him, Mary," I
said and sincerely meant it. Then I began
to read and Mary went into the kitchen.
Before starting for the bank two things
happened to me. First came a telegram from
New York.
“Leave word at home where to find you.
"RANKIN.”
Hardly had I laid aside this yellow mis-
sive when Fred telephoned. He inquired for
Anna and I discovered that he did what I
had not thought of doing last night-told
the Leonards of her safety. I was ashamed
that I relieved only Sophie's anxiety. Fred
explained that he must give time and atten-
tion to Mrs. Glines that morning and that he
had an out-of-town marriage to perform in
the afternoon. He intended later, to have a
serious talk with Anna, but that could wait.
It was important, however, that somebody


WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON 171
should find out from her whether Stetson
came to the church on Sunday morning.
There was now no reason why she should
shield him and she would doubtless be per-
fectly frank and open. It was better, thought
Fred, for one of us to ask the necessary ques-
tions rather than for Rankin, and he felt that
I was the proper person.
I disagreed and suggested that he combine
the job with his proposed pastoral lecture.
Fred said that in any case he could not see
Anna until evening.
I said that it would be perfectly convenient
for me to have him call upon Anna then. He
could talk with her in either the library or
the garden and I would make myself scarce.
For some moments we argued the matter
in a manner that I fear became heated, but
I gave in when Fred hinted that the inter-
view would add another burden to a load he
considered already sufficient for his day.
Instructing Mary to refer any one who
asked for my whereabouts to the bank, I went
down-town. Brady, the teller, was ill, leav-


172 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
ing us short-handed so that I took only half an
hour at noon and had no chance to interview
Anna. She waited on me as usual, and
though looking pale and subdued, seemed the
same deft and quiet waitress. On leaving, I
again left word that I should be at the bank
until coming home.
That day, Lewis kept his wits from wool-
gathering, and we were able to shut up shop
promptly, but though it was not four when
I reached my house, I found Rankin patrol-
ing the front walk. He was smoking and
looked as well-groomed and unperturbed as
on Monday.
“Your excellent housekeeper offered me
the hospitality of either house or garden,”
he remarked pleasantly, “but I saw you in
the distance."
“Come in,” I said, opening the front door.
“Have you seen Farrell?”.
“Out of town, they tell me.”
“To be sure," I replied. “I knew that, but
it had slipped my mind. What can I do for
you?”


WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON 173
I0
We entered the library at the right of the
hall, a room thirty feet long, furnished by
the fine collection of books amassed by many
generations of Perrins.
“I want,” said Rankin, “ to know what
happened at the church on Sunday morning
between Anna and Stetson.”
"Where is Stetson?" I asked, sitting down
in a big leather-cushioned chair opposite my
visitor.
“In New York, under arrest,” replied
Rankin, surveying his cigarette with an air
of detached interest.
I lighted one myself. “On what charge
are you holding him?” I inquired, curious to
know what had happened.
“At present, for being drunk and disor-
derly, but I have notified the authorities that
there may be a more serious indictment.
Anna answered my ring, so I see she is home
again. I expected to find her here for I knew
that she left New York alone on the ten o'clock
train for Hollywood.”
“Rankin,” I said smiling, “you are surely


174 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
some sleuth. At what hour last evening did
I puncture a tire on the boulevard ?”
“If you will give me a little time, I will find
out,” the detective replied quite seriously.
“It was due to your general appeal to the
police that we so soon learned that Anna had
separated from Stetson. But you can see
that the hour has come for her to tell us what
happened between them on Sunday.”
“Yes, I see,” I agreed reflectively. “Far-
rell told me so this morning, but I have had
no opportunity to question Anna. I hate to
upset her by talking about it, for she has been
under a strain and has experienced a severe
fright." .
“I am afraid that it must be done,” ob-
served Rankin. “Will you do the question-
ing or shall I?”
For a moment I deliberated. “Do you
mean for me to question her in your pres-
ence?"
“That is advisable. If you prefer," he
glanced around the library, “perhaps we


178 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
would Miss Sophie think if she came back and
found him? But he only laughed and kept
on coming. So then I hurried to put the vase
away and get him out. We left by the side
door by Mr. Farrell's study."
“Did Stetson go down the passage with you
to the safe?” I asked.
“Oh, no, Mr. Perrin. I wouldn't have let
him,” said Anna and her voice sounded
plainly shocked. “He never came farther
than the sacristy door. There he stood while
I put up the vase and then we both went
away."
I glanced at Rankin who looked absolutely
imperturbable, but his lips shaped some
soundless words.
“And where did you go then?" I asked,
turning again to Anna.
“Down by the river, Mr. Perrin," came the
listless answer. “We sat there all the morn-
ing.”
Rankin suddenly straightened himself from
a lounging position in his easy chair. For
the first time, he appeared to give Anna his


WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON 179
undivided attention. He started to speak,
changed his mind and only looked meaningly
at me. I, too, was struck by the significance
of Anna's last remark.
"All the morning?" I repeated. “Didn't
Stetson leave you?”
“No, sir. We sat under the big oak be-
yond the printery. I told him I must be get-
ting back to see about the flowers, but it was
half-past twelve before he let me go, and
when I got to the church, most of the congre-
gation had gone."
6 And Tom did not leave you at any time?”.
“No, Mr. Perrin." Anna raised dull un-
seeing eyes to the elm beyond the library win-
dow.
“When you went back to the church what
became of him?”.
“He left me at the corner of the cemetery.
He said he was going to Yonkers.".
Rankin again indicated a silent question.
“While you were under the oak, did any
one you know pass by?”.
“Some people in a canoe, Bertha Slader


180 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
and Henry Boyce. George Murphy came
through the meadow and talked a minute with
Tom."
- “And did you see Stetson later on Sun-
day?”
“Yes, sir, that evening,” said Anna, her
face again flushing. “Out in the garden be-
yond the roses."
“Oh, he came in the Walnut Street gate?"
“Yes, Mr. Perrin.".
I looked at Rankin for further instructions,
but he did not notice me. His cigarette had
gone out and he seemed absorbed in thought.
As the silence continued, he caught my glance
and made a gesture of dismissal, which I
hailed with deep relief.
“Thank you very much, Anna. That is all
we need of you."
As Anna rose, I couldn't help wondering
over the complete end to her infatuation for
Stetson. He must indeed have hurt and
frightened her unspeakably to bring about
so instant and thorough a change.
“Well," I said as the door closed behind


XII
WEDNESDAY EVENING
LOOKED at Rankin to see whether he
was in earnest. “You mean," I in-
quired, “that you now count Stetson
out of it?”
“If Anna told the truth and she did I am
convinced of that—Stetson had no oppor-
tunity to steal the silver. Her story can be
checked by interviewing the people who
passed them under the oak. When you ques-
tioned Anna before, about the sacristy win-
dow and the notice Mr. Farrell was to give,
she evaded. We have now heard what really
happened.” Rankin waved his hand with a
gesture seeming once and all to dispose of
Stetson.
“Of course," he went on, “somebody else
may have stolen the silver within the twenty
minutes that Thompson was alone in the
church, but now it looks as though the door
182


WEDNESDAY EVENING
183
was shut and the thief had a good hour and a
quarter at his disposal. I am unfamiliar with
the services of your church, but if that door
from the study passage was open at the begin-
ning of the morning worship, would it be
likely to be closed by any one?”.
I shook my head. “Improbable, I think.
Unless there was some very unusual reason,
no member of the choir would leave his place
to do so, and Farrell would not be likely to
close it. Doubtless it remained throughout
the hour as it stood at the beginning."
Rankin was silent for fully five minutes and
I did not interrupt his absorption. The bell
at the front door rang, but since Anna did
not come for me, I supposed it to be the post-
man.
“Stetson is innocent,” said Rankin at last,
“cleared by Anna's testimony. We may
count him out. Mr. Perrin, if we go over to
the church, can you get in?”
“I can get into the parish-house," I said
cautiously, “and if we find Perkins, into the
church. Do you want to go?”


184 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
“Do you know when Farrell will return?”
asked Rankin meditatively.
“I inferred that he would be at home this
evening."
“Is anything likely to be going on now in
the parish-house—a meeting of any society?"
I considered doubtfully. I do not keep tabs
on the numerous activities of the parish and
could not for the life of me tell whether we
should run into a sewing society or the
Knights of King Arthur or a choir rehearsal.
“Give it up," I replied hopelessly. “No-
body but Farrell could tell you."
Rankin's next question astonished me even
more. “Do you know whether there is a
master-key to the locks of the parish-house?”
I threw open my hands with a gesture of de-
spair.
“Particularly,” Rankin continued, “ to the
lockers in the choir-room?”.
“Ask Perkins," I suggested feebly.
Rankin looked faintly amused. “I want to
visit both the church and the parish-house
again, but I do not want to encounter any


WEDNESDAY EVENING
185
gathering of people. Do you suppose Anna
would know whether there was likely to be an
assembly there at this hour?”
"I can ask," I remarked, “but it seems to
me she'll be more stupid than I think she is, if
she doesn't smell a rat before long."
I went down the long hall to the kitchen
door. Mary looked up as I came in. She
was baking cookies and seemed to think I had
been drawn by their spicy odor. Confronted
with a pan just taken from the oven, I imme-
diately lapsed into boyhood again.
“Where's Anna?" I asked.
“Why,” said Mary, looking a little em-
barrassed, “Miss Sophie came to see her.
They have gone out in the garden.”
I glanced from the window down the long
pergola. Seated by the platform table were
two white-clad figures, but Anna's head was
down on her hands, and I could see that the
other girl had a comforting arm about her.
“Oh," I said. “Miss Dennison is much in-
terested in Anna; she told me so.”
“Anna has improved a lot since Miss


186 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
Sophie has helped run the Friendly,” said
Mary, offering me another cooky
Of course I couldn't interrupt that inter-
view and Mary could give me no information
as to what might be going on at the church.
"If we should turn up at the rectory about
seven, probably Farrell would be back," I
suggested as I returned to the library, "and
at that hour, we wouldn't be likely to run into
any meetings."
Rankin assented, yet spoke as though his
mind was on other matters. Rising from his
chair, he looked at his watch with the manner
of a man who has made up his mind. “I
will meet you at the rectory around seven,"
he said, and I showed him out.
When he was gone, I went up to my room,
which is at the back of the house. Mary has
always felt tried with me because I prefer it
to either of the big front chambers, seldom
occupied except by an occasional guest. She
keeps their window draperies spotless, their
four-poster mahogany beds in immaculate
covers and frills, and it is a real grief to her


WEDNESDAY EVENING
189
inducement? In worldly advantages, noth-
ing that her father could not give her; be-
yond that, only my love and a name I had
kept honorable. Plenty of girls in Holly-
wood were eager and ready to take a chance
with me; I knew at least twenty who would
need only to be invited, but the one girl I
wanted didn't belong to that class. Having
taken all my faults out of cold storage and
considered them penitently, I came to the con-
clusion that there was really no basis for ex-
pecting Sophie to love a person like Preston
Perrin, and that if she ever did, it would
be nothing short of a miracle.
When Mary called me to dinner, I went
down in a humble frame of mind, but after
a time my spirits revived and I started to
keep my appointment at the rectory, with the
cheering thought that miracles had happened
in the past and might again. I was not at
all sure that we should make connections
with Fred. The hour for the marriage cere-
mony he had to perform was four, but Fred


WEDNESDAY EVENING 191
for Fred and to save him from being shown
into that intolerable reception-room, stepped
to the study door.
“Hello, Perrin," he remarked. Then he
asked the maid when Farrell was expected.
She did not know and seemed at a loss what
to do with us.
“I wonder if we can't go into the parish-
house?” Rankin asked of me.
“May we have the key?" I inquired of the
maid.
This request seemed to take from her what-
ever self-possession yet remained. Appar-
ently she suspected us of sinister designs.
“Look here,” I said, “my name is Perrin
and I am the junior warden of St. Peter's.
We came to see Mr. Farrell on business and
we can do part of it before he comes, if you
will kindly give us that key. Just tell Miss
Farrell who wants it and she will assure you
that it is all perfectly regular and custom-
ary."
The girl went, apparently comforted that
she was not going to be murdered on the


194 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
hanging like limp ghosts from their pegs.
Almost every one held belongings more per-
sonal; in the case of the men, a small mirror
affixed to the inner side of the door, a comb
and brush, perhaps a sweater left from
winter. Those used by the boys contained
weird objects, of value only to the extremely
young of the human race.
I wondered whether Rankin expected to find
the missing silver concealed in some locker,
but I soon saw that he was not paying much
attention to whatever might be piled on the
floor of each; he was looking at the cassocks.
Taking each from its peg, he surveyed it
with a swift glance that seemed certain of
recognizing immediately what he expected to
find. Since I could see no earthly difference
in them, except that some were longer than
others, I watched with amazement. Prob-
ably it is the duty of a detective to be mysteri-
ous, but I began to feel exasperated that he
did not even tell me what he was looking
for.
Down one side of the room he went, around


196 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
private opinion of your church janitor, not as
to character, but as to the work he does?”.
“I think he is extremely inefficient,” I re-
plied. “He is faithful but grouchy and hard
to get on with, and while he takes reasonably
good care of the grounds, the ladies are al-
ways complaining because the church isn't
properly cleaned. But he has been here fif-
teen years and it is hard to make a change."
“Have you yourself noticed that the church
was not well kept?” Rankin asked after a
pause.
"I don't know that I have,” I admitted.
“A man doesn't notice such things as a
woman does.”
Rankin sat down on the corner of the table.
“I am still working," said he, “on the sup-
position that the thief had only about twenty
minutes to complete his theft. Since Stetson
is proved out of the question, it narrows down
to the probability that it was done, as I told
Mr. Farrell, by a member of his congrega-
tion and by somebody who is familiar with
the church buildings. Eliminating Stetson,


198 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
would open it,” he said. “That lock is the
same type as these here."
“But why should he go down cellar?” I
persisted.
“To put the silver in some place of con-
cealment,” said Rankin with a kind of pity-
ing contempt for my stupidity. “That is,
assuming he is the guilty party, of which I
am not at all convinced. I asked about your
sexton, wondering whether it would be possi-
ble for Thompson to get his cassock so dirty
just in attending to his ordinary duties.”
“From what I know of Perkins and his
methods with dust, I should think it perfectly
possible," I remarked frankly.
“Let us go into the church and see whether
this key, as I suspect, opens also that door
at the top of the cellar stairs,” Rankin went
on.
"The door from the parish-house into the
church will be locked," I remarked as I rose
from the piano bench. "We cannot get in
without obtaining it from either Farrell or the
sexton."


WEDNESDAY EVENING 199
“It is my opinion,” said Rankin calmly,
“that this key will admit us to the church.
You see an organist naturally comes to prac-
tise during the week and cannot depend upon
others to open doors for him."
Rankin was right; the key opened the door
from the parish-house into the church, and
we entered its spacious interior, already al-
most dark.
“Shall I put on a light?” I inquired. “I
believe I can find the switch." ...
"No, don't bother,” replied Rankin; “we
have just to cross to the study passage.”
The door into it was shut but not locked
and opened to my hand. I stepped inside to
find it even darker than the church. Some-
where beyond the door was a switch and while
I took a step or two down the passage groping
for it, I stumbled over something. The next
second I located the switch and turned on the
light. Then I looked to see what had so
nearly tripped me. Piled in front of the safe
door, right on the floor, were a mahogany box
of some size and eleven dark-red flannel bags !


XIII
WEDNESDAY EVENINGCONTINUED
COULD not believe my eyes but stood
staring in dumb amazement. Rankin
gave a low whistle.
“So somebody's conscience got busy!” he
commented. “Do you know, this is about
what I expected to happen. Is it all here?”
I opened the mahogany box. Four pieces
of the priceless colonial set. Then I exam-
ined each of the bags. The set presented by
my father was intact, together with the big
silver vase and some miscellaneous pieces.
“So far as I know, the only thing missing is
that box you picked up in my garden and
which is locked in the safe at home.”
Rankin was leaning against the wall watch-
ing my inspection. “Well,” I said as I com-
pleted verifying the count, “this is the limit!
200


WEDNESDAY EVENING
201
Who on earth took this silver and who
brought it back and how? I suppose I had
better try to get the safe open and put it
away.”
“Just as well,” Rankin agreed, “though it
may have been piled here in the passage for
thirty-six hours or more. There is no way
of telling when it was returned.”
I felt for my memorandum book and after
some searching, discovered the page where
the combination of the church safe was writ-
ten. With some amusement Rankin watched
my efforts to open the iron door, but I suc-
ceeded at last and the silver was restored to
its rightful resting place.
“I think,” I remarked, as I threw off the
combination and relocked the outer door, “I
shall suggest to the vestry that this colonial
service, which is used only on high festivals,
be kept in the vaults of the bank.”
“I should,” said Rankin. As I withdrew
the key from the wooden door, he tried the
master one belonging to Thompson. It
turned at once.


202 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
Without a word, he stepped along the pas-
sage to the cellar door and fitted the key in its
lock. Again it yielded. Still in silence he
opened the outer door to the street, the one of
which Fred is supposed to carry the only key,
and tried Thompson's from the outside. The
door opened easily.
“It is possible to draw some conclusions,'
he said, as he rejoined me in the passage.
“The question is, whether with the silver re-
stored, you want to carry the matter farther.”
“Great Scott, I don't know!” I said help-
lessly. "The Lord only knows what we shall
come to if we do."
“And, possibly, Mr. Farrell,” said Rankin
quietly.
“What do you mean?" I demanded.
“Just now I inferred that you thought
Thompson the man. Personally, I don't.
Why in creation should he give you his mas-
ter-key if he were guilty? He must know
that you would suspect him when you found
it would open every door in the building.


204 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
Perhaps, in the interests of the church, you
will prefer the identity of that person to re-
main undisclosed.”
For a moment, I considered. “Do you
think,” I asked after the pause, “that if you
go on with the investigation, you can discover
who it was?”
“Of that, I am practically certain.”
“I cannot see,” I added after another de-
liberation, “why you make that insinuation
about Farrell's knowledge in the matter."
“Because I think he knows more about it
than he has told either you or me. I think
that he is trying to shield somebody."
“Ridiculous!” I commented. “Only last
night he was tearing off to New York on the
trail of Stetson and Anna."
“His interest then was wholly for Anna.
I doubt if he recalled the missing silver.
Have you told him where that box was
found ?"
I admitted that I had not, and Rankin sug-
gested that we go to the rectory on the chance
that Fred had returned. I agreed and also


WEDNESDAY EVENING
205
assented to his plan to speak about the box.
As we came up the walk to the front door, I
was surprised to see on the side piazza a drip-
ping canoe-paddle. Judging by its circum-
stantial evidence, Fred had returned from his
wedding and gone on the river. Within my
own mind I wondered whether he had been
alone.
The maid who answered our ring, seemed
less hostile now that the key was brought
back, and said that Mr. Farrell was at home
and just finishing a late dinner.
"Let us go to his study then," I said.
"Tell him that Mr. Rankin and Mr. Perrin
are there, but don't hurry him.”
Fred's study is worn and rather shabby,
but possesses the charm of any room that is
really lived in. I sat down on the big com-
fortable couch near the fireplace, but Rankin
wandered around, looking, I thought, a bit
curiously at the bookcases surrounding three
sides, and at Fred's desk, somewhat disor-
derly and piled with papers and letters ap-
parently awaiting answers. After his sur-


WEDNESDAY EVENING 207
other day in your garden. Are you now con-
vinced that Mr. Farrell knows more about
this affair than he has yet admitted?”
“I am convinced,” said I, looking at the
bag confronting us, “that Farrell has prob-
ably learned something new since he last had
a chance to talk with us."
“You are a good friend, Perrin,” said
Rankin with a pleasant smile. “Well, we
will see what he has to say about it.”
When Fred came, he looked utterly done
up, as though he had been through something
far harder than marrying two happy young
people. He did not seat himself in his desk-
chair but on the other end of my couch.
“Well,” he inquired, “what about Anna?”
For a second I was puzzled, for so much
had happened since I talked with Anna! But
I gave him a brief synopsis of that conversa-
tion and Rankin added that he considered
Stetson absolutely cleared.
“I am glad of that,” said Fred decidedly.
“I hoped he had nothing to do with it. His
reputation is bad enough without having that



PL
John Goss
“ WILL YOU EXPLAIN TO US, MR. FARRELL, HOW THE LITTLE BAG
BELONGING TO THAT BOX HAPPENS TO BE HERE IN YOUR STUDY?”
Page 208.





210 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
most uncomfortable silence, “whether you
think further investigation would involve-
well—Thompson?”
“He held a choir rehearsal here this after-
noon,” said the detective. “You can con-
clude what you choose from that and from
what you have just seen of his master-key, but
while I should certainly sift that a little far-
ther, I believe that he is not the person we
are looking for."
“But you would come down to an individ-
ual?"
“Yes,” Rankin replied rather curtly.
For a moment, I hesitated. “Man or
woman?” I asked.
Rankin looked at me sharply. “Do you
really want that question answered, Mr. Per-
rin?” he inquired.
I looked again at Fred, who stared at the
rug and did not seem to hear what I said.
Rankin sat awaiting my reply.
"No," I said, “I will not ask for an an-
swer. And for the present, we will consider
the matter ended with the restoration of the


WEDNESDAY EVENING 211
silver. If we decide to go into it farther, I
will let you know."
"Very well, Mr. Perrin. Allow me to say
that I think your decision wise."
When he had left the house, which he did
without our exchanging any words in private,
I returned to the study. Fred was leaning
back on the couch, looking really ill and ex-
hausted.
“You'd better go to bed," I advised him.
“What has happened to you, anyway?”.
“I believe I will go,” replied Fred, rising
as he spoke, “if you will forgive me for
turning you out. I have a beastly headache,
and to-morrow I must be in shape for that
funeral.”
Pausing by the desk, he looked at the little
bag, which he took up and turned over ab-
sently in his fingers.
“You are a sport, Preston,” he added, as
I took my hat preparatory to leaving, “and
what is much more, a very loyal friend.”


XIV
THURSDAY AND FRIDAY
EAVING the rectory, I strolled down
the street, wondering what was go-
ing to happen next. It was now far
too dark to play tennis, and never in my life
had I felt less like dancing. To straighten
my confused thoughts, if it could be done, was
all of which I was capable.
There was much to consider. First, what
was the matter with Fred? How did that lit-
tle red bag come into his possession, and why
was he not at liberty to explain?
Again, if Rankin was right in thinking that
Fred knew more than he had as yet been will-
ing to disclose, whom was Fred endeavoring
to shield? The more I thought, the more puz-
zled I grew. Beyond all doubt that silver had
been stolen and replaced, as Rankin had said
in the very beginning, by a member of the
congregation, but by whom?
212


THURSDAY AND FRIDAY
215
was in trouble and wanted to go in to pray.
I didn't know what to do, but it didn't seem
right to refuse, so I unlocked the door and
let her in. About ten minutes after, I looked
in and she was kneelin' there with her face in
her hands, and I concluded it was all right.
I couldn't hang about for I had my work to
do, so I left the door as it was.
“A little later, Miss Dennison came with
a piece of linen on a roller to put away in the
sacristy. That, too, was regular, so I told her
the door was open and she could go in. I
didn't lock up till around six and then the
church was empty."
“Of course you could not refuse such a re-
quest," I replied. “I am sure Mr. Farrell
would wish anybody who came for such a
purpose to be admitted to the church. You
didn't know her?”
Perkins shook his head. “She's been
round once or twice, but that's all I know.
Come to think of it, she was there last Sun-
day after the early service. I went to see
whether the front steps was swept good and


216 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
clean, for if they wasn't, I'd have somebody
in my hair. I looked in the main door and
that same woman was standin' by the organ,
talkin' to the organist. They was speakin'
kind of earnest, and he was playin' soft-like,
just touchin' a key or two. How are the
pinies comin' on?”
For another three minutes I stood report-
ing progress among the peonies, but all the
time my mind was busy with other matters.
Perkins never suspected this, and when we
parted, his only thought was for my garden,
which he announced his intention of inspect-
ing at an early date.
So far from clearing up anything, my
chance encounter with the sexton only gave
me more food for meditation. Who was this
unknown woman, whom Thompson had not
mentioned in accounting for the time he was
in the church between services last Sunday?
Did she have anything to do with Fred's per-
turbed condition?
I did not in the least regret my decision
to have Rankin drop the investigation, but


THURSDAY AND FRIDAY 227
their actual meaning. It was as though Fred
were trying to tell me something without ac-
tually saying it. I was startled into looking
at him.
As Fred's eyes met mine, he grew pale.
“She doesn't care for me, Preston,” he added
simply.
“It doesn't follow that she cares for me,”
I said after a long pause.
“She may not know it yet, but she does."
I was silent, for I was inexpressibly
touched. Long and intimately as we have
often talked, we had never come so close be-
fore.
“Do you know," Fred went on with an air
of absolute finality, “I believe that a clergy-
man can do more good in a parish if he is
not married. He can give his people all his
affection and thought and care instead of de-
voting it to a few individuals. I don't be-
lieve I should make a very good husband; my
wife would always be having to take care of
me. I live too much in the clouds to make a
girl as happy as you would make one."


228 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
I reached across the table to grasp his
hand, and for a few moments neither of us
spoke. Then Fred returned to the question
of the church silver.
“You will come to the vestry meeting pre-
pared to handle the matter?” he asked.
“Prepared to tell downright fibs if they
ask inconvenient questions, but they won't. I
should like, however, to know three things
just for my own satisfaction; who put the
flowers on my family lot; who took the red
bag to Mrs. Glines's house, and who dropped
the silver box in my garden. By the way, let
me give you that box.”
I went into the house after it, glad to be
alone for a moment. I knew now what had
been the matter with Fred on Wednesday
evening; I knew too, that in some way Sophie
must have showed him what perhaps she
hardly knew herself; otherwise he would not
have taken the trouble to suggest that her
happiness lay in my hands. Yet through the
thrill of exultation I felt, ran sincere regret


THURSDAY AND FRIDAY 229
that my joy must be bought at the expense
and pain of my friend.
I laid the little box on the table before Fred.
The dried dust had fallen from it but it rat-
tled slightly as he turned it in his fingers.
“What is in it?" he asked.
“I don't know," I replied. “I did not
open it the other day, nor did Rankin. It
didn't rattle then and we assumed that it
was empty."
Touching the catch, Fred lifted the lid.
The box appeared to be full of leaves that
once flourished greenly in a lily bed. He
tipped them out on the table and with them
fell a small china doll!


232 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
could never again look Mr. Farrell in the
face.
“It happened because Perkins didn't lock
the door from the parish-house basement into
the church cellar last Sunday morning, or
rather because he locked it too late. Three
of my choir-boys, Warren and my two young
cousins, Arthur and Richard Glines, stole into
the cellar and Perkins locked them in."
“Ah!” said Fred suddenly.
“They went up the steps to the door in the
study passage and opened it a crack just
as Miss Dennison closed the outer wooden
door to the safe and put away the key. You
know what boys are. There was I playing
the organ and nobody likely to come for half
an hour.
"They investigated the safe, found it un-
locked and were struck with the brilliant no-
tion of hiding the church silver. I haven't
talked with Warren, but Arthur was very
frank. He said it was entirely his own idea,
that when he proposed it Warren got cold feet
and left by the side door. We'll have to pay


SATURDAY AFTERNOON
233
some attention to young Arthur or he will
bring up in the penitentiary. He and Rich-
ard coolly took the silver out of the safe
their consummate gall is more than I can un-
derstand—and where do you think they put
it?”
“I haven't an idea," I replied. I was
· really amazed at the daring of two small boys
in interfering with the church safe.
“That is the one funny thing in an affair
otherwise pretty shady,” Thompson went on.
“Do you recall that when we were in the
study discussing the matter on Monday after-
noon, Rankin sat lounging on the window-
seat? All the time he was sitting over the
stolen silver-for the kids had put it in the
window-box!”
In spite of the seriousness of the affair
we laughed; we could not help it.
“Having stowed it away,” Thompson con-
tinued, “they locked the outer door of the
safe and replaced the key. From their point
of view it was an excellent joke. I really do
not think it then occurred to Arthur that it


236 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
want to tell you something of what Mrs.
Glines has been through during the past five
years; it seems only fair that you should
know what she has been up against. Her
husband was a confirmed drug-user. She en-
dured everything from him and bore it in si-
lence, too. I believe my wife and I were
the only people who knew all the circum-
stances and I am glad that we have been able
to help her, be it ever so little. But in part,
her suffering accounts for her standing so
aloof from most of the community, and per-
haps for the fact that the children lack train-
ing and discipline. Glines never helped her
in any way, you see. When I found her just
now in such distress, I came to explain and to
ask Mr. Farrell if he will give her an oppor-
tunity to apologize for Arthur."
"I will go and see her immediately,” said
Fred, rising.
I walked to the gate with them, for Thomp-
son would not stay. The matter was wholly
cleared and by what a simple explanation!
Every point, save one. Would I ever know


238 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
with me. She must have guessed my chagrin
from my voice, for suddenly she made me
happy.
“Don't stay at home on purpose,” she said,
“but after they go, if it isn't too late, Father
and I will walk around and make a call on
your garden. Father wants to see the peo-
nies."
“I shall be watching for you," I replied.
“Tea will be ready whenever you come.”
Nothing happened to prevent their coming.
About five I saw Mr. Dennison opening the
Walnut Street gate and I went at once to meet
them. First we had tea on the platform and
at my request, Sophie made and poured it.
I told them the story of the church silver, the
story which the vestry good-naturedly voted
to keep quiet, and did, though for months
there was a persistent rumor, not to be
downed, that something had happened at St.
Peter's. And I ended as before with the
wish that the one remaining mystery might be
solved.


240 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
This afternoon an unaccustomed veil, intan-
gible but very real seemed dropped between
us.
There is in my garden a climbing rose of
great beauty. When the buds begin to come
they are red-gold in color with the sheen and
luster of copper, but as the flowers open and
mature, they gradually turn to yellow, the
whole trellis becoming a marvel of delicately
tinted tiny blossoms. The rose is named for
a young French aviator, who flew up one day
into God's blue heaven and found it so won-
derful that he never came back.
Sophie paused under the yellow rose to
look at its waves of glory tossing against the
sky. One of the copper buds touched her
cheek and she turned to press it against her
lips.
“Your garden is simply perfect, Preston,"
she said impulsively. “It is the loveliest
place I know."
“It isn't perfect, Sophie," I said quietly,
"but it lies in your power to make it so.
I've told every flower here that I love you


SATURDAY AFTERNOON
241
but I haven't told you. Will you come and
live in it and make it the loveliest place in
the world for me?”
Sophie was standing one step above me
under the yellow rose. At this she stopped
gazing upward and looked at me. She looked
long and steadily and I did not speak or move,
for I felt that Sophie's soul was in her eyes.
Almost I held my breath lest I frighten the
starry thing that was questioning me. In
that long moment every doubtful act of my
life flashed through my memory, but still I
looked back, for though, like all young men I
have done some foolish things, I have never
forfeited my right to Sophie's love. The
hands I offered her were clean.
And while Sophie looked there came a
change over her face. There had been doubt,
questioning, hesitation, almost a touch of
fear. These vanished to give way to a lovely
expression of shy wonder and awe, an expres-
sion that I suppose is given to each man to
see in its fullest beauty but once in his life.
So I have seen a sunrise creep over a virgin


242 THAT AFFAIR AT ST. PETER'S
peak of snow, changing its inaccessible splen-
dor to celestial warmth and color.
But still I waited, dumb with the meaning
of that look. The copper bud again touched
her cheek. The look of wonder changed to
one of confidence and trust.
“Oh, Preston,” said Sophie softly, “I am
not afraid to live in your garden. I think
that you will always understand.”
Then my miracle happened. With a lovely
appealing gesture of surrender, she put her
arms about my neck and her dear head on my
shoulder. And our garden became that of
Eden, where the Lord walked in the cool of
the day.
Sophie did not move, even when we heard
Mr. Dennison returning from his expedition
down the peony path. When he saw us by
the yellow rose, he stopped and hesitated,
looking exceedingly serious. But presently
he smiled, and into his eyes as they met mine,
came an expression that I have seen in those
of my own father.
When I told Mary of my engagement, she