"That was the reason I covered up the money," Adelaide replied, in a low voice. "You had better put it away, Tib."
I hastily bundled my money into the safe and locked the door, and we sat for some moments quietly watching the transom, but the spectre did not come again. Winnie entered a few moments later and seemed greatly interested by our accounts of the incident.
"Do you suppose that it could have been one of that band of Italian bravos who has climbed up on the fire-escape and who intends to murder us?" she asked with an assumption of terror.
"Hush," I whispered, pulling her dress, and pointing to Milly whose eyes were staring with fright.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Winnie; "can't you tell when I'm joking? It was Professor Waite. Of course it was Professor Waite. He has been in love with Adelaide ever since she complimented him on his appearance at their first meeting. He is dying for a glimpse at her fair face, and as she won't join his painting class he relieves his yearning heart by gazing over the transom."
There was more joking, and Milly's fears were as quickly quieted as they had been raised. Professor Waite had undoubtedly been at work in the studio, I insisted, and I knocked on the door and called his name.
No answer, and I tried to open the door, but the chest held it firmly in place. "Shall I look over the transom?" I asked.
"For pity's sake do not repeat Winnie's experience," Adelaide begged.
"Then I will look in by the corridor door," I said resolutely, and I stepped down the hall and into the studio. The door was open, so was Miss Noakes's door just opposite, and that watchful lady sat rocking and reading beside her little centre table. She was not too much absorbed, however, to give me a keen questioning glance--but she said nothing, for as assistant teacher in art I had a perfect right to frequent the studio.
The moon was shining in clearly through the great window, and every object was distinctly visible, but there was no one in the room. I opened the door leading to the turret staircase and listened; all was silent, and I screwed up my courage and descended, finding the door at the foot safely locked. The great Rembrandt hat lay on the chest in front of our door, and the Professor's mahl-stick, or long support on which he rested his arm when painting, leaned beside it. I could not see any change in the disposition of the pictures on the wall, or other indications of what the Professor had been doing, if indeed it was the Professor, and I did not know of his ever before visiting the studio at that hour. As I came out I noticed that Miss Noakes was still rocking before her open door, her slits of eyes glancing sharply up.