folded linen, the closet was empty. Tish looked slightly disappointed, but not discouraged. She went in and stuck her head out through the open window, looking in every direction.
"Exactly," she said and prepared to close and lock the closet again. But she waited to close the small window first, and when she turned. Tommy had stooped over something lying on the floor just inside the door.
"Look!" he said, holding it out on his palm. "Briggs' old pipe, with the stem gone! The one he was smoking when—!"
If he expected Tish to be impressed he was disappointed.
"There's nothing astonishing about that!" she said calmly, and proceeding to climb out one of the stained-glass windows on to the fire-escape—although it was the fifth floor and Tish had always declared she'd rather bum up than put a foot on one of the things—she ran nimbly up and over the cornice to the roof.
It was a very ordinary roof. One part was flat, and evidently used occasionally as a breathing spot. There were benches around and a flower pot or two, and directly in the center was a four-foot iron fence, enclosing a skylight. Two men at work there showed where Tommy had gone through, and when I glanced at him he was staring at it with a rueful smile.
"When you remember," he said, "that I weigh a hundred and seventy pounds, and that I went over that fence head first, it makes you wonder what grudge old Johnson had against me. I was decent enough to him, if Briggs wasn't."
"Do you mean that—that Briggs was cruel to him?" I asked Tommy.
"With a refined form of cruelty, yes. The sort that lets an old man go without sugar in his tea, and won't hear him begging for ice-water."
"Then I'm glad he's dead," I snapped, "and if I'd been Johnson, I'd have—"
Tish had wandered across the roof, and was standing on a part of it about two feet higher, than the rest, looking at a second and smaller skylight.
"What's this. Tommy?" she called.
"Elevator, I think," said Tommy, and we went over. Tish was looking around her with speculative eyes.
"I guess this is about right," she said. "I miss my guess, unless— Tommy, get down with your ear to the roof and see if you hear anything."
"It's dirty," said Tommy.
"I guess you'll wash without spoiling," Tish snapped. "It ain't a Carberry trait to be afraid of dirt. Get down."
Tommy pulled up his trousers legs and got down gingerly, and I followed suit. I daresay we looked queer, both kneeling, and each with an eager ear to the tin. The two men at the other skylight stared at us over the railing nervously.
We didn't hear anything, and Tish looked disappointed. But she didn't stop her half hop, half run, over the roof. At the end of fifteen minutes she was back at the top of the fire-escape, ready to descend. But going down was different from going up, and I guess we were both relieved when Tommy said there was a staircase.
When we got to the bottom, I was clear out of breath, and even Tommy was panting. But Tish hadn't turned a hair. Some sort of inward excitement was stimulating like a fever, and knowing Tish, I felt she would cave in like a pricked balloon when it was over.
The next thing she demanded was to be put on the top of the elevator cage. But Tommy absolutely balked at that and Tish seemed to realize herself that it wouldn't do.
"I'll go for you," Tommy said. "I'm willing to sacrifice myself for you any time. Aunt Tish, but you can see for yourself that a self-respecting woman in her prime can't ride on top of an elevator without causing comment. It isn't being done in our set this winter. Aunt Tish."
Tish gave in, or pretended to, and we went back to her room. Aggie was there, dressed but sulky, and we had tea all around and tried to talk about indifferent things. We told Aggie we had been up to see the mortuary, whereon she insisted on seeing it, too, and Miss Lewis and I took her.
We left Tish still working over her notes, with a cup of tea in one hand, which she was absently stirring with her lead pencil, and went up-stairs. Tommy had gone to see Miss Blake again.
We showed Aggie the mortuary and she got weak in the knees and had to sit a few minutes. It must have been fifteen minutes, therefore, when supporting her between us, we led her down the steps and rang for the elevator. It travels, as I say, very quietly, and when it came into view, all we could do was to stare, our mouths open.
Riding majestically on top of it, one hand in a dignified manner holding to the cable, the other clutching her stick, and with her head thrown back and staring up, was Tish! She went past us without seeing us, and a moment later we heard her say calmly:
"Stop now, Frank. Stop!"
Almost immediately on that she said, "Go down! Go down, I tell you! Go down!"
The cage went down past us, with Tish still holding on, still looking up. But on her face there was the most terrible expression of mingled fright and satisfaction I ever saw.
The next moment there began, from above, a shower of sticks, pieces of plaster, and finally, a small creature that looked like, and proved to be, a dead rabbit Aggie began to scream and to tear at the elevator doors, but luckily they held.
Well, as the newspapers have told, the idiot of an elevator man kept on to the first floor in his excitement, and it's -a great wonder Tish was not brained. But nothing hit her, and! she got to the lower floor in safety. If she had waited until the cage was lowered sufficiently, she would not have been hurt, but just as the top was still four feet from the floor, the rabbit landed, and Tish jumped and broke her arm.
Chapter XVIII.
Common Sense
Well, that's all there was to it. As I said at the beginning, this is really Tish's story. She told us the whole thing that night sitting up in bed, with the Chief of Police and the hospital superintendent on one side of the bed, and Miss Lewis and I on the other. Aggie lay on the couch with a cubeb cigarette burning beside her, and stared at Tish with admiration mixed with awe.
"In the first place," said Tish, to the Chief of Police, "here are the two towels that figure in the case. One of them is the one that hung Mr. Johnson's body three nights ago to the chandelier, the other is the one with which the ape, Hero, is supposed to have committed suicide at the Zoo the following night. As you see, the two towels are alike. Do you know what S. P. T. stands for?" she asked.
"I can't say I do," said the Chief of Police, and picked up one of the towels.
"Humph!" said Tish. "Well, it means 'Sick Patient Towel,' and they are used in hospitals for tying up delirious patients. The trouble was, there wasn't a delirious patient in the hospital strong enough to walk, let alone tie up a body to a chandelier.
"But before I learned from Bates what S. P. T. meant, I'd been to the Zoo. That was yesterday morning. Maybe you believe that a lonely monkey will commit suicide; maybe he will, I don't know. But when he hangs himself with a roller towel from the Dunkirk hospital, I want to know how he got that towel."
"Oho!" said the Chief of Police, "so the little rascal
