The House of Dies Drear (10 page)

“If it’s a square, there’s one missing,” Mr. Small said. “The top one.”

“Any one of them is missing,” said Thomas. “I mean, you can move them so that there is always one missing, since they are three triangles just alike.”

“It doesn’t make any kind of sense,” Mr. Small said. “Why did they leave just three triangles if they meant to make a square? Clearly, there’s a triangle missing.”

“Where did you get these three?” Thomas wanted to know.

“They were stuck in the doorframes on the outside of the three bedrooms we occupy,” Mrs. Small said.

To Thomas, his mother’s voice sounded breathless.

She’s frightened, he thought. She’s just scared to death.

“They weren’t there last night. I would have seen them,” Thomas said.

Then Thomas sat quite still. It struck him why his mother was so afraid. His eyes grew wide and searching.

“Yes,” said Mr. Small, reading his thoughts. “Someone walked right in, not making a sound. While we slept, he, or they, came through our locked doors to place these triangles in the walls.”

“A warning!” Thomas managed to say. “Mr. Pluto’s second warning!”

“Warning? Mr. Pluto?” his mother said.

“The first warning was the way he arranged that parlor downstairs,” Thomas said. “He made it so it was a progression going out the windows and on and on.”

“You are letting your imagination get the best of you, Thomas,” she said. “You don’t know that it was Mr. Pluto who was here last night.”

“It’s a warning, I tell you!” Thomas said. “He means for us to flee. To flee south!”

All at once Mr. Small leaned very close to the paper on which he and Thomas had fitted together the three triangles. “Thomas!” he said. He began to move around the paper, looking at it from all sides. “It’s an optical illusion. It’s a box, true, but the wood legs form a cross … a Greek cross!”

“What in the world?” said Mrs. Small.

“Son, you are pretty good,” said his father. “I don’t know about that parlor, the way it was arranged, being a sign. That might be too much for a man like Mr. Pluto to think up. But this triangle is definitely a warning, and it could be a warning to flee. And now, all we need to do is wait.”

“For Mr. Pluto,” Thomas said.

Mr. Small spoke quietly. “We may not see anyone. But you can be sure there will be another triangle sometime, somewhere, and that we will find it.”

“Papa, what is a Greek cross? You said the triangles made a Greek cross,” Thomas said.

“I meant that we will have a Greek cross when we fit together all the triangles.” He drew a Greek cross next to the diagram of the triangle and placed the three triangles on it. The top right triangle was missing.

He explained to them what a Greek cross was.

“It’s also known as a St. George’s cross,” he told them, “the cross used on the flag of Great Britain. It differs from our familiar Christian cross, or cross of Calvary, in that if you connect the points you have four triangles exactly the same.”

Mr. Small hesitated. “And why a Greek cross,” he said, “where any one of the triangles can be moved to fit the place of any other?

“It’s confusing,” he added softly to himself. “If it’s a warning, it surely says nothing to me at the moment.”

“We’d better get the twins up,” Mrs. Small said. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get out of here soon.”

“I nearly forgot it was Sunday,” Mr. Small said.

Mrs. Small hurried to wake the twins and to dress them.

Thomas and Mr. Small went outside. They looked the car over; it was quite dirty from the trip, and they took cloths and cleaned it as best they could. Then they cleaned out the inside of all the candy wrappers and potato chip bags that had accumulated over the trip. They pulled the trailer off the road onto the lawn. It was then Thomas asked his father about the intruders.

“How do you suppose they got into the house, Papa?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Small. “There are corridors I assume I don’t know about. We’ll have to take care.” He looked cautiously at his son. “You had no business wandering around the house in the dead of night. You could have run into someone. Why did you move down into that parlor?”

“Well, because …” answered Thomas. He remembered the captain’s chair facing the fireplace in his room. He couldn’t let his father know he had been afraid of an empty chair. “Because I thought I would be able to hear somebody if they came in the front or back doors.”

“Anybody stealing into a house in the dead of night isn’t going to use the main entrances,” said Mr. Small.

“I suppose not,” said Thomas. He felt foolish. “I guess I didn’t think.”

Mr. Small drew Thomas aside, as though the lawn, the very trees, pressed close to the house might hear. “Can I confide in you, son?” he asked. “May I trust you with something and have you stay silent about it? I won’t want to worry your mother.”

A chill ran down Thomas’ back. He was surprised by the seriousness of his father’s tone. “Yes! Sure, Papa—what is it we’ve gotten ourselves into!”

“Trust me with that,” said Mr. Small. “It may not be anything at all. And then again, it might be. I don’t know for sure what’s at stake. I really don’t want to involve the police… .”

“The police!” Thomas broke in on him. He fairly shouted, and Mr. Small had to tell him to keep quiet.

“We’ll have to set up a watch,” Mr. Small said. “Probably from midnight until dawn, until about five o’clock. You’ll take two hours and I’ll have three.”

“I can take three, Papa,” said Thomas. “I’m strong, I can stay awake.”

“I hope we won’t have to do it,” his father said. “If things continue to happen as fast as they have been, there may not be any need for a watch.”

“Papa, do you think that in the next day or two …” Thomas couldn’t finish the thought. He couldn’t get beyond the idea of having to call the police. Who was Mr. Pluto anyway, and what did he have to do with those funny triangles?

“Before this day is over, I think we’ll know a lot more than we know now,” said Mr. Small. “And if we do have to set up a watch, you’ll patrol the upstairs. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear or see, you’re not to leave that upstairs hall. Just give out a whoop and I’ll come running.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “I’ll yell like the devil!”

Somewhere there was the sound of horses’ hooves. There was a whinnying nearby.

Mr. Small went quickly across the lawn to where the springs rushed down to the stream. Thomas followed close behind.

Thomas looked down on the stream and the springs running over the rocks. The stream sparkled in the morning sun, and the rocks were gold and rust where the water ran over them.

“Oh, that’s about the prettiest sight I’ve seen,” Thomas said.

“Look there,” said Mr. Small. “You can see the spires of the college.”

“You’ll be teaching there,” Thomas said, “and I can come on my bike every day.”

“Would you do that?” asked Mr. Small. “We could have lunch together with the students in the dining hall.” He looked fondly at Thomas. “That is, until you have so many friends you won’t have time to take lunch with your father.” He watched Thomas closely, for he knew his son would be most unsure of himself when it came to making new friends.

“Maybe I’ll bring a friend or two along,” said Thomas. “Maybe not every day because there’ll be so much to do. But we’ll come once a week for sure.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” Mr. Small said.

Bursting from around a bend in the stream came a buggy drawn by two horses.

“Papa, look! It’s the black—the black that was here yesterday!” There was a lighter horse hitched up with the black. It was the bay Mr. Small had mentioned before. “And Papa, Mr. Pluto’s driving. And there’s that child with him, that Pesty I told you about!”

The driver was indeed Mr. Pluto. He had a black cape draped over his shoulders. It was held with an enormous safety pin across his chest. The cape was old and misshapen; it appeared he had made it himself, out of material such as monk’s cloth. Although it was clean, it looked the worse for wear. He wore on his head a stovepipe hat, which tipped crazily back and forth as the buggy bounced along.

Pluto drove with one hand, holding the reins wrapped around his palm. He held a black and shiny whip in the same hand. The lash dangled from the whip in a curious, sideways S. In the crook of his free arm leaned the child called Pesty. She was dressed in pink tulle and a blue, polka-dot bonnet. Below pink silk stockings she wore white, high-button shoes. They were the queerest shoes Thomas had ever seen.

“Where are his gloves?” whispered Mr. Small. “I thought surely he had burned himself … but look at the child. A bonnet no less! And high-button shoes. That stovepipe is a knockout. History, I tell you, living history! Out of time!”

“Papa, he sees us,” said Thomas. “He’s slowing.”

At the sight of Mr. Small and Thomas, Pluto brought the buggy nearly to a stop.

“Good morning to you,” he shouted smiling broadly. “The bad weather has made its getaway, and I’m feeling good.” He laughed loudly. “I see you all be going to Sunday, all dressed up.”

“Good morning to you,” Mr. Small said. He was somewhat taken aback by the friendliness of this odd-acting stranger of the night before. But quickly he fell into the spirit of Pluto’s good humor. “We are going to Sunday for sure—all of us, even my two little boys.”

“That so?” said Mr. Pluto. “It’s a long spell for the little ones. Preacher likes the sound of his own voice.” He laughed again.

“Well, they will endure it,” said Mr. Small.

“I reckon we all will,” Mr. Pluto said. “Glad to see you folks are fine,” he added. “Did you have a good night—sleep well there in the big house?”

There was a pause in which Mr. Small studied Pluto without blinking. If the old man had meant anything sinister by the remark, there was no trace of it in his eyes.

“We slept fine,” said Mr. Small. “Couldn’t have been better.”

“Well, we’ll see you there,” said Mr. Pluto.

“Glad you folks arrived and are feeling good.”

He had moved off with the buggy when the child Pesty piped up. “Mr. Thomas,” she called, “how you like my pretty new shoes?”

Thomas didn’t know quite what to say. “They are nice, Miss Pesty … where did you get them?” he did manage to call back.

Mr. Pluto gave a whip to the bay. The buggy leaped forward, drowning out Pesty’s tiny voice. But Thomas saw the shape of what she spoke.

“Mr. Pluto got them for me …” The last was something Thomas couldn’t make out.

At the foot of the bridge, Mr. Pluto turned his buggy into the stream. On the opposite bank, he took with ease the incline to the gravel road and disappeared down toward the highway.

“If they aren’t a pair!” said Mr. Small. “I bet they dress up like that every Sunday, just to get the goat of Sunday folks, the ones who believe Pluto is at least part devil. But what did he mean by the other, that’s a puzzle too.”

“By the other what?” Thomas wanted to know. Mr. Small had spoken almost to himself. Now he turned on Thomas a brooding look.

“Why, the part about being glad we folks arrived,” said Mr. Small.

“I thought it sounded funny when he said it,” Thomas said. “Maybe he was just apologizing for being so scared of the dark and ghosts and everything.”

“Maybe,” Mr. Small said. “Perhaps he was ashamed of himself for mistaking you for someone else in the dark. By the way, we never did find out why you were running in the first place. What happened out there to cause you to break open the door and upset Mama’s dishes?”

Thomas felt ashamed. All around them was peace and quiet. Even the house did not look ugly in the clear sunlight. There was nothing at all to be afraid of now.

“It was spooky on top of the hill last night,” he said. “I went up there to see the house from above. I was just going to come back, when it got dark and I heard that ahhhing sound. Papa, it had a funny sighing that went right along with it. I just had to follow that sound and I was going fast because I was kind of scared. I got going too fast and I was standing on this big wood platform or something before I knew it.”

“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Small. “So that’s what happened.”

“Then the platform started to move,” Thomas said. “I slid on it. Next there was fire coming up from under it, and Mr. Pluto yelling at me …”

Mr. Small threw back his head and laughed. “The ahhhing sound, you say, led you to the platform?”

“I guess it did,” said Thomas. “It had to be coming from there … what’s so funny?”

“And it was the same sound you heard in the tunnel under the steps?”

“Yes, the same sound,” Thomas said. He looked doubtfully at his father.

“Thomas, I should have told you about that place before now, but I suspected you would enjoy discovering it for yourself. I never thought you would find it at night. You see,” said Mr. Small, “that platform is one of the two openings in the cave in which Mr. Pluto lives.”

“He lives in a real cave?” Thomas said.

“It’s dry and clean,” said Mr. Small. “It’s as good a house as any above ground. It might even be better, because it stays fairly dry. I haven’t seen it, but I’ve heard a good deal about it.

“Mr. Pluto is a blacksmith, son,” continued Mr. Small. “At least, that’s what he did for a living a long time ago, when there were enough horses in these parts to make his line of work worth doing. That ahhhing sound you heard along with the sighing couldn’t have been anything more than his bellows working. I didn’t hear it when I went to see if there was anyone in that tunnel under the steps. I suppose that’s why I didn’t guess before now what that sound was. Pluto must have heard you walking on the roof of his house… . Tell me, did you hear that sighing once the doors in the platform had opened?”