The D.A. Breaks an Egg

Dorothy had kept a log of her trip across the country and one of her reasons for stopping at the gasoline station, and filling the car with gas as she entered Madison City, was so she could tell exactly how much mileage she had been getting to the gallon on the cross-country run. She had started with a full tank and she would finish with a full tank. And so she had a speedometer reading accurate to within approximately one mile.

Impulse got the better of her. She arose, slipped on a housecoat and soft slippers, opened the door, and gently drifted down the wide staircase. A small pencil flashlight in her hand furnished sufficient illumination so that she could see where she was going.

In case she should disturb anyone, she could always say that she had forgotten something in the car.

The house had been massively built with the sturdiness of a prewar era, and had settled to a point where there were no creaking boards. Walking down the carpeted treads of the stairway was easy and noiseless. Then Dorothy crossed the hallway, opened the door to the living room, went through that to the library, and opened the library door which gave access to a side portico which opened directly on the driveway. A moment later she was standing beside the open door of her car.

The flashlight illuminated the face of the speedometer.

The car had only been driven four miles since she had taken the speedometer reading at the gasoline station. Dorothy turned the beam of the flashlight to the back of the car.

Reflected light glittered back from some metallic object on the floor.

Dorothy leaned over the back of the seat.

It was a woman’s purse.

Dorothy tucked the purse under her arm. Quietly as a shadow she re-entered the house, and was halfway up the stairs when she heard the first scream.

That first scream was followed by another and then another.

Lights clicked into brilliance on the upper floor. Dorothy could hear the sound of running feet coming toward the stairs. She realized she was trapped. The screams were coming from a room on the ground floor and on the other side of the house from the library and living room. Dorothy knew vaguely that there were two bedrooms on this side of the house, but hardly knew who slept there.

One more scream sounded from the lower floor, then Moana’s cry of, “Mother!”

Dorothy saw a shadow looming on the wall of the staircase. She turned toward the screams.

Mrs. Lennox, now on the stairway behind her, called out sharply, “Who’s that?”

Dorothy turned to look over her shoulder.

“Oh, Mrs. Lennox, did you hear the scream I... there it is again.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Lennox said. “Hurry. It’s Moana!”

Dorothy ran toward the bedrooms on the west.

Mrs. Lennox, more familiar with the house, rushed past her, clicked on lights, and flung her weight against a door which refused to budge.

“Moana, Moana!” she cried. “Open up! What’s the matter?”

A lock clicked.

Moana Lennox, attired in nightgown and slippers, pointed to an open window. “He must have got in that way,” she said.

“What is it?” Dorothy asked.

“Someone got in the window! See, the screen’s cut.”

“Good heavens, child, look at your room!” Mrs. Lennox exclaimed.

Moana nodded mutely.

Dorothy, in the doorway, surveyed the room, drawer contents dumped on the floor in a pile, the contents of a jewel case spilled on top of the bureau so that the lights glittered from costume jewelry.

“What happened?” Mrs. Lennox asked.

“A burglar!” Moana gasped. “I woke up — he was in the room. I screamed. He ran. I locked the door — and kept screaming, I guess.”

Lights were now coming on in adjoining houses.

“Tell me, my darling, did he hurt you? Did he...”

“He never touched me,” Moana said. “He must have heard me move when something aroused me and I wakened. I had been sleeping very soundly and couldn’t imagine what had awakened me, but I had the feeling someone was in the room... I had almost convinced myself it was just a dream when I heard him move. He was moving toward my bed. I screamed, and screamed again. He ran out through that door. I jumped up out of bed, ran to the door and bolted it so he couldn’t come back. I switched on the light — and then I realized for the first time that I’d been screaming all of that time. I felt like an absolute ninny.”

“Well,” Mrs. Lennox said, peering out of the window at the lights which had flashed on in the neighboring house, “I guess now we’ll have to notify the police. Dorothy, dear, would you mind going to the telephone and calling the police? Ask them to send out a radio car at once. Oh, I see you have a flashlight — and your purse.”

Dorothy said, lamely, “I heard the scream and...”

“You certainly must be a light sleeper,” Mrs. Lennox said, with a peculiar gleam back of the granite in her eyes. “You managed to get on a housecoat, slippers, pick up your purse, find a flashlight, and you must have been well ahead of me. I didn’t see you in the corridor or on the stairs.”

“I came down the stairs just ahead of you.”