The House
on Fifth Avenue
Who were these grisly guests, who sat around the table in that
strange house like ghastly specters?
HEAVEN knows it was a simple enough beginning. Helen and I were strolling up Fifth Avenue. It was terribly hot, and now that I recall, I was puzzled as to why we were remaining in town. It occurred to me that we had accepted an invitation to spend the week-end on Commodore Fowler's yacht, and here we were foolishly spending the hot evening in town. I wondered who had sent our regrets to the Commodore, and what our excuse was for not going. As a matter of fact, the more I thought about it the more confused I became. I could have sworn that we had actually started out for the Fowlers' Long Island estate; but here we were, suddenly, in the center of a sweltering city. I couldn't make it out.
As I say, we were making our way up Fifth Avenue. We had just crossed Forty-Second street, and were traveling uptown, on the west side of the street. Here, of course, the tall office buildings stand wall to wall without a break, and there is no private residence for blocks.
I was therefore completely thunderstruck when Helen stopped and informed me that we had reached our destination. In the first place, I had no idea that we had a destination; and in the second place, my senses were paralyzed at the realization that we had stopped before an old-fashioned Avenue residence of red brick and brown stone with high front steps and large lace-curtained windows.
I brushed my forehead. Perhaps the heat had played a trick on me. If so, I must have been walking by Helen's side in a state of trance for some time, for a quick glance around me showed that I was in a neighborhood totally strange to me.
Helen had suddenly acquired an uneasy restlessness. She impatiently tugged at my arm, and pointed upward to the heavy double doors which gave entrance to the unfamiliar house. I obeyed her gesture and followed her up the steps. Climbing, I received still another shock of surprize when I noticed that two panes of a front window were broken, and that others were covered with thick accumulations of dust.
Arriving at the top of the steps, I received another jolt of surprize. Helen did not ring, but walked right in. The doors had noiselessly opened as we approached them, and together Helen and I entered. I looked in vain for a servant who should receive us.
Then it was made plain to me that Helen had conducted me to some home where she was accepted as a member of the family; for she walked on without hesitation, straight ahead through a wide hall, and this despite the fact that the windowless hall, unlit, was so dark that
