[Illustration] The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Rinehart Contents I. I TAKE A COUNTRY HOUSE II. A LINK CUFF-BUTTON III. MR. JOHN BAILEY APPEARS IV. WHERE IS HALSEY? V. GERTRUDE’S ENGAGEMENT VI. IN THE EAST CORRIDOR VII. A SPRAINED ANKLE VIII. THE OTHER HALF OF THE LINE IX. JUST LIKE A GIRL X. THE TRADERS’ BANK XI. HALSEY MAKES A CAPTURE XII. ONE MYSTERY FOR ANOTHER XIII. LOUISE XIV. AN EGG-NOG AND A TELEGRAM XV. LIDDY GIVES THE ALARM XVI. IN THE EARLY MORNING XVII. A HINT OF SCANDAL XVIII.A HOLE IN THE WALL XIX. CONCERNING THOMAS XX. DOCTOR WALKER’S WARNING XXI. FOURTEEN ELM STREET XXII. A LADDER OUT OF PLACE XXIII. WHILE THE STABLES BURNED XXIV. FLINDERS XXV. A VISIT FROM LOUISE XXVI. HALSEY’S DISAPPEARANCE XXVII. WHO IS NINA CARRINGTON? XXVIII. A TRAMP AND THE TOOTHACHE XXIX. A SCRAP OF PAPER XXX. WHEN CHURCHYARDS YAWN XXXI. BETWEEN TWO FIREPLACES XXXII. ANNE WATSON’S STORY XXXIII. AT THE FOOT OF THE STAIRS XXXIV. THE ODDS AND ENDS CHAPTER I. I TAKE A COUNTRY HOUSE This is the story of how a middle-aged spinster lost her mind, deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of those mysterious crimes that keep our newspapers and detective agencies happy and prosperous. For twenty years I had been perfectly comfortable; for twenty years I had had the window-boxes filled in the spring, the carpets lifted, the awnings put up and the furniture covered with brown linen; for as many summers I had said good-by to my friends, and, after watching their perspiring hegira, had settled down to a delicious quiet in town, where the mail comes three times a day, and the water supply does not depend on a tank on the roof. And then—the madness seized me. When I look back over the months I spent at Sunnyside, I wonder that I survived at all. As it is, I show the wear and tear of my harrowing experiences. I have turned very gray—Liddy reminded me of it, only yesterday, by saying that a little bluing in the rinse-water would make my hair silvery, instead of a yellowish white. I hate to be reminded of unpleasant things and I snapped her off. “No,” I said sharply, “I’m not going to use bluing at my time of life, or starch, either.” Liddy’s nerves are gone, she says, since that awful summer, but she has enough left, goodness knows! And when she begins to go around with a lump in her throat, all I have to do is to threaten to return to Sunnyside, and she is frightened into a semblance of cheerfulness,—from which you may judge that the summer there was anything but a success. The newspaper accounts have been so garbled and incomplete—one of them mentioned me but once, and then only as the tenant at the time the thing happened—that I feel it my due to tell what I know. Mr. Jamieson, the detective, said himself he could never have done without me, although he gave me little enough credit, in print.