The D.A. Breaks an Egg

Mrs. Lennox had insisted that the car be left there. She had said no one was going out that evening, but on the slender chance that it might become necessary to remove one of the cars in the garage, Dorothy could leave her keys in the car so it could be backed out of the driveway. It was, she had explained, perfectly all right to leave keys in the car. There were never any thefts from Madison City driveways. Of course, a car left uptown might be “borrowed” for a joy ride, but there were no criminals who would steal cars from driveways. Fortunately, Madison City was thoroughly respectable, a nice place to bring up children. Here, houses were homes, not simply parking places. She did so wish Horace would have returned to the home town to open his office.

The moon, which was nearing the full, shone down on white stucco houses, turning them into silver, casting inky black shadows along the well-kept lawns. The air was warm but dry and clear. The night seemed romantic, mysterious and hushed.

Abruptly, Dorothy jerked to attention.

The house below-stairs was dark now, but a figure came gliding noiselessly out from the shadows of the house, a figure which seemed to have emerged from the house and which moved directly toward Dorothy’s automobile.

For a moment, swift contrition gripped Dorothy Clifton. She knew she shouldn’t have left the automobile there in the driveway, despite the fact that Mrs. Lennox had assured her no one would be going out.

Now someone wanted to go out, and her automobile was in the way and would have to be moved.

Dorothy decided she’d run down and move the car herself.

She rose from the chair and at that moment the figure below looked back toward the house, then up at the window of Dorothy’s room.

The moonlight which filtered through showed the face as only a white oval, not even blurred features. Dorothy could not even approximate a guess as to who the person was, but there was something about the furtive poise of the figure which caused Dorothy to halt the impulse to run down and back her car out into the street.

Apparently having become satisfied from the dark room that Dorothy was in bed, the figure opened the car door, cautiously slipped in behind the steering wheel, took off the brake and slipped the gearshift into neutral.

The car, due to the slight elevation of the driveway, began inching slowly back, a silent, noiseless, gradually accelerated retreat down the driveway.

Once as the person in the car touched the brake pedal, the driveway became flooded with red from the brake light, but it was only a brief flicker, then the brakes were released, and the car glided back to the street. The driver turned the steering wheel sharply, and then, but not until then, did a pressure on the starter throb the motor into life. The headlights were switched into brilliant streamers.

Dorothy, at first puzzled by the manner in which her car had been eased out of the driveway, suddenly laughed, said aloud to herself, “Don’t call the cops, goosie. Someone merely wants to be courteous and keep from disturbing you. It’s simply a matter of parking your car at the curb in order to get another car out, and...”

But the driver didn’t park Dorothy’s car at the curb. Instead, the clutch was slipped in and the automobile purred smoothly down the street in the direction of the business district.

Bewildered, puzzled, Dorothy gave frowning consideration to half a dozen possible explanations. In the end she settled herself in a chair by the window to wait and watch.

Perhaps Mrs. Lennox had merely gone out on some hasty errand, perhaps to a drugstore for some headache medicine and, considering Dorothy as one of the family, had not wished to go to all the trouble of backing Dorothy’s car into the street, then opening the garage and getting out one of the family cars.

By eleven-thirty, Dorothy decided that she’d go to bed. Even if her car had been stolen she couldn’t very well alarm the household now.

And then, just as she had put on her nightgown and was starting for the bed, she saw headlights dance for a moment on the driveway, and heard the purr of the motor.

She stood at the window looking down, saw that the headlights were extinguished as soon as the car had straightened into the driveway. She saw her car crawl up the driveway to the exact spot where she had left it, saw a woman open the door, slip cautiously to the cement, stand for a few moments listening, then, gently easing the door closed, glide back into the shadows of the house.

From below there was not so much as the sound of a closing door, or the tread of a footstep.

The big house was as quiet as the night.

Dorothy stretched out on the bed, tried to sleep, and with each passing minute felt more restless and more uneasy.

She wondered where this woman had taken her car. Had it been merely on a trip to town, or had she gone on some longer jaunt? Dorothy wished she knew.

Then suddenly she realized she had a means of finding out.