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THE STURGIS WAGER
A Detective Story
BY
EDGAR MORETTE
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS


KD14322
COLLO
LIBRA
COPYRIGHT, 1899
BY FREDERICK A. Stokes COMPANY


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
I
107
I 21
I. THE CABMAN'S FARE, . .
II. THE WAGER,
III. DOCTOR MURDOCK'S PROBLEM, ..
IV. THE BANK PRESIDENT,
V. A FOUNDATION OF FACTS,
VI. THE ARTIST, . . .
VII. AGNES MURDOCK,
VIII. THE PORTRAIT,
IX. THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK, ..
X. PIECING THE EVIDENCE,
XI. A RECONSTRUCTED DRAMA,
XII. THE BOOKKEEPER'S CONFESSION,
XIII. THE LOST TRAIL,
XIV. THE LETTER, . . .
XV. TWO LOVERS, . . .
XVI. THE ROENTGEN RAYS,
XVII. THE QUARRY, .
XVIII. THE EXTENSION,
XIX. THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE, .
XX. THE LEAD-LINED VAT,
XXI. THE DEATH CHAMBER, . .
XXII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER, .
XXIII. THE SPEAKING-TUBE,
XXIV. CHECKMATE! .
XXV. THE MURDER SYNDICATE, .
138
150
155
166
169,
181
194
209
234
255





The Sturgis Wager.
CHAPTER I.
THE CABMAN'S FARE.
It was bitterly cold. The keen December
wind swept down the crowded thoroughfare, nip-
ping the noses and ears of the gay pedestrians,
comfortably muffled in their warm wraps.
Broadway was thronged with the usual holiday
shoppers and pleasure-seekers. Cabs with their
jaded steeds driven by weatherbeaten jehus, and
private carriages behind well-groomed horses
handled by liveried coachmen, deftly made their
way through the crowds and deposited their
fares at the entrances of the brightly lighted
theaters or fashionable restaurants. A wizened
hag, seated on the curbstone at the corner,
seemed to shrink into herself with the cold as
she turned the crank of her tiny barrel-organ and
ground out a dismal and scarcely audible ca-


THE STURGIS WAGER.
cophony; while an anxious-eyed newsboy, not
yet in his teens, shivered on the opposite side of
the way, as, with tremulous lips, he solicited a
purchaser for his unsold stock. One could hardly
be expected to open a warm overcoat on such a
night, at the risk of taking cold, for the sake of
throwing a cent to an old beggar woman, or of
buying a newspaper from a ragged urchin. Even
the gaily decorated shop windows failed to arrest
the idle passersby; for it required perpetual mo-
tion to keep the blood in circulation.
The giant policeman on the crossing, repre-
senting the majesty of the law, swayed the crowd
of vehicles and pedestrians with the authoritative
gestures of his ponderous hands, and gallantly
escorted bands of timid women through the in-
extricable moving maze.
And withal, the cable cars, with their discord.
ant clangor, rumbled rapidly to and fro, like
noisy shuttles, shooting the woof of the many-
hued fabric which is the life of a great city.
Presently from one of the side streets there
came a cab, which started leisurely to cross
Broadway. The big policeman, with his eyes
fixed upon an approaching car, held up a warning
hand, to which the driver seemed to pay no at-


THE CABMAN'S FARE. 3
tention, for the reins remained slack and the
listless horse continued to move slowly across
the avenue.
Several people turned to look with mild curi-
osity at the bold cabman who dared thus to dis-
regard the authority of blue cloth and brass
buttons. Their surprise changed quickly to
amazement and dismay when their eyes rested
upon him; for his head had fallen forward upon
his chest and his limp body swayed upon the
box with every motion of the cab. He seemed
unconscious of his surroundings, like one drunk
or in a stupor.
At his side sat a young man closely muffled
in his overcoat, and with a sealskin cap pulled
well down over his ears. His face was deathly
pale. Those who caught sight of his features
saw that his bloodless lips were firmly set, and
that his eyes glittered with a feverish light. He
carried one hand in the lapel of his coat. With
the other he shook the inert form of the uncon-
scious cabman, in a vain effort to arouse him to a
sense of the impending danger.
The situation flashed upon the gripman on the
car. Instantly he threw his weight upon the
brakewheel, at the same time loudly sounding


TIL
THE STURGIS WAGER.
once
exist
fall.
his gong. The policeman, too, understood in a
twinkling what was about to happen, and rushed
for the horse's head. But it was too late. The
cab was fairly across the track when the car,
with slackened speed, crashed into it.
Just before the collision, the young man in the
sealskin cap sprang from the box to the street.
He landed upon his feet; but, losing his balance,
he fell forward upon his left arm, which still re-
mained in the lapel of his coat. He must have
hurt himself; for those standing near him heard
him groan. But the center of interest was else-
where, and no one paid much attention to the
young man, who, arising quickly, disappeared in
the crowd.
The cab, after tottering for an instant on two
wheels, fell over upon its side, with a loud noise
of splintering wood and breaking glass. The
driver rolled off the box in a heap. At the same
time, the panic-stricken passengers on the car
rushed madly for the doors, fighting like wild
beasts in their haste to reach a place of safety.
After the first frenzied moment, it became evi-
dent that, although badly shaken up, the pas-
sengers had received no injuries, except such
bruises as they had inflicted upon each other in
DOW
had so
individ


THE CABMAN'S FARE.
their mad struggle to escape. By this time a
crowd had collected about the overturned cab,
and several more policemen had come to the as-
sistance of the first one, who was now seated
serenely upon the head of the cab-horse, a pre-
caution seemingly superfluous, for the poor beast,
though uninjured, appeared to be quite satisfied
to rest where he lay until he should be forced
once more to resume the grind of his unhappy
existence.
The cabman had been rudely shaken by his
fall. He had lain as though unconscious for the
space of a few seconds; then, with assistance, he
had managed to struggle to his feet. He stood
now as though dazed by the shock, trying to un-
derstand what had happened.
“Are you hurt?” inquired one of the police-
men.
The man, mumbling an unintelligible reply,
raised his hand to a scalp wound from which the
blood was flowing rather freely.
At that moment two men forced their way
through the crowd which a circle of policemen
had some difficulty in keeping at a distance from
the wounded cabman. One was a middle-aged
individual, who gave his name as Doctor Thurs-


THE STURGIS WAGER.
ton and offered his services as a physician; the
other was a young man with keen gray eyes,
who said nothing, but exhibited a reporter's
badge.
The physician at once turned his attention to
the cabman; felt him, thumped him, pinched
him ; smelt his breath ; and then delivered his
verdict:
“No bones broken. The slight scalp wound
doesn't amount to anything. The man has been
drinking heavily. He is simply drunk.”
The horse had by this time been unharnessed
and the cab had been lifted upon its wheels again.
The reporter stood by a silent and apparently
listless spectator of the scene.
Doctor Thurston turned to him:
“Come along, Sturgis; neither you nor I are
needed here ; and if we do not hurry, Sprague's
dinner will have to wait for us. It is a quarter
to eight now.”
The reporter seemed about to follow his friend,
but he stood for an instant irresolute.
“ I say, Doctor,” he inquired at last, “are you
sure the man is drunk?”.
“He has certainly been drinking heavily,
Why? "


THE CABMAN'S FARE. 7
“ Because it seems to me- Hello, we cannot
go yet; the passenger is more badly hurt than
the driver."
“The passenger?” queried the physician, turn-
ing in surprise to the policeman.
“What passenger ?” asked the policeman,
looking at the cabman. “Have you a passenger
inside, young feller ?”.
“Naw," replied the cabman, who seemed to
be partially sobered by the shock and loss of
blood. “Naw, I aint got no fare, barrin' the
man wot was on the box."
The reporter observed the man closely as he
spoke; and then, pointing to the step of the cab,
which was plainly visible in the glare of a neigh-
boring electric lamp:
“I mean the passenger whose blood is trick.
ling there,” he said quietly.
Every eye was turned in the direction of his
outstretched hand.
A few drops of a thick dark liquid had oozed
from under the door, and was dripping upon the
iron step. The cab door was closed and the
curtain was drawn down over the sash, the glass
of which had been shattered by the fall.
One of the policemen tried to open the door.


THE STURGIS WAGER.
It stuck in the jamb. Then he exerted upon it
the whole of his brute strength; and, of a sud-
den, it yielded. As it flew open, the body of a
man lurched from the inside of the cab, and
before any one could catch it, tumbled in a heap
upon the pavement.
A low cry of horror escaped from the crowd.
The cabman's passenger was a man past mid-
dle age, neatly but plainly dressed.
As Doctor Thurston and a policeman bent
over the prostrate form, the reporter shot a keen
glance in the direction of the cabman, who stood
staring at the body with a look of ghastly terror
in his bulging eyes.
Presently the physician started to his feet with
a low exclamation of surprise.
“ Is he dead, Doctor?" asked the policeman.
“He has been dead for some time," replied
the physician, impressively; "the body is almost
cold.”
“ Been dead for some time?" echoed the police-
man.
“Yes; this man was shot. See there !”
As he spoke, he pointed to a red streak which,
starting from the left side of the dead man's
coat, extended downward and marked the course


THE CABMAN'S FARE.
of the tiny stream in which the life blood had
flowed to a little pool on the floor of the cab.
“Shot!” exclaimed the policeman, who turned
immediately to one of his brother officers.
“Keep your eye on the cabman, Jim. We'll
have to take him in. And look out for the other
man, quick!”
Then, addressing the cabman, upon each of
whose shoulders a policeman's hand was imme-
diately placed, he asked roughly:
“Who is this man?”
The cabman was completely sober now. He
stood, pale and trembling, between his two
captors, as he replied solemnly:
“Before God, I don't know, boss. I never saw
him before.”
The policeman looked at the man in blank
amazement for an instant. Then he turned
away contemptuously :
“ All right, young feller," he said, "you don't
have to confess to me. But I guess you'll have
a chance to tell that story to a judge and jury.”
Then he proceeded to examine the dead man's
pockets. They were empty.
“Looks like robbery,” he murmured. “What
is it, Jim ? Haven't you got the other man?”.


12
THE STURGIS WAGER.
ground out her plaintive discords; the tearful
newsboy, with his slowly diminishing armful of
newspapers, continued to shiver in the cold
wind, as he offered his stock to the hurrying
pedestrians; the big policeman again piloted his
fair charges through the mass of moving vehicles,
and the clanging cable cars started once more on
their rumbling course, as if the snapping of a
thread in the fabric of the city's life were a thing
of constant occurrence and of no moment.
A few tiny dark red stains upon the pave-
ment were all that remained to tell the story of
the scene which had so recently been enacted in
the busy thoroughfare. Presently even these
were obliterated by the random stroke of a
horse's hoof.
The ripple had disappeared from the surface.
The stream of life was Aowing steadily once
more through the arteries of the metropolis.


14
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“But," objected the host, “you surely do not
mean to express a belief in the infallibility of
circumstantial evidence ?"
“ Why not?"
“Because you must know as well as any one
how misleading uncorroborated circumstantial
evidence is. I do not forget what remarkable re-
sults you have often accomplished for the Daily
Tempest in detecting and following up clues to
which the official detectives were blind. But,
frankly, were not your conclusions usually the
result of lucky guesses, which would have re-
mained comparatively useless as evidence had
they not been subsequently proved correct by
direct testimony?”.
“Let me reply to your question by another,
Sprague,” answered Sturgis. “When you draw
a check, does the paying teller at the bank re-
quire the testimony of witnesses to your signa-
ture before admitting its genuineness ? ”
“No; of course not.”
“Precisely. He probably knows the signature
of Harvey M. Sprague, the depositor, better than
he does the face of Sprague, the artist. And yet
the evidence here is purely circumstantial. I
know of at least one recent instance in which the


THE WAGER.
15
officials of a New York bank placed their implicit
reliance upon circumstantial evidence of this
sort, in spite of the direct testimony of the de-
positor, who was willing to acknowledge the
genuineness of a check to which his name had
been forged.”
“I suppose you refer to the Forsyth case,”
said Sprague ; “but you must remember that Col-
onel Forsyth was actuated by the desire to shield
the forger, who was his own scapegrace son."
“That is just the point,” replied Sturgis ;
“ another witness will be biased by his interests
or prejudices, blinded by jealousy, love or hatred,
or handicapped by overzealousness, stupidity,
lack of memory, or what not. Circumstantial
evidence is always impartial, truthful, absolute.
When the geologist reads the history of the
earth, as it is written in its crust; when a Kepler
or a Newton formulates the immutable laws of
the universe, as they are recorded in the motions
of the heavenly bodies, they draw their conclu-
sions from evidence which is entirely circumstan-
tial.”
“Yes; but you forget that science has often
been mistaken in its conclusions,” interrupted
Sprague, “ so that it has constantly been neces-


16
THE STURGIS WAGER.
sary to alter theories to fit newly acquired or
better understood facts.”
“Granted,” rejoined Sturgis, “but that is be-
cause the interpreters of the evidence are falli-
ble; not because the evidence itself is incomplete.
The same cause will always produce the same
effect; the same chain of events will invariably
terminate in one and the same catastrophe. The
apparent deviations from this law are due to un-
recognized differences in the producing causes,
to additional or missing links in the chain of evi-
dence. Therefore I hold that a criminal, how-
ever clever he may be, leaves behind him a com-
plete trace of his every act, from which his crime
may be reconstructed with absolute certainty by
a competent detective."
“In short,' Murder will out!'” said a man
who had been a silent listener to the conver-
sation up to this point. He spoke with a quiet
smile, which barely escaped being a polite
sneer.
Sturgis's keen eyes met his interlocutor's as he
replied gravely:
“I should hardly care to make so sweeping an
affirmation, Doctor Murdock. I have merely
stated that the history of every crime is indelibly


THE WAGER.
17
written in tangible evidence. The writing is on
the wall, but of course a blind man cannot see it,
nor can an illiterate man understand it. Every
event, however trivial, owes its occurrence to a
natural cause, and leaves its indelible impress
upon nature. The Indian on the trail reads with
an experienced eye the story of his enemy's pass-
age, as it has been recorded in trodden turf and
broken twigs; while the bloodhound follows,
with unerring judgment, a still surer though less
tangible trail. The latter's quarry has left be-
hind, at every step, an invisible, imponderable,
and yet unmistakable part of itself. Perhaps my
meaning can be made clear by an illustration.
When a photographer in his dark room takes an
exposed plate from his camera, it is apparently
a blank; but in reality there is upon this plate
the minutely detailed history of an event, which,
in proper hands, can be brought before the least
competent of observers as irrefutable evidence.
Here, the actinic rays of the sunlight are the
authors of the evidence; but every natural force,
in one way or another, conspires with the detec-
tive to run the criminal to earth.”
“Unless," suggested Murdock, “the ability
happens to be on the side of the quarry; in


THE STURGIS WAGER.
which case, the conspiracy of Nature's forces
turns against the hunter.”
“Ah!” retorted the reporter, “ the game is
not an equal one. The dice are loaded. For
while on the one hand, the detective, if he falls
into an error, has a lifetime in which to correct
it, any misstep on the part of the criminal is
fatal. And who is infallible ?".
“Not the detective, at any rate,” answered
Murdock with suave irony. “It has always
seemed to me that the halo which has been con-
ferred upon him, chiefly through the efforts of
imaginative writers of sensational fiction, is en-
tirely undeserved. In the first place, most of
the crimes of which we hear are committed
either by men of a low order of intelligence or
else by madmen, in which latter category I in-
clude all criminals acting under the impulse of
any of the passions-hatred, love, jealousy, anger.
And then, while the detective takes good care
that his successes shall be proclaimed from the
house-tops, he is equally careful to smother all
accounts, or to suppress every detail, of his fail-
ures, whenever there is any possibility of so do-
ing. You can cite, I know, plenty of cases in
which, even after the lapse of years, the crime


THE WAGER..
19
has been discovered and the criminal has been
confronted with his guilt, but— ".
“In my opinion," piped the shrill voice of an
elderly man of clerical aspect, “conscience is
the surest detective, after all.”
“Conscience!” retorted Murdock calmly;“the
word is a euphemism. Man gives the name of
conscience to his fear of discovery and punish-
ment. There is no such thing as conscience in
the criminal who has absolute confidence in his
power to escape detection.”
“But where is the man who can have that
superb confidence in himself ?" asked Sprague.
“His name is probably legion," answered
Murdock quickly. “He is the author of every
crime whose history remains forever unwritten.”
“ And are these really so numerous?”
“Let us see how the case stands in one single
class of crime—say, for instance, murder. When-
ever the solution of a sensational murder mystery
is effected by the detectives, or by their allies,
the gentlemen of the press, like our friend Mr.
Sturgis, we, the gullible public, vociferously
applaud the achievements of these guardians of
the public safety, and forthwith proceed to award
them a niche in the temple of Fame. So far, so


20
THE STURGIS WAGER.
good. But what of the dark mysteries which re-
main forever unsolved? What of the numerous
crimes of which no one ever even knows?"
“Oh! come now, Doctor,” laughed Sprague,
“ isn't it rather paradoxical to base your argu-
ment on the assumption of crimes of whose very
existence you admit you have no knowledge ?”.
Murdock smiled grimly as he replied:
“Go to the morgue of any large city, where
the unrecognized dead are exposed for identifi-
cation. Aside from the morbid crowd which is
drawn to such a place by uncanny curiosity, you
will find that each corpse is anxiously scanned
by numbers of people, each of whom is seeking a
missing friend or relative. At the most, each
body can furnish the key to only one mystery.
Then what of the scores, ay, the hundreds of
others ?”
After a short pause, he continued :
“No; murder will not out- at least not
when the criminal is what I might call a profes-
sional, a man of genius in his vocation, educated,
intelligent, dispassionate, scientific. Fortunately
for the reputation of the detective, amateur and
professional, the genius in the criminal line is
necessarily of a modest and retiring disposition.


THE WAGER.
21
He cannot call the public attention to his ingenu-
ity and skill; he cannot puff his achievements in
the daily press. Not only are his masterpieces
unsigned, but they remain forever unheard of.
The detective is known only by his successes ;
the criminal's reputation is based solely upon his
failures."
Doctor Murdock delivered this parting shot
with the cool deliberateness which was character.
istic of the man. The insolent irony of his words
was emphasized by the calmness of his bearing.
“ I say, Doctor,” laughed Sprague, “ you have
missed your vocation. You should have adopted
the profession of scientific criminal yourself.
You seem to possess the theory of the science as
it is, and a little experience would no doubt have
made you an adept in the practice as well.”
A look of mild amusement passed over Mur-
dock's countenance.
“Perhaps you are right, Mr. Sprague. At any
rate, I think I may affirm, without overweening
conceit, that if I had followed the course you
suggest, I could have prepared for your friend
Mr. Sturgis some pretty little problems on which
to sharpen his wits. I feel that I could have
been an artist as well as a scientist in that line.”


22
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“You might console yourself by writing an in-
teresting and valuable book, under some such
title as · Hints to the Young Criminal,' or 'Crime
as a Fine Art.' At all events, your criminals of
genius have a stanch advocate in you. But
what on earth have the detectives done to you to
call forth this wholesale vituperation?”
“Nothing. But, as a disinterested observer, I
like to see fair play. If I am mistaken in my es-
timate of the modern detective, I am open to
conviction. I have five thousand dollars to
wager against one hundred that I can pick up
any daily paper and from its columns select an
unsolved riddle, to which no detective on the
face of the earth can give the answer. Have I
any taker, gentlemen ?”.
As he spoke, his eyes met Sturgis's and sud-
denly seemed to flash with an earnest defiance,
which instantly melted into the calm, cynical
smile of the man of the world.
“Done,” said Sturgis, quietly.
“ Very well, Mr. Sturgis,” observed Doctor
Murdock indifferently. “I shall confine myself
to the columns of your own newspaper for the
selection of the problem upon which you are to
work.


THE WAGER.
23
“And,” he added, with a supercilious smile,
“you are at liberty to fix the limit of time in
which the wager must be decided.”
“Hear! hear!” exclaimed a young broker.
“ This is becoming interesting, and promises
some sport for those of us who are giddy enough
to enjoy staking something on this novel contest.
I, for one, am willing to lay reasonable odds on
the side of law and order, as represented by the
enlightened press, in the person of our clever
friend Sturgis. Come, Chadwick, will two to one
against the scientific criminal tempt you to cham-
pion the cause of that apparently unappreciated
individual?”
“ Very well, Fred,” answered the man, ad-
dressed ; “ I'll take you for a hundred.”
A few similar bets were laughingly arranged,
and a copy of the Evening Tempest was sent for.


CHAPTER III.
DOCTOR MURDOCK'S PROBLEM.
SPRAGUE'S stag dinner was virtually over when
a servant brought in a copy of the Evening Tem-
pest. The dessert had been removed, the coffee
and liqueurs had been served, and the guests had
lighted their cigars. The host passed the news-
paper to Doctor Murdock, who proceeded to
glance leisurely through its columns.
“Ah! this will do," he exclaimed, at last.
“Here is something which will, I think, answer
our purpose--
“ MYSTERIOUS SHOTS IN WALL STREET.
WHO FIRED THEM?
STORY OF A STRAY SATCHEL.
THE POLICE PUZZLED.
“ While on his beat, at a quarter past five
o'clock this afternoon, Policeman John Flynn,


DOCTOR MURDOCK'S PROBLEM. 25
hearing the report of a pistol from the direction
of the Knickerbocker bank— "
“The Knickerbocker bank!” interrupted the
young broker. “Mr. Dunlap, that interests you.
Do your directors indulge in pistol practice at
the board meetings ?”
“What is that about the Knickerbocker bank?”
asked the man to whom this speech was ad-
dressed. Having been engaged with his neigh-
bor in an earnest discussion on financial questions,
he had not been listening to the general con-
versation.
Murdock adjusted his eyeglasses, and quietly
resumed:
“Policeman John Flynn, hearing the report of
a pistol from the direction of the Knickerbocker
bank, in Wall Street, started at the top of his
speed toward that building. When he was within
about twenty yards of the bank another shot rang
out, and at the same instant a man darted down
the steps and ran toward Broadway.".
Richard Dunlap, president of the Knicker-
bocker bank, was listening attentively enough
now. Behind the calm mask of the financier
there was the evident anxiety of the bank presi-
dent. For the stability of a bank, like the honor


DOCTOR MURDOCK'S PROBLEM. 27
protected by a massive iron gate, which also was
found locked. Flynn rapped for assistance, and
the call having been answered by Policemen
Kirkpatrick and O'Donnell, he left the former to
watch the Exchange Place door, and the latter
to guard the entrance on Wall Street, while he
took his prisoner to the police station.
“Messengers were at once despatched to the
house of Mr. Richard Dunlap, the president of
the bank, and to that of Mr. George S. Ruther-
ford, the cashier. The former was not at home,
and the family being out of town, there was no
one who knew where he was spending the eve-
ning.”
Every eye turned toward Richard Dunlap as
this paragraph was read. His features remained
impassive, under the full control of the veteran
financier ; but to an observant eye like Sturgis's,
the man's real anxiety was betrayed by the un-
conscious action of his right hand, which lay upon
the table and played nervously with a fork.
“Yes,” said the banker, carelessly, feeling the
curious gaze of the other guests upon him, and
answering their unspoken questions, “yes, that is
true; I did not tell my housekeeper that I was
invited to dine by our friend Sprague this eve-
ning. There was, of course, no reason why I


28
THE STURGIS WAGER.
should. Weil, Doctor Murdock, did they find
Rutherford?”
Murdock had looked up while the banker was
speaking. He now leisurely found his place and
continued the reading of the article in the Tem-
pest :
“The cashier fortunately was at home, and
he hurried down town at once with his set of the
bank keys. Two detectives from the Central Of-
fice accompanied him, and the three men care-
fully searched the premises. They found nothing
out of the way there, except that three gas
jets were lighted and turned on full blaze.
At first the detectives were inclined to think
that bank robbers had gained an entrance to the
building; and that one of them, having caught
sight of Shorty Duff as he reached in to steal the
satchel from the vestibule, had fired upon him.
This would explain the pistol shots heard by
Flynn. A careful examination of the bank, how-
ever, failed to reveal any trace of a bullet.
“The valise, when opened, proved to contain
only a change of linen for a man and a few toilet
articles of but slight intrinsic value. The
satchel itself is an ordinary cheap leather hand-
bag, stamped in imitation of alligator skin.
“The police are now looking for its owner in
the hope that he will be able to throw some
light on the mystery of the pistol shots."


DOCTOR MURDOCK'S PROBLEM. 29
When Doctor Murdock had finished reading,
everybody, except Dunlap and Sturgis, looked
disappointed. The former settled back in his
chair, the muscles of his face relaxed, and the
anxious bank president once more became the
genial and polished man of the world. The
reporter sat gazing thoughtfully at his wineglass.
“Well, Mr. Sturgis,” said Murdock, “what do
you think of my little problem ?”.
“I have already been assigned to work up this
case for the Tempest," answered the reporter
quietly.
“Indeed? Perhaps you are the author of this
very article? No? Then are you willing to
make the solution of this little mystery the sub-
ject of our wager and the test of your theories?”
"Hold on, Doctor," exclaimed Sprague;
“you are doing Sturgis an injustice. Why pick
out, as a test of his ability, a problem which, to
all intents and purposes, has already been solved
by the police ? Give him some truly knotty
question and he will be in his element; and
then, at least, some interest will attach to your
wager."
“Ah! you think the problem has already
been solved ?”


DOCTOR MURDOCK'S PROBLEM. 31
carelessness in forgetting to turn out the gas
when he locked up."
“Mr. Dunlap's suggestion," continued Mur-
dock, “is plausible in itself, and we might even
assume that the same careless employé, after
locking up the bank, forgot to close the outer
door on the Wall Street side. But even then, we
have not disposed of the ownership of the
satchel nor of the two pistol shots. The police
theory that these shots were fired by bank
robbers seems, I admit, very far-fetched. Pro-
fessional cracksmen would hardly be likely to
fire, unless cornered ; and then they would fire
to kill, or at least to disable. If their bullets
failed to hit the mark, they would at any rate
leave some trace."
“I beg to suggest,” remarked Dunlap, “that
the shots heard by the policeman and his prisoner
were not fired from the inside of the bank.”
“That appears quite likely," admitted Mur-
dock; “but they must at any rate have been
fired in close proximity to the bank, since the
witnesses agree that they appeared to come
from inside. In that case, whence were they
fired? By whom? And why? On the whole,
my little puzzle does not seem to me so ill


THE BANK PRESIDENT. 35
needed to see in the course of his study of the
Knickerbocker bank mystery, and he had not
lost the opportunity which chance had placed in
his way. After obtaining an introduction to the
bank president, the reporter had sought an
occasion to speak with him in private; and, as
this did not present itself during the course of
the evening, he had timed his departure so that
it should coincide with that of Dunlap. Doctor
Thurston had followed his friend's lead.
"Are you going down to the bank this eve-
ning, Mr. Dunlap?” asked Sturgis, as the trio
faced the bleak wind.
“I? No. Why should I?” inquired the banker
in apparent surprise.
“I see no particular reason why you should,"
replied the reporter. “If to-day were a bank-
ing day, there would be no time to lose. But
since it is New Year's day, there is little, if
any, chance of the trail being disturbed ; and it
will be much easier to find it in broad daylight
than by gaslight. Our friends of the Central
Office are usually pretty clever in discovering at
least the more evident clues in a case of this
sort, even when they have not the ability to
correctly interpret them. And since they have


36 THE STURGIS WAGER.
completely failed in their search to-night, we
must anticipate a more than ordinarily difficult
puzzle.”
“Why, Mr. Sturgis,” said Dunlap somewhat
anxiously. “You talk as though you really
believed that some mysterious crime has been
committed at the bank.”
“I do not know enough about the case as yet
to advance any positive belief in the matter,"
said Sturgis; “but if we assume as correct the
circumstances related in the article which Doctor
Murdock read to us this evening, they certainly
present an extraordinary aspect.”
Dunlap reflected for an instant.
“Still, the fact that our cashier found every-
thing in good order at the bank is in itself com-
pletely reassuring,” he said musingly.
“Very likely," assented Sturgis. “It is quite
possible that from a banker's point of view the
problem is wholly devoid of interest; but from
a detective's standpoint it appears to be full of
promising features. Therefore, whether or not
you intend to look farther into the matter your-
self, I beg you will at least authorize me to
make a survey of the field by daylight in the
morning.”


THE BANK PRESIDENT.
37
Dunlap looked anything but pleased as the
reporter spoke these words. He thought before
replying.
“Frankly, Mr. Sturgis," he said at length with
studied courtesy, “I will not conceal the fact
that what you ask places me in a rather awkward
position. You are a friend of my friend Sprague,
and my personal intercourse with you this even.
ing has been pleasant enough to make me hope
that, in the future, I may be so fortunate as to in-
clude you in my own circle of acquaintances.
Therefore, on personal grounds, it would give me
great pleasure to grant your request. But, on the
other hand, you are a journalist and I am a
banker; and it is with banks as with nations-
happy that which has no history. Capital is
proverbially timid, you know.”
“I see,” said Sturgis ; "you fear that the repu-
tation of the Knickerbocker bank may suffer if
the mystery of the pistol shots is solved.”
“No, no, my dear sir; not at all, not at all. You
quite misunderstand me,” replied the banker, with
just a shade of warmth. “It is not a question of
the bank's credit exactly, since there has been
neither robbery nor defalcation; but depositors do
not like to see the name of their bank mentioned


38
THE STURGIS WAGER.
in the newspapers; they take fright at once. De-
positors are most unreasonable beings, Mr. Stur-
gis; they are liable to become panic-stricken on
the most insignificant provocation; and then
they run amuck like mad sheep. The Knicker-
bocker bank does not fear any run that might
ever be made upon it. Its credit stands on too
secure a foundation for that. But nevertheless
a run on a bank is expensive, Mr. Sturgis, very
expensive.”
“The bank's affairs being in so satisfactory a
condition," observed the reporter, “it seems to
me that whatever harm publicity is likely to do
has already been done. The imaginations of
your depositors are now at work sapping the
foundation of the Knickerbocker bank. If the
truth cannot injure its credit, it can only
strengthen it; and to withhold the truth under
the circumstances, is to invite suspicion.”
Dunlap did not appear to like the turn the
conversation was taking. He walked along in
silence for a few minutes, irresolute. At length
he seemed to make up his mind.
"Perhaps you are right after all, Mr. Sturgis.
At any rate we have nothing to conceal from the
public. If you will be at the bank to-morrow


THE BANK PRESIDENT.
morning at nine o'clock, I shall be pleased to
meet you there."
Sturgis nodded his acquiescence.
“Well, gentlemen, here is my street,” con-
tinued the banker. “Good evening, good even-
ing."
And he was off.
“Whither are you bound now, Thurston ? "
asked the reporter, as the two friends resumed
their walk.
“ Home and to bed like a sensible fellow," re-
plied the physician. .
“Don't you do anything of the sort. Come
along with me to my rooms. I must arrange the
data so far collected in the two interesting cases
that I have taken up to-day; and in the cab
mystery, at least, you can probably be of assist-
ance to me, if you will."
“Very well, old man; lead on. I am curious
to know what theories you have adopted in these
two cases.”
“Theories !” replied Sturgis ; “ I never adopt
theories. I simply ascertain facts and arrange
them in their proper sequence, as far as possible.
When this arrangement is successfully accom-
plished, the history of the crime is practically
ever


40
THE STURGIS WAGER.
completed. Detection of crime is an exact
science. Here, as in all other sciences, the im-
agination has an important part to play, but that
part consists only in co-ordinating and inter-
preting facts. The solid foundation of facts must
invariably come first.”


CHAPTER V.
A FOUNDATION OF FACTS.
WHEN the two men were comfortably settled
in the reporter's study, Sturgis produced pipes,
tobacco and writing materials.
“There now," said he, as he prepared to write,
“ I shall begin with what I shall call the Cab
Mystery. The data in this case are already
plentiful and curious. I shall read as I write,
and you can interrupt for suggestions and criti-
cisms, as the points occur to you. In the first
place, then, the dead man is about fifty years old,
and was employed in some commercial house or
financial institution, probably as bookkeeper, at
a fairly good salary.”
"Hold on there, Sturgis," laughed Thurston.
“I thought you were going to build up a solid
foundation of facts before you allowed your
imagination to run riot!"
“Well?” inquired the reporter in apparent sur-
prise.


42 THE STURGIS WAGER.
“Well, the only fact you have mentioned is
the approximate age of the dead man. The rest
is pure assumption. How can you know any-
thing certain about his occupation and the
amount of his salary?”
“True; I forgot you had not followed the
steps in the process of induction. Here they
are: the dead man's sleeves, on the under side
below the elbow, were worn shiny. This shows
that his occupation is at a desk of some kind.”
“Or behind a counter," suggested Thurston
quizzically.
“No. Your hypothesis is untenable. A clerk
behind a counter does occasionally, it is true, lean
upon his forearms. But incessant contact with
the counter leaves across the front of his trousers
an unmistakable line of wear, at a level varying
according to the height of the individual. This
line was not present in the case of the man in
the cab. On the other hand, his waistcoat is
frayed and worn at the level of the fourth but-
ton from the top. Therefore I maintain that he
was in the habit of working at a desk. Now the
trousers, although not new, are not baggy at the
knees, though free from the seams which would
suggest the effect of pressing or of a trousers


44
THE STURGIS WAGER.
wound in the back may have been caused by an-
other bullet fired from the rear.”
“That hypothesis might be tenable, were it
not for this."
With these words, the reporter pulled out his
watch, opened the case, and with the blade of a
penknife took from the surface of the crystal
a minute object, which he handed to the physi-
cian.
“Look at it,” said he, pushing over a magnify-
ing glass.
Doctor Thurston examined the tiny object
carefully.
“A splinter of bone,” he said at last.
“Yes. I found it on the surface of the wound
in the back. How did it get there?”.
“You are right," admitted the physician ; “it
must have come from within, chipped from a rib
and carried out by the bullet which entered from
the front."
“I think there can be no doubt as to that.
Now, the bullet does not seem to have been de-
flected in its course by its contact with the rib,
for, as far as I have been able to judge by probing
the two wounds with my pencil, their direction
is the same. This is important and brings me


A FOUNDATION OF FACTS. 45
to point three, which is illustrated by these di-
agrams, drawn to scale from the measurements I
took this afternoon."
As he said these words, the reporter handed
his friend a sheet of paper upon which he had
drawn some geometrical figures.
“ The first of these diagrams shows the angle
which the course of the bullet made with a hori-
zontal plane; the second represents the inclina-
tion from right to left. The former of these
angles is nearly sixty, and the latter not far from
forty-five degrees. The inclination from right to
left shows that the shot was fired from the right
side of the dead man. Now then, one of two
things: Either it was fired by the man himself,
the weapon being held in his right hand ; or else
it was fired by an assassin who stood close to the
victim's right side. The first of these hypothe-
ses, considered by itself, is admissible; but it in-
volves the assumption of an extremely awkward
and unusual position of the suicide's hand while
firing. On the other hand, the dead man is tall
—six feet one inch—and to fire down, at an angle
of sixty degrees, upon a man of his height, his
assailant would have to be a colossus, or else to
stand upon a chair or in some other equally ele-


46
THE STURGIS WAGER.
vated position, unless the victim happened to
be seated when the shot was fired.”
“Happened to be seated!” exclaimed Thurs-
ton astounded, “why, of course he was seated,
since he was in the cab.”.
“ That brings up point four, which is not the
least puzzling of this interesting case,” said
Sturgis impressively; " the shooting was not done
in the cab.”
“Not done in the cab!”.
“No; otherwise the bullet would have re-
mained in the cushions; and it was not there."
“It might have fallen out into the street at the
time of the collision,” suggested Thurston.
“No; I searched every inch of the space in
which it might have fallen. If it had been there
I should have found it, for the spot was brilliantly
lighted by an electric light, as you remember."
The physician pondered in silence for a few
minutes.
“With all due respect for the accuracy of your
observations, and for the rigorous logic of your
inductions, Sturgis,” he asserted at last with de-
cision, “I am positive that the man died seated,
for his limbs stiffened in that position."
“Yes," assented Sturgis, “and, for that mat-


A FOUNDATION OF FACTS.
47
ter, I grant you that he breathed his last in the
cab; for in his death struggles he clutched in his
left hand the curtain of the cab window, a piece
of which remained in his dying grasp. I merely
said that he was not shot in the cab.”
“Then how did he get there?” asked the phy-
sician.
“Your question is premature, my dear fellow,”
replied Sturgis, smiling; “it must remain unan-
swered for the present. All we have established
as yet is that he did get there. And that being
the case, he must have been assisted; for,
wounded as he was, he could not, I take it, have
climbed into the cab by himself.”
“ Certainly not,” agreed Thurston.
“Point five," resumed Sturgis, “ the right arm
was broken just above the wrist.”
“Yes,” said the physician, “I thought at first
that the arm might have been broken in the col-
lision with the cable car; but the discoloration
of the flesh proves conclusively that the fracture
occurred before death.”
“Precisely. Now, it is possible that the man
broke his arm when he fell, after being shot; but
the contused wound looks to me as if it had been
made by a severe blow with some blunt instru-
ment.”


48
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“ Possibly,” admitted Thurston.
“This broken arm, if we can place it in its
proper chronological position, may prove to be of
some importance in the chain of evidence,"
mused Sturgis. “If the fracture occurred before
the man was shot, that, of course, excludes the
possibility of suicide; but, on the other hand, it
also brings in an obstacle to the hypothesis of
murder."
“How so?”
“Because we have settled, you will remember,
that the shot was fired from the right of the vic-
tim, and close to him. Now, if he did not fire
the shot himself, the person who did must have
reached over his right arm to do so. In that
case, unless the victim was asleep or stupefied,
would he not instinctively have raised his arm in
self-defence, and thus deflected the weapon up-
ward ?"
“Evidently."
“Well, it is idle to speculate on this line for
the present. Let us come to point six. You
remember I called your particular attention to
the cabman. Do you still think he was only
drunk?"
“No," replied Thurston ; "while he had un-


A FOUNDATION OF FACTS. 49
questionably been drinking heavily, he also
showed symptoms of narcotic poisoning."
“Then the presumption is that he had been
drugged by those who wished to place the
wounded man in his cab. I observed him closely
and I am satisfied that he knows as little about
his dead passenger as we do. He probably
knows less about him, at all events, than the
young man in the sealskin cap who gave the
police the slip during the excitement which fol-
lowed the overturning of the cab.”
Sturgis paused a moment.
“ This, I think,” he continued, “covers all the
evidence we have thus far collected in the Cab
Mystery. It is quite satisfactory, as far as it
goes, for it is circumstantial evidence, and, there-
fore, absolutely truthful. In the Knickerbocker
Bank Mystery, we have as yet no satisfactory
data whatever ; for everything we have heard con-
cerning it has its origin in the fallible evidence of
witnesses, and has, moreover, reached us third
or fourth hand. There is, however, one fact that
may, or may not, prove to be important. Have
you noticed that these two mysteries are con-
temporaneous, and, therefore, that they may be
related ?"


50
THE STURGIS WAGER.
m
“Do you think there is any connection between
the two?" inquired Thurston, interested.
“I do not allow myself to think about it at all
as yet,” replied Sturgis ; “I simply note the fact,
that, so far as time is concerned, the Cab Mystery
could be the sequel to the Knickerbocker Bank
Mystery—that is all. Facts, my dear boy, are
like words. A word is only an assemblage of
meaningless letters until it becomes pregnant
with sense by context. So, a fact, which, stand-
ing by itself, has no meaning, may, when corre-
lated with other facts, become fraught with deep
significance."
“And now," he continued, after a pause, “ I
think our work is concluded for the present. I
shall be able to lay it aside for the night. Let
me offer you a glass of sherry. Pleasant evening
we spent at Sprague's to-night. I have a great
admiration for him as an artist, and a great fond-
ness for him as a man. Most of his friends are
strangers to me, though. You know I have very
little time to indulge in social dissipation. By
the way, who is that Doctor Murdock with whom
I have made this bet?".
“Oh! he is a physician, though now retired
from practice. He devotes himself entirely to


A FOUNDATION OF FACTS.
51
scientific research, especially in the domain of
chemistry. He has made some important discov-
eries in organic chemistry, and they say he
has succeeded in proving some of the supposed
elementary metals to be compounds. He has
quite an enviable reputation in the scientific
world. I understand he is a remarkable man."
“That is evident at a glance. He showed
himself this evening to be a clear thinker and a
brilliant speaker. I should say he was something
of a genius, and I should judge, moreover, that
he was a man of magnificent nerve, capable of
the most heroic actions, or— "
Sturgis hesitated.
“ Or- ?” asked Thurston.
“Or of the most infamous cruelty and crime.
It all depends upon whether or not his great
mental attributes are under the control of a
heart; a point upon which I am somewhat in
doubt.”


CHAPTER VI.
THE ARTIST.
SPRAGUE was a dilettante in art as he was in
life. If he had not been rich, he might perhaps
have become a great artist. But, lacking the
spur of poverty, he seemed incapable of sustained
effort. Occasionally he was seized with a
frenzy for labor; and, for weeks at a time, he
would shut himself up in his studio, until he
had creditably accomplished some bit of work.
But the fever was soon spent, and a reaction in-
variably.followed, during which palette and brush
were taken up only in desultory fashion. Thus
it was that at the age of eight and twenty,
Sprague had painted a few pictures which had
attracted favorable attention at the annual exhi-
bitions of the Academy of Design, and which the
critics had spoken of as “promising"; and thus
it was that the promise was as yet unfulfilled,
and that Sprague, though a man of undoubted


THE ARTIST.
53
talent, was not likely ever to rank as a genius in
his profession.
Sturgis, with his keen insight into human na-
ture, fully realized the potential capacities of the
artist, and at times he could not control his im-
patience at his friend's inert drifting through
life. But, with all their differences, these two
men held each other in the highest esteem, each
admiring in the other those very qualities which
were lacking in himself.
The artist lived in a fashionable quarter of
the city, in a bachelor apartment which included
a large and commodious studio fitted up accord-
ing to the latest canons of artistic taste.
On this particular New Year's morning, after
waking and observing, by the filtering of a few
bright sunbeams through the closely drawn
blinds, that it was broad daylight, he stretched
himself with a voluptuous yawn and prepared to
relapse into the sensuous enjoyment of that semi-
somnolent state which succeeds a night of calm
and refreshing sleep.
Just as he was settling himself comfortably,
however, he was startled by a knock at the bed-
room door. Most men, under the circumstances,
would have betrayed some vexation at being


THE ARTIST.
at any hour of the day or night. What is it now?
This is not your digestion call, I presume.”
"No," replied Sturgis, “I merely dropped in
to say that I should be unable to take our pro-
jected bicycle trip this afternoon. I shall prob-
ably be busy with the Knickerbocker bank
case all day. By the way, if you would like
to come to the bank with me, I shall be glad
of your company. I am on my way there
now."
“I should like nothing better,” said Sprague,
“but I have made an appointment for this morn-
ing with a- er- er- with a sitter."
“What, on New Year's day, you heathen!”
Sturgis observed the artist closely, and then
added quizzically:
“Accept my congratulations, old man.”
“Your congratulations ?” inquired Sprague,
coloring slightly.
“Yes; my congratulations and my condolence.
My congratulations on the fact that she is young
and beautiful, and possessed of all those qual-
ities of mind and heart which— and so on and
so forth. My condolence because I fear you are
hit, at last.”
“What do you mean?” stammered the artist


56
THE STURGIS WAGER.
sheepishly ; “ do you know her? What do you
know about her ?"
“ Nothing whatever,” replied Sturgis laughing,
“except what you are telling me by your hesita-
tions, your reticence and your confusion."
The artist spoke after a moment of thoughtful
silence :
“ Your inductions in this case are premature,
to say the least. My sitter is a young lady, so
much is undeniably true. And there is no
doubt in my mind as to her possession of all
the qualities you jocularly attribute to her; but
my interest in her is only that of the artist in a
beautiful and charming woman.
“At any rate," he added, after a moment's
hesitation, “I hope so; for I have heard that she
is as good as betrothed to another man."
The reporter's keen ear detected in his friend's
tones a touch of genuine sadness of which the
artist himself was probably unconscious. Lay-
ing his hand gently upon Sprague's shoulder, he
said gravely:
"I hope so too, old man; for you are one of
those foolish men whose lives can be ruined by
an unhappy love affair. I suppose it is useless
to preach to you ;-more's the pity—but, in my


THE ARTIST.
57
humble opinion, no woman's love is worth the
sacrifice of a good man's life.”
“Yes, I know your opinion on that subject,
you old cynic,” replied Sprague, “but you need
not worry on my account; not yet, at all events.
I am still safe; the portrait is almost finished;
and I should be a fool to walk into such a scrape
with my eyes wide open.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Sturgis skeptically,
“when a man makes a fool of himself for a
woman, it matters little whether his eyes be open
or shut; the result is the same.”
Sprague laughed somewhat uneasily; and
then, as if to change the subject :
“Come and see the picture," he said. “I
should like your opinion of it.”
The reporter consulted his watch.
“ I shall have to come back some other time
for that,” he replied ; “I must hurry off now to
keep my appointment with Mr. Dunlap.”
He started toward the door; but suddenly
facing Sprague again, he held out his hand to
the artist, who pressed it cordially.
“Good-bye, old man,” he said affectionately ;
“be as sensible as you can, and don't wantonly
play with the fire.”


58 THE STURGIS WAGER.
And before Sprague could frame an answer,
the reporter was gone.
The artist remained thoughtfully standing until
his friend's footsteps had died away in the dis-
tance. Then he turned and walked slowly into
the studio. Here, in the middle of the room,
stood an easel, upon which was the portrait of a
beautiful young girl.
Sprague gazed at it long and earnestly. Then
he heaved an almost inaudible sigh.
“Sturgis is right,” he said to himself, turning
away at last, “and and I am a confounded
idiot!"


CHAPTER VII.
AGNES MURDOCK.
In a quarter of the city which is rapidly sur-
rendering to the relentless encroachments of
trade, there still stand a few old-fashioned houses,
the sole survivors of what was once an aristo-
cratic settlement.
One by one their fellows have been sapped
and swept away by the resistless tide of com-
merce, until these ancient dwellings, stubbornly
contesting a position already lost, now rear their
sepulchral brownstone fronts in stiff and solitary
grandeur-huge sarcophagi in a busy mart.
One of these houses stands well back from the
street line, the traditional backyard of the or-
dinary New York dwelling having been sacrificed,
in this instance, to make room for a tiny garden,
which is separated from the street by a tall
spiked iron railing, behind which grows an arbor-
vitæ hedge. The former serves as a defence


60
THE STURGIS WAGER.
against the marauding of the irrepressible metro-
politan gamin ; while the latter confers upon the
occupants of the garden a semblance of pro-
tection from the curious gaze of the passers-by.
This property, having been the subject of an
interminable lawsuit, had remained for many
years unoccupied, and was even beginning to be
regarded by some of the neighbors as haunted,
when at last it was bought by Doctor Murdock,
a wealthy widower with an only daughter. For
some months masons and carpenters were at
work; and then, one day, the new occupants en-
tered into possession.
The Murdocks lived quietly but luxuriously,
like people accustomed to wealth. They had
their horses and carriages, their house at Lenox
and at Newport, and their yacht. Their circle of
acquaintances was large, and included not only
the fashionable set, but also a scientific, literary
and artistic set. For Doctor Murdock was a
chemist of national reputation, a member of sev-
eral scientific bodies, and a man of great intelli-
gence and broad culture.
On this particular New Year's morning, Doctor
Murdock was seated in his study, apparently ab-
sorbed in reading the daily papers, a pile of


62
THE STURGIS WAGER.
While the chemist sat in this pensive attitude,
there was a rustle of skirts outside, and presently
there came a gentle knock at the door of the
study.
“Come in!” said Murdock, removing the
cigar from his lips.
The door opened, admitting a tall and beau-
tiful young girl, evidently not long out of her
teens.
“Do I disturb you, father?” she asked, step-
ping lightly into the room.
“No, Agnes," replied Murdock courteously;
“as you see, I am indulging in a period of dolce
far niente."
The young girl laughed a clear, silvery laugh,
as her eyes fell upon the pile of newspapers.
“If the reading of a dozen newspapers is dolce
far niente, I should think you would welcome
hard work as a pleasant change.'
“Oh!” replied her father, “the work I have
done on those has not amounted to much. I
have only been gleaning the news from the
morning papers.
“Yes," he added, answering her surprised look,
“it takes a deal of skim milk to yield a little
cream.”


AGNES MURDOCK.
63
The last paper which Murdock had been ex-
amining lay upon the desk before him. From
the closely printed columns stood out in bold re-
lief the glaring headlines:
MURDER IN A CAB.
MYSTERIOUS ASSASSINATION OF AN UNKNOWN
MAN, IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.
CABMAN REILLY DENIES ALL KNOWLEDGE OF
THE CRIME.
Miss Murdock's glance rested carelessly upon
these words for an instant. They aroused in her
nothing more than the mild curiosity which at-
taches to events of palpitating human interest,
when they have been congealed in the columns
of the daily newspaper and served to palates al-
ready sated with sensational verbosity.
“Mary said you wished to speak to me," said
the young girl, after a short pause. “I thought I
would step in to see you before going to Mr.
Sprague's.”
“To Sprague's?” inquired Murdock, fixing
his keen eyes upon the young girl. “Ah, yes ;
I remember he spoke of the appointment last
night. How is the portrait coming on?"


64
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“It is almost finished. Probably only one or
two more sittings, at the most, will be necessary.”
Agnes seemed slightly embarrassed by the
fixity of her father's searching glance. She set-
tled herself in an armchair and assumed a look
of deferent expectancy.
Not a word of affection had passed between
father and daughter; not a caress had been in-
terchanged. The relations between this im-
passive man and his charming daughter were
those of well-bred, if somewhat distant, relatives.
On the one hand, there was the uniform courtesy
of the man of the world toward a woman; on
the other, the deference of a young girl of good
breeding toward a person much older than her-
self. But the note of cordial and intimate af-
fection between father and child was absolutely
missing.
And yet Agnes Murdock was naturally of an
affectionate and expansive nature. During her
mother's lifetime the two women had been in-
separable companions, united by a strong bond
of sympathy.
Mrs. Murdock had been an invalid for many
years before her death, and with Agnes had
lived either abroad or in the South during much


66
THE STURGIS WAGER.
conquered the cold reserve she had at first en-
countered. But she was proud and impulsive,
and, bitterly disappointed in her first attempt to
win from her father a demonstration of affection,
she withdrew into her isolation, and ever after
met his calm courtesy with an equally reserved
deference. The abnormal situation, which at
first was maintained only by an effort on the
part of the young girl, lost with time much of its
strangeness, and ultimately crystallized under
the potent force of habit, so that it was accepted
by the two as the natural outcome of their rela-
tionship.
In the first pang of her bereavement and dis-
appointment, Agnes had turned for consolation
to her books; and, being left free to dispose of
her life as she saw fit, she had planned a course
of study, which had in due time received its con-
secration at one of the leading colleges for
women.
Upon her return from college she had, as far
as she was permitted, taken charge of her father's
household, and had presided with charming dig.
nity and grace over the social functions for which
Doctor Murdock's house now became famous.
Up to the time of his daughter's advent the
e
n
ou


AGNES MURDOCK.
chemist's relations with the world had been
chiefly through the clubs and scientific bodies to
which he belonged. He was well received in the
homes of the members of New York society; but
in the absence of a woman to do the honors of
his own home, he was unable to return the hos-
pitality which he enjoyed. Now, however, every-
thing was changed. Agnes was glad to find an
outlet for her energies in the task of receiving her
father's guests, and, being a girl of remarkable
intelligence and tact, she succeeded in creating a
salon, in the best sense of the word. Many of
the shining lights in the world of art, literature,
science and fashion were among the regular
devotees at the shrine of this superb young
goddess.
Among the younger men more than one gay
moth, dazzled by the light of the girl's beautiful
eyes, had been tempted to hover near the flame,
only to scorch his wings. Miss Murdock had
already refused several of the “best matches ” of
the city during her two seasons, much to the relief
of those young men who had not yet summoned
up courage enough to try their fate, and much to
the disgust of a few amiable young women and
several designing mammas. The latter could not
UL


68
THE STURGIS WAGER.
help but deprecate the wicked selfishness of a
young girl who hypothecated and thus rendered
temporarily unavailable much potential matrimo-
nial stock, which, in the nature of things, would
ultimately be thrown back on the market upon
the selection by the fair one of that single bond
to whose exclusive possession she was limited by
the laws of church and state.
The fact of the matter was, that Agnes Mur-
dock's ideal of life was high. She was deter-
mined, if she ever embarked upon a matrimonial
venture, to do so only with a reasonably good
prospect of finding in the wedded state a satisfac-
tory outlet for the depths of affection which had
remained so long unapplied in her tender maiden
heart. No one among the young men who had
sought her hand had seemed worthy of the great
love she was ready to bestow. She was, there-
fore, still awaiting her fate.
“You wished to see me, sir ? " the young girl
gently insinuated.
“Yes," said Murdock, with great deliberation ;
“I wished to speak to you about--"
He watched her face intently, as if to read the
effect which his words would produce. The
light in his eyes was almost tender; but Agnes


AGNES MURDOCK.
was not skilled in reading their scarcely percep-
tible shades of expression. She looked up inquir-
ingly, noting only the slight hesitation in her
father's speech.
“ About a young man— " continued Mur-
dock, with a quizzical smile.
A flush mounted to the girl's cheeks, and she
fixed her eyes upon space.
“A young man who admires you greatly, and
who-
“Has he asked you to tell me this ? ” inquired
Agnes, somewhat impatiently.
“Oh! dear no," laughed the chemist ; “he is
only too anxious to do so himself. He is a most
impetuous fellow. But I thought it best to pre-
pare you— ”
“May I ask the name of your protégé ? ” inter-
rupted the young girl.
“Did I say he was my protégé ?” asked Mur-
dock, gently. “I certainly had no intention of
conveying any such impression. His name is
Chatham—Thomas Chatham.”
A look, half of amusement, half of vexation,
came into the girl's eyes. It did not escape Mur-
dock's close scrutiny.
“I judge from your reception of the gentle-


70
THE STURGIS WAGER.
man's name, that his suit is not likely to meet
with much favor in your eyes.”
“I am not aware that I have ever given Mr.
Chatham any reason to believe that it would,”
answered Agnes, stiffly.
“And yet you must have understood the drift
of his attentions during the last few months,
since— "
“Since it has been perfectly clear to every one
else, you mean?
“And yet,” the young girl continued, reflec-
tively, “ I do not see how, without downright
rudeness, I could have done more than I have to
show him that his attentions have been distaste-
ful to me."
“Then I may infer," said Murdock, smiling,
“ that you would not break your heart if — ”.
He seemed to hesitate in the choice of his
words.
“If he should conclude to go abroad on a long
journey without subjecting you to his impending
proposal.”
“On the contrary, father," admitted Agnes, “ I
should be everlastingly grateful to you if such a
consummation could be brought about without
unnecessary rudeness or cruelty towards Mr,
Chatham.”


AGNES MURDOCK.
21
“Very well, Agnes, that is all I wanted to see
you about."
Agnes looked curiously at her father, as if to
read the purpose hidden in the depths of his in-
scrutable eyes. She saw nothing but a polite
dismissal in his calm face; and the interview be-
tween father and daughter ended, as it had be.
gun, with formal courtesy on both sides.


THE PORTRAIT.
73
upon those of the portrait, had a troubled look in
them ;—so troubled, that it was clearly out of all
proportion to the professional disappointment
of a painter kept waiting for a fair subject.
So absorbed did he become in his gloomy
meditations, that, when at last a carriage stopped
before the house, the artist did not hear it. But
when, presently, a gentle tap sounded upon the
door of the studio, he sprang to his feet, as if he
had received an electric shock.
Perhaps he had ; for it was followed by a rapid
current of delicious thrills tingling through every
nerve and effecting in his whole being a sudden
and marvelous transformation. At once the fur-
rowed brow was smooth; the drooping lips were
wreathed in smiles; the troubled look gave way
to one of glad welcome.
For she had come at last. There she stood,
with laughing brown eyes and glowing cheeks,
when Sprague threw open the door. Alas, as
usual, she was accompanied by her maid. Never
mind ; was it not enough to have her there at
all, to bask in the sunshine of her smile, to look
into the dangerous depths of those soul-stirring
eyes, to listen to the rippling of her silvery
voice?


74 THE STURGIS WAGER.
“I fear I am a little late, Mr. Sprague; I am
so sorry to have kept you waiting. But you see
this is how it was ”.
What mattered it to him now how it was?
Was she not there ? An eternity of suspense
and misery would have been wiped out by that
single entrancing fact. Her words beat upon his
ear like rapturous melody ; he drank them in,
hardly conscious of their meaning.
Agnes Murdock, followed by her maid, pro-
ceeded at once to the dressing-room set apart for
the use of the artist's models. When she re-
turned, dressed for the sitting, she assumed
under Sprague's directions the pose of the por-
trait, while the artist critically arranged her
draperies and adjusted the shades and screens.
The maid had remained in the dressing-
room.
“ And so these are positively the last final
touches, are they, Mr. Sprague?” asked the
young girl mischievously, after a few minutes.
“You artists seem to be quite as uncertain about
your farewell appearances as any famous actress
or singer."
The artist looked up quickly as the girl spoke.
An expression of pain crossed his features.


THE PORTRAIT.
“No,” he replied quickly ; “it is you who are
about to desert this studio, which for a short
time has been brightened by your presence- ".
“Well,” interrupted Agnes, “since you are
not going to leave New York, I hope you will
continue to call on us."
“I suppose I shall continue to call on your
reception days, if that is what you mean," said
Sprague somewhat disconsolately.
“Now that,” laughed Agnes, “is not in line
with the polite things you have been saying."
"I did not mean to say anything rude, Miss
Murdock, but a call on your reception day is a
call on your guests. Surrounded as you are on
such occasions, one has barely a chance to catch
a glimpse of you, much less to speak with
you."
“We are always glad to see our friends at
other times than on our reception days."
“Do you really mean it?" asked the artist
eagerly. “May I call on you sometimes when
the crowd is not there ? "
“We shall be happy to have you call at any
time, Mr. Sprague.”
Sprague thought he detected a slight em.
phasis on the pronoun.


78 THE STURGIS WAGER.
“But it is not we I wish to call on. It is
you, Miss Murdock."
Once more the young girl's expressive eyes
fixed their gaze upon the delicate hands in her
lap, and once more there was a scarcely percepti-
ble flutter beneath the lace which lay upon her
white throat.
The artist sat with intent eyes fixed upon her.
“Of course I shall be pleased to have you
call at any time, Mr. Sprague,” she said after a
brief instant.
What more could any sane man expect a mod-
est girl to say? It is not so much the words
spoken as the manner of their utterance that
conveys meaning. But it is a truism that a
lover is not a sane man. Sprague was not yet sat-
isfied. He was about to speak again, when a
knock sounded upon the door.
It was the hall-boy with a letter.
“Miss Murdock?” he inquired, glancing in the
direction of the young girl.
“For me ?” exclaimed Agnes, surprised.
“Yes, Miss; a gentleman left it for you."
Agnes took the letter, inspected it curiously
for an instant; then, excusing herself, she tore
open the envelope and unfolded the note which
it contained.


THE STURGIS WAGER.
The sunshine seemed to have gone with Agnes
Murdock. A gloom had fallen upon the place
and its occupant. The artist tried to work; but
he was restless and depressed. At length he
threw down his brushes; and rising from the
easel, he put on his hat and coat and started out
for a walk, in the hope that exercise would drive
away the blue devils whose grip he felt tighten-
ing upon his heartstrings.
Meeting some friends in the course of his aim-
less wanderings, he was persuaded to spend the
rest of the day in their company, and returned to
his bachelor quarters late in the evening, tired
enough physically to obtain that healthful sleep
which is the boon of strong youth.


CHAPTER IX.
THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK.
RICHARD DUNLAP was a man who had never
missed a train nor been late in keeping an ap-
pointment. On the morning following Sprague's
dinner party, he walked briskly down Broadway
from City Hall. It was New Year's day; the
great thoroughfare was deserted. As he turned
into Wall Street, the hands of the clock in Trinity
steeple pointed to three minutes of nine. The
financier pulled out his chronometer, found that
the clock in the old belfry was right, and quick-
ened his pace.
Wall Street slumbered peacefully and silently,
like a battle-field after the roar of the cannon has
been hushed, after the victors and the vanquished
have disappeared, leaving behind them only the
ghosts of the slain. The deathlike stillness was
oppressive.
At last, as Dunlap reached the Knickerbocker
bank, the clock in the belfry struck the hour.


THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK. 83
Dunlap stared curiously at the curb.
“I can see nothing there,” said he.
Sturgis handed him the magnifying glass.
“Now look again.”
He pointed out a particular portion of the
curb. Dunlap looked in the direction indicated.
“I see what looks like dried mud, dust par-
ticles, and a little dark spot or stain.”
“Yes,” said Sturgis, “that dark spot is the
hyphen. There were probably others like it
on the sidewalk yesterday afternoon, but they
have been obliterated by the pedestrians. Here,
however, are some that have remained.”
As he spoke, he led Dunlap to the Exchange
Place entrance of the bank, and pointed out a
number of similar spots on the stone steps.
“Fortunately," he said, as if speaking to him-
self, “ fortunately the detectives entered through
the front door last night; so that they did not
interfere with this portion of the trail.”
“But what are these spots ? ” asked the banker.
“They are blood-stains,” replied the reporter.
“I have every reason to believe them to be human
blood. But that question I can settle positively
as soon as we are in the bank, for I have
brought a powerful microscope. Let us enter


THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK. 85
The reporter vouchsafed no reply to this
question, but asked another.
“Is Thursday a general cleaning day at the
bank?”
“Yes," answered the banker. “Every evening,
after the closing hour, the floors are swept, of
course, and the desks are dusted; but Mondays
and Thursdays are reserved for washing the
windows, scrubbing the floors, and so forth.”
“Then it is lucky that yesterday was Thurs-
day,” observed Sturgis. “Will you please hand
me the key to this gate, and that to the inner
door."
Upon entering the bank, Sturgis requested his
companion to seat himself on a particular chair,
which he designated. He then began a critical
examination of the premises. Inch by inch he
scrutinized the walls, the floor, and even the ceil-
ing; sometimes with the naked eye, sometimes
through the magnifying glass. He also con-
stantly brought into play a tape measure; and
several times he called upon Dunlap for assist-
ance, when the distances to be measured were
longer than his reach.
The Wall Street entrance of the Knickerbocker
bank led directly into the space to which the


86
THE STURGIS WAGER.
public was admitted. This space was partitioned
off, as usual, from the bookkeepers' and cashier's
departments. At the farther end, a door led
into a reception room communicating with the
president's office. This office itself opened into
the cashier's department on one side; and on
the other, into a small room occupied by the
president's secretary and typewriter, and into
the vestibule of the Exchange Place entrance to
the bank. On the right of the vestibule was a
large room in which the bank employés kept
their street clothing, and to which they could
retire when they were off duty. A door from
the clerks' room led into the cashier's depart-
ment; while another one opened into the private
secretary's room.
After he had finished his inspection of the
space open to the public, Sturgis, followed by
Dunlap, passed into the president's reception
room, and thence in turn into the other rooms,
and finally into the cashier's and bookkeepers'
departments.
Several times he stopped, retraced his footsteps
to some particular point, and then began his
search anew. At times he crawled about on his
hands and knees; at others, he climbed upon the


THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK. 87
ole.
furniture, the better to examine some spot upon
the wall. In the president's office he stopped to
pick up a great number of tiny scraps of paper,
which lay in and around the waste-basket. These
he carefully placed in an envelope which he laid
upon the president's table.
On one side of the room there stood a mag-
nificent old-fashioned carved mantel-piece. The
artistic beauty of the structure did not seem to
strike Sturgis; but he appeared to derive a great
deal of satisfaction from an inspection of the
large tiled hearth. Presently, removing his coat
and his cuffs, he plunged his hand into the grimy
chimney and removed a handful of soot, which
he examined carefully and then threw away.
He repeated the operation again and again ; until
at last, with evident satisfaction, he picked out a
small object, which he deposited in an envelope.
Then, after washing his hands in the clerks' room,
he passed into the cashier's department. In a
corner stood the telephone closet, the door of
which was open. The receiver of the instrument
was down. The reporter took it up and gazed
at it long and earnestly.
Sturgis's examination of the bank must have
lasted over two hours. At first Richard Dunlap


88 THE STURGIS WAGER.
looked on with a mild curiosity, in which amuse-
ment struggled with good-natured skepticism.
But, as time wore on, the banker began to show
signs of impatience; and when at last Sturgis re-
turned to the private office and carefully deposited
upon a sheet of white paper a miscellaneous as-
sortment of tiny scraps and shreds, the banker
could scarcely conceal his dissatisfaction.
“Well, Mr. Sturgis,” he said, “I hope you
have nearly completed your investigation ; for
my leisure is not so abundant that I can afford
to waste it like this.”
“I need one more witness at least,” replied the
reporter, “and I am afraid I shall have to ask
you to help me obtain it.”
“But,” he quickly added as he noted Dunlap's
impatient gesture, “I think I can promise you
that the time you are regretting has not been
wasted.”
The financier did not seem convinced by this
assertion; but he nevertheless consented with
unwilling grace to assist the reporter to the best
of his ability.
“Well, then,” said Sturgis, "tell me, first of all,
whether you keep any fire-arms in the bank.”
“Yes," replied Dunlap; "the cashier has a


THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK. 89
small revolver which he keeps in his desk, as a
means of defence in case of a sudden attack by
a bank thief."
“Have you a key to the desk?”
“Yes,” replied the banker.
“Will you kindly see if the revolver you men-
tion is in its place?”
“ It ought to be," said Dunlap, picking out the
key on a bunch which he took from his pocket,
and walking towards the cashier's department
with Sturgis at his heels.
“Yes, here it is in its accustomed place.”
He handed the weapon to the reporter, who
examined it attentively,
“ Exactly,” said Sturgis, with satisfaction ;
“this is what I was looking for.”
“What do you mean ?” asked Dunlap.
“I mean that this is the revolver which was
fired twice last night in the Knickerbocker bank.
See for yourself; two of the cartridges are
empty, and the weapon has not been cleaned
since these shots were fired."
“But who can have fired the pistol, and at
whom was it fired, and why ?”.
“Hold on ! hold on!” exclaimed Sturgis, smil-
ing; “one thing at a time. We shall perhaps


90
THE STURGIS WAGER.
come to that soon. For the present, if you will
come back to your private office, I shall endeavor
to piece together the scraps of evidence which I
have been able to collect. There, sit down in your
own armchair, if you will, while I fit these bits
of paper together; and in less than ten minutes
I shall probably be ready to proceed with my
story.”
Dunlap was still nervous and impatient; but
all trace of amusement and skepticism had van-
ished from his face, as he took the proffered arm-
chair and watched Sturgis patiently piece to-
gether the tiny fragments of paper he had so
carefully gathered. When this work was ac-
complished, the reporter went to the typewriter
and wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper. He
next proceeded to examine under the microscope
the minute fragments and particles which he had
collected in his search.
When he had finished this operation, he leaned
back in his chair and looked up into space for
what seemed to Dunlap an interminable length
of time. Then at last he glanced over at the
banker, who could hardly contain his growing
impatience.
“I am ready to go on now," said Sturgis,


CHAPTER X.
PIECING THE EVIDENCE.
STURGIS was still busy with his diagram. He
spoke without looking up from his work.
“Who besides yourself has a key to the drawer
in which this revolver is kept?”
“The cashier has one and the head bookkeeper
has another."
“You mean the bookkeeper who sits at the
desk at the extreme right in the bookkeepers'
department?”
“Yes,” replied Dunlap, “that is Mr. Arbo-
gast's desk. Do you know him ?”
“No. What did you say the gentleman's
name is?” The reporter looked up and prepared
to make a note of it.
“ John W. Arbogast.”
“A man something over fifty years of age,
quite bald, with a fringe of gray hair; wears a
heavy moustache and side-whiskers; and had on


94 THE STURGIS WAGER.
" Quite so," assented Sturgis, “and this you
accomplish by— ”.
“By having the books examined periodically,"
answered the banker, rubbing his hands together
with calm satisfaction.
“I see," said the reporter, who had now fin-
ished his sketch. “Do the employés of the bank
know when an examination of this kind is to be
made ?"
“They do not even know that such examina-
tions are made. No one but the accountant and
myself are in the secret; for the overhauling of
the books is done entirely at night, after the bank
is closed.”
“ Have the books been recently examined ?”
asked Sturgis carelessly.
“Yes; only last week.”
“Well?”
“They were found to be all right as usual.”
“May I ask by whom?"
“ By Murray and Scott, the expert account-
ants.”
“Was the examination conducted by Mr.
· Murray or by Mr. Scott?”.
“By neither. For many years the work was
done by one or the other of the members of the


PIECING THE EVIDENCE. 95
are 1
firm ; but since their business has grown to its
present proportions, Messrs. Murray and Scott
are no longer able to give personal attention to
their customers. For the last two years they
have sent us a trusted employé, Mr. Chatham
- Thomas Chatham.”
“Yes,” said Sturgis, who was apparently wool-
gathering.
A silence of several minutes followed, during
which the reporter thoughtfully inspected
his collection of microscopic odds and ends,
while Dunlap beat the devil's tattoo upon the
desk.
Presently the reporter spoke again.
“Do you know a young man, about five feet
eight inches tall, with fiery red hair, who affects
somewhat loud clothes ?”.
“Why, that is Thomas Chatham. You know
him, then?"
“I? No; I never heard of him before."
“Then, how on earth do you know—-?".
“He has been here recently."
“Yes; I told you he had been here last week;
but--"
“No; I mean he was here yesterday after-
noon," interrupted the reporter.


96
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“Not to my knowledge,” said Dunlap incred-
ulously.
“I thought as much,” Sturgis replied quietly;
“ but he was here, for all that.”
The banker looked perplexed.
“Now, another thing," continued Sturgis. “I
notice in the bookkeepers' department an an-
nouncement to the effect that on January second,
—that is to say, to-morrow,-a new system of
bookkeeping will be adopted. Would this be
such as to bring to light any irregularities that
might exist in the books ?”.
“Yes; it involves the transfer of each book-
keeper every month to a different set of books.
But I fail to see the drift of your questions."
“You will see it presently. Have you ex-
amined the safes this morning ?”.
“Yes; one of the first things I did, after you
allowed me to move at all, was to examine the
cash safe.”
“Ah, yes; the cash safe. And you found its
contents intact?”
“Perfectly,” said the banker triumphantly.
“But there is also a safe in the bookkeepers'
department.”
“It contains nothing but the books, which of


PIECING THE EVIDENCE. 97
course would have no value to any one but our-
selves."
“You have not examined this safe?”
“Why, no; 1—"
"If you have no objection, I should like to see
the interior of that safe. I suppose, of course,
you know the combination of that as well as
that of the cash safe?”.
"Oh, yes; the combinations are changed
every Saturday, and of course I am always in-
formed of the new combination.”
“Then may I examine the bookkeepers' safe?”
“I see no objection to your doing so, if you
like."
Dunlap seemed surprised at the reporter's re-
quest; but he rose and proceeded to the book-
keepers' department. Sturgis followed an instant
later.
When the reporter came within sight of the
safe, Dunlap was closely inspecting the lock.
Presently he uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“What is it?" asked Sturgis.
“I don't understand it,” said Dunlap. “I can-
not open the safe. The lock seems all right;
but- "
“Perhaps the combination has been changed."


98
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“ Apparently it has," admitted the banker ;
“but how came it to be changed on a week day,
and without my knowledge ?"
“That is rather significant, isn't it?” suggested
the reporter.
,“ Significant? What do you mean?” exclaimed
Dunlap excitedly.
“I mean that Arbogast was a defaulter. What
his system of defrauding the bank was, I do not
yet know; but an examination of the books will
no doubt reveal this; and I should advise you,
Mr. Dunlap, to lose no time in having it made."
“But,” argued Dunlap anxiously, "I tell you
the books were examined last week.”
“Yes; by Arbogast's accomplice.”
“What, Chatham his accomplice?” exclaimed
Dunlap faintly.
“ Chatham was in the plot beyond a doubt,”
answered Sturgis. “So long as no one had
access to his books except his accomplice
Chatham, of course Arbogast felt secure. But
when, yesterday, the announcement was made
that after the beginning of the new year his
books would pass to the custody of another man,
he saw that the game was up."
The men had returned to the president's office.
irs
secure.


PIECING THE EVIDENCE.
99
“Those are his very words,” continued the
reporter ; “those he telegraphed to Chatham yes-
terday, as you will see if you hold before that
mirror this sheet of blotting paper which I
found on Arbogast's desk.”
Dunlap, with an unsteady hand, took the blot-
ting paper; and, holding it before the glass,
studied the reflection intently.
“ What do you make out?” asked Sturgis.
“ Nothing whatever,” replied the banker
promptly.
“What?” exclaimed the reporter ; “ do you
mean to say that you do not distinguish any
marks on the blotting paper?”
"I mean to say that I do not see anything to
which I can attach any semblance of a meaning.
The blotting paper has been used, and, of course,
there are ink marks upon it; but, as far as I can
see, these are wholly disconnected. They are
entirely void of sense to my eyes, at any
rate."
“Examine the blotter again carefully in this
direction,” said Sturgis, drawing an imaginary line
upon the mirror, “and pay no attention to any
other marks which seem to cross these lines.
Now do you see anything?"


100 THE STURGIS WAGER.
The banker examined the image in the mirror
for some time before replying.
"If I allow my imagination to enter into play,
I can complete several isolated letters.”
“Will you dictate these while I note them
here. Be careful to distinguish between capital
and lower-case letters. Also separate the lines,
and state whether letters come close together or
are separated by a space.”
“Very well,” agreed Dunlap, who then pro-
ceeded to read off the letters he saw in the reflec-
tion of the blotter in the mirror.
When he had finished, Sturgis handed him
the paper, upon which were transcribed the let-
ters he had dictated. They presented the ap-
pearance shown below:
D 1 6
8 С т
G е
cr r
t
m
р
th
go y
t
S
у
8
U
“Well,” said the banker, “if you can make
anything out of that gibberish, your imagination
is more active than mine."


PIECING THE EVIDENCE.
101
“It is not a question of imagination,” said
Sturgis; “let us proceed systematically. Here is
a telegram blank detached from a pad I found
on Arbogast's desk. Compare its size with the
outline of the marks on the blotter, and you will
see, in the first place, that the message would
just fit snugly on this sheet. Next, you will
probably admit that the first line of marks on the
blotter probably contain a date; the second, a
name; the third, an address; the last, a signature,
and the intermediate lines a message.”
“I am quite willing to concede so much ; for
no business man would be likely to write a tele-
gram differently."
“Very well. Now, then, let me hold this blank
so that the reflection of its vertical rulings may
appear just above the image of the message.
These lines, remember, separate the words of
the message. Extend them mentally and note
how they divide the letters of the blotter. Will
you hold these sheets while I transcribe the re-
sult ? "
In a few minutes more the reporter had drawn
several lines on his copy of the reflection in the
mirror.
“I don't see that you are any better off now


102
THE STURGIS WAGER.
than you were before," remarked Dunlap, ex-
amining the result.
“Wait a minute. These vertical lines, we say,
divide the words of the message. There are
five words to the line; only two on the last line
before the signature; that is to say, twelve words
in the message. Now, consider the first word.
Evidently the ‘G’ begins this word, since it is a
capital; and the flourish on the tail of the 'e'
tells us plainly enough where the word ends.
Note the space between the ‘G’ and the 'e.'
Have you ever taken the trouble to ascertain
how constant in any given handwriting is the
space occupied by the different letters? Try it
some time. Count the characters which you
have written in a number of different lines, reck-
oning spaces and punctuation marks each as one
character, and observe how closely the results
will tally. Basing my conclusion on this fact, I
may safely affirm that the first word of the mes-
sage is ‘Game,''Gave,'' Give,' or some other word
of four letters beginning with ‘G’ and ending
with‘e.' I shall proceed to fill up the balance of
the message as I read it between the letters."
Sturgis wrote slowly and carefully for a few
minutes,


PIECING THE EVIDENCE.
103
“There; behold the result.”
The message had now assumed this form:
to-day
Dec., 31, 1896.
Thomas Chatham,
- B'way, City.
Game I up I Meet me
corner | South and Wall | streets
four thirty
J. W. Arbogast.
“Compare this with the reflection of the origi-
nal and tell me if you do not now detect various
isolated marks and incomplete letters, all of which
tally with the text I have inserted here."
Dunlap made the comparison.
“I am obliged to admit that your conclusions
now appear plausible," he reluctantly admitted.
Sturgis shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, call them plausible and let us pro-
ceed. Chatham kept the appointment yester-
day; but for some reason Arbogast was delayed
in leaving the bank. Perhaps the necessary prep-
arations for his fight took longer than he ex-
pected.”
“ You think he intended to abscond?".
“Why should he have changed the combina-
tion of his safe, as he did, if not to give himself
as much time as possible to reach a place of


104
1114
THE STURGIS WAGER.
comparative safety before the books could be ex-
amined ?” asked Sturgis. “Chatham, becoming
impatient, forgot the dictates of prudence and
started for the bank to ascertain the cause of his
accomplice's delay. He met Arbogast at the
Wall Street door. The two men re-entered,
Arbogast setting down his satchel in the vesti-
bule and leaving the outer door ajar, as Quinlan
found it a few minutes later, when he stole the
satchel. I have every reason to believe that it
was at Chatham's request that the men returned.
He wished to use the telephone, and he did so."
“Your story is connected, and it is certainly
not lacking in details,” said Dunlap incredulously;
“in fact, the details are far too abundant for the
evidence thus far advanced."
“Every one of the details is based upon facts,"
replied Sturgis. “What I have accomplished thus
far has been simple enough, because luck has
favored us. Yesterday being cleaning day at
the bank, the floors were scrubbed some time
during the afternoon, before Arbogast was ready
to leave and before Chatham had arrived. It
thus happens that almost every footstep of the
two men has remained faintly but distinctly out-
lined upon the wet floors, which have since


PIECING THE EVIDENCE.
105
dried, preserving the record. The detectives.
last night obliterated a portion of this record ;
but they have left traces enough for our purpose.
If you care to crawl around on all fours as I did
you can readily distinguish these traces for your-
self.”
“No, thank you, ” answered the banker. “I
prefer to take your word for this part of the evi-
dence.”
“Then I shall resume my story," said Sturgis.
“The footprints show that Arbogast stood at
his desk while the scrubbing was going on. We
may safely say that it was after half-past four
o'clock when he started to leave the bank; for
otherwise it is presumable that Chatham would
have waited for him at the corner of South and
Wall Streets, as he was asked to do in the book-
keeper's telegram. He first walked over to the
safe and closed it, changing the combination, so
that the lock could not be opened until he had
had a fair start. Next he went to the clerks'
room for his hat and coat and for the satchel in
which he had packed just the few necessaries for
immediate use in his flight. He started to leave
the building through the Exchange Place door ;
but probably remembered that the Wall Street


106 THE STURGIS WAGER.
door was not locked, and went back to lock it.
As he was about to close the outer door, Chat-
ham arrived on the scene, and the two men re-
entered, as we have already seen. The foot-
prints tell their story fully and absolutely, their
chronological order being established by the oc-
casional obliteration of a footprint in one trail
by another in a subsequent trail. The two men
walked back into the room in which we now are.
Their actions after this will be clearer to you if
you will follow on this diagram.”


CHAPTER XI.
A RECONSTRUCTED DRAMA.
As he spoke, Sturgis handed Dunlap the
sheet of paper upon which he had traced a plan
of the Knickerbocker bank.
“From this point on," he continued, “I have
indicated the various trails on the diagram. The
dotted lines represent Arbogast's footprints; the
continuous lines show Chatham's trail.”
“How can you distinguish between the two ?”
inquired Dunlap.
“ There is no difficulty about that,” replied
Sturgis. “The differences are very marked. I
know Arbogast's foot because I have seen it; and
I know that the other one is Chatham's because
you recognized the man from the description I
gave of him.”
“Yes, I know. But how could you describe
him so accurately when you have never seen
him?"
“I shall come to that presently,” said Sturgis,


108
THE STURGIS WAGER.
smiling; "you must let me tell my story in my
own way, if I am to tell it connectedly.”
“Very well,” said the banker, resignedly.
“Hold on, though,” he exclaimed ; “ you speak of
two sets of trails; but what is this third set of
lines, marked by alternate dots and dashes ?”
“ They represent the traces of a third in-
dividual, who will appear upon the scene later
on. He has not yet received his cue. But, since
you mention him, we may put him down in the
cast as ‘X, the unknown quantity of the prob-
lem ; for I do not yet know his name. Now,
then; let me see. Where was I? Your inter-
ruption has made me lose the thread. Oh, yes;
the men were in this room. Arbogast, nervous
and excited, paced back and forth, like a caged
animal. Chatham was more collected. It was
warm in the bank, as compared with the intense
cold outside ; he removed his overcoat and threw
it over the back of that chair in the corner.
This fact is shown by the direction of the foot-
steps toward the chair, and by a mark directly
below the arm of the chair where the garment
trailed upon the wet floor. Chatham's careless-
ness was fraught with serious consequences; for,
as luck would have it, there was, in one of the


A RECONSTRUCTED DRAMA. 109
pockets of his coat, an important letter, which
slipped out and fell upon the floor superscription
uppermost. Here is the envelope itself, which I
have pieced together. You will see that it is
soiled only upon the back, and here near the
chair is the faint oblong mark which it left upon
the floor. Chatham went to the telephone in the
cashier's office. He probably did not see the
letter fall. It caught Arbogast's eye, however;
and you may imagine his surprise when he saw
that it was addressed to his wife. What had
his accomplice to write to his wife? Arbogast
evidently was not restrained by any feelings of
delicacy in the matter, or else he was already sus-
picious of Chatham ; for he picked up the enve-
lope, tore it open, and read the letter which lies
before you, as I have pieced it together. It
makes interesting reading. I do not wonder that
Arbogast lost his head when he saw it. Read it
for yourself.”
“Why," exclaimed Dunlap, after reading the
letter, " this announces his intention of commit-
ting suicide.”
“Precisely; and yet Arbogast did not commit
suicide ; probably never had any intention of
doing so; and, at any rate, did not write that


110 THE STURGIS WAGER.
letter. You will observe that it is not signed ;
the name is typewritten, like the rest of the
letter, which, moreover, was not written here, as
the superscription would seem to indicate. I
have tried your typewriter, and although it is of
the same make as the one upon which this letter
was written, there are several characteristic differ-
ences in the alignment and in the imperfections
of the type.
“Besides,” continued Sturgis, thoughtfully,
“the letter itself bears evidence, on its face, that
it could not have been written by Arbogast.
Your bookkeeper was of a weak, nervous, ex-
citable temperament, as all his actions plainly
show. Before such a man is brought to the
point of taking his own life, he must have passed
through a more or less protracted period of ago-
nizing nervous tension, of which you and I can
hardly form any adequate conception. Under
the circumstances, if he loved his wife, conscious
that by his guilt he was about to plunge her into
the depths of grief and shame, he might have
written her an incoherent and hysterical letter, or
a tender and repentant letter, but never this
frigid matter-of-fact statement of a supreme de-
cision. This letter is the work of a cold and cal-


A RECONSTRUCTED DRAMA. THI
culating nature, incapable of ordinary human
feeling. The man who wrote it would not have
written to his wife at all, or would have written
only to serve some selfish purpose. From what
I know of Arbogast, I do not believe he was
capable of composing these lines.”
“You think, then, that the letter was written
by Chatham,” said Dunlap. “But what object
could Chatham have for writing such a letter?”
“No," answered Sturgis, “I do not think that
Cliatham wrote this letter. That is the curious
part of it. I cannot believe that if Chatham had
been aware of the important nature of its con-
tents, he could have been willing to leave it for
an instant within Arbogast's reach.”
“But who, then, could have been its author, and
why should he have intrusted the letter to
Chatham?”
“To your second question, my answer is, prob-
ably because he wanted it mailed from the main
Post Office at about the time that Arbogast
would leave the bank. To the first, I cannot yet
give any positive answer, although, as you will
presently see, there are some clues pointing to
our unknown quantity 'X' as the author of this
letter. But let us not anticipate. Suppose we


112
THE STURGIS WAGER.
return to our drama. When Arbogast read this
letter, he evidently thought, as I do, that some-
body was playing him false; that he was to be
gotten rid of in some safer way than exile ; in
short that, as somebody said of one of the Turk-
ish sultans, he was to be 'suicided.' He must
have had strong reasons to suspect Chatham of
treachery ; for he at once impulsively jumped to
the conclusion that his only chance of safety lay
in striking before he could be struck. At any
rate, while the accountant was busy at the tele-
phone, Arbogast stood near this desk, mechani-
cally tearing to pieces this letter, while he
planned the accountant's death. He had taken
with him your revolver. As the thought of it
flashed upon his mind, his resolution was instantly
taken. He stealthily crept to the paying teller's
wicket. Through it he could see the telephone
closet, the door of which stood open. Chatham
was in direct range, as Arbogast raised the pistol,
and, without a word of warning, fired. The ac-
countant held the receiver of the telephone to his
ear. This saved his life ; for the bullet entered
his left hand and remained embedded in his flesh.
I shall show you the blood-stained receiver in
proof of this assertion. When the bullet struck


A RECONSTRUCTED DRAMA. 113
him, Chatham fell forward, striking his head
against a corner of the telephone box, and inflict-
ing a slight scalp wound. I found a few hairs
of an intensely red hue, which are evidently his.
I also found shreds of his clothing which caught
on a projecting nail as he fell; and I infer from
these his taste for loud dress. He recovered
himself before Arbogast was ready to fire a
second time and ran into the clerks' room,
probably hoping to make his way to the street
through the Exchange Place door. But at the
same time, Arbogast rushed through the recep-
tion room and this office, reaching the vestibule
in time to head off Chatham, who then turned
back and ran through the secretary's room, with
Arbogast in pursuit. In the meantime, ‘X,' to
whom I have already alluded, was waiting in
Exchange Place, where Chatham had a cab.
Upon hearing the pistol shot, he went to the ac-
countant's assistance. He passed into this office,
which he probably reached in time to see Chat-
ham rush in from the secretary's room, closely
followed by Arbogast. “X'seized that chair
over there in the corner and sprang between the
hunted man and his pursuer as the latter raised
his arm to fire. Our anonymous friend is prob-


114
THE STURGIS WAGER.
ably a man of great strength; for with one blow
of the chair, he broke the bookkeeper's wrist.
The hammer fell; but the weapon was deflected,
and the bullet, instead of reaching its intended
victim, passed through the upper lobe of Arbo-
gast's left lung, and out at the back at an angle
of about sixty degrees. The bookkeeper was
standing not far from the mantel-piece yonder.
Do you see that broad black line on the hearth ?
That was made by the bullet. Its direction and
the angle enabled me at once to see that it must
have ricochetted into the fire-place; and there,
sure enough, I found it in the soot in the bend of
the chimney. Here it is.”
Dunlap had listened to this narrative with ev-
ident interest. But now, recovering from the
spell of Sturgis's persuasive conviction, his
skepticism regained the ascendancy for a moment.
“Mr. Sturgis, you have missed your vocation,"
he said, laughing good naturedly ;“you ought to
have been a playwright. You have a most con-
vincing way of presenting both your facts and
your theories. While you are speaking, one is
ready to admit the plausibility of every state-
ment you make. But now that you have fin-
ished, I have become a hard-headed banker once


A RECONSTRUCTED DRAMA. 115
more, and I beg to submit one or two facts-
since we are seeking facts—which it seems to me
are enough to demolish all your elaborate struc-
ture.”
“Go on,” said Sturgis; “it goes without saying
that any theory is worthless unless it takes into
account and explains every existing fact. If
there are any in this case which have escaped
me—a contingency which is quite possible, for I
have no pretension to infallibility-I shall be
glad to hear about them; and naturally, if my
conclusions do not tally with the facts, the con-
clusions must be altered, since facts are absolute.”
“Well then,” said Dunlap, “assuming, for the
sake of the argument, that these various marks
which you have called trails were made by the
feet of three different people; admitting even
that one of these individuals was Arbogast, who
often stays here after banking hours, I do not
see that you have established by any satisfactory
evidence your assumption that the other so-
called trails are those of Chatham and a stranger.
For aught I know to the contrary, they may
have been made by some of the bank employés
in the discharge of their regular duties. Chatham's
coat may have caught on a nail in the telephone


116
THE STURGIS WAGER.
closet last week, while he was here in his legiti-
mate capacity of expert accountant. The change
of the combination of the safe may be the result
of an error; for we have no direct proof what-
ever that Arbogast is a defaulter. And then,
when it comes to your interesting description of
the alleged shooting of Arbogast, it strikes me
that you are entirely carried away by your
enthusiasm; for, in your minute description of
the path of the bullet, at a certain angle, of
which you seem to know the measure almost to
the fraction of a second, you overlook several
important things. Two shots were fired yester-
day in or near the Knickerbocker bank. In, say
you, because here is a revolver with two empty
cartridge shells ; here is a black mark, which may
have been produced by the ricochet of a bullet,
and here is a shapeless piece of lead, which may
be that bullet. As, however, one bullet cannot
account for two shots, you are forced at once to
assume that Chatham has carried away the
second one in the palm of his hand. This is
ingenious, very ingenious, but ”.
“His blood is on the telephone receiver,”
observed Sturgis quietly.
“ Blood !” exclaimed Dunlap; “why, with the


A RECONSTRUCTED DRAMA. 117
carnage that you have imagined here, there
should be oceans of blood. Here is a man, run-
ning around with a wounded hand, who leaves a
few drops of blood on the telephone receiver,
and nowhere else. And here is another man,
shot through the lungs,-excuse me, through
the upper lobe of the left lung,—who does not
bleed at all. And where is he now ? Such a
wound as you have given him must, I take it,
be fatal, or, at any rate, serious. Yet here is a
dead or, at least, a dying man, calmly walking off
as if—as if the curtain had fallen at the end of
your drama, and the corpse had hurried off to
his dressing-room."
“You have forgotten something else," sug-
gested the reporter smiling.
Dunlap looked at him questioningly.
“Yes; you have forgotten the pistol replaced
in the drawer after Arbogast was shot, and the
doors of the bank carefully locked.”
“True. No, my dear sir; your elaborate
theory will not bear an instant's calm examina-
tion."
“And yet,” rejoined Sturgis, “my conclusions,
as far as they go, are absolutely correct. Every
objection which you raise is plausible enough


118 THE STURGIS WAGER.
when considered by itself; but we have not to
deal with a lot of isolated facts, but with a
series of connected events, each of which de-
pends upon and supports all the others. Let
me finish my story, and I think you will then be
prepared to admit that what seems to you now a
flight of fancy on my part, is nothing but a sober
exposition of plain unvarnished facts.'
Dunlap, with a deprecating gesture, settled
back into his chair once more.
“We left Arbogast shot through the left lung,
-fatally wounded, as you have just remarked.
He probably fell like a log; while Chatham,
weak from shock, leaned against the door jamb
yonder. He had probably stanched his wound
with his free hand as he ran; I have been unable
to find any trace of blood between the telephone
and this spot. On the door jamb, however,
the blood left a stain which has not been
completely wiped out and which enabled me
to judge of Chatham's height. 'X' was the
only one of the trio who knew what he was
about at this time. I have a genuine admira-
tion for “X'; he must be a man of marvelous
nerve. Instead of flying panic-stricken from the
scene, as any ordinary criminal would have done,


A RECONSTRUCTED DRAMA. 119
he calmly proceeded to protect his retreat and
to systematically cover his trail. His first step
was to lock the Wall Street gate and the in-
side door. Quinlan had doubtless pulled the
outer door to as he ran away, so that “X' prob-
ably thought this also locked. He then, with
Chatham's assistance, helped Arbogast, who was
not yet dead, and who perhaps by this time had
regained consciousness, into the cab which was
waiting near by in Exchange Place, where I found
the blood-stains on the curb, as you will remember.
After starting off his two accomplices in the cab,
he returned to the bank, put away the pistol in its
proper place, which, by the way, he seems to have
known, and washed up all or nearly all the blood-
stains. There is a sponge and bucket under the
sink in the clerks' room, which were used in this
operation. After, as he thought, completely
obliterating all traces of the tragedy, he quietly
walked off by the Exchange Place entrance,
locked the door and threw away the key. All
this, while policeman Flynn was chasing Quinlan.
You will note that ‘X,' knowing nothing of the
Quinlan episode, was quite justified in believing
that the shots had failed to attract any atten-
tion outside of the bank. Very likely he was


I 20
THE STURGIS WAGER.
disturbed by the return of the policeman and
Quinlan ; I cannot otherwise account for his hav-
ing left the gas burning. Had he had the time, I
feel confident that, with his customary thorough-
ness, he would have turned it out. As to my
minute description of Arbogast's wounds, there
is nothing remarkable in that. I know that the
weapon used by ‘X' was yonder chair, because I
found particles of the bookkeeper's epidermis
upon one of the legs, which was considerably
loosened by the blow. But I know exactly what
the wounds were, because I have examined them.
I told you that I had seen Arbogast yesterday.”
“What!” exclaimed Dunlap, “you mean
after he was wounded ?”
“Yes,” replied Sturgis; “his body is at the
morgue now. You might call there this after-
noon to identify it, if you choose ; but, every-
thing considered, it might be as well not to make
the identification public until we are well on
the track of Chatham and our friend • X.'”


CHAPTER XII.
THE BOOKKEEPER'S CONFESSION.
LATE that same evening, Sturgis returned to
his lodgings, after a busy day spent in working
upon the Knickerbocker bank case. He was
tired and he was perplexed; for, with all his un-
flagging energy, his quick intelligence and his
plodding perseverance, he had come to a stand-
still in his investigation. The Evening Tempest
had appeared with no further mention of the
Quinlan case, and with only a perfunctory report
of the Cab Mystery, no attempt having been
made to connect the two, for Sturgis would not
consent to publish his evidence until he was sure
of complete success in his undertaking.
As he approached the house, the reporter saw
a light in his window, and inferred that a visitor
was awaiting his coming. It was Mr. Dunlap,
who, pale and care-worn, was striding nervously
back and forth in the room, with his hands be-


124
THE STURGIS WAGER.
return, and that his business was connected with
the affairs of the bank. She could not under-
stand how it happened that I knew nothing of
this trip. “But,' said she, “I have just received
a letter from him, which will, doubtless, explain
matters.' She evidently knew nothing of her
husband's peculation. Thereupon, she opened
the envelope and took out this letter. I ob-
served her closely. At the first words I saw her
cheeks blanch and a look of agony pass over her
features as she instinctively pressed her hand to
her heart. I knew then that the letter contained
some important revelation, and I became anxious
to obtain possession of it. When she had done I
could see that she was laboring under a strong
emotion; but she controlled herself, replaced the
letter in its envelope, and said merely : “This
does not tell me my husband's whereabouts;
but I shall doubtless have further news of him in
the course of a few days.' I saw that she was
attempting to shield him in the supposition that
he was still alive. I therefore broke the news of
his death to her as gently as I could. The first
shock seemed to utterly unnerve her ; but after
awhile she became somewhat calmer. ‘After
all, it is better so,' she said, at last. Then she


BOOKKEEPER'S CONFESSION. 125
handed me this letter. There was no further
reason for withholding it. Read it now."
"It is postmarked at the general post-office at
five o'clock,” said Sturgis; “it was therefore
mailed before or during Chatham's visit to the
bank. It may have been mailed by Arbogast
before the scrubbing was done, or perhaps by the
chorewoman when she left the bank.”
The reporter drew the letter from its envelope
and read:
“THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK,
“NEW YORK, December 31, 1896.
“ MY DARLING WIFE,
“When you receive this letter I shall be
far away-a disgraced criminal—and you will be
worse than a widow.
“I dare not ask your forgiveness for the trouble
I am bringing upon you; for I realize all too
clearly the extent of the wrong I have done you.
But I feel irresistibly impelled to lay before you
in all their nakedness, as I do before my own con-
science, the circumstances which have led to my
downfall. A knowledge of these may perhaps
enable you to understand, in a measure, the
temptation to which I have succumbed ; although


126
THE STURGIS WAGER.
I find it hard myself, now that all is over, to
realize how I came to yield to it.
“Perhaps you may remember the celebration of
my fiftieth anniversary. We were having a most
enjoyable evening in the company of the friends
whom you had invited to participate in the fes-
tivities, when a caller was announced. I was
obliged to leave our guests in order to receive
him in the library. This man lost no time in
stating the nature of his business with me. His
name was Thomas Chatham ; he was an expert
accountant, who had been employed at the Knick-
erbocker bank to examine the books, and he
coolly informed me that he had just discovered a
serious error in my books—one that had enabled
a depositor to overdraw his account by a large
amount. At first I refused to believe him, al-
though he submitted copies from the books
showing exactly how the blunder had been made.
When he intimated that it only rested with me
whether the error should be reported to the bank,
I indignantly refused to listen to him. He re-
mained perfectly unruffled during our interview
and left me at last with the statement that he
would wait twenty-four hours before handing in
his report to the president.


BOOKKEEPER'S CONFESSION. 127
“My first step on reaching the bank the next
day was to verify Chatham's statements. Alas!
they were only too true. There was the terrible
blunder staring me in the face. I could not un-
derstand how I had come to make it; but there
it was, and nothing could explain it away. I had
hoped against hope up to this time; now I saw
clearly that I was a ruined man.
“There was only one honorable course open to
me-to frankly confess my responsibility for the
blunder and take the consequences, whatever
they might be. I hesitated, and I was lost.
“I hesitated because I felt that my position was
at stake. Would not my error appear inexcusable
to the officers of the bank, since I could find no
palliation for it in my own eyes. I was fifty
years old. I shrank from the necessity of begin-
ning again at the foot of the ladder which I had
so laboriously climbed after a lifetime of con-
scientious plodding. It would be no easy mat-
ter for me to find another position.
“The more I thought the matter over, the more
I became convinced that there might be another
way out of my trouble. Was it not probable
that the depositor who had profited by my mis.
take, had done so innocently? If so, would he
came


128 THE STURGIS WAGER.
not be willing to repay the amount overdrawn?
At the worst, if he should refuse to do this, might
it not be possible for me to scrape together and
borrow enough to make good the deficiency? In
this way I could correct the blunder and no one
would be the wiser for it. But what of that man
Chatham ? Would not his report betray me? I
recalled his intimation that the nature of his re-
port depended upon myself. What did he mean
by that? Probably he would set a price upon
his silence. This would add considerably to the
amount I should have to raise; but would not
this be better, after all, than the loss of my posi-
tion. At any rate, I should not be any the worse
off for listening to his proposal, whatever it
might be.
“That afternoon, as soon as the bank had closed,
I called at the address Chatham had given me.
He evidently expected me. With him was a
man whom he introduced as James Withers, the
depositor in whose favor my blunder had been
made. Had I not been laboring under great ex-
citement, it is likely that my suspicions would
have been aroused by the strangeness of Withers'
presence in Chatham's room. The two men re-
ceived me pleasantly, and the alleged Withers,
Ime


BOOKKEEPER'S CONFESSION. 129
even before I could broach the subject, expressed
his regret at hearing of the error which had been
committed, and assured me of his willingness to
re-imburse the bank; but- ah! there was an
ominous 'but. He was short of ready money
just then; everything he had was tied up in a
promising enterprise which was bound to bring
in a magnificent profit in the course of a few
days, if only he could raise a few paltry hundreds
to enable him to hold out a little longer. If he
failed to scrape together this small amount, all
would be lost. Insidiously and relentlessly they
drove me toward the trap they had prepared,
and I was weak enough to fall into it. Before
the interview was over, I had consented to allow
Withers to still further overdraw his account,
and I had received his solemn promise to refund,
before the end of the week, the entire amount he
owed the bank. Then Chatham suggested that
it would be wiser to let the second overdraft
come from another account. Withers agreed
with him, and stated that the check could be
made out in the name of Henry Seymour, a rela-
tive of his, who had recently opened a small ac-
count with the Knickerbocker bank. I strongly
objected to sharing the secret of my infamy with


130
THE STURGIS WAGER.
any others; but I finally allowed myself to be
overruled by the plausible scoundrels into whose
clutches I had fallen.
“The next day I took my first step in crime, by
making such entries as would insure the honor-
ing of Seymour's check. After that I was com-
pletely in the power of these two men. It was
not long before I discovered that I had been
their dupe. Chatham's accomplice was not the
true Withers; for this man, a few days later,
made a large deposit, which more than covered
his previous overdraft. The false Withers was
Henry Seymour himself.
“ As soon as I had committed a felony, it be-
came unnecessary for Seymour to keep up any
further pretense of a desire to refund the money
I had helped him steal. I was now in the meshes
of crime as deeply as my accomplices; and, from
that time to this, they have forced me to act as
their catspaw. During this period of two years
the bank has been robbed in this way of over
$250,000.00, every cent of which has gone to
Chatham and Seymour.
“You can perhaps imagine what a hell my life
has been during that time. With prison and dis-
grace staring me in the face; and with the abso-


BOOKKEEPER'S CONFESSION. 131
lute conviction that exposure must inevitably
come sooner or later, I have suffered the tor-
tures of the damned. At the bank, I have been
in a perpetual state of suspense. I have started
at every word spoken to me; I have seen sus-
picion in every glance which has met mine; I have
trembled and paled at every approach of one of
the officers of the bank. And yet I have not
dared to absent myself from my desk for an hour,
lest an examination of my books during my ab-
sence should reveal my crime. I have been the
first to reach the bank in the morning and the
last to leave it at night; I have not even taken
the few minutes during the day which would
have been required to enable me to obtain a
hurried meal. On one pretext or another, dur-
ing the last two years, I have had to forego my
annual vacation. I have dragged myself to my
post when I was so ill that I could hardly stand,
because I could not afford to have any one take
charge of my books for even an hour. And all
that time, with a full realization of my degrada-
tion and infamy, I have been forced to continue
my frauds, knowing that each one brought me
nearer to the inevitable final exposure; but know-
ing equally well that a refusal on my part to con-
Gled


132
THE STURGIS WAGER.
tinue my stealings would result in an instant be-
trayal by my accomplices.
“At last further concealment became impossi-
ble. A week ago the yearly examination of the
books took place. The expert accountant em-
ployed was, as usual, Thomas Chatham, and of
course, as usual, his report was entirely satisfac-
tory. It seemed, therefore, as though discovery
could be postponed a little longer ; when sud-
denly, this morning, we were informed that a
change in the system of bookkeeping would be
adopted after the first of January. I saw at
once that all was over. The discovery of my
crime is now a matter of hours. I must be out
of the way before the crash comes or I am
doomed. I can already see the felon's stripes
upon my back; the clang of the prison gates
rings in my ears.
“I am too dazed to think; but I feel that my
only escape is in death. And yet I cling to life.
I know that the happy days of the past are gone
forever; and yet I feel a sort of numb relief at
the thought that the worst is now certain to
come, and to come at once.
“ I have carefully prepared my flight, so that I
shall have plenty of time to reach a place of


134
THE STURGIS WAGER.
me now, perhaps in time you may be able to
think gently of him who through all his crime
and degradation, has remained
“Your devoted husband,
“JOHN W. ARBOGAST.
“My safety depends upon your keeping the
contents of this letter secret for at least three
days. After that time, please send to Mr. Dun-
lap, president of the Knickerbocker bank, the
inclosed papers, which will reveal to him the full
extent of my defalcations.
“I do not hesitate to betray Chatham and Sey-
mour; they did not scruple to ruin me. I have
sent for Chatham, and I shall give him warning
of my intended flight. If he sees fit, he can take
such steps as he may choose to escape his own
richly deserved punishment.”
While Sturgis was reading Arbogast's letter,
Dunlap, restlessly pacing the room, had observed
him furtively.
“Well?” he now inquired, stopping before the
reporter ; “ what do you think of that?”
“Poor woman!” exclaimed Sturgis feelingly;
“it is terrible to think of the suffering brought


BOOKKEEPER'S CONFESSION. 135
upon her by her husband's guilt. I ought to be
hardened to a situation like this; for it is the in-
evitable sequel of almost every crime that is ever
committed. But I am moved every time by the
pathetic expiation of the innocent for the guilty.”
“Yes, yes; I know," said Dunlap indifferently;
“that is not what I meant. Did you note the
amount which this scoundrel confesses he and his
accomplices have stolen from the bank ?"
“Yes; it is a large sum.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars !
Why, man, if that is true, it is enough to cripple
the bank— No, no; I don't mean that, of
course; the bank is rich and could stand the loss
of four times that amount. But a quarter of a
million is a round sum, for all that. It does not
seem possible that, in spite of all our care, they
can have succeeded in making away with so much
money. But they did. There can be no doubt
about that; for in the papers which Arbogast
inclosed for me in his letter to his wife he ex-
plains just how the thing was done. It is simple
enough when you know the trick; but it took
fiendish cunning to devise it. I never would
have thought that rascally bookkeeper intelligent
enough to concoct such a scheme."


136 THE STURGIS WAGER.
“If the scheme is a work of genius,” said
Sturgis, "you may rest assured that “X'-who
may very well be Henry Seymour—was the au-
thor of it.”
"Well, at any rate," observed Dunlap," there
is one thing that must be done at once; and
that is to find both Chatham and Seymour.
It is not possible that in two years these men
have spent a quarter of a million dollars between
them.”
“It is at all events possible that they may not
have done so," replied Sturgis, “ for my investi-
gations show that both Arbogast and Chatham
have been men of regular and exemplary habits
in their private lives. They do not appear to
have been living much, if at all, beyond their
means. There does not seem to have been, in
the case of either man, any room for a double
existence, which might otherwise have explained
the situation. Neither was a spendthrift nor a
gambler, and neither was dissipated."
“Then you have not the faintest idea of the
present whereabouts of Chatham or of his mys-
terious accomplice ?”
“Let me tell you exactly what I have done up
to the present time; and then you will be able


CHAPTER XIII.
THE LOST TRAIL.
So saying, Sturgis settled himself in his chair
and began his narrative.
“After leaving you this morning, my first step
was to gain admission to the Tombs "
“To the Tombs ?” interrupted Dunlap.
“Yes; the cabman has been remanded to the
Tombs to await trial for complicity in the mur-
der of the unknown man whose body was found
in his cab.”
“ Arbogast's ? "
“Yes, Arbogast's. But of course the police do
not yet know that."
“Were you allowed to see the cabman ?”
“Yes. As reporter of The Tempest, I was able
to obtain an interview with him. When first ar-
rested, the man, whose name, by the way, is
Reilly, was incapable of making a connected state-
ment; the lawyer assigned to defend him laughed


140
THE STURGIS WAGER.
much attention at the time, but which seem
significant now as he recalls them :
“Firstly, It was now quite dark.
“Secondly,—The cab, which had been facing
south when he entered the barroom, was now
facing north.
“ Thirdly,-Chatham persistently carried his
left hand in the bosom of his coat; he was very
pale and seemed weak and ill.
“He with difficulty climbed upon the box
beside Reilly and ordered him to drive uptown.
Presently the cabman became drowsy again. The
next thing he remembers is coming to himself
after the overturning of the cab by the cable car.
That the man was drugged there can be no
doubt. It is probable that while he sat appar-
ently drunk in the barroom, Chatham took the
cab to the Knickerbocker bank, expecting to
smuggle Arbogast into it without Reilly's knowl-
edge ;-a deep move, since it would effectually
cover up the trail, if they wanted to make away
with the bookkeeper, as they evidently did.
Seymour may have met him at the bank by
appointment; but I am more inclined to believe
that he was there unknown to Chatham, and
possibly for the purpose of spying upon the


THE LOST TRAIL.
141
latter, to see that his instructions were carried
out. He lent his accomplice a hand in the nick
of time; and then, like a prudent general, he
retired to a safe position, thence to direct further
operations. What I cannot yet understand is,
why Chatham should have taken the enormous
risk he did in conveying Arbogast's body from
the bank, since Seymour's intention was plainly
to make away with the bookkeeper in any event.
I can explain this only on the supposition that
Seymour thought he could conceal the body in
some way and prevent it from falling into the
hands of the police. On the part of any ordi-
nary criminal this would have been rank folly ;
but the resources of such a man as Seymour are
such that I do not feel disposed to criticize his
generalship in this particular without first un-
derstanding his ultimate object. From what I
have seen of his work thus far, I have derived a
profound admiration for the man's genius and
cunning deviltry. Fortunately, fate was against
him this time. Its instrument was the cable car
which overturned the cab, thus delivering Ar-
bogast's body into the hands of the police and
furnishing the key without which, it is quite
likely, Seymour might have remained forever un-
discovered."


142
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“You think, then, that you will succeed
in unearthing this villain ?” asked Dunlap
eagerly.
"While there's life, there's hope,” said Stur-
gis, with grim determination ; "but I must con-
fess that the outlook at present is not exactly
brilliant. However, let me finish my report.
During the excitement that followed the over-
turning of the cab, Chatham managed to escape,
as you know, and he has thus far succeeded in
avoiding arrest, although the police have kept a
sharp lookout for him. Every steamship that
sails, every train that leaves New York, is watched,
but thus far without result. For my part, I am
convinced that Chatham has not yet attempted
to leave the city.”
“Isn't it probable, on the contrary, that he fled
from New York immediately after running away
from the overturned cab?” asked Dunlap.
“I do not think so," replied Sturgis; “ with his
wounded hand he is a marked man; he would be
easily recognized in a strange city. His safest
hiding-place is here in New York, where he
doubtless has friends ready to conceal him. Be
that as it may, he remains for the present under
cover and the scent is lost. The police are


THE LOST TRAIL.
143
groping in the dark just now, and,
and so
am I.”
CO
The banker looked sorely disappointed.
“And so that is all you have been able to dis-
cover? Not a trace of the money? It does not
seem possible that a quarter of a million dollars
can disappear so completely without leaving the
slightest trace."
“If we can ever find Seymour," replied Stur-
gis, “ I make no doubt we shall be able to locate
the lion's share of the money.
“Yes,” he added, thoughtfully, “ that is all I
have been able to discover up to the present
time; or, at least, all that seems to be of any im-
mediate importance. Of course, I called on
both Mr. Murray and Mr. Scott; but, beyond
the fact that Chatham, like Arbogast, was a
model employé, all I got from them was the ad-
dress of Chatham's boarding-house; there I was
informed that the accountant had moved on
New Year's eve without leaving his new address.
There is one other link in the chain of evidence
which I have investigated ; but I cannot tell yet
whether it will lead to anything or not. It may
be immaterial; but who knows? Possibly it
may prove to be the key to the entire problem.”
S
a


THE LOST TRAIL. 145
and presently another sharp report. After that
came complete silence, and she was unable to
obtain any reply to her repeated calls.”
“You have here corroborative evidence of the
scene between Chatham and Arbogast,” said
Dunlap.
“Yes; but I did not need that. What I
wished to know was the name of the person with
whom Chatham wanted to converse.”
“ Did you discover it ?”.
“ The number of the telephone he gave is that
of the Manhattan Chemical Company."
“ And what is the Manhattan Chemical Com-
pany ?"
“That is the question I asked people connected
with the commercial agencies. They replied
that they knew very little concerning this firm;
because, although it has been in existence for a
couple of years, it apparently never asks any one
for credit, preferring to pay cash for all the goods
delivered to it. I called at the office of the
Manhattan Chemical Company to investigate on
my own account. The office and store occupy
the basement of an old ramshackle building,
whose upper stories are rented out as business
offices. The laboratory and manufacturing de-


THE LOST TRAIL.
147
ment published by this firm ; and it is only by
profuse advertising that such a concern can live.”
“Yes, of course,” exclaimed Dunlap, some-
what impatiently ;“ but what has all this to do
with Chatham ?”
“I don't know," replied Sturgis; “possibly
nothing ; perhaps a great deal.”
“I asked to see Dr. Henderson,” he continued,
“ at which the sleepy clerk stared at me in open-
mouthed amazement. Dr. Henderson was not
in; it was quite uncertain when he would be in.
Indeed, as far as I was able to judge, Dr. Hen-
derson appears to be a rather mysterious person-
age. No one knows much about him. Even his
clerk admits that he has seen him only once or
twice in the eighteen months during which he
has had charge of the office. The Doctor at-
tends to the manufacturing part of the business
himself; his laboratory, which is down in the
cellar, is a most jealously guarded place. No one
is ever admitted to it under any pretext. He is
evidently afraid that some one may discover the
secret of his valuable remedies."
“ You say that as if your words were meant to
convey some unexpressed meaning,” said Dun-
lap, studying the reporter's face.


148
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“No," Sturgis answered, thoughtfully, “but I
am trying to attach some ulterior significance to
the facts. There is certainly something myster-
ious about Dr. Henderson and the Manhattan
Chemical Company ; but whether the mystery is
legitimate or not, and if not, whether it is in any
way connected with the Arbogast case, is more
than I am at present able to determine."
After a short pause he continued :
“When I found that there was no chance of
seeing Dr. Henderson himself, I inquired at a
venture for the manager. For an instant a
puzzled look lent expression to the otherwise
vacuous features of the young man. Then a sud-
den inspiration seemed to come to him. “Oh!
ah! yes,' he exclaimed, “you mean Mr. Smith.'
“Yes,' said I, catching at the straw. Well,
but Mr. Smith is not in either. I offered to
wait for Mr. Smith, and started toward the door
of the private office in the rear, because it bore
in prominent letters the inscription, ‘NO AD-
MITTANCE. I had turned the knob before
the clerk could stop me; but the door was locked.
Mr. Smith, it seems, comes to the office only once
a week to receive the clerk's report and to pay
him his salary. I tried to make a special ap-


THE LOST TRAIL.
149
pointment to meet Mr. Smith, on the plea of im-
portant business. I left a fictitious name and
address so that Mr. Smith's answer might be sent
to me. That was all I was able to do for the
time being ; but I thought it worth while to
keep an eye open on the Manhattan Chemical
Company; so I have engaged private detectives
to watch it for me night and day until further
notice. And there the matter stands."
Dunlap rose wearily from his chair. He looked
anxious and careworn.
“Mr. Sturgis,” he said, “ if you can find any
part of that two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, a good share of whatever you can re-
cover for the bank is yours.”
The reporter flushed and bit his lip; but he
answered quietly :
“You mistake me for a detective, Mr. Dunlap;
I am only a reporter. I shall be paid by the
Tempest for any work I may do on this case. You
would better offer your reward to the police."
1 ca


CHAPTER XIV.
THE LETTER.
THERE is a magic in the refreshing sleep of
youth, calculated to exorcise the megrims.
When Sprague, arising after a good night's rest,
found the world bathed in the sunshine of a crisp
January day, he felt the physical pleasure of liv-
ing which comes from supple muscles, from the
coursing of a generous blood through the veins,
from the cravings of a healthy appetite.
He remembered the “ blue devils ” of the day
before, and found it difficult to account for them.
He was in love, certainly. But that in itself
did not furnish a sufficient reason for despond-
ency. It was rumored that the object of his
affections was on the eve of betrothal to another.
But what dependence can be placed upon a pub-
lic rumor? As a matter of fact, Miss Murdock
wore no rings ; in the absence of the badge of
the betrothed woman, was he not justified in
believing her fancy free?


152
THE STURGIS WAGER.
ten page; then in a flash he realized what it was,
and he flung it violently from him.
Only a few words had left their impress upon
his retina—a few scattered words and a signature.
But these were branded deep upon his brain for
all time, in letters of fire which burned their way
to his very soul. For he had recognized the let-
ter which had been delivered by the messenger
to Miss Murdock the day before, and he had
seen enough to know that it was couched in
words of passionate love. In that instant was
quenched the last ray of hope which had lurked
within his heart. Overwhelmed with a sense of
utter desolation, he sank back upon a divan;
and for a long time remained lost in bitter re-
flections.
But Sprague, in spite of his dilettanteism, was
a man of grit when occasion called for it. Sum-
moning at length his fortitude and his pride, he
proceeded to carry out what he conceived to be
the duty of a gentleman under the circumstances.
Picking up the letter again, he placed it unread
in an envelope, into which he slipped his card,
with a brief explanation of the finding of the
paper. Then, after addressing the envelope, he
started out to mail it himself,


THE LETTER.
153
“Thomas Chatham !” he mused, as he went
down the stairs; “ Thomas Chatham! Why, he is
the man who took such pains to inform me that
Miss Murdock was betrothed, or on the point of
being betrothed,—the flashily dressed young man
with red hair who is so regular an attendant at
the Murdocks' informal receptions, and who
never seems to be invited on state occasions; an
insignificant and conceited puppy. Poor girl,
what a pity that she should throw herself away
upon such a man. But if he marries her, he shall
make her happy, or else- "
The balance of his thought was not put into
words; but his face became set in stern lines and
his hands clenched in grim determination.
Sprague, with the letter for Miss Murdock in
his hand, hurried to the nearest letter-box, raised
the lid of the drop, inserted the letter in the slot
and then tightened his grasp of it and began to
think.
The letter, if mailed, might perhaps not reach
its destination until the following morning. It
might be of importance, since it had been sent by
messenger and to the studio instead of to Miss
Murdock's house. Besides, Miss Murdock would


154 THE STURGIS WAGER.
probably be worried when she discovered that
she had lost it. It ought therefore to be returned
to her at once.
The letter, by this time, had been withdrawn
from the slot of the letter-box.
Yes, it ought to be returned by messenger in-
stead of by mail. By messenger? It was about
half a mile to the nearest district-messenger of-
fice. The Murdocks' house was not much fur-
ther. Why not deliver the letter himself?
Why not, indeed? The human heart has un-
fathomable depths. Why should a hopeless lover
pine for a mere sight of the woman whose pres-
ence only adds to his misery? Explain that who
can.
Sprague carefully placed the letter in his breast
pocket and started off again, this time directing
his steps toward the Murdocks' home.
un.


CHAPTER XV.
TWO LOVERS.
Id
see
Miss MURDOCK was seated at the piano in the
drawing-room, her shapely fingers wandering
dreamily over the keys, when a servant knocked
at the door.
“A gintleman to see yer, Miss,” said the
maid.
“A caller !” exclaimed Agnes in surprise. “At
this time of day? Did he give you his card ?”
“No, miss. Nor his name nayther."
“Well then, Mary,” said Agnes, with a mix.
ture of amusement and severity, “why do you
announce him? I think you would better keep
an eye on the hat-rack.”
“He aint no thafe, Miss," said the maid, posi-
tively ; “he do be dressed up too foine fur that.
Besoides, Oi've sane him here before. A hansum
young feller wid rid hair- Mister-Mister
- Cha- Chapman.”


158 THE STURGIS WAGER.
“What else can I do?" he repeated doggedly.
“Here am I suddenly obliged to leave New York
for a long time,-perhaps for ever,—and unable
to get a single word with you. I called yester-
day morning and was informed that you were at
that artist fellow's studio. Then I wrote you a
letter asking for an interview and I left it there
for you myself. The only notice you took of it
was to give instructions to your butler not to
admit me if I called again. I cannot go away
like that, without a ray of hope to lighten my
exile, and leave you here surrounded by a lot of
men who are anxious to marry you.”
The tender-hearted girl felt a growing pity
for the awkward and vulgar young man in
whom she began vaguely to discern a genuine
suffering.
“I am sorry, Mr. Chatham,” she said, “more
sorry than I can say. But what can I do? I do
not care for you in the way you wish, and affec-
tion is not to be coerced. I have done the best
I could to discourage you, because--".
“I know you have,” interrupted Chatham ;
“you have avoided me, and snubbed me, and
taken every way you could to show that you do
not like me.”


160
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“I don't ask much now. Tell me only one
thing and I shall go away content for the pres-
ent. Say that no other man has any better
chance with you than I have. Say that you do
not love any one else."
The young girl tried to avoid his ardent gaze.
“Say it !” he commanded in sudden sternness.
Agnes drew herself up proudly then.
“I don't know by what right you presume to
catechize or to command me,” she said coldly, at
the same time making a motion as if to touch the
button of the electric bell.
Chatham saw the motion and sprang before
her to intercept it.
“Ah! that is the way of it, is it?” he ex-
claimed with passionate jealousy. “You are-
in love with another man!”
The words seemed to choke him in the utter-
ance. The blood rushed to his head ; the veins
on his temples stood out in purple vividness,
and, as he clutched spasmodically at his collar, a
wild light came into his eyes.
Agnes caught their mad glitter and shrank
back in sudden terror.
“I have been duped !” he shouted frantically.
“I have been a catspaw, and now that I have


TWO LOVERS.
161
done all that was wanted of me, I am to be
turned off like a dog, with a kick. The dirty
work is done, is it? We'll see about that; we'll
see what your father has to say. But, at any
rate, you can be sure of one thing."
His voice sank to a hoarse whisper, and the
words fell with impressive distinctness :
“If I don't marry you, no one ever shall !”
As he spoke he leaned forward upon the table
which stood near him, and his fingers closed
nervously upon the handle of a jeweled paper
knife. There was murder in his eye at that mo-
ment, and the frightened girl quailed before
it.
Suddenly her ear caught the sound of foot-
steps in the hallway. She opened her lips to
call for help, but before she could utter a sound
the door opened, revealing the anxious face of
the housemaid, who had heard enough to realize
that it was time to interrupt the tête-à-tête with-
out further ceremony.
“ Mister Sprague, Miss,” she announced, with
a comforting nod at her young mistress, whose
pale face and frightened eyes had not escaped
her attention.
Sprague stood on the threshold in evident em-


TWO LOVERS.
163
Unconsciously Agnes had clung to Sprague's
hand. Now, as the sense of danger disappeared,
she became aware of what she was doing; and,
in sudden embarrassment, she withdrew her hand
from his reassuring clasp.
The artist, recalling the object of his visit, at
once became grave and formal.
“I am sorry to intrude upon you at this un-
conventional hour, Miss Murdock, but I found
this letter in my studio to-day. It was evidently
dropped by you yesterday; and, thinking it
might be important, I- "
“A letter? What letter ?” asked Agnes,
puzzled.
Sprague held out the sealed envelope. The
young girl tore it open and cast a hurried glance
at its contents. Then suddenly understanding,
she tore the paper to shreds, and threw these
angrily into the fire which burned brightly in the
large open fire-place.
“Oh, that!” she exclaimed contemptuously.
And then after a pause:
“Do you mean to say you thought——?”
She stopped short, seized by a sudden shyness.
“ What else could I think?” said Sprague
softly.


164
THE STURGIS WAGER.
He was watching the fragments of paper as
they flared upon the hearth. The flame which
consumed them seemed to shed a radiant glow
upon his heart.
“Then,” he added presently and still more
softly, “if there is nothing between you and
and him-perhaps—perhaps I may hope—Miss
Murdock-Agnes-
His hand sought hers and found it.
But the reaction had come at last, and the
brave girl who had been able to control herself
in the presence of a threatening madman now
gave way to a fit of hysterical weeping.
Sprague, not being a medical man, could hardly
have known what remedies to employ in an
emergency of this kind. All he did was to
whisper soothing words in the young girl's ear
and to kiss the tears from her eyes. But appar-
ently that was enough. Evidently for a layman
he must have possessed considerable medical in-
tuition; for, after sobbing a while upon his
shoulder, Agnes quieted down gradually and re-
mained contentedly nestling in his arms, while
the artist, doubtless fearful of a relapse, con-
tinued, for perhaps an unnecessarily long time,
to ply the treatment whose effect had produced


TWO LOVERS.
165
upon his patient so marked, so rapid, and so
satisfactory a result.
The attention of the medical profession is
respectfully called to a treatment which, though
empirical, may possibly possess specific virtues.


THE ROENTGEN RAYS. 167
Sturgis was listening in an absent-minded way
while his friend spoke.
“ The wound was not severe; no bones broken.
The bullet had entered the palm of the left hand
and had passed up into the forearm.”
A sudden light came into the reporter's eyes ;
but he maintained his listless attitude.
“Well, sir, probe as I would, I was unable to
locate that bullet. At last I concluded to try
the Roentgen rays, and here is the result. It is
as pretty a shadow photograph as I have yet
seen.”
So saying, Doctor Thurston handed the re-
porter a photograph, which the latter studied
carefully in silence.
“Notice how clearly you can see the peculiar
shape into which the bullet has been flattened,”
said the physician."
“ Yes," replied Sturgis, “I was observing that.
Have you a duplicate of this that you can
spare ?”
“Yes ; keep that one if you wish.”
“ Thank you; I am very glad to have it.
Did you succeed in extracting the bullet?”
“I have not tried yet. I had to develop the
photograph first.”


168
,
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“Of course. When do you expect the red-
haired young man to return ?”
“He promised to come back yesterday, but
he failed to do so,” replied Doctor Thurston.
Then suddenly :
“But who said anything about his being young
or red-haired ?”
“Not you certainly, old man,” replied Sturgis,
smiling. “Don't worry; you have not voluntarily
betrayed any professional secret. But, for all
that, your patient is wanted by the police. He
was bound to fall into their hands before long.
The only effect of this discovery will be to hasten
the dénouement. I had traced him to your
house, and I knew how he was wounded ; so that
I recognized him as soon as you mentioned his
case."
“Who is he?” asked Thurston. “I am sure I
have seen him somewhere before; but I cannot
remember where."
Whereupon the reporter related the story of
Chatham's connection with the Knickerbocker
bank case.


CHAPTER XVII.
THE QUARRY.
Half an hour later, Sturgis was walking
briskly down Broadway, with his usual air of
absent-minded concentration. Presently he
turned into a side street and at once slackened
his pace. He now sauntered along like a lounger
at a loss how to kill a long idle day. The show
window of a bric-à-brac shop arrested his atten-
tion. He stopped to examine its contents.
A little farther up the street was a liquor
saloon, outside of which stood a group of boister-
ous young rowdies. An older man, evidently in
his cups, was seated on an adjoining stoop, where,
with maudlin gravity, he seemed to be commun-
ing with himself.
On the opposite side of the way stood a low,
dilapidated brick house. A painted sign over
the windows of the ground floor bore the name,
" MANHATTAN CHEMICAL CO.”
1.


170
THE STURGIS WAGER.
The drunken man rose unsteadily to his
feet and approached Sturgis with outstretched
hand.
“Say, Jimmy, get on ter his nibs strikin' de
bloke fur a nickel ter git med'cine fur his sick
mudder,” exclaimed one of the young ruffians.
The wretched-looking individual thus desig.
nated seemed hardly able to stand as he steadied
himself against an iron railing; but the eyes he
turned upon Sturgis were bright with intelligence,
and the words he spoke were uttered in a low,
firm voice.
“He's been here—been here twice.”
“Twice?" echoed Sturgis, surprised. “Where
is he now?"
“ I don't know- "
“You don't know?"
“No, sir; but I guess Conklin does. This is
how it is: It was my watch yesterday afternoon
when Chatham came the first time. He went
into the Manhattan Company's place through the
basement at a quarter after five. So I just settled
myself out here and waited. Well, I waited and
waited, but there wasn't any sign of Chatham,
and when Flagler came along to relieve me at
ten o'clock Chatham hadn't come out yet. Flag-


THE QUARRY.
171
ler he spotted the place until six this morning,
and then Conklin took his turn again until two
o'clock, when I came on for my watch. Just as
Conklin was telling me how things stood, who
should come down the street but Chatham him-
self, large as life.”
“Down the street ?” exclaimed Sturgis.
“Yes, sir. And up he goes, as if nothing had
happened, and into the Manhattan Chemical
Company's place again.”
“He had put up the back-door game on you,”
said the reporter.
“Yes, sir; just what I said to Conklin. So,
quick as a wink, I sent him around the block to
keep his eye peeled on the next street and I
waited here. And here I ve been ever since. If
Conklin isn't on the block above, it must be be-
cause Chatham has made tracks again, and he
after him.”
"I'll go and find out,” said Sturgis. “Has any
one else called at the Manhattan Chemical Com-
pany's office since you have been on watch ?”
“No, sir; but a couple of hours ago an express
wagon came along and delivered a long wooden
box; might have been chemicals for the whole-
sale department, for it was lowered to the cellar


172
THE STURGIS WAGER.
by the hoist in the areaway. The blond young
man receipted for the box.”
“ Very well, Shrady. Hang on a little while
longer, and I shall have you relieved just as soon
as I possibly can.”
So saying, the reporter, who had been pretend-
ing to look through his pockets for a coin, osten-
tatiously slipped a nickel into the outstretched
palm before him. The light seemed to die out
of the sharp eyes of the detective, and it was the
miserable drunkard who staggered back to his
place on the stoop next to the saloon, unmindful
of the gibes of the young rowdies congregated
there.
Sturgis walked up to the next street, where he
found a second detective on duty.
“ Anything new, Conklin ?” he asked.
“No, sir; he's been lying low ; looks like he
knew he was spotted this time."
“Good. Stay here until I can notify the po-
lice that we have run down the quarry. It will
be necessary to obtain a search warrant for the
Manhattan Chemical Company's place. In the
meantime, if Chatham should attempt to make
tracks, hang on to him like his shadow and send
back word here as soon as you can.”


THE QUARRY.
173
“All right, sir."
Sturgis, after leaving Conklin, walked along
the street which the detective was watching and
carefully inspected every house on the block.
Almost all were huge office buildings; but here
and there an old-fashioned brown-stone front
stood out conspicuously against the broad ex-
panse of brick walls and iron columns. Half
way down the street one of these old houses
stood well back from the street line behind
a small garden. The reporter stopped near
this and read the numbers on the adjoining
buildings.
“This is directly back of the Manhattan
Chemical Company's office,” he mused. “I won-
der who lives here. It looks like a respectable
place enough. One could obtain a good view of
the rear of the Manhattan Chemical Company's
office from the back windows. H'm- "
He stood thoughtfully considering what pre-
text he could use to gain admission to the house,
when suddenly he became aware of the presence
of a man who had approached with noiseless
steps.
“Ah, is that you, Mr. Sturgis ? " said the calm,
sardonical voice of Doctor Murdock.


176
THE STURGIS WAGER.
cal Company's offices from the rear, and if possi-
ble to ascertain how Chatham had managed to
give the detectives the slip the first time he ap-
peared to them.
Now that he was in the house the reporter
was confronted with the necessity of explaining
his presence there without betraying his true pur-
pose. This would not have been a difficult mat-
ter had the inmates of the house been total
strangers; but he felt that it would be by no
means so easy to offer an explanation which would
be satisfactory to a man of Murdock's keen per-
ception. And Murdock was the last person to
whom he would have confided the true reason of
his visit; not only because the chemist, as his
opponent in the wager concerning the Knicker-
bocker Bank Mystery, was interested in thwart-
ing rather than in aiding his investigation, but
chiefly because he felt a strong instinctive dis-
trust of the man.
As these thoughts were passing through the
reporter's mind, he slowly paced the long hall,
back and forth, with his hands behind his back.
In so doing, he passed a door which was slightly
ajar and caught a glimpse of long rows of book-
shelves loaded with beautifully bound editions.


THE QUARRY.
177
The place was evidently the library. It occurred
to him that a library is a public room and that
he would be more comfortable in there than in
the hall.
He pushed open the door and looked in. The
room was empty. He entered.
The library occupied a space between the
parlor and the rear room into which Murdock
had entered, and it was separated from each of
these rooms by folding-doors over which hung
heavy portières.
Sturgis was a lover of books; his interest was
at once aroused in the collection before him. It
was admirably selected from the standpoint of a
philosopher and a man of science. Every de-
partment of history, of philosophy and of science
had its section, in which the volumes were classi-
fied and arranged with intelligent care. But
curiously enough, poetry and art were but
meagerly represented.
One section especially attracted Sturgis's at-
tention. It was devoted entirely to the history
of crime in all its phases and in all ages. Crimi-
nal statistics, criminal jurisprudence and the
psychology of crime, as well as the biographies
of all the noted criminals of ancient and modern


178
THE STURGIS WAGER.
times, were completely represented. Almost
the only works of fiction in the collection were
in this section, and included every book imagin-
able concerning criminals and their deeds.
Many rare and curious volumes were there-
some of them so rare that they could be found
in only a few of the great libraries of the world.
Here Sturgis was in his element. He had
himself collected a valuable library on the sub-
jects kindred to his profession; but here were
books many of which none but a Cresus could
ever hope to own. He was soon absorbed in an
examination of some rare volumes which he had
often longed to possess.
While thus engaged, he became aware of the
murmur of voices from the rear room. As the
words spoken could not be distinguished, he
paid no special attention to them ; but, instinct-
ively, he noted that one of the voices flowed in
the calm, even tones so characteristic of Mur-
dock's speech, while the other, whose timbre and
modulations were unknown to him, betrayed the
repressed excitement of the speaker.
It soon became evident that Murdock's inter-
locutor was fast losing control of himself ; for he
gradually pitched his voice in a higher key,


CHAPTER XVIII.
THE EXTENSION.
A FEW minutes later, Sturgis, apparently ab-
sorbed in the contemplation of the paintings
which hung in the hall, heard the door of Mur-
dock's study open softly. Although the re-
porter did not turn his head, he at once became
conscious that the chemist's piercing eyes were
fixed upon him. The observation lasted so long
that Sturgis, self-possessed as was his wont, was
beginning to feel a trifle nervous, when at last
Doctor Murdock broke the silence.
“I have to apologize for leaving you standing
in the hall, Mr. Sturgis. I was under the im-
pression that I had invited you to step into the
parlor."
The words, courteous in themselves, conveyed
to the hearer an impression of biting sarcasm.
“I found the parlor already occupied ; I hes-
itated to disturb a tête-à-tête," replied Sturgis
quietly.


182
THE STURGIS WAGER.
Murdock eyed him narrowly for a moment,
and then invited him into the study.
The chemist's study was a spacious room,
plainly but luxuriously furnished, and containing
every convenience and comfort calculated to
lighten the labor of a busy man. The table, lit-
tered with books and papers, stood near a small
safe and almost directly opposite the hall door.
Speaking-tubes and electric call buttons were
within reach of the occupant of the easy chair,
and probably placed him in communication with
the various portions of the household ; while a
telephone on one side and a typewriter on the
other showed that the chemist kept in touch also
with the outside world.
Murdock's interlocutor, whoever he had been,
had disappeared. But how? The question in-
terested Sturgis, and his mind at once began to
seek an answer to it.
There were three doors leading from the study.
One of these was the one by which Murdock and
Sturgis had just entered from the hall. No one
could have passed out that way without meeting
them.
Then there were the folding-doors leading into
the library; but, as the door leading from the


184 THE STURGIS WAGER.
centered upon discovering how Chatham had
managed to escape from the rear of the Man-
hattan Chemical Company's building.
This Sturgis recognized without much diffi-
culty. It was directly in line with the house in
which he now was, and its yard did not differ
from the neighboring ones, the fences of which
could be scaled without much trouble. Chatham
evidently might have passed into any one of
several buildings which lacked the protection of
the formidable spikes that so effectually guarded
the approach to Murdock's house from the rear.
One point, however, was puzzling. Why
should Chatham take the trouble and the risk of
scaling fences in broad daylight, only to return a
few hours later by the street door under the
very noses of the detectives from whom he had
presumably wished to escape? There seemed to
be no plausible answer to this question.
But Sturgis was not given much time in which
to consider it; for Murdock, who had waited for
him to broach the subject of his interview, now
coldly remarked :
“Perhaps, Mr. Sturgis, you will be good
enough to inform me to what I owe the honor of
this visit?"


THE EXTENSION.
185
Sturgis took as a pretext the first subject
which came into his mind.
“Doctor," said he, “I have been told that
you were engaged in a series of brilliant chemical
researches; that you had proved, or were on the
point of proving, that several, at least, of the
so-called elementary metals are compounds; thus
ushering in the realization of the dream of the
alchemists—the transmutation of metals "
“You have not come here to interview me on
the subject of my chemical researches ?" laughed
Murdock.
“Why not?”
“Because I gave you credit for possessing the
scientific spirit. A man spends years in making
a series of exhaustive experiments, and refrains
from advancing any theory until he has built up
an elaborate monument of cold facts; and you ask
him to make a premature report to be spread
broadcast in a sensational sheet, with all the
embellishments which an unbridled reportorial
imagination can add to it. No sir, my report,
when it is ready, will be made through the proper
channels. I am surprised that one who passes
for a man of science should be willing to make
such a request.”


186 THE STURGIS WAGER.
If Murdock intended to gall the reporter, he
succeeded; for, modest as he was, Sturgis prided
himself above all things upon the scientific value
of his work in all its aspects. He manifested no
external sign of annoyance, however, as he an-
swered with a smile :
“ I am not a man of science now, but only a
reporter."
“In that case," replied Murdock, “let us talk
of something else. I should be pleased to discuss
my chemical researches with Mr. Sturgis, the
scientist ; but with Mr. Sturgis, the reporter, I
should prefer to talk about something in his line
of knowledge; let me see, shall we say the
Knickerbocker Bank Mystery, for instance ?"
The reporter's ear detected the venomous sar-
casm to which he was now accustomed from this
strange man. He raised his eyes to those of
the chemist, and for the space of a few seconds
the two men looked steadily into each other's
souls.
Then a sudden light flashed across Sturgis's
brain, and he started perceptibly. At the same
time, he thought he saw a shadow cross Murdock's
impassive features; but in this he might have
been mistaken, for when he looked again, the


THE EXTENSION.
187
chemist was regarding him with an air of mild
curiosity.
“Is anything the matter, Mr. Sturgis ? ” he
asked.
"Only a sudden thought,” carelessly replied
Sturgis, who, to all appearances, had completely
recovered from the momentary shock produced
by the suddenness of the suspicion which had
crossed his mind. “Your mention of the Knick-
erbocker Bank Mystery reminded me of some-
thing, that is all.”
“ Ever since Sprague's dinner,” said Murdock,
“ I have been devoting all my spare time to the
reading of the Tempest, in the hope of finding
there a sensational account, with glaring head-
lines, of the brilliant work of our distinguished
reporter, Mr. Sturgis.'”
Sturgis made no reply. His eyes were fixed
upon the typewriter which stood near Murdock's
desk.
"Up to the present time,” continued Mur-
dock, “ I have not seen anything to cause me to
worry about my stakes.”
“I have still twenty-eight days in which to
complete my case,” said Sturgis.
“True," replied Murdock. “Well, I wish you


188
THE STURGIS WAGER.
luck. If I can render you any assistance in your
investigations, I hope you will call upon me. In
the cause of science I would willingly jeopardize
my stakes. For instance, if you need to consult
any works of reference, my library is at your dis-
posal. I am told that, at least on the subjects in
which you are interested, it is quite complete.”
He observed the reporter narrowly, as if to
mark the effect of his words.
“ It is,” replied Sturgis, after an almost imper.
ceptible hesitation ; “ I have already admired it.”
“ Indeed ? ” said Murdock, arching his brows
in mild surprise.
“Yes; I stepped into the library for a few
minutes while I was waiting for you.”
“ Ah! yes; I see."
Murdock gave the reporter another searching
look. Then he leant back in his easy chair with
half-closed eyes and silently puffed away at his
cigar for a few minutes.
Had Sturgis been able to read the sinister
thoughts which were passing through the mind
of this impassive man as he sat apparently in
lazy enjoyment of his fragrant Havana, it is
probable that he might have lost some of the
interest which he seemed suddenly to have de-


THE EXTENSION.
189
veloped in the typewriter. But he was busy
with his own train of thought and therefore was
not paying any particular attention to Murdock.
Presently the chemist spoke again.
“On second thoughts, Mr. Sturgis, if you will
step into my laboratory, I shall be pleased to
show you those of the results of my recent re-
searches which are ready for publication.”
The reporter was surprised at this sudden
change of front, and perhaps a trifle suspicious,
for he was beginning to weld together many
hitherto isolated facts into a strong chain which
was leading him from the Knickerbocker bank
and Chatham, through the Manhattan Chemical
Company, to the emotionless man in whose pres-
ence he now stood. Some important links were
missing, however, and Sturgis could not afford to
lose any chance of making the chain complete.
He therefore accepted Murdock's invitation, in
the hope of making some discovery which would
throw positive light upon the somewhat hazy
situation.
“Very well,” said Murdock ; "wait for me just
one minute while I open the ventilators of the
laboratory. It becomes pretty close in there
when the place has been shut up for some time.”


190
THE STURGIS WAGER.
So saying, Murdock turned a crank which pro-
jected from the wall. A grating sound was heard,
as of the rasping of metal upon metal. Then he
returned to his desk, where he busied himself for
a few minutes under pretext of looking for some
notes of his experiments. When apparently he
had found what he was seeking, he went toward
the door of the extension. This was of massive
hard wood. Before turning the knob, the chemist
stooped as though to examine the lower hinge.
Sturgis was not consciously following Murdock's
movements. His mind was bent upon accom-
plishing a certain object; and, with that end in
view, he was gradually drawing nearer to the
typewriter. But so accustomed was he to re-
ceiving detailed impressions of all that occurred
before his eyes, that the chemist's actions, unim-
portant as they seemed at the time, were uncon-
sciously recorded upon the reporter's brain.
Murdock opened the door of the extension
and passed out of the room. Sturgis, watching
his chance, snatched up a sheet of paper from
the table, inserted it in the typewriter, and rat-
tled off something as fast as he could. Looking
up when he had finished, he saw that Murdock
had returned and was observing him with a sar-
donic grin.


THE EXTENSION.
191
“More happy thoughts ?” he inquired.
“Yes," answered Sturgis, calmly folding the
paper and slipping it into the pocket of his coat.
Murdock chuckled to himself, as if enjoying a
quiet joke.
“Well,” said he, “ if you will do me the honor,
we can step down into the laboratory.”
Sturgis nodded and went toward the door
which Murdock held open. As he passed the
chemist, the reporter caught his eye, and, in a
flash, read there some sinister purpose, which
caused him to hesitate, on his guard.
At that moment there came a knock upon the
hall door.
“Pshaw !” exclaimed Murdock, “here comes
an interruption, I suppose. Please step down
stairs; I shall be with you directly."
With these words, he quietly but firmly shoved
the reporter into the extension, and, with a rapid
motion, pushed forward the door.
Sturgis almost lost his balance, but instinct-
ively put out his foot between the door and
the jamb. He felt a strong pressure from the
outside ; but he knew he was master of the situ-
ation and patiently bided his time. Presently the
pressure ceased, and he was able to open the door.


192 THE STURGIS WAGER.
Murdock wore an air of pained surprise.
“What is it?” he inquired.
“I have just remembered an important en-
gagement,” said Sturgis unruffled. “I fear, after
all, that I shall be unable to visit your laboratory
at present. I hope, however, that the pleasure is
only postponed for a short time.”
“I hope so," replied Murdock, calmly meeting
his steady gaze.
All this had happened in the space of a few
seconds. Meanwhile the knocking at the door
was renewed.
“Come in,” said Murdock, moving toward his
easy chair.
The door opened and a servant appeared.
“Plaze, sur, Miss Agnes wud loike ter know
kin yer resave her sum toime this afthernoon ? "
“Yes, Mary ; tell Miss Agnes I shall be in all
the rest of the afternoon, and that I shall be at
her disposal at any time.”
Sturgis, picking up his hat and coat, hurried
from the house.
“Why did he want to shut me in the exten-
sion ?” he asked himself over and over, and he
could find no satisfactory answer to the question.
Then he took from his pocket the lines he had


CHAPTER XIX.
THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE.
As he reached the corner, Sturgis came upon
Sprague, who was waiting for a car.
“Oh! I say, old man," exclaimed the artist,
hardly able to conceal his elation, “ I am glad to
see you. I have news to tell you."
“So have I. But I am in a hurry now. Come
along with me; we can exchange confidences on
the way.”
“Very well ; whither are you bound?”
“I am on the track of big game. Can you
spare a couple of hours? I think I can promise
you an interesting afternoon.”
“What is it? The Knickerbocker bank case ? "
“ Yes.”
Sprague readily consented to accompany his
friend.
"By the way," inquired Sturgis, “have you
any weapons?”
“Any quantity of them among the properties


THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE. 195
of the studio,” replied Sprague surprised ; " but I
do not go about armed in broad daylight.”
“You would better have a revolver,” said the
reporter. “You will probably have no occasion
to use it,” he added in answer to his friend's
glance, “but it is best to be on the safe side.”
“ Very well ; I shall go home for one. Where
am I to meet you ?”.
“At police headquarters in about half an hour.
Let me see; it is now nearly five o'clock. Say
at half past five. It will be necessary to obtain
a couple of warrants and the help of the police
before we start.”
After Sprague had left him, Sturgis approached
Detective Conklin, who was still at his post.
“Has Chatham shown up while I was in
there?” he asked, indicating Murdock's house.
“No, sir."
“ Did you notice the man with whom I went
in?"
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, let Chatham go for the present and
stick close to that man if he stirs from the house.
I shall be back in less than an hour.”
“ All right, sir.”
When Sprague reached police headquarters, he


THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE. 197
ry:
story hall,—and now you can surely hear her
coming down the last flight.”
By this time, sure enough, the sound of foot-
steps began to be audible to the other three
men; and presently the door opened and dis-
closed the scared face of an old Irish woman.
“And phwat might yez be wantin', gintlemin,
to be after scarin' an ould woman most to death
wid yer ringin'?" she asked, somewhat aggres-
sively.
“We want to see Mr. Chatham,” replied one
of the detectives.
“Mister who, is it?"
“ Thomas Chatham. Show me the way to his
room. I'll go right up, and my friends will wait
for me here."
“Mister Thomuz Chathum, is it?" said the old
woman; “ well, ye've come to the wrong house to
see him, I do be thinkin', fer he don't live here.'
“Come, that won't do,” said the detective
sharply ; “we belong to the police, and we saw
Chatham enter this house."
At the mention of the police, the old hag's
parchment face became a shade yellower and her
eyes glistened.
“Sure, thin, if he do be hidin' here, it's mesilf


198
THE STURGIS WAGER.
as 'ud know it,” she said after a short interval ;
“ but yez can foind 'um, if yez loike; yez can
foind 'um."
Whereupon she turned and hobbled off, leav-
ing the intruders to their own resources.
They found themselves in a narrow hallway.
On the right was a rickety staircase leading to
business offices in the upper part of the building;
on the left, a door opening into the office of the
Manhattan Chemical Company, and at the end
of the hall another door, marked,
PRIVATE OFFICE
NO ADMITTANCE.
One of the detectives tried this door and found
it locked. Whereupon he placed his shoulder
to it and prepared to force it in.
“Wait a minute,” said Sturgis; “let me see if
I cannot open it.”
The detective stepped aside with a quizzical
expression upon his face.
“I guess you will find it pretty solid for your
weight,” said he.
The reporter took from his pocket a piece of


200
THE STURGIS WAGER.
number of carboys were carefully piled along the
east wall to within a few feet from the rear of the
building. Here, in the northeast corner, rose
narrow shelving, on which were arranged a col-
lection of bottles containing a varied assortment
of chemicals.
The detectives searched the cellar.
“Our man is not here, at any rate," said the
leader, when at last he had returned to the foot
of the stairs ; “ perhaps he'll try to give us the
slip by way of the roof. Come along, Jim ; let's
go upstairs now. Hello! what are you doing
there, Mr. Sturgis ? Think you'll find him in one
of those bottles?"
The reporter appeared to be closely inspecting
the chemicals on the narrow shelves.
“Who knows?” he replied coolly, continuing
his examination.
The detective bit his lip and looked the un-
pleasant things he thought it best not to say.
“ Well, Jim and I will take a look upstairs
while you are busy here.”
And the two men went up the dark stairway,
Sprague remaining behind with the reporter.
“None so blind as those that won't see," said
the latter, sententiously.


202
THE STURGIS WAGER.
though by the repeated contact of a hand. From
this, I argued that the bolt must be attached to
this board. And it was. That is all.”
As he spoke, the reporter entered a dark and
narrow passage.
“Don't shut the door," said he to his compan-
ion, who followed him.
At that moment, however, the artist stumbled :
and, instinctively holding out his hands to save
himself from falling, he released his hold of the
door, which closed with a slam.
"That is unfortunate,” said Sturgis ; " we may
have to lose some time in learning how to work the
bolt from this side. Hold on; it will be prudent to
keep open a line of retreat, in case of unforeseen
emergencies. Hello! we are in luck. Nothing
concealed on this side; the bolt in plain sight;
works easily. All's well. Then let us go on;
unless I am greatly mistaken, we shall find
another exit on the other side.”
After following the underground passage for
some distance, the men climbed some steps and
reached a square chamber, on one side of which
rose a stairway leading to a door above. The
room was surmounted by a skylight, which was
wide open, admitting a draught of cold air from
the outside.


THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE. 203
Sturgis set down his lighted candle and pro-
ceeded to examine his surroundings. In the
middle of the room stood a truck, upon which
lay a long pine box. A table and a chair consti-
tuted the only furniture of the place. At one
side, there was a long, low, lead-lined tank, filled
to the depth of about two feet with a dark vis-
cous liquid. Near it lay a few empty carboys. In
the floor there was what seemed to be a hot-air
register, of large size and of peculiar construction.
The walls were bare, unbroken, save by the pro-
jection of the mouth-piece of a speaking-tube,
and by a set of shelves filled with flasks, crucibles,
alem bics and the other paraphernalia of a chem-
ist's laboratory.
After the reporter had finished reconnoitering,
he sat down upon the long box in deep thought.
Sprague observed him with silent curiosity for
a while ; and then, with growing impatience,
“I say, old man,” he ventured at last to ask,
“ did you bring me here, armed to the teeth, to
see you go off into a trance ?”
Sturgis started like a man suddenly awakened
from a deep sleep.
“Eh? What?— Oh, yes—those confidences.
Well, you start in with yours. I am trying to


204 THE STURGIS WAGER.
find the dénouement of my story. I feel that it
is just within my grasp ; and yet I cannot seem
to see it yet. But I can listen to you while I
am thinking. Go on."
“I have not any story to tell,” said Sprague,
somewhat offended at his friend's apparent indif-
ference to what he had to say.
“Oh, yes, you have," retorted Sturgis, with a
conciliatory smile; "you said you had news to
tell me. Well, tell away. I am listening most
respectfully in spite of my apparent absorption."
“What a strange fellow you are, Sturgis,"
laughed Sprague good naturedly. “All I wanted
to tell you—and you are the first to hear of it,-
is the, to me, rather important fact that I am
engaged to be married.”
“ You are ? ” exclaimed Sturgis with genuine
pleasure. “I congratulate you, old fellow, from
the bottom of my heart.”
He seized the artist's hand and shook it in his
hearty grasp.
“To the original of the picture you wanted to
show me yesterday?” he asked.
“ Yes."
“Then she was not betrothed to the other fel.
low, after all ? "


206
THE STURGIS WAGER.
“I know that now, although I was not aware
of it at the time.”
“What, were you at the Murdocks' at the
same time as I was?” asked Sprague, surprised.
: "I had just come from there when I met you.
I was in Murdock's study while you were–er-
busy in the parlor."
“In Murdock's study? How long were you
there?”
“About half an hour, I should judge,” replied
Sturgis, “and perhaps fifteen minutes more in
the hall, while Murdock was engaged.”
"I suppose Chatham was still with him,"
mused Sprague.
Sturgis started at the name.
“ Chatham !” he ejaculated ; "what do you
know about Chatham ?”.
“What, are you interested in Chatham ?”
asked the artist, curiously. “I know very little
about him, only that he is one of my disappointed
rivals.”
And he thereupon related to the reporter what
he knew of Chatham's suit.
Sturgis listened with deep attention to his
friend's narrative, and ruminated in silence long
after the artist had ceased speaking.
mu


THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE. 207
At last he started up with a sudden exclama-
tion, and walking over to the side of the tank, he
looked into the depths of its oily contents, as if
fascinated by some horrible thing he saw there.
Sprague came and stood beside him and gazed
curiously into the viscous liquid. There was
nothing there that he could see.
“What is it?” he asked.
Without replying, Sturgis took from his pocket
a bone-handled knife and carefully dipped one
end of the handle into the fluid in the leaden
tank. At once the liquid began to seethe and
boil, giving out dark pungent fumes.
“I thought so,” muttered the reporter, under
his breath; "that man is truly a genius—the
genius of evil.”
“Who?" asked Sprague.
Sturgis made no reply. His eyes were wan-
dering about the room, as if in search of some-
thing.
“Hand me a couple of those long glass tubes
from that shelf yonder," he said, earnestly.
The artist complied with the request. Dip-
ping these tubes into the oily liquid, Sturgis,
after considerable difficulty, managed to seize
with them a small dark object which lay at the


CHAPTER XX.
THE LEAD-LINED VAT.
SPRAGUE seated himself upon the long pine
box; and Sturgis, dropping into the only chair,
began his narrative. As he talked, he carelessly
whittled the cover of the wooden box with the
knife which he still held in his hand. He began
with an account of his investigation at the Knick-
erbocker bank, and explained the result of his
observations and inferences down to the time of
his visit to Murdock's house, omitting, however,
to mention any of the names of the actors in
the reconstructed drama.
“So you see,” he concluded, “we have es-
tablished the identity of the body in the cab,
and of the young man who disappeared after the
cab was upset. But one of the most salient
features of the case, from the start, was the fact
that neither of these two men had derived much,
if any, pecuniary profit from his crime. The
bookkeeper, as we have seen, was a mere cats-


210 THE STURGIS WAGER.
paw in the control of the accountant, and his
posthumous confession has given us the explana-
tion of the power exerted over him by his ac-
complice. It was not so easy to establish the
motive which controlled the actions of the ac-
countant, who was himself only a tool in the
hands of a higher intelligence. The deus ex
machină of this crime is a man of genius who
has hardly appeared upon the scene at all, but
whose traces I have found at every turn. He was
the brains of the whole scheme; the other men
in his hands were mere puppets. Through the
accountant, this master spirit managed the book-
keeper; and the accountant himself was con-
trolled by him more directly, but no less surely.
If he held the former through his fear of ex-
posure and consequent ruin, he influenced the
latter through even more potent motives. He is
the father of a beautiful girl, whom he did not
scruple to use as a decoy. The price agreed
upon for the accountant's assistance was the hand
of this daughter, for whom the young man had
doubtless conceived a passionate love. Whether
or not the leader would have had the power to
carry out his part of the contract matters little ;
for it is highly probable that he never had the


212
THE STURGIS WAGER.
212
thus not only partially disabled, but also,—what is
far worse, - conspicuously marked. A man who
carries his arm in a sling can hardly fail to
attract attention, especially when this distinguish-
ing mark is accompanied by another equally glar-
ing one in the form of a head of brilliant red
hair- "
“ Hold on, Sturgis !” interrupted Sprague,
who had been listening with growing interest ;
“ don't you know the accountant's name?"
“Yes," replied the reporter ; “his name is
Thomas Chatham.”
“ Thomas Chatham !” exclaimed Sprague, as
the image of the miserable young man came to
his mind.
“Yes," replied Sturgis, answering his thought,
“the man you met only a few hours ago."
There was a brief silence, broken at last by
Sprague, who asked :
“Has he escaped ?”.
Sturgis hesitated.
“ That depends upon how we look at it,” he
said gravely at length; "he has paid the penalty
of his crimes.”
“What do you mean?”.
“He is dead," answered the reporter.


THE LEAD-LINED VAT.
213
“Dead? But I tell you I saw him-
“I know; but he has died since."
“Suicide?"
“No;" the reporter's voice sank to a whisper;
“murder!”
“Murder ? ” repeated the artist, startled.
“But how do you know that ? "
“This lump of lead tells the story," said
Sturgis, holding up the shapeless piece of metal
which he had taken out of the vat.
“What is it? A bullet? ”.
“Yes; the bullet which Chatham carried in his
arm from the time that he was wounded by Ar-
bogast, the bullet which has enabled me to trace
him step by step, from his flight from the over-
turned cab, to Doctor Thurston's, and finally to
his death in this very room; the bullet whose
peculiar shape is recorded in this shadow picture
taken by Thurston by means of the Roentgen
rays."
So saying, he handed Sprague the photograph.
But the artist had ceased to listen.
“In this very room ?” he mused aloud, looking
about him with awe.
“Yes. The story is simple enough. The
man whose instrument Chatham was, is not one


216
THE STURGIS WAGER.
make frequent use of this death chamber. That
does well enough as a last resort, when he is
obliged to commit the murders with his own
hands; but I suspect that this man has other
agents like Chatham, who do the dirty work for
him and then quietly ship the bodies here for
annihilation, as it was intended should be done
with Arbogast's. Ah! yes ; I thought so. You
are sitting upon one of these bodies now.”
Sprague started to his feet; and, following the
direction in which Sturgis was pointing with his
open knife, he vaguely discerned, through the
opening which the reporter had whittled, a small
surface of what had once been the features of a
human being.
After gazing for some minutes in horror-
stricken silence at the distorted face, the artist
asked in a low voice :
“ How did Chatham meet his death ?”
“I don't know yet," answered Sturgis gravely;
“this man is no ordinary criminal. His work is
clean and leaves no blood-stains and no disorder to
tell of its accomplishment. He takes life with
his own hands only when he is forced to do so ;
but, when he does, his method is masterly. It
was easier to make away with Chatham than to


THE LEAD-LINED VAT.
217
3.
pay him the price agreed upon for his complicity
in the Knickerbocker bank embezzlement; and
so his life was taken. I hope to discover how
before I leave here."
Sprague started as the reporter ceased speak-
ing.
“The price of his complicity ?” he exclaimed,
laying his hand upon Sturgis's arm, and looking
earnestly into his eyes.
“Yes,” replied the reporter, steadily meeting
his friend's gaze,“ his daughter's hand.”
Sprague looked away from the honest eyes of
the reporter, as if he dreaded to read in them
the answer to his next question.
“Who is this fiend incarnate, who is willing to
traffic in his own flesh and blood, and with whom
murder is a science ?”
“The man who is capable of these crimes, and
of any others which might serve to remove an
obstacle from his way, is ".
The reporter did not finish his sentence.
He suddenly grasped his companion by the arm
and stood transfixed, his eyes dilated, his neck
craned in a listening attitude, every muscle tense
like those of a wild animal in ambush, about to
spring upon its approaching prey.


218
THE STURGIS WAGER.
Presently a click was heard as though a bolt
had been shot from its socket.
“ Draw your revolver !” Sturgis whispered
hoarsely to his companion. “Quick ! Look
there!”
At the same time he drew his own weapon
and pointed in the direction of the door at the
head of the stairs. The door opened, and a man
entered, quietly smoking a cigar.
“ Doctor Murdock!” exclaimed Sprague with
horror.
Murdock, still holding the door ajar, eyed the
two men for an instant, his impassive face be-
traying not the slightest sign of emotion. Then,
taking his cigar from his lips :
“Ah, gentlemen,” he drawled in his ironical
way, “I am delighted to see you. I trust you
will make yourselves perfectly at home for a few
minutes. I shall return directly. You can con-
tinue to work out your little problem in the
meantime, Mr. Sturgis.”
With these words he calmly turned to leave
the room.
“Stop!” shouted Sturgis, levelling his revol-
ver at Murdock's head: “stand where you are or
I fire!”


THE DEATH CHAMBER.
221
Sturgis. Then with feeling he added: “I do not
know how this will end, old man. I have bun-
gled and I fear the game is lost. If our lives
are the forfeit, you will owe your death to my
stupidity.”
Sprague looked at his friend, as if surprised to
hear him apparently abandon the fight.
"Don't worry about me,” he said kindly; “I
came here of my own free will. But,” he added,
as a vision of Agnes Murdock flashed upon his
mind, “I have no intention to die just yet, if I
can help it. Are we not both able-bodied men
and armed? What can one man do against two ?”
" It is not an open fight,” said Sturgis, “but I
am glad to see your spirit. I do not give up;
but I want you to realize that we are in a critical
situation, with the odds enormously against us.”
“Why, what can Murdock do?”.
“Perhaps what he did to Chatham. It will
probably not be long before we discover what
that was.”
“But there must be some way of opening that
door from the inside,” said Sprague.
“There evidently is none,” replied Sturgis ;
“he probably controls these doors from the out-
side by electrical connection.”


THE DEATH CHAMBER.
223
Sturgis and Sprague stood in the glimmering
light of the candle, silently watching the glowing
eyes behind the screen.
“Mr. Sturgis, you are a clever man,” continued
Murdock, “an uncommonly clever man. I
frankly admit that I had underrated your ability.
But then we are all fallible, after all. I made
my share of blunders, as you seem to have dis-
covered; but you will doubtless now concede
that your own course has not been entirely free
from errors. And now that we have reached
the conclusion of this interesting game, I have
the honor to announce, 'mate in one move!'
Perhaps you are surprised that I should take
the trouble to explain the situation to you so
clearly. I do so in recognition of your superior
intelligence. I see in you a peer. If matters
could have been so arranged, I should have been
proud to work in harmony with such a man as
you ; and indeed, when, a short time ago, I in-
vited you to my laboratory, it was my intention
to offer you a compromise which I hoped I might
be able to persuade you to accept. I felt that
you would prove an ally who could be trusted.
But, alas, that is impossible now, on account of
your friend's presence. With all due respect to


THE DEATH CHAMBER. 225
edit these memoirs; but, alas, the fondest of hu-
man dreams are seldom destined to be realized.
“Now then, gentlemen, before finally parting
with you, I wish to honorably carry out the
terms of my wager with Mr. Sturgis. I concede
the fact that, to all intents and purposes, he has
won the bet, and I authorize you, Mr. Sprague,
as stakeholder, to pay him the amount I de-
posited with you. As I have already suggested,
he has made some perhaps excusable mistakes;
but then, as he himself stated the other night, 'a
detective has a lifetime in which to correct a
blunder.' A lifetime! It is not in accordance
with Mr. Sturgis's usual practice to use so vague
a term. A lifetime is not necessarily a very long
time, Mr. Sturgis.”
During this tirade Sturgis and Sprague had
remained standing with their eyes fixed upon the
gleaming carbuncles which peered at them from
behind the grated peephole at the top of the
stairs. The artist seemed to realize that the
fight was lost. His attitude was that of a brave
man accepting, with calm despair, an unpleasant
but inevitable doom. The reporter had drawn
his revolver at the first sound of Murdock's
voice, but had immediately returned it to his


226
THE STURGIS WAGER.
pocket upon realizing that the chemist was pro-
tected by a bullet-proof grating. Now, pale and
collected, he remained inscrutable. It was im-
possible, even for the sharp eyes of Murdock, to
determine whether he was at last resigned to his
fate, or whether his active mind was still on the
alert for a loophole of escape.
The bit of candle which he held in his hand
had burned so low that at last he was unable to
hold it without risk of burning his fingers.
Whereupon he coolly set it down upon the stone
floor, where presently the wick fell over into a
pool of molten paraffine, and the flame spluttered
noisily, sending fitful gleams through the dark-
ness.
“Well," continued Murdock's voice, “it is at
any rate a great satisfaction to play a game with
an adversary worthy of one's steel. You have
played well, Mr. Sturgis. I think you would
have won modestly; and you are losing as I
would myself have lost, had our positions been
reversed. Good-bye.”
The gleaming eyes disappeared from the grat-
ing, and the sliding panel closed with a metallic
click.
“Now then,” said Sturgis to his companion,


THE DEATH CHAMBER.
227
“the last chance lies in the speaking-tube. But
first help me move this box.”
“What do you want to do with the box?”
asked Sprague, who, however, did as he was
bid.
" It may help us to gain a little time. Put it
down here.”
Sturgis struck a match and pointed out the
spot.
“On the hot-air register?”
“On what looks like a hot-air register. Did
you ever see a hot-air register with no apparent
means of shutting off the heat ?"
Sprague, who stood almost over the register,
suddenly threw back his head and gasped for
breath.
"You have discovered the secret of this death
trap,” said Sturgis, observing him.
“Gas !” spluttered the artist.
“Yes, he is going to asphyxiate us. Now,
quick, to the speaking-tube! The box will
somewhat retard the rush of gas; but, at the
best, it is only a question of minutes before the
air becomes so charged as to render respiration
impossible.”
Sprague rushed to the speaking-tube and


THE DEATH CHAMBER.
229
is a box of matches. I place it here, between us,
within easy reach. I want to write a few words
to the superintendent of police to explain mat-
ters. By that time there will be enough gas in
the room to produce a terrific explosion, when we
strike a match. We can thus succeed in wreck-
ing this place and calling attention to it. If I
should succumb before you do, do not fail to
light the match."
While he was speaking, the reporter had taken
from his pocket a pad and a pencil, and had
begun to write as rapidly as he could in the
darkness.
Sprague's head was beginning to swim and his
ears were ringing, but the thought of Agnes
Murdock was uppermost in his mind.
“An explosion!” he exclaimed; “no, no; that
must not be. What of Agnes? She may be
hurt?"
Sturgis continued writing.
“It is the only chance there is of bringing
Murdock to justice,” he said, firmly.
“But Agnes is innocent of his crimes,” urged
the artist, in a thick voice. His tongue clove to
his palate; he felt his consciousness ebbing.
“Why should she suffer? I am going, old man


THE DEATH CHAMBER.
231
ing in upon him receded, he became conscious of
Sturgis's voice beating upon his ears in broken
and scarcely audible tones.
“It is——the last chance- Stick — to the
tube-_When he comes—-surprise him—-
your revolver--shoot--before- "
The reporter was clinging unsteadily to his
friend's shoulder. Sprague suddenly realized
that Sturgis in his turn was succumbing to the
effects of the gas. He sprang back in time to
catch the staggering man in his arms.
“Selfish brute that I am !” he exclaimed.
“Here; it is your turn to breathe !” And he
pushed the reporter toward the tube..
“No, no,” said Sturgis, struggling faintly ; "it
cannot be both--and you—-have-every-
thing— to live for.”
But the artist was now the stronger, and he
succeeded in forcing his friend to inhale enough
fresh air to restore his departing consciousness.
At length Sturgis, with returning strength,
was about to renew the generous struggle with
Sprague, when suddenly the place was ablaze
with the glare of an electric light.
“He wants to see if his work is done,” whis-
pered Sturgis to his companion.
D
was


THE DEATH CHAMBER.
233
If Murdock were coming he would have to
shut off the gas and to ventilate the room.
What was he waiting for?
“Come in!”
The words were Murdock's as he turned away
from the grating and closed the sliding panel.
“An interruption which probably means death
to us,” whispered Sturgis to his companion ;
“ take another breath of fresh air, old fellow; we
must hold out a little longer."
Sprague, however, lay motionless and unre-
sponsive. The reporter shook him violently and
turned him over upon his back. The artist's
body was limp and inert; his eyes half closed ;
his face livid.
The reporter himself felt sick and faint. But,
with a mighty effort, he succeeded in raising his
friend in his arms, and dragging him toward the
speaking-tube. There, of a sudden, his strength
failed him. His head swam; his muscles re-
laxed; he felt Sprague's limp form slip from his
grasp, tottered, reeled, threw his arms wildly
about him for support, and fell, as the last elusive
ray of consciousness was slipping away from
him.


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 235
“Come in.”
As she opened the door, Murdock advanced to
meet her. He seemed to come from the direc-
tion of the extension.
Miss Murdock sniffed the air.
“Isn't there a leak of gas?" she inquired.
“Yes,” replied Murdock;“ I have just stopped
a leak in the laboratory. Won't you take a
chair, Agnes ?”
She felt his calm searching glance upon her;
and, in spite of her preparation, she grew em-
barrassed, as was her wont, in her father's pres-
ence.
“Did Mr. Chatham wait to see you this after-
noon?" she asked, after a momentary silence.
Murdock observed her narrowly.
“Yes ; Chatham has been here to-day. I did
not know that you had seen him.”
"I could not help seeing him ; for he forced
his way into the parlor, in spite of all the ser-
vants could do to prevent him."
An almost imperceptible furrow appeared be-
tween the chemist's eyes.
“Has he been annoying you with his atten.
tions?"
The words were spoken in Murdock's usual


236
THE STURGIS WAGER.
tones; but Agnes saw something in her father's
eyes and in the firm lines of his mouth which
sent a cold shiver down her spine, and caused
her pity to go out to the unfortunate young man
who had offended her.
“ Perhaps he is more to be pitied than blamed,”
she suggested gently. “My interview with him
was certainly not pleasant; but I bear him no
malice."
“Tell me about it," said Murdock slowly.
Agnes gave her version of the visit, in which,
instinctively, she softened, as much as possible,
the passion and brutality displayed by the ac-
countant.
Murdock listened in silence until she had quite
finished. Then Agnes noticed that his right
hand was clenched upon the arm of his chair
with a force which caused the muscles to stand
out in hard knots. She looked up into his face
in sudden surprise.
His features gave no indication of what his
feelings might be ; and his voice, as usual, was
steady and deliberate.
“I am sorry all this should have happened,
Agnes. As I told you yesterday, I hoped to
save you from this man's importunities. It can-


FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
237
not be helped now. But I think I made it clear to
the gentleman that his attentions are as distaste-
ful to me as they are to you. As he seems to have
told you, he has been obliged to leave the coun-
try—I understand that he has done something
or other which makes it safer for him to under-
take a long journey. At any rate, we are well
rid of him for some time to come, and I think
you need have no fear of further molestation.”
“What did he mean by saying that he had had
encouragement from you?” asked the young
girl.
“I am sure I do not know. That was of course
a lie out of whole cloth. He came to me with
letters of recommendation from good friends of
mine, and I therefore occasionally invited him
to the house ; but that is all the encouragement
he ever got from me. We live in the United
States and at the close of the nineteenth cen-
tury. The selection of a husband is no longer
performed by a stern parent, but is left entirely
to the young girl herself. That is certainly my
way of looking at the matter. When you find
the man of your choice, my only function will be
to give my advice, if you seek it, and my best
assistance in any event.”


CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SPEAKING-TUBE.
NATURE has implanted in every one of its living
creatures, from the top to the bottom of the scale,
the strongest of all instincts—that of self-pres-
ervation. As Sturgis fell forward and clutched
wildly at the air, his hands struck the stone wall
of the square chamber. No conscious impression
was made upon his brain by the contact ; but, au-
tomatically, his fingers tightened as they slipped
over the smooth surface. His right hand struck
an obstacle and closed upon it, in the convulsive
grip of a dying man. Then a sudden gleam of
consciousness swept across his sluggish brain.
It was the speaking-tube!
He clung to it with the remnant of his
strength and eagerly placed his lips to the
mouthpiece. For a few minutes he drank in
with avidity the revivifying draughts of air
which gradually brought him back from the brink
of death.
With returning consciousness, the thought of
A


THE SPEAKING-TUBE,
243
his dying friend recurred to him in all its vivid-
ness. He tried to go to his assistance ; but he
was sick and faint, and his limbs were powerless
to respond to his will. Then, at last, he was
seized with utter despair and gave up the
struggle.
He had sunk dejectedly upon the chair when
a faint and indistinct murmur, as of distant voices,
beat upon his ears, whose natural acuity seemed
extraordinarily increased by the long nervous
tension under which he had been. The ruling
passion is strong in death ; without knowing just
why he did so, Sturgis found himself again at the
speaking-tube, endeavoring to hear the conversa-
tion, the sound of which evidently came from
Murdock's office.
He could barely distinguish a word here and
there; but he recognized the timbre of one of
the voices. It was the chemist's, and his inter-
locutor was a woman-perhaps his daughter. If
only he could reach Agnes Murdock with some
word or signal.
In suspense, he held his ear to the mouthpiece,
occasionally taking a breath of fresh air to renew
his strength.
Should he take the chances and shout in the


244.
THE STURGIS WAGER.
hope of catching the young girl's attention? If
he whistled, Murdock would answer himself,
and the last chance would be lost. But would
she hear a shout? And, if she did, would not
her father prevent her from rendering any assis-
tance? Yet what other chance was there ? Poor
Sprague was dying ; perhaps already dead. There
was no time to lose.
He stood for a while irresolute, and had just
made up his mind to risk all on a bold move,
when suddenly Murdock's voice became more
distinct, as if he were passing near the mouth-
piece of the speaking-tube at the other end.
“I shall be back directly."
He was going, then. Agnes, if it were she,
would remain alone for at least an instant; and
in that instant lay possible salvation.
The reporter strained every nerve to catch
some other word. None came. But presently
he heard a door close. Murdock had left the
room. Now or never was the chance to act.
With all his might he blew repeatedly into the
tube.
“Well?”
The question came in the sweet tones of a
woman's voice.


246
THE STURGIS WAGER.
the open door. Sturgis looked up in quick ap.
prehension.
It was Murdock.
He stood critically observing the scene, with all
outward appearance of calmness.
Agnes had not seen him. She was making
desperate efforts to raise Sprague's limp form;
but felt herself succumbing to the effects of the
gas.
“My darling! my poor darling!” she ex-
claimed, and suddenly she staggered and lurched
forward.
Sturgis made an instinctive effort to support
her; but before he could reach her Murdock
was at her side and had her in his arms. He
bore her gently up the stairs and into his study.
Then, for an instant, he seemed to hesitate. The
reporter expected to see him close the door.
Instinctively his hand reached back to his hip
pocket for his revolver. But, in another moment,
Murdock had returned to where he stood.
“Come!” he said.
At the same time he lifted the artist in his
arms and carried him up the stairs. Sturgis
followed unsteadily and reached the study, only to
fall exhausted into a chair.


THE SPEAKING-TUBE.
249
“Only the polacemun, sur; the other man said
he would wait outside.”
Murdock took a minute for reflection.
“Wait in the hall until I call you,” he said, at
last. “If the policeman becomes impatient, tell
him I shall not be long; that I am engaged on
most important business.”
No sooner had the girl gone than Murdock,
seizing the valise and the package, opened the door
of the extension. His eyes rested for a while
upon his daughter, who, still absorbed in the ten-
der care of her inanimate lover, was oblivious of
all else. There was in them an unusual expres-
sion,-almost a tender light; but the impassive
face was otherwise emotionless.
The chemist seemed to hesitate for a brief in-
stant whether to speak; then, passing out into
the extension, he softly closed the door behind
him.
Sturgis alone, weak and powerless, had seen
him go.


254 THE STURGIS WAGER.
How? Where? He cannot have escaped. He
cannot — What is it, Mr. Sturgis?”.
He had suddenly caught sight of the reporter,
half way up the stairs.
Weak and ill, Sturgis, with blanched face,
clung unsteadily, with one hand, to the railing;
while, with the other, he pointed toward the
lead-lined vat, whose dark viscous contents were
bubbling like boiling oil.
A pungent vapor rose in dense clouds from the
surface of the liquid. Through it the fascinated
gaze of the horrified men vaguely discerned a
nameless thing, tossed in weird and grotesque
contortions in a seething vortex.
Murdock had escaped the justice of men.


CHAPTER XXV.
THE MURDER SYNDICATE.
“SEE here, Sturgis; this won't do. I forbade
you to do a stroke of work to-day, or even to
leave your bed; and here you are scribbling
away just as though nothing had happened.
I tell you when a man has had the narrow
squeak you have, there has been a tremendous
strain upon his heart, and it is positively dan-
gerous- ”
“Don't scold, old man; I have never in my
life been better than I feel to-day. And besides,
this work could not be postponed— ”
“Oh, pshaw! That is what nine out of every
ten patients say to their physician. They are
modestly convinced that the world must needs
come to a standstill if they cannot accomplish
their tiny mite of work. What do you suppose
the world would have done had you and Sprague
remained in Murdock's death chamber yesterday?
I'll tell you. The Tempest would have printed


260 THE STURGIS WAGER.
“No man is perfect," answered Sturgis, sen-
tentiously, “not even an accomplished villain like
Murdock, fortunately for the rest of mankind.
Every human being has his weak points. Mur-
dock had two:-his vanity and his love for his
daughter. They were the only traits which con-
nected him with the human family. To them he
owes his undoing.”


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