NEDL TRANSFER

HN 291EN
The Golden
Slipper
and
Other Problems for
Violet Strange
Anna
Katharine
Green


KTG2154
К
.


Paxlee
11















THE GROTTO-SPECTER
“Outlined in supernatural light,
it faces them with uplifted arms"
Drawn by A. I. Keller


THE
GOLDEN SLIPPER
And Other Problems for Violet Strange
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
(Mrs. Charles Rohlfs)
AUTHOR OF
“A Strange Disappearance," "That Affair Next Door,"
“The House of the Whispering Pines," Etc.
With Frontispiece in Colors
By A. I. KELLER
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers
New York
Published by Arrangements with G. P. PUTNAN'S SONS


KD 62154
HARRO
LUNNI ERITY
winy 2
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY
ANNA KATHARINE ROHLPS
Third Impression
By AnnA KATHARINE GREEN
The Leavenworth Case.
A Strange Disappearance.
The Sword of Damocles.
Hand and Ring.
The Mill Mystery.
Behind Closed Doors.
Cynthia Wakeham's Money.
Marked " Personal."
Miss Hurd: An Enigma.
Dr. Izard.
That Affair Next Door.
Lost Man's Lane.
Agatha Webb.
The House of the Whispering Pines.
The Golden Slipper and Other Problems for
Violet Strange.
To the Minute.
This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers
G. P. PUTNAM's Sons, NEW YORK AND LONDON
Ebe knickerbocker Press, New York


CONTENTS
THE GOLDEN SLIPPER .
THE SECOND BULLET .
THE INTANGIBLE CLEW
THE GROTTO SPECTRE .
The DREAMING LADY . . . .
THE HOUSE OF CLOCKS . . .
THE DOCTOR, His WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
Missing: PAGE THIRTEEN . . .
VIOLET'S OWN . . . . .
,
247
. 336
. 400





The Golden Slipper
“No names here, please. You want a mystery
solved. It is not a matter for the police--that is,
as yet, -and so you come to me, and when I ask
for the facts, I find that women and only women
are involved, and that these women are not only
young but one and all of the highest society. Is
it a man's work to go to the bottom of a com-
bination like this? No. Sex against sex, and, if
possible, youth against youth. Happily, I know
such a person-a girl of gifts and extraordinarily
well placed for the purpose. Why she uses her
talents in this direction-why, with means enough
to play the part natural to her as a successful dé-
butante, she consents to occupy herself with social
and other mysteries, you must ask her, not me.
Enough that I promise you her aid if you want it.
That is, if you can interest her. She will not work
otherwise."
Mr. Driscoll again raised his opera glass.
“But it's a comedy face," he commented. "It's
hard to associate intellectuality with such quaint-
ness of expression. Are you sure of her discretion?"
“Whom is she with?”.
“Abner Pratt, his wife, and daughters."
“Is he a man to entrust his affairs unadvisedly?"
“Abner Pratt! Do you mean to say that she is
anything more to him than his daughters' guest?"


Problem i for Violet Strange
3
“Judge. You see how merry they are. They
were in deep trouble yesterday. You are witness
to a celebration."
“And she?"
"Don't you observe how they are loading her
with attentions? She's too young to rouse such
interest in a family of notably unsympathetic
temperament for any other reason than that of
gratitude."
"It's hard to believe. But if what you hint is
true, secure me an opportunity at once of talking
to this youthful marvel. My affair is serious.
The dinner I have mentioned comes off in three
days and "
"I know. I recognize your need; but I think
you had better enter Mr. Pratt's box without my
intervention. Miss Strange's value to us will be
impaired the moment her connection with us is
discovered."
"Ah, there's Ruthven! He will take me to Mr.
Pratt's box," remarked Driscoll as the curtain fell
on the second act. “Any suggestions before I go?”
“Yes, and an important one. When you make
your bow, touch your left shoulder with your right
hand. It is a signal. She may respond to it;
but if she does not, do not be discouraged. One
of her idiosyncrasies is a theoretical dislike of her


The Golden Slipper
work. But once she gets interested, nothing will
hold her back. That's all, except this. In no
event give away her secret. That's part of the
compact, you remember.”
Driscoll nodded and left his seat for Ruthven's
box. When the curtain rose for the third time he
could be seen sitting with the Misses Pratt and
their vivacious young friend. A widower and still
on the right side of fifty, his presence there did not
pass unnoted, and curiosity was rife among certain
onlookers as to which of the twin belles was
responsible for this change in his well-known
habits. Unfortunately, no opportunity was given
him for showing. Other and younger men had
followed his lead into the box, and they saw him
forced upon the good graces of the fascinating
but inconsequent Miss Strange whose rapid fire
of talk he was hardly of a temperament to ap-
preciate.
Did he appear dissatisfied? Yes; but only one
person in the opera house knew why. Miss
Strange had shown no comprehension of or sym-
pathy with his errand. Though she chatted
amiably enough between duets and trios, she gave
him no opportunity to express his wishes though
she knew them well enough, owing to the signal he
had given her.


Problem i for Violet Strange
5
Tois might be in character but it hardly suited
his views; and, being a man of resolution, he took
advantage of an absorbing minute on the stage to
lean forward and whisper in her ear:
"It's my daughter for whom I request your serv-
ices; as fine a girl as any in this house. Give me
a hearing. You certainly can manage it."
She was a small, slight woman whose naturally
quaint appearance was accentuated by the extreme
simplicity of her attire. In the tier upon tier of
boxes rising before his eyes, no other personality
could vie with hers in strangeness, or in the illusive
quality of her ever-changing expression. She was
vivacity incarnate and, to the ordinary observer,
light as thistledown in fibre and in feeling. But
not to all. To those who watched her long, there
came moments-say when the music rose to
heights of greatness—when the mouth so given
over to laughter took on curves of the rarest sensi-
bility, and a woman's lofty soul shone through her
odd, bewildering features.
Driscoll had noted this, and consequently
awaited her reply in secret hope.
It came in the form of a question and only after
an instant's display of displeasure or possibly of
pure nervous irritability.
"What has she done?"


The Golden Slipper
"Nothing. But slander is in the air, and any
day it may ripen into public accusation."
“Accusation of what?" Her tone was almost
pettish.
“Of-of theft," he murmured. “On a great
scale," he emphasized, as the music rose to a crash.
"Jewels?”
"Inestimable ones. They are always returned
by somebody. People say, by me."
"Ah!” The little lady's hands grew steady,-
they had been fluttering all over her lap. “I will
see you to-morrow morning at my father's house,"
she presently observed; and turned her full atten-
tion to the stage.
Some three days after this Mr. Driscoll opened
his house on the Hudson to notable guests. He
had not desired the publicity of such an event, nor
the opportunity it gave for an increase of the
scandal secretly in circulation against his daughter.
But the Ambassador and his wife were foreign and
any evasion of the promised hospitality would
be sure to be misunderstood; so the scheme was
carried forward though with less éclat than pos-
sibly was expected.
Among the lesser guests, who were mostly
young and well acquainted with the house and its
hospitality, there was one unique figure,—that of


Problem
7
i for Violet Strange
W
the lively Miss Strange, who, if personally un-
known to Miss Driscoll, was so gifted with the
qualities which tell on an occasion of this kind,
that the stately young hostess hailed her presence
with very obvious gratitude.
The manner of their first meeting was singular,
and of great interest to one of them at least. Miss
Strange had come in an automobile and had been
shown her room; but there was nobody to accom-
pany her down-stairs afterward, and, finding her-
self alone in the great hall, she naturally moved
toward the library, the door of which stood ajar.
She had pushed this door half open before she
noticed that the room was already occupied. As
a consequence, she was made the unexpected ob-
server of a beautiful picture of youth and love.
A young man and a young woman were standing
together in the glow of a blazing wood-fire. No
word was to be heard, but in their faces, eloquent
with passion, there shone something so deep and
true that the chance intruder hesitated on the
threshold, eager to lay this picture away in her
mind with the other lovely and tragic memories
now fast accumulating there. Then she drew back,
and readvancing with a less noiseless foot, came
into the full presence of Captain Holliday drawn
up in all the pride of his military rank beside


8
The Golden Slipper
Alicia, the accomplished daughter of the house,
who, if under a shadow as many whispered, wore
that shadow as some women wear a crown.
Miss Strange was struck with admiration, and
turned upon them the brightest facet of her viva-
cious nature all the time she was saying to herself:
“Does she know why I am here? Or does she
look upon me only as an additional guest foisted
upon her by a thoughtless parent?"
There was nothing in the manner of her cordial
but composed young hostess to show, and Miss
Strange, with but one thought in mind since she
had caught the light of feeling on the two faces
confronting her, took the first opportunity that
offered of running over the facts given her by Mr.
Driscoll, to see if any reconcilement were possible
between them and an innocence in which she must
henceforth believe.
They were certainly of a most damaging nature.
Miss Driscoll and four other young ladies of
her own station in life had formed themselves, some
two years before, into a coterie of five, called The
Inseparables. They lunched together, rode to-
gether, visited together. So close was the bond
and their mutual dependence so evident, that it
came to be the custom to invite the whole five
whenever the size of the function warranted it. In


Problem i for Violet Strange
9
fact, it was far from an uncommon occurrence to
see them grouped at receptions or following one
another down the aisles of churches or through the
mazes of the dance at balls or assemblies. And no
one demurred at this, for they were all handsome
and attractive girls, till it began to be noticed that,
coincident with their presence, some article of
value was found missing from the dressing-room
or from the tables where wedding gifts were dis-
played. Nothing was safe where they went, and
though, in the course of time, each article found its
way back to its owner in a manner as mysterious
as its previous abstraction, the scandal grew
and, whether with good reason or bad, finally
settled about the person of Miss Driscoll, who
was the showiest, least pecuniarily tempted,
and most dignified in manner and speech of
them all.
Some instances had been given by way of further
enlightenment. This is one: A theatre party was
in progress. There were twelve in the party, five
of whom were Inseparables. In the course of the
last act, another lady-in fact, their chaperon-
missed her handkerchief, an almost priceless bit of
lace. Positive that she had brought it with her
into the box, she caused a careful search, but with-


10
The Golden Slipper
she had heard, she noted which of the five girls
were with her in the box. They were Miss Driscoll,
Miss Hughson, Miss Yates, and Miss Benedict.
Miss West sat in the box adjoining.
A fortnight later this handkerchief reappeared-
and where? Among the cushions of a yellow satin
couch in her own drawing-room. The Insepara-
bles had just made their call and the three who had
sat on the couch were Miss Driscoll, Miss Hughson,
and Miss Benedict.
The next instance seemed to point still more
insistently toward the lady already named. Miss
Yates had an expensive present to buy, and the
whole five Inseparables went in an imposing group
to Tiffany's. A tray of rings was set before them.
All examined and eagerly fingered the stock out
of which Miss Yates presently chose a finely set
emerald. She was leading her friends away when
the clerk suddenly whispered in her ear, “I miss
one of the rings." Dismayed beyond speech, she
turned and consulted the faces of her four com-
panions who stared back at her with immovable
serenity. But one of them was paler than usual,
and this lady (it was Miss Driscoll) held her hands
in her muff and did not offer to take them out.
Miss Yates, whose father had completed a big
“deal" the week before, wheeled round upon the


Problem i for Violet Strange II
clerk. “Charge it! charge it at its full value,”
said she. “I buy both the rings."
And in three weeks the purloined ring came back
to her, in a box of violets with no name attached.
The third instance was a recent one, and had
come to Mr. Driscoll's ears directly from the lady
suffering the loss. She was a woman of uncom-
promising integrity, who felt it her duty to make
known to this gentleman the following facts: She
had just left a studio reception, and was standing
at the curb waiting for a taxicab to draw up, when
a small boy—a street arab-darted toward her
from the other side of the street, and thrusting
into her hand something small and hard, cried
breathlessly as he slipped away, “It's yours,
ma'am; you dropped it.” Astonished, for she
had not been conscious of any loss, she looked
down at her treasure trove and found it to be a
small medallion which she sometimes wore on a
chain at her belt. But she had not worn it that
day, nor any day for weeks. Then she remem-
bered. She had worn it a month before to a
similar reception at this same studio. A number
of young girls had stood about her admiring it-
she remembered well who they were; the Insepara-
bles, of course, and to please them she had slipped
it from its chain. Then something had happened,


The Golden Slipper
-something which diverted her attention entirely,
-and she had gone home without the medallion;
had, in fact, forgotten it, only to recall its loss now.
Placing it in her bag, she looked hastily about her.
A crowd was at her back; nothing to be distin-
guished there. But in front, on the opposite side
of the street, stood a club-house, and in one of its
windows she perceived a solitary figure looking out.
It was that of Miss Driscoll's father. He could
imagine her conclusion.
In vain he denied all knowledge of the matter.
She told him other stories which had come to her
ears of thefts as mysterious, followed by resto-
rations as peculiar as this one, finishing with, "It
is your daughter, and people are beginning to say
so.”
And Miss Strange, brooding over these instances,
would have said the same, but for Miss Driscoll's
absolute serenity of demeanour and complete
abandonment to love. These seemed incompati-
ble with guilt; these, whatever the appearances,
proclaimed innocence an innocence she was here
to prove if fortune favoured and the really guilty
person's madness should again break forth.
For madness it would be and nothing less, for
any hand, even the most experienced, to draw
attention to itself by a repetition of old tricks on


Problem i for Violet Strange
13
an occasion so marked. Yet because it would
take madness, and madness knows no law, she
prepared herself for the contingency under a mask
of girlish smiles which made her at once the delight
and astonishment of her watchful and uneasy host.
With the exception of the diamonds worn by the
Ambassadress, there was but one jewel of conse-
quence to be seen at the dinner that night; but
how great was that consequence and with what
splendour it invested the snowy neck it adorned!
Miss Strange, in compliment to the noble for-
eigners, had put on one of her family heirlooms-a
filigree pendant of extraordinary sapphires which
had once belonged to Marie Antoinette. As its
beauty flashed upon the women, and its value
struck the host, the latter could not restrain him-
self from casting an anxious eye about the board
in search of some token of the cupidity with which
one person there must welcome this unexpected
sight.
Naturally his first glance fell upon Alicia, seated
opposite to him at the other end of the table. But
her eyes were elsewhere, and her smile for Captain
Holliday, and the father's gaze travelled on, taking
up each young girl's face in turn. All were con-
templating Miss Strange and her jewels, and the
cheeks of one were flushed and those of the others


14
The Golden
pale, but whether with dread or longing who could
tell. Struck with foreboding, but alive to his duty
as host, he forced his glances away, and did not
even allow himself to question the motive or the
wisdom of the temptation thus offered.
Two hours later and the girls were all in one
room. It was a custom of the Inseparables to
meet for a chat before retiring, but always alone
and in the room of one of their number. But this
was a night of innovations; Violet was not only
included, but the meeting was held in her room.
Her way with girls was even more fruitful of result
than her way with men. They might laugh at her,
criticize her or even call her names significant of
disdain, but they never left her long to herself or
missed an opportunity to make the most of her
irrepressible chatter.
Her satisfaction at entering this charmed circle
did not take from her piquancy, and story after
story fell from her lips, as she fluttered about,
now here now there, in her endless preparations
for retirement. She had taken off her historic
pendant after it had been duly admired and
handled by all present, and, with the careless
confidence of an assured ownership, thrown it
down upon the end of her dresser, which, by the
way, projected very close to the open window


Problem i for Violet Strange
15
“Are you going to leave your jewel there?”
whispered a voice in her ear as a burst of laughter
rang out in response to one of her sallies.
Turning, with a simulation of round-eyed
wonder, she met Miss Hughson's earnest gaze with
the careless rejoinder, “What's the harm?" and
went on with her story with all the reckless ease of
a perfectly thoughtless nature.
Miss Hughson abandoned her protest. How
could she explain her reasons for it to one appar-
ently uninitiated in the scandal associated with
their especial clique.
Yes, she left the jewel there; but she locked
her door and quickly, so that they must all have
heard her before reaching their rooms. Then she
crossed to the window, which, like all on this side,
opened on a balcony running the length of the
house. She was aware of this balcony, also of the
fact that only young ladies slept in the corridor
communicating with it. But she was not quite
sure that this one corridor accommodated them
all. If one of them should room elsewhere!
(Miss Driscoll, for instance). But no! the anxiety
displayed for the safety of her jewel precluded that
supposition. Their hostess, if none of the others,
was within access of this room and its open window.
But how about the rest? Perhaps the lights would


16
The Golden Slipper
tell. Eagerly the little schemer looked forth, and
let her glances travel down the full length of the
balcony. Two separate beams of light shot across
it as she looked, and presently another, and, after
some waiting, a fourth. But the fifth failed to
appear. This troubled her, but not seriously.
Two of the girls might be sleeping in one bed.
Drawing her shade, she finished her preparations
for the night; then with her kimono on, lifted the
pendant and thrust it into a small box she had
taken from her trunk. A curious smile, very
unlike any she had shown to man or woman that
day, gave a sarcastic lift to her lips, as with a slow
and thoughtful manipulation of her dainty fingers
she moved the jewel about in this small receptacle
and then returned it, after one quick examining
glance, to the very spot on the dresser from which
she had taken it. “If only the madness is great
enough!" that smile seemed to say. Truly, it was
much to hope for, but a chance is a chance; and
comforting herself with the thought, Miss Strange
put out her light, and, with a hasty raising of the
shade she had previously pulled down, took a final
look at the prospect.
Its aspect made her shudder. A low fog was
rising from the meadows in the far distance, and
its ghostliness under the moon woke all sorts of


Problem i for Violet Strange
17
uncanny images in her excited mind. To escape
them she crept into bed where she lay with her
eyes on the end of her dresser. She had closed
that half of the French window over which she had
drawn the shade; but she had left ajar the one
giving free access to the jewels; and when she was
not watching the scintillation of her sapphires in
the moonlight, she was dwelling in fixed attention
on this narrow opening.
But nothing happened, and two o'clock, then
three o'clock struck, without a dimming of the
blue scintillations on the end of her dresser. Then
she suddenly sat up. Not that she heard anything
new, but that a thought had come to her. “If an
attempt is made," so she murmured softly to
herself, “it will be by—" She did not finish.
Something—she could not call it sound-set her
heart beating tumultuously, and listening-listen-
ing-watching—watching—she followed in her
imagination the approach down the balcony of an
almost inaudible step, not daring to move herself,
it seemed so near, but waiting with eyes fixed,
for the shadow which must fall across the shade
she had failed to raise over that half of the swinging
window she had so carefully left shut.
At length she saw it projecting slowly across
the slightly illuminated surface. Formless, save


18
The Golden Slipper
for the outreaching hand, it passed the casement's
edge, nearing with pauses and hesitations the open
gap beyond through which the neglected sapphires
beamed with steady lustre. Would she ever see
the hand itself appear between the dresser and the
window frame? Yes, there it comes,-small, deli-
cate, and startlingly white, threading that gap-
darting with the suddenness of a serpent's tongue
toward the dresser and disappearing again with the
pendant in its clutch.
As she realizes this,--she is but young, you
know,-as she sees her bait taken and the hardly
expected event fulfilled, her pent-up breath sped
forth in a sigh which sent the intruder flying, and
so startled herself that she sank back in terror on
her pillow.
The breakfast-call had sounded its musical
chimes through the halls. The Ambassador and
his wife had responded, so had most of the young
gentlemen and ladies, but the daughter of the
house was not amongst them, nor Miss Strange,
whom one would naturally expect to see down first
of all.
These two absences puzzled Mr. Driscoll What
might they not portend? But his suspense, at
least in one regard, was short. Before his guests


Problem i for Violet Strange
19
were well seated, Miss Driscoll entered from the
terrace in company with Captain Holliday. In
her arms she carried a huge bunch of roses and
was looking very beautiful. Her father's heart
warmed at the sight. No shadow from the night
rested upon her.
But Miss Strange!-where was she? He could
not feel quite easy till he knew.
"Have any of you seen Miss Strange?" he
asked, as they sat down at table. And his eyes
sought the Inseparables.
Five lovely heads were shaken, some carelessly,
some wonderingly, and one, with a quick, forced
smile. But he was in no mood to discriminate,
and he had beckoned one of the servants to him,
when a step was heard at the door and the delin-
quent slid in and took her place, in a shamefaced
manner suggestive of a cause deeper than mere
tardiness. In fact, she had what might be called
a frightened air, and stared into her plate, avoiding
every eye, which was certainly not natural to her.
What did it mean? and why, as she made a poor
attempt at eating, did four of the Inseparables
exchange glances of doubt and dismay and then
concentrate their looks upon his daughter? That
Alicia failed to notice this, but sat abloom above
her roses now fastened in a great bunch upon her


20
The Golden Slipper
sa
breast, offered him some comfort, yet, for all the
volubility of his chief guests, the meal was a great
trial to his patience, as well as a poor preparation
for the hour when, the noble pair gone, he stepped
into the library to find Miss Strange awaiting him
with one hand behind her back and a piteous look
on her infantile features.
"O, Mr. Driscoll,” she began,-and then he
saw that a group of anxious girls hovered in her
rear—"my pendant! my beautiful pendant! It
is gone! Somebody reached in from the balcony
and took it from my dresser in the night. Of
course, it was to frighten me; all of the girls told
me not to leave it there. But I-I cannot make
them give it back, and papa is so particular about
this jewel that I'm afraid to go home. Won't
you tell them it's no joke, and see that I get it
again. I won't be so careless another time."
Hardly believing his eyes, hardly believing his
ears, she was so perfectly the spoiled child
detected in a fault-he looked sternly about upon
the girls and bade them end the jest and produce
the gems at once.
But not one of them spoke, and not one of them
moved; only his daughter grew pale until the
roses seemed a mockery, and the steady stare of
her large eyes was almost too much for him to bear.


Problem i for Violet Strange
21
The anguish of this gave asperity to his manner,
and in a strange, hoarse tone he loudly cried:
"One of you did this. Which? If it was you,
Alicia, speak. I am in no mood for nonsense.
I want to know whose foot traversed the balcony
and whose hand abstracted these jewels."
A continued silence, deepening into painful
embarrassment for all. Mr. Driscoll eyed them in
ill-concealed anguish, then turning to Miss Strange
was still further thrown off his balance by seeing
her pretty head droop and her gaze fall in confusion.
“Oh! it's easy enough to tell whose foot traversed
the balcony," she murmured. “It left this behind.”
And drawing forward her hand, she held out to
view a small gold-coloured slipper. "I found it
outside my window," she explained. “I hoped
I should not have to show it."
A gasp of uncontrollable feeling from the sur-
rounding group of girls, then absolute stillness.
“I fail to recognize it,” observed Mr. Driscoll,
taking it in his hand. “Whose slipper is this?"
he asked in a manner not to be gainsaid.
Still no reply, then as he continued to eye the
girls one after another a voice the last he expected
to hear-spoke and his daughter cried:
“It is mine. But it was not I who walked in it
down the balcony."


22
The Golden Slipper
"Alicia!"
A month's apprehension was in that cry. The
silence, the pent-up emotion brooding in the air
was intolerable. A fresh young laugh broke it.
"Oh,” exclaimed a roguish voice, “I knew that
you were all in it! But the especial one who wore
the slipper and grabbed the pendant cannot hope
to hide herself. Her finger-tips will give her
away.”
Amazement on every face and a convulsive
movement in one half-hidden hand.
“You see,” the airy little being went on, in her
light way, “I have some awfully funny tricks. I
am always being scolded for them, but somehow I
don't improve. One is to keep my jewelry bright
with a strange foreign paste an old Frenchwoman
once gave me in Paris. It's of a vivid red, and
stains the fingers dreadfully if you don't take care.
Not even water will take it off, see mine. I used
that paste on my pendant last night just after you
left me, and being awfully sleepy I didn't stop
to rub it off. If your finger-tips are not red, you
never touched the pendant, Miss Driscoll. Oh,
see! They are as white as milk.
“But some one took the sapphires, and I owe
that person a scolding, as well as myself. Was


Problem i for Violet Strange
23
and here she paused before Miss West, “Oh, you
have your gloves on! You are the guilty one!"
and her laugh rang out like a peal of bells, robbing
her next sentence of even a suggestion of sarcasm.
“Oh, what a sly-boots!" she cried. “How you
have deceived me! Whoever would have thought
you to be the one to play the mischief!”
Who indeed! Of all the five, she was the one
who was considered absolutely immune from sus-
picion ever since the night Mrs. Barnum's hand-
kerchief had been taken, and she not in the box.
Eyes which had surveyed Miss Driscoll askance
now rose in wonder toward hers, and failed to fall
again because of the stoniness into which her
delicately-carved features had settled.
“Miss West, I know you will be glad to remove
your gloves; Miss Strange certainly has a right
to know her special tormentor,” spoke up her host
in as natural a voice as his great relief would
allow.
But the cold, half-frozen woman remained with-
out a movement. She was not deceived by the
banter of the moment. She knew that to all of
the others, if not to Peter Strange's odd little
daughter, it was the thief who was being spotted
and brought thus hilariously to light. And her
eyes grew hard, and her lips grey, and she failed to


24
The Golden Slipper
unglove the hands upon which all glances were
concentrated.
“You do not need to see my hands; I confess to
taking the pendant."
"Caroline!"
A heart overcome by shock had thrown up this
cry. Miss West eyed her bosom-friend dis-
dainfully.
"Miss Strange has called it a jest," she coldly
commented. “Why should you suggest anything
of a graver character?”.
Alicia brought thus to bay, and by one she
had trusted most, stepped quickly forward,
and quivering with vague doubts, aghast
before unheard-of possibilities, she tremulously
remarked:
"We did not sleep together last night. You
had to come into my room to get my slippers.
Why did you do this? What was in your mind,
Caroline?"
A steady look, a low laugh choked with many
emotions answered her.
"Do you want me to reply, Alicia? Or shall
we let it pass?"
“Answer!"
It was Mr. Driscoll who spoke. Alicia had
shrunk back, almost to where a little figure was


Problem i for Violet Strange 25
cowering with wide eyes fixed in something like
terror on the aroused father's face.
“Then hear me," murmured the girl, entrapped
and suddenly desperate. “I wore Alicia's slippers
and I took the jewels, because it was time that an
end should come to your mutual dissimulation.
The love I once felt for her she has herself deliber-
ately killed. I had a lover-she took him. I
had faith in life, in honour, and in friendship. She
destroyed all. A thief-she has dared to aspire to
him! And you condoned her fault. You, with
your craven restoration of her booty, thought the
matter cleared and her a fit mate for a man of
highest honour."
"Miss West,"— no one had ever heard that
tone in Mr. Driscoll's voice before, “before you
say another word calculated to mislead these ladies,
let me say that this hand never returned any one's
booty or had anything to do with the restoration
of any abstracted article. You have been caught
in a net, Miss West, from which you cannot escape
by slandering my innocent daughter."
“Innocent!" All the tragedy latent in this
peculiar girl's nature blazed forth in the word.
“Alicia, face me. Are you innocent? Who took
the Dempsey corals, and that diamond from the
Tiffany tray?"


26
The Golden Slipper
"It is not necessary for Alicia to answer," the
father interposed with not unnatural heat. “Miss
West stands self-convicted.”
“How about Lady Paget's scarf? I was not
there that night."
"You are a woman of wiles. That could be
managed by one bent on an elaborate scheme of
revenge.”
"And so could the abstraction of Mrs. Barnum's
five-hundred-dollar handkerchief by one who sat
in the next box," chimed in Miss Hughson, edging
away from the friend to whose honour she would
have pinned her faith an hour before. “I re-
member now seeing her lean over the railing to
adjust the old lady's shawl."
With a start, Caroline West turned a tragic.
gaze upon the speaker.
“You think me guilty of all because of what I
did last night?"
“Why shouldn't I."
“And you, Anna?".
“Alicia has my sympathy,” murmured Miss
Benedict.
Yet the wild girl persisted.
“But I have told you my provocation. You
cannot believe that I am guilty of her sin; not
if you look at her as I am looking now."


Problem i for Violet Strange
27
But their glances hardly followed her pointing
finger. Her friends—the comrades of her youth,
the Inseparables with their secret oath-one and
all held themselves aloof, struck by the perfidy
they were only just beginning to take in. Smitten
with despair, for these girls were her life, she gave
one wild leap and sank on her knees before Alicia.
“O speak!" she began. “Forgive me, and "
A tremble seized her throat; she ceased to speak
and let fall her partially uplifted hands. The
cheery sound of men's voices had drifted in from
the terrace, and the figure of Captain Holliday
could be seen passing by. The shudder which
shook Caroline West communicated itself to
Alicia Driscoll, and the former rising quickly, the
two women surveyed each other, possibly for the
first time, with open soul and a complete under-
standing.
“Caroline!" murmured the one.
“Alicia!” pleaded the other.
"Caroline, trust me,” said Alicia Driscoll
in that moving voice of hers, which more than her
beauty caught and retained all hearts. “You
have served me ill, but it was not all undeserved.
Girls,” she went on, eyeing both them and her
father with the wistfulness of a breaking heart,
"neither Caroline nor myself are worthy of Captain


28
The Golden Slipper
Holliday's love. Caroline has told you her fault,
but mine is perhaps a worse one. The ring—the
scarf—the diamond pins—I took them all-took
them if I did not retain them. A curse has been
over my life—the curse of a longing I could not
combat. But love was working a change in me.
Since I have known Captain Holliday—but that's
all over. I was mad to think I could be happy
with such memories in my life. I shall never
marry now or touch jewels again-my own or
another's. Father, father, you won't go back on
your girl! I couldn't see Caroline suffer for what
I have done. You will pardon me and help-
help "
Her voice choked. She flung herself into her
father's arms; his head bent over hers, and for an
instant not a soul in the room moved. Then
Miss Hughson gave a spring and caught her by
the hand.
"We are inseparable," said she, and kissed the
hand, murmuring, “Now is our time to show
it.”
Then other lips fell upon those cold and trem-
bling fingers, which seemed to warm under these
embraces. And then a tear. It came from the
hard eye of Caroline, and remained a sacred secret
between the two.


Problem i for Violet Strange
29
"You have your pendant?"
Mr. Driscoll's suffering eye shone down on
Violet Strange's uplifted face as she advanced to
say good-bye preparatory to departure.
“Yes," she acknowledged, “but hardly, I fear,
your gratitude."
And the answer astonished her.
"I am not sure that the real Alicia will not make
her father happier than the unreal one has ever
done."
"And Captain Holliday?".
“He may come to feel the same."
"Then I do not quit in disgrace?"
“You depart with my thanks.”
When a certain personage was told of the success
of Miss Strange's latest manquvre, he remarked:
"The little one progresses. We shall have to
give her a case of prime importance next."
END OF PROBLEM I


PROBLEM II
THE SECOND BULLET
“VOU must see her."
1 “No. No."
"She's a most unhappy woman. Husband
and child both taken from her in a moment; and
now, all means of living as well, unless some happy
thought of yours—some inspiration of your genius
-shows us a way of re-establishing her claims to
the policy voided by this cry of suicide.”
But the small wise head of Violet Strange
continued its slow shake of decided refusal.
"I'm sorry," she protested, “but it's quite out
of my province. I'm too young to meddle with
so serious a matter.”
“Not when you can save a bereaved woman the
only possible compensation left her by untoward
fate?"
“Let the police try their hand at that."
“They have had no success with the case.”
“Or you?"
success
30


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
31
"Nor I either."
“And you expect "
"Yes, Miss Strange. I expect you to find the
missing bullet which will settle the fact that murder
and not suicide ended George Hammond's life.
If you cannot, then a long litigation awaits this
poor widow, ending, as such litigation usually
does, in favour of the stronger party. There's
the alternative. If you once saw her- "
“But that's what I'm not willing to do. If I
once saw her I should yield to her importunities
and attempt the seemingly impossible. My in-
stincts bid me say no. Give me something easier."
"Easier things are not so remunerative. There's
money in this affair, if the insurance company is
forced to pay up. I can offer you- "
“What?"
There was eagerness in the tone despite her
effort at nonchalance. The other smiled im-
perceptibly, and briefly named the sum.
It was larger than she had expected. This her
visitor saw by the way her eyelids fell and the
peculiar stillness which, for an instant, held her
vivacity in check.
“And you think I can earn that?"
Her eyes were fixed on his in an eagerness as
honest as it was unrestrained.


32
The Second Bullet
He could hardly conceal his amazement, her
desire was so evident and the cause of it so difficult
to understand. He knew she wanted money-
that was her avowed reason for entering into this
uncongenial work. But to want it so much! He
glanced at her person; it was simply clad but very
expensively-how expensively it was his business
to know. Then he took in the room in which they
sat. Simplicity again, but the simplicity of high
art—the drawing-room of one rich enough to
indulge in the final luxury of a highly cultivated
taste, viz.: unostentatious elegance and the sub-
jection of each carefully chosen ornament to
the general effect.
What did this favoured child of fortune lack that
she could be reached by such a plea, when her
whole being revolted from the nature of the task he
offered her? It was a question not new to him;
but one he had never heard answered and was not
likely to hear answered now. But the fact re-
mained that the consent he had thought dependent
upon sympathetic interest could be reached much
more readily by the promise of large emolument,-
and he owned to a feeling of secret disappointment
even while he recognized the value of the dis-
covery.
But his satisfaction in the latter, if satisfaction it


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
33
were, was of very short duration. Almost imme-
diately he observed a change in her. The sparkle
which had shone in the eye whose depths he had
never been able to penetrate, had dissipated itself
in something like a tear and she spoke up in that
vigorous tone no one but himself had ever heard,
as she said:
“No. The sum is a good one and I could use it;
but I will not waste my energy on a case I do not
believe in. The man shot himself. He was a
speculator, and probably had good reason for his
act. Even his wife acknowledges that he has lately
had more losses than gains.”
“See her. She has something to tell you which
never got into the papers."
"You say that? You know that?"
“On my honour, Miss Strange."
Violet pondered; then suddenly succumbed.
“Let her come, then. Prompt to the hour. I
will receive her at three. Later I have a tea
and two party calls to make."
Her visitor rose to leave. He had been able
to subdue all evidence of his extreme gratification,
and now took on a formal air. In dismissing a
guest, Miss Strange was invariably the society
belle and that only. This he had come to
recognize.


34
The Second Bullet
The case (well known at the time) was, in the
fewest possible words, as follows:
On a sultry night in September, a young couple
living in one of the large apartment houses in the
extreme upper portion of Manhattan were so
annoyed by the incessant crying of a child in the
adjoining suite, that they got up, he to smoke,
and she to sit in the window for a possible breath
of cool air. They were congratulating themselves
upon the wisdom they had shown in thus giving
up all thought of sleep-for the child's crying had
not ceased—when it may have been two o'clock
and it may have been a little later) there came from
somewhere near, the sharp and somewhat peculiar
detonation of a pistol-shot.
He thought it came from above; she, from the
rear, and they were staring at each other in the
helpless wonder of the moment, when they were
struck by the silence. The baby had ceased to
cry. All was as still in the adjoining apartment
as in their own—too still-much too still. Their
mutual stare turned to one of horror. “It came
from there!" whispered the wife. "Some acci-
dent has occurred to Mr. or Mrs. Hammond-we
ought to go "
Her words—very tremulous ones—were broken
by a shout from below. They were standing in


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
35
their window and had evidently been seen by a
passing policeman. “Anything wrong up there?"
they heard him cry. Mr. Saunders immediately
looked out. "Nothing wrong here,” he called
down. (They were but two stories from the
pavement.) “But I'm not so sure about the rear
apartment. We thought we heard a shot. Had-
n't you better come up, officer? My wife is
nervous about it. I'll meet you at the stair-head
and show you the way.”
The officer nodded and stepped in. The young
couple hastily donned some wraps, and, by the
time he appeared on their floor, they were ready
to accompany him.
Meanwhile, no disturbance was apparent any-
where else in the house, until the policeman rang
the bell of the Hammond apartment. Then,
voices began to be heard, and doors to open above
and below, but not the one before which the
policeman stood.
Another ring, and this time an insistent one;-
and still no response. The officer's hand was rising
for the third time when there came a sound of
fluttering from behind the panels against which
he had laid his ear, and finally a choked voice
uttering unintelligible words. Then a hand
began to struggle with the lock, and the door,


36
The Second Bullet
slowly opening, disclosed a woman clad in a
hastily donned wrapper and giving every evidence
of extreme fright.
“Oh!" she exclaimed, seeing only the com-
passionate faces of her neighbours. “You heard it,
too! a pistol-shot from there-there-my hus-
band's room. I have not dared to go-1-1-0,
have mercy and see if anything is wrong! It is so
still—so still, and only a moment ago the baby
was crying. Mrs. Saunders, Mrs. Saunders, why
is it so still?"
She had fallen into her neighbour's arms. The
hand with which she had pointed out a certain
door had sunk to her side and she appeared to be
on the verge of collapse.
The officer eyed her sternly, while noting her
appearance, which was that of a woman hastily
risen from bed.
“Where were you?” he asked. “Not with your
husband and child, or you would know what had
happened there."
"I was sleeping down the hall," she managed to
gasp out. “I'm not well-I—Oh, why do you all
stand still and do nothing? My baby's in there. Go!
go!" and, with sudden energy, she sprang upright,
her eyes wide open and burning, her small well-
featured face white as the linen she sought to hide.


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
37
The officer demurred no longer. In another
instant he was trying the door at which she
was again pointing.
It was locked.
Glancing back at the woman, now cowering
almost to the floor, he pounded at the door and
asked the man inside to open.
No answer came back.
With a sharp turn he glanced again at the
wife.
“You say that your husband is in this room?"
She nodded, gasping faintly, “And the child!"
He turned back, listened, then beckoned to
Mr. Saunders. “We shall have to break our way
in," said he. “Put your shoulder well to the
door. Now !”
The hinges of the door creaked; the lock gave
way (this special officer weighed two hundred
and seventy-five, as he found out, next day), and a
prolonged and sweeping crash told the rest.
Mrs. Hammond gave a low cry; and, straining
forward from where she crouched in terror on the
floor, searched the faces of the two men for some
hint of what they saw in the dimly-lighted space
beyond.
Something dreadful, something which made Mr.
Saunders come rushing back with a shout:


38
The Second Bullet
“Take her away! Take her to our apartment,
Jennie. She must not seem "
Not see! He realized the futility of his words as
his gaze fell on the young woman who had risen up
at his approach and now stood gazing at him with-
out speech, without movement, but with a glare of
terror in her eyes, which gave him his first realiza-
tion of human misery.
His own glance fell before it. If he had followed
his instinct he would have fled the house rather
than answer the question of her look and the
attitude of her whole frozen body.
Perhaps in mercy to his speechless terror, per-
haps in mercy to herself, she was the one who at
last found the word which voiced their mutual
anguish.
“Dead?"
No answer. None was needed.
"And my baby?"
O, that cry! It curdled the hearts of all who
heard it. It shook the souls of men and women
both inside and outside the apartment; then all
was forgotten in the wild rush she made. The
wife and mother had flung herself upon the scene,
and, side by side with the not unmoved policeman,
stood looking down upon the desolation made in
one fatal instant in her home and heart.


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
39
They lay there together, both past help, both
quite dead. The child had simply been strangled
by the weight of his father's arm which lay directly
across the upturned little throat. But the father
was a victim of the shot they had heard. There
was blood on his breast, and a pistol in his hand.
Suicide! The horrible truth was patent. No
wonder they wanted to hold the young widow
back. Her neighbour, Mrs. Saunders, crept in on
tiptoe and put her arms about the swaying,
fainting woman; but there was nothing to say—
absolutely nothing.
At least, they thought not. But when they
saw her throw herself down, not by her husband,
but by the child, and drag it out from under that
strangling arm and hug and kiss it and call out
wildly for a doctor, the officer endeavoured to
interfere and yet could not find the heart to do
so, though he knew the child was dead and should
not, according to all the rules of the coroner's office,
be moved before that official arrived. Yet
because no mother could be convinced of a fact
like this, he let her sit with it on the floor and
try all her little arts to revive it, while he gave
orders to the janitor and waited himself for the
arrival of doctor and coroner.
She was still sitting there in wide-eyed misery,


40
The Second Bullet
alternately fondling the little body and drawing
back to consult its small set features for some sign
of life, when the doctor came, and, after one look
at the child, drew it softly from her arms and laid
it quietly in the crib from which its father had
evidently lifted it but a short time before. Then
he turned back to her, and found her on her feet,
upheld by her two friends. She had understood
his action, and without a groan had accepted her
fate. Indeed, she seemed incapable of any
further speech or action. She was staring down
at her husband's body, which she, for the first
time, seemed fully to see. Was her look one of
grief or of resentment for the part he had played
so unintentionally in her child's death? It was
hard to tell; and when, with slowly rising finger,
she pointed to the pistol so tightly clutched in the
other outstretched hand, no one there—and by
this time the room was full-could foretell what
her words would be when her tongue regained its
usage and she could speak.
What she did say was this:
“Is there a bullet gone? Did he fire off that
pistol?" A question so manifestly one of delirium
that no one answered it, which seemed to surprise
her, though she said nothing till her glance had
passed all around the walls of the room to where a


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
41
arms
window stood open to the night,-its lower sash
being entirely raised. “There! look there!" she
cried, with a commanding accent, and, throwing
up her hands, sank a dead weight into the arms
of those supporting her.
No one understood; but naturally more than one
rushed to the window. An open space was before
them. Here lay the fields not yet parcelled out
into lots and built upon; but it was not upon these
they looked, but upon the strong trellis which
they found there, which, if it supported no vine,
formed a veritable ladder between this window
and the ground.
Could she have meant to call attention to this
fact; and were her words expressive of another idea
than the obvious one of suicide?
If so, to what lengths a woman's imagination can
go! Or so their combined looks seemed to pro-
claim, when to their utter astonishment they saw
the officer, who had presented a calm appearance
up till now, shift his position and with a surprised
grunt direct their eyes to a portion of the wall
just visible beyond the half-drawn curtains of
the bed. The mirror hanging there showed
a star-shaped breakage, such as follows the
sharp impact of a bullet or a fiercely projected
stone.


42
The Second Bullet
"He fired two shots. One went wild; the other
straight home."
It was the officer delivering his opinion.
Mr. Saunders, returning from the distant room
where he had assisted in carrying Mrs. Hammond,
cast a look at the shattered glass, and remarked
forcibly:
“I heard but one; and I was sitting up, disturbed
by that poor infant. Jennie, did you hear more
than one shot?” he asked, turning toward his wife.
"No," she answered, but not with the readiness
he had evidently expected. “I heard only one,
but that was not quite usual in its tone. I'm
used to guns," she explained, turning to the officer.
“My father was an army man, and he taught me
very early to load and fire a pistol. There was a
prolonged sound to this shot; something like an
echo of itself, following close upon the first ping.
Didn't you notice that, Warren?"
“I remember something of the kind," her
husband allowed.
“He shot twice and quickly," interposed the
policeman, sententiously. “We shall find a spent
bullet back of that mirror."
But when, upon the arrival of the coroner, an
investigation was made of the mirror and the wall
behind, no bullet was found either there or any-


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
43
where else in the room, save in the dead man's
breast. Nor had more than one been shot from
his pistol, as five full chambers testified. The case
which seemed so simple had its mysteries, but the
assertion made by Mrs. Saunders no longer carried
weight, nor was the evidence offered by the broken
mirror considered as indubitably establishing the
fact that a second shot had been fired in the room.
Yet it was equally evident that the charge
which had entered the dead speculator's breast
had not been delivered at the close range of the
pistol found clutched in his hand. There were no
powder-marks to be discerned on his pajama-
jacket, or on the flesh beneath. Thus anomaly con-
fronted anomaly, leaving open but one other
theory: that the bullet found in Mr. Hammond's
breast came from the window and the one he shot
went out of it. But this would necessitate his
having shot his pistol from a point far removed
from where he was found; and his wound was such
as made it difficult to believe that he would stagger
far, if at all, after its infliction.
Yet, because the coroner was both conscientious
and alert, he caused a most rigorous search to be
made of the ground overlooked by the above
mentioned window; a search in which the police
joined, but which was without any result save that


The Second Bullet
of rousing the attention of people in the neigh-
bourhood and leading to a story being circulated
of a man seen some time the night before crossing
the fields in a great hurry. But as no further
particulars were forthcoming, and not even a
description of the man to be had, no emphasis
would have been laid upon this story had it not
transpired that the moment a report of it had
come to Mrs. Hammond's ears (why is there
always some one to carry these reports?) she
roused from the torpor into which she had fallen,
and in wild fashion exclaimed:
"I knew it! I expected it! He was shot
through the window and by that wretch. He
never shot himself.” Violent declarations which
trailed off into the one continuous wail, “O, my
baby! my poor baby!”.
Such words, even though the fruit of delirium,
merited some sort of attention, or so this good
coroner thought, and as soon as opportunity offered
and she was sufficiently sane and quiet to respond
to his questions, he asked her whom she had
meant by that wretch, and what reason she had, or
thought she had, of attributing her husband's
death to any other agency than his own disgust
with life.
And then it was that his sympathies, although


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
45
greatly roused in her favour began to wane. She
met the question with a cold stare followed by a
few ambiguous words out of which he could make
nothing. Had she said wretch? She did not
remember. They must not be influenced by
anything she might have uttered in her first grief.
She was well-nigh insane at the time. But of one
thing they might be sure: her husband had not
shot himself; he was too much afraid of death for
such an act. Besides, he was too happy. What-
ever folks might say he was too fond of his family
to wish to leave it.
Nor did the coroner or any other official succeed
in eliciting anything further from her. Even
when she was asked, with cruel insistence, how she
explained the fact that the baby was found lying
on the floor instead of in its crib, her only answer
was: “His father was trying to soothe it. The
child was crying dreadfully, as you have heard
from those who were kept awake by him that
night, and my husband was carrying him about
when the shot came which caused George to fall
and overlay the baby in his struggles."
“Carrying a baby about with a loaded pistol
in his hand?" came back in stern retort.
She had no answer for this. She admitted
when informed that the bullet extracted from her


46
The Second Bullet
husband's body had been found to correspond
exactly with those remaining in the five chambers
of the pistol taken from his hand, that he was
not only the owner of this pistol but was in the
habit of sleeping with it under his pillow; but,
beyond that, nothing; and this reticence, as well as
her manner which was cold and repellent, told
against her.
A verdict of suicide was rendered by the
coroner's jury, and the life-insurance company, in
which Mr. Hammond had but lately insured him-
self for a large sum, taking advantage of the suicide
clause embodied in the policy, announced its
determination of not paying the same.
Such was the situation, as known to Violet
Strange and the general public, on the day she
was asked to see Mrs. Hammond and learn what
might alter her opinion as to the justice of this
verdict and the stand taken by the Shuler Life
Insurance Company.
The clock on the mantel in Miss Strange's
rose-coloured boudoir had struck three, and
Violet was gazing in some impatience at the
door, when there came a gentle knock upon it,
and the maid (one of the elderly, not youthful,
kind) ushered in her expected visitor.


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
47
"You are Mrs. Hammond?" she asked, in
natural awe of the too black figure outlined so
sharply against the deep pink of the sea-shell
room.
The answer was a slow lifting of the veil which
shadowed the features she knew only from the
cuts she had seen in newspapers.
“You are—Miss Strange?” stammered her
visitor; "the young lady who "
"I am," chimed in a voice as ringing as it was
sweet. “I am the person you have come here to
see. And this is my home. But that does not
make me less interested in the unhappy, or less
desirous of serving them. Certainly you have met
with the two greatest losses which can come to a
woman-I know your story well enough to say
that-; but what have you to tell me in proof that
you should not lose your anticipated income as
well? Something vital, I hope, else I cannot help
you; something which you should have told the
coroner's jury—and did not."
The flush which was the sole answer these words
called forth did not take from the refinement of
the young widow's expression, but rather added
to it; Violet watched it in its ebb and flow and,
seriously affected by it (why, she did not know,
for Mrs. Hammond had made no other appeal


48
The Second Bullet
either by look or gesture), pushed forward a chair
and begged her visitor to be seated.
"We can converse in perfect safety here," she
said. "When you feel quite equal to it, let me
hear what you have to communicate. It will
never go any further. I could not do the work
I do if I felt it necessary to have a confidant."
“But you are so young and so—50 "
“So inexperienced you would say and so evi-
dently a member of what New Yorkers call
'society. Do not let that trouble you. My
inexperience is not likely to last long and my
social pleasures are more apt to add to my
efficiency than to detract from it."
With this Violet's face broke into a smile. It
was not the brilliant one so often seen upon her
lips, but there was something in its quality which
carried encouragement to the widow and led her
to say with obvious eagerness:
“You know the facts?".
“I have read all the papers.”
"I was not believed on the stand.”
"It was your manner "
“I could not help my manner. I was keeping
something back, and, being unused to deceit,
I could not act quite naturally."
"Why did you keep something back? When


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
49
you saw the unfavourable impression made by
your reticence, why did you not speak up and
frankly tell your story?"
"Because I was ashamed. Because I thought
it would hurt me more to speak than to keep silent.
I do not think so now; but I did then-and so
made my great mistake. You must remember not
only the awful shock of my double loss, but the
sense of guilt accompanying it; for my husband
and I had quarrelled that night, quarrelled bitterly
—that was why I had run away into another room
and not because I was feeling ill and impatient
of the baby's fretful cries."
“So people have thought.” In saying this,
Miss Strange was perhaps cruelly emphatic.
“You wish to explain that quarrel? You think
it will be doing any good to your cause to go into
that matter with me now?"
"I cannot say; but I must first clear my con-
science and then try to convince you that quarrel
or no quarrel, he never took his own life. He was
not that kind. He had an abnormal fear of death.
I do not like to say it but he was a physical coward.
I have seen him turn pale at the least hint of
danger. He could no more have turned that
muzzle upon his own breast than he could have
turned it upon his baby. Some other hand shot


50
The Second Bullet
him, Miss Strange. Remember the open window,
the shattered mirror; and I think I know that
hand.”
Her head had fallen forward on her breast.
The emotion she showed was not so eloquent of
grief as of deep personal shame.
“You think you know the man?" In saying
this, Violet's voice sunk to a whisper. It was an
accusation of murder she had just heard.
"To my great distress, yes. When Mr. Ham-
mond and I were married," the widow now pro-
ceeded in a more determined tone, “there was
another man-a very violent one who vowed
even at the church door that George and I should
never live out two full years together. We have
not. Our second anniversary would have been
in November.”
“But "
“Let me say this: the quarrel of which I speak
was not serious enough to occasion any such act
of despair on his part. A man would be mad to
end his life on account of so slight a disagreement.
It was not even on account of the person of whom
I've just spoken, though that person had been
mentioned between us earlier in the evening, Mr.
Hammond having come across him face to face
that very afternoon in the subway. Up to this


52
The Second Bullet
“And what happened then?" she asked. “Why
cannot they find the bullet?”
"Because it went out of the window;- glanced
off and went out of the window."
Mrs. Hammond's tone was triumphant; her
look spirited and intense.
Violet eyed her compassionately.
“Would a bullet glancing off from a mirror,
however hung, be apt to reach a window so far
on the opposite side?"
"I don't know; I only know that it did," was
the contradictory, almost absurd, reply.
“What was the cause of the quarrel you speak
of between your husband and yourself? You see,
I must know the exact truth and all the truth to
be of any assistance to you."
"It was-it was about the care I gave, or
didn't give, the baby. I feel awfully to have to
say it, but George did not think I did my full duty
by the child. He said there was no need of its
crying so; that if I gave it the proper attention it
would not keep the neighbours and himself awake
half the night. And I-I got angry and insisted
that I did the best I could; that the child was
naturally fretful and that if he wasn't satisfied
with my way of looking after it, he might try
his. All of which was very wrong and unreason-


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
53
able on my part, as witness the awful punishment
which followed.”
"And what made you get up and leave him?"
“The growl he gave me in reply. When I
heard that, I bounded out of bed and said I was
going to the spare room to sleep; and if the baby
cried he might just try what he could do himself
to stop it."
"And he answered?"
“This, just this-I shall never forget his words
as long as I live-'If you go, you need not ex-
pect me to let you in again no matter what
happens.'”
“He said that?"
“And locked the door after me. You see I
could not tell all that.”
"It might have been better if you had. It
was such a natural quarrel and so unprovocative
of actual tragedy."
Mrs. Hammond was silent. It was not difficult
to see that she had no very keen regrets for her
husband personally. But then he was not a very
estimable man nor in any respect her equal.
"You were not happy with him, " Violet
ventured to remark.
“I was not a fully contented woman. But for
all that he had no cause to complain of me except


54
The Second Bullet
for the reason I have mentioned. I was not a
very intelligent mother. But if the baby were
living now—0, if he were living now—with what
devotion I should care for him.”
She was on her feet, her arms were raised, her
face impassioned with feeling. Violet, gazing at
her, heaved a little sigh. It was perhaps in keep-
ing with the situation, perhaps extraneous to it,
but whatever its source, it marked a change in her
manner. With no further check upon her sym-
pathy, she said very softly:
"It is well with the child."
The mother stiffened, swayed, and then burst
into wild weeping.
"But not with me," she cried, "not with me.
I am desolate and bereft. I have not even a
home in which to hide my grief and no prospect
of one."
“But," interposed Violet, “surely your hus-
band left you something? You cannot be quite
penniless?"
“My husband left nothing," was the answer,
uttered without bitterness, but with all the hard-
ness of fact. “He had debts. I shall pay those
debts. When these and other necessary expenses
are liquidated, there will be but little left. He
made no secret of the fact that he lived close up


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
55
du
to his means. That is why he was induced to
take on a life insurance. Not a friend of his but
knows his improvidence. I-I have not even
jewels. I have only my determination and an
absolute conviction as to the real nature of my
husband's death."
"What is the name of the man you secretly
believe to have shot your husband from the
trellis?"
Mrs. Hammond told her.
It was a new one to Violet. She said so and
then asked:
"What else can you tell me about him?"
“Nothing, but that he is a very dark man and
has a club-foot.
“Oh, what a mistake you've made.”
"Mistake? Yes, I acknowledge that.”
“I mean in not giving this last bit of informa-
tion at once to the police. A man can be identified
by such a defect. Even his footsteps can be
traced. He might have been found that very
day. Now, what have we to go upon?"
“You are right, but not expecting to have any
difficulty about the insurance money I thought
it would be generous in me to keep still. Besides,
this is only surmise on my part. I feel certain
that my husband was shot by another hand than


56
The Second Bullet
his own, but I know of no way of proving it. Do
you?"
Then Violet talked seriously with her, explain-
ing how their only hope lay in the discovery of
a second bullet in the room which had already
been ransacked for this very purpose and without
the shadow of a result.
A tea, a musicale, and an evening dance kept
Violet Strange in a whirl for the remainder of
the day. No brighter eye nor more contagious
wit lent brilliance to these occasions, but with
the passing of the midnight hour no one who had
seen her in the blaze of electric lights would have
recognized this favoured child of fortune in the
earnest figure sitting in the obscurity of an up-
town apartment, studying the walls, the ceilings,
and the floors by the dim light of a lowered gas-
jet. Violet Strange in society was a very different
person from Violet Strange under the tension of
her secret and peculiar work.
She had told them at home that she was going
to spend the night with a friend; but only her old
coachman knew who that friend was. Therefore
a very natural sense of guilt mingled with her
emotions at finding herself alone on a scene whose
gruesome mystery she could solve only by identify-


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
57
ing herself with the place and the man who had
perished there.
Dismissing from her mind all thought of self,
she strove to think as he thought, and act as he
acted on the night when he found himself (a man
of but little courage) left in this room with an
ailing child.
At odds with himself, his wife, and possibly
with the child screaming away in its crib, what
would he be apt to do in his present emergency?
Nothing at first, but as the screaming continued he
would remember the old tales of fathers walking
the floor at night with crying babies, and hasten
to follow suit. Violet, in her anxiety to reach his
inmost thought, crossed to where the crib had
stood, and, taking that as a start, began pacing
the room in search of the spot from which a bullet,
if shot, would glance aside from the mirror in the
direction of the window. (Not that she was
ready to accept this theory of Mrs. Hammond,
but that she did not wish to entirely dismiss it
without putting it to the test.)
She found it in an unexpected quarter of the
room and much nearer the bed-head than where
his body was found. This, which might seem
to confuse matters, served, on the contrary to
remove from the case one of its most serious
be
Tem0V
case
rious


58
The Second Bullet
difficulties. Standing here, he was within reach
of the pillow under which his pistol lay hidden,
and if startled, as his wife believed him to have
been by a noise at the other end of the room, had
but to crouch and reach behind him in order to
find himself armed and ready for a possible
intruder.
Imitating his action in this as in other things,
she had herself crouched low at the bedside and
was on the point of withdrawing her hand from
under the pillow, when a new surprise checked
her movement and held her fixed in her position,
with eyes staring straight at the adjoining wall.
She had seen there what he must have seen in
making this same turn—the dark bars of the
opposite window-frame outlined in the mirror-
and understood at once what had happened. In
the nervousness and terror of the moment, George
Hammond had mistaken this reflection of the
window for the window itself, and shot impulsively
at the man he undoubtedly saw covering him
from the trellis without. But while this explained
the shattering of the mirror, how about the other
and still more vital question, of where the bullet
went afterward? Was the angle at which it had
been fired acute enough to send it out of a window
diagonally opposed? No; even if the pistol had


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
59
been held closer to the man firing it than she had
reason to believe, the angle still would be oblique
enough to carry it on to the further wall.
But no sign of any such impact had been dis-
covered on this wall. Consequently, the force
of the bullet had been expended before reaching
it, and when it fell-
Here, her glance, slowly travelling along the
floor, impetuously paused. It had reached the
spot where the two bodies had been found, and
unconsciously her eyes rested there, conjuring
up the picture of the bleeding father and the
strangled child. How piteous and how dreadful
it all was. If she could only understand - Sud-
denly she rose straight up, staring and immovable
in the dim light. Had the idea—the explanation
-the only possible explanation covering the whole
phenomena come to her at last?
It would seem so, for as she so stood, a look of
conviction settled over her features, and with
this look, evidences of a horror which for all her
fast accumulating knowledge of life and its
possibilities made her appear very small and very
helpless.
A half-hour later, when Mrs. Hammond, in her
anxiety at hearing nothing more from Miss


00
The Second Bullet
Strange, opened the door of her room, it was to find,
lying on the edge of the sill, the little detective's
card with these words hastily written across it:
I do not feel as well as I could wish, and so have
telephoned to my own coachman to come and take
me home. I will either see or write you within a few
days. But do not allow yourself to hope. I pray you
do not allow yourself the least hope; the outcome is
still very problematical.
When Violet's employer entered his office the
next morning it was to find a veiled figure awaiting
him which he at once recognized as that of his little
deputy. She was slow in lifting her veil and when
it finally came free he felt a momentary doubt as
to his wisdom in giving her just such a matter as
this to investigate. He was quite sure of his
mistake when he saw her face, it was so drawn
and pitiful.
"You have failed," said he.
“Of that you must judge," she answered; and
drawing near she whispered in his ear.
"No!" he cried in his amazement.
"Think," she murmured, "think. Only so can
all the facts be accounted for."
"I will look into it; I will certainly look into it,"
was his earnest reply. "If you are right- But
never mind that. Go home and take a horseback
ride in the Park. When I have news in regard to this


Problem 2 for Violet Strange
61
I will let you know.. Till then forget it all. Hear
me, I charge you to forget everything but your
balls and your parties."
And Violet obeyed him.
Some few days after this, the following statement
appeared in all the papers:
"Owing to some remarkable work done by
the firm of & the well-known private de-
tective agency, the claim made by Mrs. George
Hammond against the Shuler Life Insurance
Company is likely to be allowed without further
litigation. As our readers will remember, the
contestant has insisted from the first that the
bullet causing her husband's death came from
another pistol than the one found clutched in his
own hand. But while reasons were not lacking to
substantiate this assertion, the failure to discover
more than the disputed track of a second bullet
led to a verdict of suicide, and a refusal of the
company to pay.
“But now that bullet has been found. And
where? In the most startling place in the world,
viz.: in the larynx of the child found lying dead
upon the floor beside his father, strangled as was
supposed by the weight of that father's arm. The
theory is, and there seems to be none other, that the
father, hearing a suspicious noise at the window,
set down the child he was endeavouring to soothe
and made for the bed and his own pistol, and,
mistaking a reflection of the assassin for the assas-
sin himself, sent his shot sidewise at a mirror just
as the other let go the trigger which drove a
similar bullet into his breast. The course of the


62
The Second Bullet
one was straight and fatal and that of the other
deflected. Striking the mirror at an oblique angle,
the bullet fell to the floor where it was picked up
by the crawling child, and, as was most natural,
thrust at once into his mouth. Perhaps it felt
hot to the little tongue; perhaps the child was
simply frightened by some convulsive movement
of the father who evidently spent his last moment
in an endeavour to reach the child, but, whatever
the cause, in the quick gasp it gave, the bullet
was drawn into the larynx, strangling him.
“That the father's arm, in his last struggle,
should have fallen directly across the little throat
is one of those anomalies which confounds reason
and misleads justice by stopping investigation
at the very point where truth lies and mystery
disappears.
"Mrs. Hammond is to be congratulated that
there are detectives who do not give too much
credence to outward appearances."
We expect soon to hear of the capture of the man
who sped home the death-dealing bullet.
END OF PROBLEM II


PROBLEM III
AN INTANGIBLE CLUB
L AVE you studied the case?"
"Not I."
"Not studied the case which for the last few
days has provided the papers with such conspicuous
headlines?"
“I do not read the papers. I have not looked
at one in a whole week.”
“Miss Strange, your social engagements must
be of a very pressing nature just now?"
“They are.”
“And your business sense in abeyance?"
"How so?"
“You would not ask if you had read the papers."
To this she made no reply save by a slight toss
of her pretty head. If her employer felt nettled by
this show of indifference, he did not betray it save
by the rapidity of his tones as, without further
preamble and possibly without real excuse, he
proceeded to lay before her the case in question.
63


64
An Intangible Clue
“Last Tuesday night a woman was murdered in
this city; an old woman, in a lonely house where
she has lived for years. Perhaps you remember
this house? It occupies a not inconspicuous site
in Seventeenth Street-a house of the olden time?”
"No, I do not remember."
The extreme carelessness of Miss Strange's tone
would have been fatal to her socially; but then, she
would never have used it socially. This they both
knew, yet he smiled with his customary indulgence.
“Then I will describe it."
She looked around for a chair and sank into it.
He did the same.
"It has a fanlight over the front door."
She remained impassive.
"And two old-fashioned strips of parti-coloured
glass on either side.”
“And a knocker between its panels which may
bring money some day.”
"Oh, you do remember! I thought you would,
Miss Strange."
“Yes. Fanlights over doors are becoming very
rare in New York."
“Very well, then. That house was the scene of
Tuesday's tragedy. The woman who has lived
there in solitude for years was foully murdered. I
have since heard that the people who knew her
V
Sa


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
65
best have always anticipated some such violent
end for her. She never allowed maid or friend to
remain with her after five in the afternoon; yet
she had money—some think a great deal-always
in the house."
“I am interested in the house, not in her."
“Yet, she was a character-as full of whims and
crotchets as a nut is of meat. Her death was
horrible. She fought-her dress was torn from
her body in rags. This happened, you see, before
her hour for retiring; some think as early as six in
the afternoon. And”—here he made a rapid ges-
ture to catch Violet's wandering attention-“in
spite of this struggle; in spite of the fact that she
was dragged from room to room—that her person
was searched-and everything in the house
searched—that drawers were pulled out of bureaus
-doors wrenched off of cupboards—china smashed
upon the floor-whole shelves denuded and not
a spot from cellar to garret left unransacked, no
direct clue to the perpetrator has been found-
nothing that gives any idea of his personality save
his display of strength and great cupidity. The
police have even deigned to consult me,-an
unusual procedure—but I could find nothing,
either. Evidences of fiendish purpose abound-
of relentless search-but no clue to the man him-


66
An Intangible Clue
self. It's uncommon, isn't it, not to have any
clue?”
"I suppose so." Miss Strange hated murders
and it was with difficulty she could be brought to
discuss them. But she was not going to be let
off; not this time.
"You see,” he proceeded insistently, “it's not
only mortifying to the police but disappointing to
the press, especially as few reporters believe in the
No-thoroughfare business. They say, and we
cannot but agree with them, that no such struggle
could take place and no such repeated goings to
and fro through the house without some vestige
being left by which to connect this crime with its
daring perpetrator."
Still she stared down at her hands—those little
hands so white and fluttering, so seemingly help-
less under the weight of their many rings, and yet
so slyly capable.
"She must have queer neighbours," came at
last, from Miss Strange's reluctant lips. “Didn't
they hear or see anything of all this?"
"She has no neighbours--that is, after half-past
five o'clock. There's a printing establishment on
one side of her, a deserted mansion on the other
side, and nothing but warehouses back and front.
There was no one to notice what took place in her


68
An Intangible Clue
"Must I express in words the limit I have set for
myself in our affair?" she asked. “When, for rea-
sons I have never thought myself called upon to
explain, I consented to help you a little now and
then with some matter where a woman's tact and
knowledge of the social world might tell without
offence to herself or others, I never thought it
would be necessary for me to state that temptation
must stop with such cases, or that I should not be
asked to touch the sordid or the bloody. But it
seems I was mistaken, and that I must stoop to
be explicit. The woman who was killed on Tues-
day might have interested me greatly as an em-
broiderer, but as a victim, not at all. What do
you see in me, or miss in me, that you should drag
me into an atmosphere of low-down crime?"
“Nothing, Miss Strange. You are by nature, as
well as by breeding, very far removed from every-
thing of the kind. But you will allow me to suggest
that no crime is low-down which makes imperative
demand upon the intellect and intuitive sense of its
investigator. Only the most delicate touch can
feel and hold the thread I've just spoken of, and
you have the most delicate touch I know."
“Do not attempt to flatter me. I have no
fancy for handling befouled spider webs. Besides,
if I had—if such elusive filaments fascinated me


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
69
how could I, well-known in person and name, enter
upon such a scene without prejudice to our mutual
compact?"
“Miss Strange"—she had reseated herself, but
so far he had failed to follow her example (an
ignoring of the subtle hint that her interest might
yet be caught, which seemed to annoy her a trifle),
“I should not even have suggested such a possi-
bility had I not seen a way of introducing you there
without risk to your position or mine. Among the
boxes piled upon Mrs. Doolittle's table boxes of
finished work, most of them addressed and ready
for delivery–was one on which could be seen the
name of—shall I mention it?"
“Not mine? You don't mean mine? That would
be too odd-too ridiculously odd. I should not
understand a coincidence of that kind; no, I should
not, notwithstanding the fact that I have lately
sent out such work to be done."
"Yet it was your name, very clearly and pre-
cisely written-your whole name, Miss Strange. I
saw and read it myself.”
"But I gave the order to Madame Pirot on Fifth
Avenue. How came my things to be found in the
house of this woman of whose horrible death we
have been talking?".
“Did you suppose that Madame Pirot did such


70
An Intangible Clue
work with her own hands?-or even had it done in
her own establishment? Mrs. Doolittle was uni-
versally employed. She worked for a dozen
firms. You will find the biggest names on most
of her packages. But on this one-I allude to the
one addressed to you—there was more to be seen
than the name. These words were written on it in
another hand. Send without opening. This struck
the police as suspicious; sufficiently so, at least, for
them to desire your presence at the house as soon
as you can make it convenient."
“To open the box?".
"Exactly."
The curl of Miss Strange's disdainful lip was a
sight to see.
“You wrote those words yourself," she coolly
observed. “While someone's back was turned,
you whipped out your pencil and
“Resorted to a very pardonable subterfuge
highly conducive to the public's good. But never
mind that. Will you go?"
Miss Strange became suddenly demure.
“I suppose I must,” she grudgingly conceded.
“However obtained, a summons from the police
cannot be ignored even by Peter Strange's
daughter."
Another man might have displayed his triumph


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
71
by smile or gesture; but this one had learned his
rôle too well. He simply said:
“Very good. Shall it be at once? I have a
taxi at the door.”
But she failed to see the necessity of any such
hurry. With sudden dignity she replied:
“That won't do. If I go to this house it must
be under suitable conditions. I shall have to ask
my brother to accompany me."
"Your brother!"
“Oh, he's safe. He he knows."
“Your brother knows?" Her visitor, with less
control than usual, betrayed very openly his
uneasiness.
“He does and approves. But that's not what
interests us now, only so far as it makes it possible
for me to go with propriety to that dreadful
house."
A formal bow from the other and the words:
"They may expect you, then. Can you say
when?"
“Within the next hour. But it will be a useless
concession on my part,” she pettishly complained.
“A place that has been gone over by a dozen
detectives is apt to be brushed clean of its cobwebs,
even if such ever existed."
“That's the difficulty," he acknowledged; and


72
An Intangible Clue
did not dare to add another word; she was at that
particular moment so very much the great lady,
and so little his confidential agent.
He might have been less impressed, however, by
this sudden assumption of manner, had he been so
fortunate as to have seen how she employed the
three quarters of an hour's delay for which she had
asked.
She read those neglected newspapers, especially
the one containing the following highly coloured
narration of this ghastly crime:
“A door ajar-an empty hall-a line of sinister
looking blotches marking a guilty step diagonally
across the flagging-silence and an unmistakable
odour repugnant to all humanity,-such were the
indications which met the eyes of Officer O'Leary
on his first round last night, and led to the discovery
of a murder which will long thrill the city by its
mystery and horror.
“Both the house and the victim are well
known.” Here followed a description of the same
and of Mrs. Doolittle's manner of life in her
ancient home, which Violet hurriedly passed over
to come to the following:
“As far as one can judge from appearances, the
crime happened in this wise: Mrs. Doolittle had


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
73
been in her kitchen, as the tea-kettle found singing
on the stove goes to prove, and was coming back
through her bedroom, when the wretch, who had
stolen in by the front door which, to save steps, she
was unfortunately in the habit of leaving on the
latch till all possibility of customers for the day
was over, sprang upon her from behind and dealt
her a swinging blow with the poker he had caught
up from the hearthstone.
“Whether the struggle which ensued followed
immediately upon this first attack or came later,
it will take medical experts to determine. But,
whenever it did occur, the fierceness of its character
is shown by the grip taken upon her throat and the
traces of blood which are to be seen all over the
house. If the wretch had lugged her into her
workroom and thence to the kitchen, and thence
back to the spot of first assault, the evidences
could not have been more ghastly. Bits of her
clothing torn off by a ruthless hand, lay scattered
over all these floors. In her bedroom, where she
finally breathed her last, there could be seen
mingled with these a number of large but worthless
glass beads; and close against one of the base-
boards, the string which had held them, as shown
by the few remaining beads still clinging to it.
If in pulling the string from her neck he had hoped


74
An Intangible Clue
to light upon some valuable booty, his fury at his
disappointment is evident. You can almost see
the frenzy with which he flung the would-be neck-
lace at the wall, and kicked about and stamped
upon its rapidly rolling beads.
“Booty! That was what he was after; to find
and carry away the poor needlewoman's supposed
hoardings. If the scene baffles description-if,
as some believe, he dragged her yet living from
spot to spot, demanding information as to her
places of concealment under threat of repeated
blows, and, finally baffled, dealt the finishing
stroke and proceeded on the search alone, no
greater devastation could have taken place in this
poor woman's house or effects. Yet such was his
precaution and care for himself that he left no
finger-print behind him nor any other token which
could lead to personal identification. Even though
his footsteps could be traced in much the order
I have mentioned, they were of so indeterminate
and shapelėss a character as to convey little to the
intelligence of the investigator.
“That these smears (they could not be called
footprints) not only crossed the hall but appeared
in more than one place on the staircase proves
that he did not confine his search to the lower
storey; and perhaps one of the most interesting


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
75
features of the case lies in the indications given
by these marks of the raging course he took through
these upper rooms. As the accompanying dia-
gram will show (we omit the diagram] he went
first into the large front chamber, thence to the
rear where we find two rooms, one unfinished and
filled with accumulated stuff most of which he left
lying loose upon the floor, and the other plastered,
and containing a window opening upon an alley-
way at the side, but empty of all furniture and
without even a carpet on the bare boards.
“Why he should have entered the latter place,
and why, having entered he should have crossed to
the window, will be plain to those who have studied
the conditions. The front chamber windows were
tightly shuttered, the attic ones cumbered with
boxes and shielded from approach by old bureaus
and discarded chairs. This one only was free and,
although darkened by the proximity of the house
neighbouring it across the alley, was the only spot
on the storey where sufficient light could be had at
this late hour for the examination of any object of
whose value he was doubtful. That he had come
across such an object and had brought it to this
window for some such purpose is very satisfactorily
demonstrated by the discovery of a worn out
wallet of ancient make lying on the floor directly


76
An Intangible Clue
in front of this window-a proof of his cupidity
but also proof of his ill-luck. For this wallet, when
lifted and opened, was found to contain two
hundred or more dollars in old bills, which, if not
the full hoard of their industrious owner, was
certainly worth the taking by one who had risked
his neck for the sole purpose of theft.
“This wallet, and the flight of the murderer with-
out it, give to this affair, otherwise simply brutal, a
dramatic interest which will be appreciated not
only by the very able detectives already hot upon
the chase, but by all other inquiring minds anxious
to solve a mystery of which so estimable a woman
has been the unfortunate victim. A problem is
presented to the police "
There Violet stopped.
When, not long after, the superb limousine of
Peter Strange stopped before the little house in
Seventeenth Street, it caused a veritable sensation,
not only in the curiosity-mongers lingering on the
sidewalk, but to the two persons within—the
officer on guard and a belated reporter.
Though dressed in her plainest suit, Violet
Strange looked much too fashionable and far too
young and thoughtless to be observed, without
emotion, entering a scene of hideous and brutal


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
77
crime. Even the young man who accompanied her
promised to bring a most incongruous element into
this atmosphere of guilt and horror, and, as the
detective on guard whispered to the man beside
him, might much better have been left behind in
the car.
But Violet was great for the proprieties and
young Arthur followed her in.
Her entrance was a coup du théâtre. She had
lifted her veil in crossing the sidewalk and her
interesting features and general air of timidity
were very fetching. As the man holding open
the door noted the impression made upon his
companion, he muttered with sly facetiousness:
“You think you'll show her nothing; but I'm
ready to bet a fiver that she'll want to see it all
and that you'll show it to her."
The detective's grin was expressive, notwith-
standing the shrug with which he tried to carry
it off.
And Violet? The hall into which she now
stepped from the most vivid sunlight had never
been considered even in its palmiest days as
possessing cheer even of the stately kind. The
ghastly green light infused through it by the
coloured glass on either side of the doorway
seemed to promise yet more dismal things beyond.


78
An Intangible Clue
“Must I go in there?" she asked, pointing,
with an admirable simulation of nervous excite-
ment, to a half-shut door at her left. “Is there
where it happened? Arthur, do you suppose
that there is where it happened?".
“No, no, Miss,” the officer made haste to assure
her. “If you are Miss Strange" (Violet bowed),
“I need hardly say that the woman was struck in
her bedroom. The door beside you leads into the
parlour, or as she would have called it, her work-
room. You needn't be afraid of going in there.
You will see nothing but the disorder of her boxes.
They were pretty well pulled about. Not all of
them though, he added, watching her as closely
as the dim light permitted. There is one which
gives no sign of having been tampered with. It
was done up in wrapping paper and is addressed to
you, which in itself would not have seemed worthy
of our attention had not these lines been scribbled
on it in a man's handwriting: “Send without
opening."
"How odd!” exclaimed the little minx with
widely opened eyes and an air of guileless inno-
cence. “What ever can it mean? Nothing serious
I am sure, for the woman did not even know me.
She was employed to do this work by Madame
Pirot."


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
79
“Didn't you know that it was to be done here?"
“No. I thought Madame Pirot's own girls did
her embroidery for her.”
“So that you were surprised "
“Wasn't I!"
“To get our message.”
“I didn't know what to make of it.”
The earnest, half-injured look with which she
uttered this disclaimer, did its appointed work.
The detective accepted her for what she seemed
and, oblivious to the reporter's satirical gesture,
crossed to the work-room door, which he threw
wide open with the remark:
“I should be glad to have you open that box
in our presence. It is undoubtedly all right, but
we wish to be sure. You know what the box
should contain?"
“Oh, yes, indeed; pillow-cases and sheets, with
a big S embroidered on them.
“Very well. Shall I undo the string for you?"
“I shall be much obliged,” said she, her eye
flashing quickly about the room before settling
down upon the knot he was deftly loosening.
Her brother, gazing indifferently in from the
doorway, hardly noticed this look; but the reporter
at his back did, though he failed to detect its
penetrating quality.


80
An Intangible Clue
“Your name is on the other side," observed the
detective as he drew away the string and turned
the package over.
The smile which just lifted the corner of her
lips was not in answer to this remark, but to her
recognition of her employer's handwriting in the
words under her name: Send without opening.
She had not misjudged him.
“The cover you may like to take off yourself,"
suggested the officer, as he lifted the box out of
its wrapper.
“Oh, I don't mind. There's nothing to be
ashamed of in embroidered linen. Or perhaps
that is not what you are looking for?"
No one answered. All were busy watching her
whip off the lid and lift out the pile of sheets and
pillow-cases with which the box was closely packed.
“Shall I unfold them?” she asked.
The detective nodded.
Taking out the topmost sheet, she shook it
open. Then the next and the next till she reached
the bottom of the box. Nothing of a criminating
nature came to light. The box as well as its
contents was without mystery of any kind. This
was not an unexpected result of course, but the
smile with which she began to refold the pieces
and throw them back into the box, revealed one


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
81
of her dimples which was almost as dangerous to
the casual observer as when it revealed both.
“There,” she exclaimed, "you see! Household
linen exactly as I said. Now may I go home?"
“Certainly, Miss Strange."
The detective stole a sly glance at the reporter.
She was not going in for the horrors then after all.
But the reporter abated nothing of his knowing
air, for while she spoke of going, she made no move
towards doing so, but continued to look about the
room till her glances finally settled on a long dark
curtain shutting off an adjoining room.
“There's where she lies, I suppose," she feelingly
exclaimed. “And not one of you knows who killed
her. Somehow, I cannot understand that. Why
don't you know when that's what you're hired
for?” The innocence with which she uttered this
was astonishing. The detective began to look
sheepish and the reporter turned aside to hide his
smile. Whether in another moment either would
have spoken no one can say, for, with a mock
consciousness of having said something foolish,
she caught up her parasol from the table and made
a start for the door.
But of course she looked back.
"I was wondering," she recommenced, with a
half wistful, half speculative air, "whether I


82
An Intangible Clue
should ask to have a peep at the place where it
all happened.”
The reporter chuckled behind the pencil-end
he was chewing, but the officer maintained his
solemn air, for which act of self-restraint he was
undoubtedly grateful when in another minute she
gave a quick impulsive shudder not altogether
assumed, and vehemently added: “But I couldn't
stand the sight; no, I couldn't! I'm an awful
coward when it comes to things like that. Noth-
ing in all the world would induce me to look at
the woman or her room. But I should like"
here both her dimples came into play though
she could not be said exactly to smile-"just one
little look upstairs, where he went poking about so
long without any fear it seems of being interrupted.
Ever since I've read about it I have seen, in my
mind, a picture of his wicked figure sneaking from
room to room, tearing open drawers and flinging
out the contents of closets just to find a little
money-a little, little money! I shall not sleep
to-night just for wondering how those high up
attic rooms really look.”
Who could dream that back of this display of
mingled childishness and audacity there lay hid-
den purpose, intellect, and a keen knowledge of
human nature. Not the two men who listened


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
83
to this seemingly irresponsible chatter. To them
she was a child to be humoured and humour her
they did. The dainty feet which had already
found their way to that gloomy staircase were
allowed to ascend, followed it is true by those of
the officer who did not dare to smile back at the
reporter because of the brother's watchful and
none too conciliatory eye.
At the stair head she paused to look back.
“I don't see those horrible marks which the
papers describe as running all along the lower
hall and up these stairs."
"No, Miss Strange; they have gradually been
rubbed out, but you will find some still showing on
these upper floors.”
“Oh! oh! where? You frighten me-frighten
me horribly! But-but-if you don't mind, I
should like to see.”
Why should not a man on a tedious job amuse
himself? Piloting her over to the small room in
the rear, he pointed down at the boards. She
gave one look and then stepped gingerly in.
“Just look!” she cried; "a whole string of
marks going straight from door to window. They
have no shape, have they,-just blotches? I
wonder why one of them is so much larger than
the rest?"


84
An Intangible Clue
This was no new question. It was one which
everybody who went into the room was sure to
ask, there was such a difference in the size and
appearance of the mark nearest the window. The
reason-well, minds were divided about that, and
no one had a satisfactory theory. The detective
therefore kept discreetly silent.
This did not seem to offend Miss Strange.
On the contrary it gave her an opportunity to
babble away to her heart's content.
“One, two, three, four, five, six,” she counted,
with a shudder at every count. “And one of
them bigger than the others." She might have
added, “It is the trail of one foot, and strangely
intermingled at that," but she did not, though
we may be quite sure that she noted the fact.
“And where, just where did the old wallet fall?
Here? or here?"
She had moved as she spoke, so that in uttering
the last "here," she stood directly before the
window. The surprise she received there nearly
made her forget the part she was playing. From
the character of the light in the room, she had
expected, on looking out, to confront a near-by
wall, but not a window in that wall. Yet that
was what she saw directly facing her from across
the old-fashioned alley separating this house from


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
85
its neighbour; twelve unshuttered and uncurtained
panes through which she caught a darkened view
of a room almost as forlorn and devoid of furniture
as the one in which she then stood.
When quite sure of herself, she let a certain
portion of her surprise appear.
"Why, look!" she cried, "if you can't see right
in next door! What a lonesome-looking place!
From its desolate appearance I should think the
house quite empty.”
"And it is. That's the old Shaffer homestead.
It's been empty for a year."
“Oh, empty!" And she turned away, with the
most inconsequent air in the world, crying out as
her name rang up the stair, “There's Arthur call-
ing. I suppose he thinks I've been here long
enough. I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you,
officer. I really shouldn't have slept a wink to-
night, if I hadn't been given a peep at these rooms,
which I had imagined so different." And with one
additional glance over her shoulder, that seemed
to penetrate both windows and the desolate space
beyond, she ran quickly out and down in response
to her brother's reiterated call.
“Drive quickly!-as quickly as the law allows,
to Hiram Brown's office in Duane Street.".


86
An Intangible Clue
Arrived at the address named, she went in
alone to see Mr. Brown. He was her father's
lawyer and a family friend.
Hardly waiting for his affectionate greeting,
she cried out quickly. “Tell me how I can learn
anything about the old Shaffer house in Seven-
teenth Street. Now, don't look so surprised. I
have very good reasons for my request and-and-
I'm in an awful hurry."
"But--"
“I know, I know; there's been a dreadful
tragedy next door to it; but it's about the Shaffer
house itself I want some information. Has it
an agent, a- "
“Of course it has an agent, and here is his
name."
Mr. Brown presented her with a card on which
he had hastily written both name and address.
She thanked him, dropped him a mocking
curtsey full of charm, whispered “Don't tell
father," and was gone.
Her manner to the man she next interviewed
was very different. As soon as she saw him she
subsided into her usual society manner. With just
a touch of the conceit of the successful débutante,
she announced herself as Miss Strange of Seventy-
second Street. Her business with him was in
UTSE


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
87
regard to the possible renting of the Shaffer house.
She had an old lady friend who was desirous of
living downtown.
In passing through Seventeenth Street, she had
noticed that the old Shaffer house was standing
empty and had been immediately struck with the
advantages it possessed for her elderly friend's
occupancy. Could it be that the house was for
rent? There was no sign on it to that effect,
but-etc.
His answer left her nothing to hope for.
“It is going to be torn down," he said.
“Oh, what a pity!" she exclaimed. “Real
colonial, isn't it! I wish I could see the rooms
inside before it is disturbed. Such doors and
such dear old-fashioned mantelpieces as it must
have! I just dote on the Colonial. It brings up
such pictures of the old days; weddings, you know,
and parties ;-all so different from ours and so
much more interesting.”
Is it the chance shot that tells? Sometimes.
Violet had no especial intention in what she said
save as a prelude to a pending request, but nothing
could have served her purpose better than that
one word, wedding. The agent laughed and giving
her his first indulgent look, remarked genially:
“Romance is not confined to those ancient


88
An Intangible Clue
sev
times. If you were to enter that house to-day
you would come across evidences of a wedding as
romantic as any which ever took place in all the
seventy odd years of its existence. A man and
a woman were married there day before yesterday
who did their first courting under its roof forty
years ago. He has been married twice and she
once in the interval; but the old love held firm and
now at the age of sixty and over they have come
together to finish their days in peace and happiness.
Or so we will hope."
"Married! married in that house and on the
day that "
She caught herself up in time. He did not
notice the break.
“Yes, in memory of those old days of court-
ship, I suppose. They came here about five,
got the keys, drove off, went through the cere-
mony in that empty house, returned the keys to
me in my own apartment, took the steamer for
Naples, and were on the sea before midnight.
Do you not call that quick work as well as highly
romantic?"
“Very." Miss Strange's cheek had paled.
It was apt to when she was greatly excited. “But
I don't understand," she added, the moment
after. "How could they do this and nobody know


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
89
about it? I should have thought it would have
got into the papers."
“They are quiet people. I don't think they
told their best friends. A simple announcement
in the next day's journals testified to the fact of
their marriage, but that was all. I would not
have felt at liberty to mention the circumstances
myself, if the parties were not well on their way to
Europe."
“Oh, how glad I am that you did tell me!
Such a story of constancy and the hold which
old associations have upon sensitive minds!
But "
“Why, Miss? What's the matter? You look
very much disturbed.”
“Don't you remember? Haven't you thought?
Something else happened that very day and almost
at the same time on that block. Something very
dreadful "
“Mrs. Doolittle's murder?".
"Yes. It was as near as next door, wasn't it?
Oh, if this happy couple had known--".
“But fortunately they didn't. Nor are they
likely to, till they reach the other side. You
needn't fear that their honeymoon will be spoiled
that way."
“But they may have heard something or seen


90
An Intangible Clue
something before leaving the street. Did you
notice how the gentleman looked when he returned
you the keys?"
“I did, and there was no cloud on his satis-
faction.”
“Oh, how you relieve me!" One-two dimples
made their appearance in Miss Strange's fresh,
young cheeks. “Well! I wish them joy. Do
you mind telling me their names? I cannot think
of them as actual persons without knowing their
names.”
"The gentleman was Constantin Amidon; the
lady, Marian Shaffer. You will have to think
of them now as Mr. and Mrs. Amidon.”
“And I will. Thank you, Mr. Hutton, thank
you very much. Next to the pleasure of getting
the house for my friend, is that of hearing this
charming bit of news in its connection."
She held out her hand and, as he took it,
remarked:
“They must have had a clergyman and wit-
nesses."
"Undoubtedly.”
"I wish I had been one of the witnesses,” she
sighed sentimentally.
“They were two old men.”
“Oh, no! Don't tell me that."


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
91
"Fogies; nothing less."
“But the clergyman? He must have been
young. Surely there was some one there capable
of appreciating the situation?".
"I can't say about that; I did not see the
clergyman.”
“Oh, well! it doesn't matter." Miss Strange's
manner was as nonchalant as it was charming.
“We will think of him as being very young."
And with a merry toss of her head she flitted
away.
But she sobered very rapidly upon entering
her limousine.
"Hello!"
“Ah, is that you?".
“Yes, I want a Marconi sent."
"A Marconi?”
“Yes, to the Cretic, which left dock the very
night in which we are so deeply interested.”
“Good. Whom to? The Captain?”
"No, to a Mrs. Constantin Amidon. But first
be sure there is such a passenger."
“Mrs.. What idea have you there?”
"Excuse my not stating over the telephone.
The message is to be to this effect. Did she at any
time immediately before or after her marriage


92
An Intangible Clue
to Mr. Amidon get a glimpse of any one in the
adjoining house? No remarks, please. I use the
telephone because I am not ready to explain my-
self. If she did, let her send a written description
to you of that person as soon as she reaches the
Azores.”
"You surprise me. May I not call or hope
for a line from you early to-morrow?”.
“I shall be busy till you get your answer."
He hung up the receiver. He recognized the
resolute tone.
But the time came when the pending explanation
was fully given to him. An answer had been
returned from the steamer, favourable to Violet's
hopes. Mrs. Amidon had seen such a person and
would send a full description of the same at the
first opportunity. It was news to fill Violet's
heart with pride; the filament of a clue which had
led to this great result had been so nearly invisible
and had felt so like nothing in her grasp.
To her employer she described it as follows:
“When I hear or read of a case which contains
any baffling features, I am apt to feel some hidden
chord in my nature thrill to one fact in it and
not to any of the others. In this case the single
fact which appealed to my imagination was the


94
An Intangible Clue
and not only that, but into the darkened area of
the room beyond. Instantly I saw how the latter
fact might be made to explain the former one.
But before I say how, let me ask if it is quite
settled among you that the smears on the floor
and stairs mark the passage of the criminal's
footsteps!"
“Certainly; and very bloody feet they must
have been too. His shoes or rather his one shoe
—for the proof is plain that only the right one left
its mark-must have become thoroughly satu-
rated to carry its traces so far."
“Do you think that any amount of saturation
would have done this? Or, if you are not ready
to agree to that, that a shoe so covered with blood
could have failed to leave behind it some hint of
its shape, some imprint, however faint, of heel or
toe? But nowhere did it do this. We see a
smear—and that is all."
"You are right, Miss Strange; you are always
right. And what do you gather from this?"
She looked to see how much he expected from
her, and, meeting an eye not quite as free from all
ironic suggestion as his words had led her to
expect, faltered a little as she proceeded to say:
“My opinion is a girl's opinion, but such as
it is you have the right to have it. From the indi-


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
95
cations mentioned I could draw but this conclu-
sion: that the blood which accompanied the
criminal's footsteps was not carried through the
house by his shoes;—he wore no shoes; he did not
even wear stockings; probably he had none. For
reasons which appealed to his judgment, he went
about his wicked work barefoot; and it was the
blood from his own veins and not from those of his
victim which made the trail we have followed
with so much interest. Do you forget those
broken beads;-how he kicked them about and
stamped upon them in his fury? One of them
pierced the ball of his foot, and that so sharply
that it not only spurted blood but kept on bleeding
with every step he took. Otherwise, the trail
would have been lost after his passage up the
stairs."
"Fine!" There was no irony in the bureau-
chief's eye now. “You are progressing, Miss
Strange. Allow me, I pray, to kiss your hand.
It is a liberty I have never taken, but one which
would greatly relieve my present stress of feeling."
She lifted her hand toward him, but it was in
gesture, not in recognition of his homage.
"Thank you,” said she, “but I claim no
monopoly on deductions so simple as these. I
have not the least doubt that not only yourself


Problem 3 for Violet Strange
97
discover that at this especial hour more than one
person had been in the Shaffer house; that, in
fact, a marriage had been celebrated there under
circumstances as romantic as any we read of in
books, and that this marriage, privately carried
out, had been followed by an immediate voyage
of the happy couple on one of the White Star
steamers. With the rest you are conversant. I
do not need to say anything about what has
followed the sending of that Marconi."
“But I am going to say something about your
work in this matter, Miss Strange. The big
detectives about here will have to look sharp
if - "
“Don't, please! Not yet.” A smile softened
the asperity of this interruption. “The man has
yet to be caught and identified. Till that is done
I cannot enjoy any one's congratulations. And
you will see that all this may not be so easy. If
no one happened to meet the desperate wretch
before he had an opportunity to retie his shoe-
laces, there will be little for you or even for the
police to go upon but his wounded foot, his un-
doubtedly carefully prepared alibi, and later, a
woman's confused description of a face seen but
for a moment only and that under a personal
excitement precluding minute attention. I should


98 An Intangible Clue
not be surprised if the whole thing came to
nothing."
But it did not. As soon as the description was
received from Mrs. Amidon (a description, by the
way, which was unusually clear and precise, owing
to the peculiar and contradictory features of the
man), the police were able to recognize him among
the many suspects always under their eye. Ar-
rested, he pleaded, just as Miss Strange had fore-
told, an alibi of a seemingly unimpeachable
character; but neither it, nor the plausible explana-
tion with which he endeavoured to account for a
freshly healed scar amid the callouses of his right
foot, could stand before Mrs. Amidon's unequiv-
ocal testimony that he was the same man she had
seen in Mrs. Doolittle's upper room on the after-
noon of her own happiness and of that poor
woman's murder.
The moment when, at his trial, the two faces
again confronted each other across a space no
wider than that which had separated them on the
dread occasion in Seventeenth Street, is said to
have been one of the most dramatic in the annals
of that ancient court room.


100
The Grotto Spectre
gay remark with which she had left home. She
was speaking to her brother and her words were:
“I am going out to enjoy myself. I've not a care
in the world. The slate is quite clean." Yet she
had never seemed more out of tune with her sur-
roundings nor shown a mood further removed from
trivial entertainment. What had happened to
becloud her gaiety in the short time which had
since elapsed?
We can answer in a sentence.
She had seen, among a group of young men in a
distant doorway, one with a face so individual and
of an expression so extraordinary that all interest
in the people about her had stopped as a clock
stops when the pendulum is held back. She could
see nothing else, think of nothing else. Not
that it was so very handsome-though no other
had ever approached it in its power over her
imagination—but because of its expression of
haunting melancholy,-a melancholy so settled and
so evidently the result of long-continued sorrow
that her interest had been reached and her heart-
strings shaken as never before in her whole life.
She would never be the same Violet again.
Yet moved as she undoubtedly was, she was not
conscious of the least desire to know who the young
man was, or even to be made acquainted with his


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
101
TV
story. She simply wanted to dream her dream
undisturbed.
It was therefore with a sense of unwelcome shock
that, in the course of the reception following the
programme, she perceived this same young man
approaching herself, with his right hand touching
his left shoulder in the peculiar way which com-
mitted her to an interview with or without a formal
introduction.
Should she fly the ordeal? Be blind and deaf
to whatever was significant in his action, and go
her way before he reached her; thus keeping her
dream intact? Impossible. His eye prevented
that. His glance had caught hers and she felt
forced to await his advance and give him her
first spare moment.
It came soon, and when it came she greeted him
with a smile. It was the first she had ever be-
stowed in welcome of a confidence of whose tenor
she was entirely ignorant.
To her relief he showed his appreciation of the
dazzling gift though he made no effort to return
it. Scorning all preliminaries in his eagerness to
discharge himself of a burden which was fast be-
coming intolerable, he addressed her at once in
these words:
“You are very good, Miss Strange, to receive


102
The Grotto Spectre
me in this unconventional fashion. I am in that
desperate state of mind which precludes etiquette.
Will you listen to my petition? I am told-you
know by whom-"(and he again touched his
shoulder) "that you have resources of intelligence
which especially fit you to meet the extraordinary
difficulties of my position. May I beg you to exer-
cise them in my behalf? No man would be more
grateful if— But I see that you do not recognize
me. I am Roger Upjohn. That I am admitted to
this gathering is owing to the fact that our hostess
knew and loved my mother. In my anxiety to
meet you and proffer my plea, I was willing to
brave the cold looks you have probably noticed
on the faces of the people about us. But I have
no right to subject you to criticism. I- "
“Remain.” Violet's voice was troubled, her
self-possession disturbed; but there was a com-
mand in her tone which he was only too glad to
obey. “I know the name" (who did not!) “and
possibly my duty to myself should make me shun
a confidence which may burden me without reliev-
ing you. But you have been sent to me by one
whose behests I feel bound to respect and — "
Mistrusting her voice, she stopped. The suffer-
ing which made itself apparent in the face before
her appealed to her heart in a way to rob her of


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
103
her judgment. She did not wish this to be seen,
and so fell silent.
He was quick to take advantage of her obvious
embarrassment. “Should I have been sent to
you if I had not first secured the confidence of the
sender? You know the scandal attached to my
name, some of it just, some of it very unjust. If
you will grant me an interview to-morrow, I will
make an endeavour to refute certain charges which i
I have hitherto let go unchallenged. Will you do
me this favour? Will you listen in your own house
to what I have to say?"
Instinct cried out against any such concessicn
on her part, bidding her beware of one who
charmed without excellence and convinced with-
out reason. But compassion urged compliance
and compassion won the day. Though conscious
of weakness, -she, Violet Strange on whom strong
men had come to rely in critical hours calling for
well-balanced judgment,-she did not let this con-
cern her, or allow herself to indulge in useless re-
grets even after the first effect of his presence had
passed and she had succeeded in recalling the facts
which had cast a cloud about his name.
Roger Upjohn was a widower, and the scandal
affecting him was connected with his wife's death.


104
The Grotto Spectre
Though a degenerate in some respects, lacking
the domineering presence, the strong mental quali-
ties, and inflexible character of his progenitors,
the wealthy Massachusetts Upjohns whose great
place on the coast had a history as old as the State
itself, he yet had gifts and attractions of his own
which would have made him a worthy representa-
tive of his race, if only he had not fixed his affec-
tions on a woman so cold and heedless that she
would have inspired universal aversion instead of
love, had she not been dowered with the beauty
and physical fascination which sometimes accom-
pany a hard heart and a scheming brain. It was
this beauty which had caught the lad; and one
day, just as the careful father had mapped out a
course of study calculated to make a man of his
son, that son drove up to the gates with this lady
whom he introduced as his wife.
The shock, not of her beauty, though that was
of the dazzling quality which catches a man in the
throat and makes a slave of him while the first
surprise lasts, but of the overthrow of all his hopes
and plans, nearly prostrated Homer Upjohn. He
saw, as most men did the moment judgment re-
turned, that for all her satin skin and rosy flush,
the wonder of her hair and the smile which pierced
like arrows and warmed like wine, she was more


106
The Grotto Spectre
.
took to inviting friends to meet them in this
grotto which, through the agency of one old serv-
ant devoted to Roger to the point of folly, had
been fitted up and lighted in a manner not only
comfortable but luxurious. A small but sheltered
haven hidden in the curve of the rocks made an
approach by boat feasible at high tide; and at low
the connection could be made by means of a
path over the promontory in which this grotto lay
concealed. The fortune which Roger had in-
herited from his mother made these excesses possi-
ble, but many thousands, let alone the few he could
call his, soon disappeared under the witchery of an
irresponsible woman, and the half-dozen friends
who knew his secret had to stand by and see his
ruin, without daring to utter a word to the one who
alone could stay it. For Homer Upjohn was not
a man to be approached lightly, nor was he one to
listen to charges without ocular proof to support
them; and this called for courage, more courage
than was possessed by any one who knew them
both.
He was a hard man was Homer Upjohn, but
with a heart of gold for those he loved. This,
even his wary daughter-in-law was wise enough to
detect, and for a long while after the birth of her
child she besieged him with her coaxing ways and


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
107
bewitching graces. But he never changed his
first opinion of her, and once she became fully
convinced of the folly of her efforts, she gave up all
attempt to please him and showed an open indiffer-
ence. This in time gradually extended till it
embraced not only her child but her husband as
well. Yes, it had come to that. His love no
longer contented her. Her vanity had grown by
what it daily fed on, and now called for the admi-
ration of the fast men who sometimes came up
from Boston to play with them in their unholy
retreat. To win this, she dressed like some
demon queen or witch, though it drove her hus-
band into deeper play and threatened an exposure
which would mean disaster not only to herself but
to the whole family.
In all this, as any one could see, Roger had been
her slave and the willing victim of all her caprices.
What was it, then, which so completely changed
him that a separation began to be talked of and
even its terms discussed? One rumour had it
that the father had discovered the secret of the
grotto and exacted this as a penalty from the son
who had dishonoured him. Another, that Roger
himself was the one to take the initiative in this
matter: That, on returning unexpectedly from
New York one evening and finding her missing
ev


108
The Grotto Spectre
from the house, he had traced her to the grotto
where he came upon her playing a desperate game
with the one man he had the greatest reason to
distrust.
But whatever the explanation of this sudden
change in their relations, there is but little doubt
that a legal separation between this ill-assorted
couple was pending, when one bleak autumn morn-
ing she was discovered dead in her bed under
circumstances peculiarly open to comment.
The physicians who made out the certificate
ascribed her death to heart-disease, symptoms of
which had lately much alarmed the family doctor;
but that a personal struggle of some kind had
preceded the fatal attack was evident from the
bruises which blackened her wrists. Had there
been the like upon her throat it might have gone
hard with the young husband who was known to
be contemplating her dismissal from the house.
But the discoloration of her wrists was all, and as
bruised wrists do not kill and there was besides no
evidence forthcoming of the two having spent one
moment together for at least ten hours preceding
the tragedy but rather full and satisfactory testi-
mony to the contrary, the matter lapsed and all
criminal proceedings were avoided.
But not the scandal which always follows the


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
109
unexplained. As time passed and the peculiar
look which betrays the haunted soul gradually
became visible in the young widower's eyes,
doubts arose and reports circulated which cast
strange reflections upon the tragic end of his mis-
taken marriage. Stories of the disreputable use
to which the old grotto had been put were mingled
with vague hints of conjugal violence never pro-
perly investigated. The result was his general
avoidance not only by the social set dominated by
his high-minded father, but by his own less re-
putable coterie, which, however lax in its moral
code, had very little use for a coward.
Such was the gossip which had reached Violet's
ears in connection with this new client, prejudicing
her altogether against him till she caught that
beam of deep and concentrated suffering in his eye
and recognized an innocence which ensured her
sympathy and led her to grant him the interview
for which he so earnestly entreated.
He came prompt to the hour, and when she
saw him again with the marks of a sleepless night
upon him and all the signs of suffering intensified
in his unusual countenance, she felt her heart sink
within her in a way she failed to understand. A
dread of what she was about to hear robbed her of


IIO
The Grotto Spectre
all semblance of self-possession, and she stood like
one in a dream as he uttered his first greetings and
then paused to gather up his own moral strength
before he began his story. When he did speak it
was to say:
"I find myself obliged to break a vow I have
made to myself. You cannot understand my need
unless I show you my heart. My trouble is not
the one with which men have credited me. It has
another source and is infinitely harder to bear.
Personal dishonour I have deserved in a greater
or less degree, but the trial which has come to me
now involves a person more dear to me than
myself, and is totally without alleviation unless
you—” He paused, choked, then recommenced
abruptly: "My wife”- Violet held her breath-
"was supposed to have died from heart-disease or
—or some strange species of suicide. There were
reasons for this conclusion-reasons which I ac-
cepted without serious question till some five weeks
ago when I made a discovery which led me to
fear- "
The broken sentence hung suspended. Violet,
notwithstanding his hurried gesture, could not
restrain herself from stealing a look at his face.
It was set in horror and, though partially turned
aside, made an appeal to her compassion to fill


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
III
the void made by his silence, without further
suggestion from him.
She did this by saying tentatively and with as
little show of emotion as possible:
“You feared that the event called for vengeance
and that vengeance would mean increased suffer-
ing to yourself as well as to another?"
“Yes; great suffering. But I may be under a
most lamentable mistake. I am not sure of my
conclusions. If my doubts have no real founda-
tion-if they are simply the offspring of my own
diseased imagination, what an insult to one I
revere! What a horror of ingratitude and
misunderstanding-
"Relate the facts,” came in startled tones from
Violet. “They may enlighten us.”
He gave one quick shudder, buried his face for
one moment in his hands, then lifted it and
spoke up quickly and with unexpected firmness:
"I came here to do so and do so I will. But
where begin? Miss Strange, you cannot be
ignorant of the circumstances, open and avowed,
which attended my wife's death. But there were
other and secret events in its connection which
happily have been kept from the world, but which
I must now disclose to you at any cost to my pride
and so-called honour. This is the first one: On


II2
The Grotto Spectre
the morning preceding the day of Mrs. Upjohn's
death, an interview took place between us at which
my father was present. You do not know my
father, Miss Strange. A strong man and a stern
one, with a hold upon old traditions which nothing
can shake. If he has a weakness it is for my little
boy Roger in whose promising traits he sees the
one hope which has survived the shipwreck of all
for which our name has stood. Knowing this, and
realizing what the child's presence in the house
meant to his old age, I felt my heart turn sick
with apprehension, when in the midst of the dis-
cussion as to the terms on which my wife would
consent to a permanent separation, the little fellow
came dancing into the room, his curls atoss and his
whole face beaming with life and joy.
"She had not mentioned the child, but I knew
her well enough to be sure that at the first show
of preference on his part for either his grandfather
or myself, she would raise a claim to him which
she would never relinquish. I dared not speak,
but I met his eager looks with my most forbidding
frown and hoped by this show of severity to hold
him back. But his little heart was full and, ignor-
ing her outstretched arms, he bounded towards
mine with his most affectionate cry. She saw and
uttered her ultimatum. The child should go with


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
113
her or she would not consent to a separation. It
was useless for us to talk; she had said her last
word. The blow struck me hard, or so I thought,
till I looked at my father. Never had I beheld
such a change as that one moment had made in
him. He stood as before; he faced us with the same
silent reprobation; but his heart had run from him
like water.
"It was a sight to call up all my resources.
To allow her to remain now, with my feelings to-
wards her all changed and my father's eyes fully
opened to her stony nature, was impossible. Nor
could I appeal to law. An open scandal was my
father's greatest dread and divorce proceedings his
horror. The child would have to go unless I
could find a way to influence her through her own
nature. I knew of but one do not look at me,
Miss Strange. It was dishonouring to us both,
and I am horrified now when I think of it. But to
me at that time it was natural enough as a last
resort. There was but one debt which my wife
ever paid, but one promise she ever kept. It was
that made at the gaming-table. I offered, as soon
as my father, realizing the hopelessness of the
situation, had gone tottering from the room,
to gamble with her for the child.
“And she accepted."


114
The Grotto Spectre
The shame and humiliation expressed in this final
whisper; the sudden darkness—for a storm was
coming up-shook Violet to the soul. With
strained gaze fixed on the man before her, now little
more than a shadow in the prevailing gloom, she
waited for him to resume, and waited in vain.
The minutes passed, the darkness became intoler-
able, and instinctively her hand crept towards the
electric button beneath which she was sitting.
But she failed to press it. A tale so dark called for
an atmosphere of its own kind. She would cast
no light upon it. Yet she shivered as the silence
continued, and started in uncontrollable dismay
when at length her strange visitor rose, and still,
without speaking, walked away from her to the
other end of the room. Only so could he go on
with the shameful tale; and presently she heard
his voice once more in these words:
“Our house is large and its rooms many; but for
such work as we two contemplated there was but
one spot where we could command absolute seclu-
sion. You may have heard of it, a famous natural
grotto hidden in our own portion of the coast and
so fitted up as to form a retreat for our miserable
selves when escape from my father's eye seemed
desirable. It was not easy of access, and no one,
so far as we knew, had ever followed us there.


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
115
But to ensure ourselves against any possible in-
terruption, we waited till the whole house was abed
before we left it for the grotto. We went by boat
and oh! the dip of those oars! I hear them yet.
And the witchery of her face in the moonlight;
and the mockery of her low fitful laugh! As I
caught the sinister note in its silvery rise and fall,
I knew what was before me if I failed to retain my
composure. And I strove to hold it and to meet
her calmness with stoicism and the taunt of her
expression with a mask of immobility. But the
effort was hopeless, and when the time came for
dealing out the cards, my eyes were burning in
their sockets and my hands shivering like leaves
in a rising gale.
“We played one game and my wife lost. We
played another-and my wife won. We played
the third-and the fate I had foreseen from the
first became mine. The luck was with her, and
I had lost my boy!”
A gasp-a pause, during which the thunder
spoke and the lightning flashed,—then a hurried
catching of his breath and the tale went on.
“A burst of laughter, rising gaily above the
boom 'of the sea, announced her victory-her
laugh and the taunting words: 'You play badly,
Roger. The child is mine. Never fear that I


116
The Grotto Spectre
shall fail to teach him to revere his father.' Had
I a word to throw back? No. When I realized
anything but my dishonoured manhood, I found
myself in the grotto's mouth staring helplessly out
upon the sea. The boat which had floated us in
at high tide lay stranded but a few feet away, but
I did not reach for it. Escape was quicker over
the rocks, and I made for the rocks.
“That it was a cowardly act to leave her there
to find her way back alone at midnight by the same
rough road I was taking, did not strike my mind
for an instant. I was in flight from my own past;
in flight from myself and the haunting dread of
madness. When I awoke to reality again it was to
find the small door, by which we had left the house,
standing slightly ajar. I was troubled by this, for
I was sure of having closed it. But the impression
was brief, and entering, I went stumbling up to my
room, leaving the way open behind me more from
sheer inability to exercise my will than from any
thought of her.
“Miss Strange" (he had come out of the
shadows and was standing now directly before
her), “I must ask you to trust implicitly in what I
tell you of my further experiences that fatal night.
It was not necessary for me to pass my little son's
door in order to reach the room I was making for:


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
117
but anguish took me there and held me glued to the
panels for what seemed a long, long time. When
I finally crept away it was to go to the room I had
chosen in the top of the house, where I had my hour
of hell and faced my desolated future. Did I hear
anything meantime in the halls below? No.
Did I even listen for the sound of her return? No.
I was callous to everything, dead to everything but
my own misery. I did not even heed the approach
of morning, till suddenly, with a shrillness no ear
could ignore, there rose, tearing through the silence
of the house, that great scream from my wife's
room which announced the discovery of her body
lying stark and cold in her bed.
“They said I showed little feeling." He had
moved off again and spoke from somewhere in the
shadows. “Do you wonder at this after such a
manifest stroke by a benevolent Providence? My
wife being dead, Roger was saved to us! It was
the one song of my still undisciplined soul, and I
had to assume coldness lest they should see the
greatness of my joy. A wicked and guilty rejoic-
ing you will say, and you are right. But I had
no memory then of the part I had played in this
fatality. I had forgotten my reckless flight from
the grotto, which left her with no aid but that of
her own triumphant spirit to help her over those
m


118
The Grotto Spectre
treacherous rocks. The necessity for keeping
secret this part of our disgraceful story led me to
exert myself to keep it out of my own mind. It
has only come back to me in all its force since a
new horror, a new suspicion, has driven me to
review carefully every incident of that awful night.
"I was never a man of much logic, and when they
came to me on that morning of which I have just
spoken and took me in where she lay and pointed
to her beautiful cold body stretched out in seeming
peace under the satin coverlet, and then to the
pile of dainty clothes lying neatly folded on a chair
with just one fairy slipper on top, I shuddered at
her fate but asked no questions, not even when one
of the women of the house mentioned the circum-
stance of the single slipper and said that a search
should be made for its mate. Nor was I as much
impressed as one would naturally expect by the
whisper dropped in my ear that something was the
matter with her wrists. It is true that I lifted the
lace they had carefully spread over them and
examined the discoloration which extended like a
ring about each pearly arm; but having no
memories of any violence offered her (I had not
so much as laid hand upon her in the grotto), these
marks failed to rouse my interest. But-and now
I must leap a year in my story—there came a


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
119
as
time when both of these facts recurred to my mind
with startling distinctness and clamoured for
explanation.
“I had risen above the shock which such a death
following such events would naturally occasion
even in one of my blunted sensibilities, and was
striving to live a new life under the encouragement
of my now fully reconciled father, when accident
forced me to re-enter the grotto where I had never
stepped foot since that night. A favourite dog
in chase of some innocent prey had escaped the
leash and run into its dim recesses and would not
come out at my call. As I needed him imme-
diately for the hunt, I followed him over the
promontory and, swallowing my repugnance, slid
into the grotto to get him. Better a plunge to
my death from the height of the rocks towering
above it. For there in a remote corner, lighted
up by a reflection from the sea, I beheld my setter
crouched above an object which in another mo-
ment I recognized as my dead wife's missing slipper.
Here! Not in the waters of the sea or in the inter-
stices of the rocks outside, but here! Proof that
she had never walked back to the house where she
was found lying quietly in her bed; proof positive;
for I knew the path too well and the more than usual
tenderness of her feet.


I20
The Grotto Spectre
"How then, did she get there; and by whose
agency? Was she living when she went, or was
she already dead? A year had passed since that
delicate shoe had borne her from the boat into
these dim recesses; but it might have been only
a day, so vividly did I live over in this moment
of awful enlightenment all the events of the hour
in which we sat there playing for the possession
of our child. Again I saw her gleaming eyes, her
rosy, working mouth, her slim, white hand, loaded
with diamonds, clutching the cards. Again I
heard the lap of the sea on the pebbles outside
and smelt the odour of the wine she had poured
out for us both. The bottle which had held it;
the glass from which she had drunk lay now in
pieces on the rocky floor. The whole scene was
mine again and as I followed the event to its de-
spairing close, I seemed to see my own wild figure
springing away from her to the grotto's mouth and
so over the rocks. But here fancy faltered, caught
by a quick recollection to which I had never given
a thought till now. As I made my way along those
rocks, a sound had struck my ear from where
some stunted bushes made a shadow in the moon-
light. The wind might have caused it or some small
night creature hustling away at my approach; and
to some such cause I must at the time have


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
121
attributed it. But now, with brain fired by sus-
picion, it seemed more like the quick intake of a
human breath. Some one had been lying there in
wait, listening at the one loophole in the rocks
where it was possible to hear what was said and
done in the heart of the grotto. But who? who?
and for what purpose this listening; and to what
end did it lead?
“Though I no longer loved even the memory of
my wife, I felt my hair lift, as I asked myself these
questions. There seemed to be but one logical
answer to the last, and it was this: A struggle
followed by death. The shoe fallen from her foot,
the clothes found folded in her room (my wife was
never orderly), and the dimly blackened wrists
which were snow-white when she dealt the cards-
all seemed to point to such a conclusion. She
may have died from heart-failure, but a struggle
had preceded her death, during which some man's
strong fingers had been locked about her wrists.
And again the question rose, Whose ?
"If any place was ever hated by mortal man
that grotto was hated by me. I loathed its walls,
its floor, its every visible and invisible corner.
To linger there--to look-almost tore my soul
from my body; yet I did linger and did look and
this is what I found by way of reward.


122
The Grotto Spectre
"Behind a projecting ledge of stone from which
a tattered rug still hung, I came upon two nails
driven a few feet apart into a fissure of the rock.
I had driven those nails myself long before for a
certain gymnastic attachment much in vogue at
the time, and on looking closer, I discovered hang-
ing from them the rope-ends by which I was won't
to pull myself about. So far there was nothing to
rouse any but innocent reminiscences. But when
I heard the dog's low moan and saw him leap at
the curled-up ends, and nose them with an eager
look my way, I remembered the dark marks
circling the wrists about which I had so often
clasped my mother's bracelets, and the world
went black before me.
“When consciousness returned-when I could
once more move and see and think, I noted an-
other fact. Cards were strewn about the floor,
face up and in a fixed order as if laid in a mocking
mood to be looked upon by reluctant eyes; and
near the ominous half-circle they made, a cushion
from the lounge, stained horribly with what I
then thought to be blood, but which I afterwards
found to be wine. Vengeance spoke in those ropes
and in the carefully spread-out cards, and murder
in the smothering pillow. The vengeance of one
who had watched her corroding influence eat the


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
123
life out of my honour and whose love for our little
Roger was such that any deed which ensured his
continued presence in the home appeared not
only warrantable but obligatory. Alas! I knew
of but one person in the whole world who could
cherish feeling to this extent or possess sufficient
will power to carry her lifeless body back to the
house and lay it in her bed and give no sign of
the abominable act from that day on to this.
“Miss Strange, there are men who have a
peculiar conception of duty. My father "
“You need not go on.” How gently, how
tenderly our Violet spoke. “I understand your
trouble
Did she? She paused to ask herself if this were
so, and he, deaf perhaps to her words, caught up
his broken sentence and went on:
"My father was in the hall the day I came
staggering in from my visit to the grotto. No
words passed, but our eyes met and from that
hour I have seen death in his countenance and he
has seen it in mine, like two opponents, each struck
to the heart, who stand facing each other with
simulated smiles till they fall. My father will
drop first. He is old—very old since that day five
weeks ago; and to see him die and not be sure-
to see the grave close over a possible innocence,


124
The Grotto Spectre
and I left here in ignorance of the blissful fact till
my own eyes close forever, is more than I can hold
up under; more than any son could. Cannot you
help me then to a positive knowledge? Think!
think! A woman's mind is strangely penetrating,
and yours, I am told, has an intuitive faculty more
to be relied upon than the reasoning of men. It
must suggest some means of confirming my doubts
or of definitely ending them."
Then Violet stirred and looked about at him
and finally found voice.
“Tell me something about your father's ways.
What are his habits? Does he sleep well or is he
wakeful at night?"
"He has poor nights. I do not know how poor
because I am not often with him. His valet, who
has always been in our family, shares his room and
acts as his constant nurse. He can watch over him
better than I can; he has no distracting trouble
on his mind."
“And little Roger? Does your father see much
of little Roger? Does he fondle him and seem
happy in his presence?".
“Yes; yes. I have often wondered at it, but
he does. They are great chums. It is a pleasure
to see them together."
“And the child clings to him-shows no fear-


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
125
sits on his lap or on the bed and plays as children
do play with his beard or with his watch-chain?"
“Yes. Only once have I seen my little chap
shrink, and that was when my father gave him a
look of unusual intensity,-looking for his mother
in him perhaps.”
"Mr. Upjohn, forgive me the question; it seems
necessary. Does your father-or rather did your
father before he fell ill—ever walk in the direction
of the grotto or haunt in any way the rocks which
surround it?"
"I cannot say. The sea is there; he naturally
loves the sea. But I have never seen him standing
on the promontory."
“Which way do his windows look?"
"Towards the sea."
“Therefore towards the promontory?”
“Yes.”
“Can he see it from his bed?”
“No. Perhaps that is the cause of a peculiar
habit he has.”
“What habit?"
"Every night before he retires (he is not yet
confined to his bed) he stands for a few minutes
in his front window looking out. He says it's
his good-night to the ocean. When he no longer
does this, we shall know that his end is very near."


126
The Grotto Spectre
The face of Violet began to clear. Rising, she
turned on the electric light, and then, reseating
herself, remarked with an aspect of quiet cheer:
"I have two ideas; but they necessitate my
presence at your place. You will not mind a
visit? My brother will accompany me."
Roger Upjohn did not need to speak, hardly to
make a gesture; his expression was so eloquent.
She thanked him as if he had answered in words,
adding with an air of gentle reserve: "Providence
assists us in this matter. I am invited to Beverly
next week to attend a wedding. I was intending
to stay two days, but I will make it three and
spend the extra one with you."
“What are your requirements, Miss Strange?
I presume you have some."
Violet turned from the imposing portrait of
Mr. Upjohn which she had been gravely contem-
plating, and met the troubled eye of her young
host with an enigmatical flash of her own. But
she made no answer in words. Instead, she lifted
her right hand and ran one slender finger thought-
fully up the casing of the door near which they
stood till it struck a nick in the old mahogany
almost on a level with her head.
“Is your son Roger old enough to reach so


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
127
far?" she asked with another short look at him as
she let her finger rest where it had struck the
roughened wood. “I thought he was a little
fellow.”
“He is. That cut was made by—by my wife;
a sample of her capricious wilfulness. She wished
to leave a record of herself in the substance of
our house as well as in our lives. That nick marks
her height. She laughed when she made it.
'Till the walls cave in or burn,' is what she said.
And I thought her laugh and smile captivating.”
Cutting short his own laugh which was much
too sardonic for a lady's ears, he made a move
as if to lead the way into another portion of
the room. But Violet failed to notice this, and
lingering in quiet contemplation of this sugges-
tive little nick,—the only blemish in a room of
ancient colonial magnificence,-she thoughtfully
remarked:
“Then she was a small woman?” adding with
seeming irrelevance"like myself.”
Roger winced. Something in the suggestion
hurt him, and in the nod he gave there was an air
of coldness which under ordinary circumstances
would have deterred her from pursuing this sub-
ject further. But the circumstances were not
ordinary, and she allowed herself to say:


128
The Grotto Spectre
“Was she so very different from me,-in figure,
I mean?"
"No. Why do you ask? Shall we not join
your brother on the terrace?”
"Not till I have answered the question you put
me a moment ago. You wished to know my
requirements. One of the most important you
have already fulfilled. You have given your
servants a half-holiday and by so doing ensured to
us full liberty of action. What else I need in the
attempt I propose to make, you will find listed in
this memorandum." And taking a slip of paper
from her bag, she offered it to him with a hand,
the trembling of which he would have noted had he
been freer in mind.
As he read, she watched him, her fingers
nervously clutching her throat.
“Can you supply what I ask?” she faltered, as
he failed to raise his eyes or make any move or
even to utter the groan she saw surging up to his
lips. “Will you?" she impetuously urged, as
his fingers closed spasmodically on the paper, in
evidence that he understood at last the trend of
her daring purpose.
The answer came slowly, but it came. “I will,
But what "
Her hand rose in a pleading gesture.


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
129
"Do not ask me, but take Arthur and myself
into the garden and show us the flowers. After-
wards, I should like a glimpse of the sea.”
He bowed and they joined Arthur who had
already begun to stroll through the grounds.
Violet was seldom at a loss for talk even at the
most critical moments. But she was strangely
tongue-tied on this occasion, as was Roger himself.
Save for a few observations casually thrown out
by Arthur, the three passed in a disquieting silence
through pergola after pergola, and around beds
gorgeous with every variety of fall flowers, till they
turned a sharp corner and came in full view of the
sea.
“Ah!” fell in an admiring murmur from Violet's
lips as her eyes swept the horizon. Then as they
settled on a mass of rock jutting out from the shore
in a great curve, she leaned towards her host and
softly whispered:
“The promontory?".
He nodded, and Violet ventured no farther, but
stood for a little while gazing at the tumbled rocks.
Then, with a quick look back at the house, she
asked him to point out his father's window.
He did so, and as she noted how openly it faced
the sea, her expression relaxed and her manner
lost some of its constraint. As they turned to


130
The Grotto Spectre
re-enter the house, she noticed an old man picking
flowers from a vine clambering over one end of the
piazza.
“Who is that?" she asked.
“Our oldest servant, and my father's own man,"
was Roger's reply. “He is picking my father's
favourite flowers, a few late honeysuckles."
"How fortunate! Speak to him, Mr. Upjohn.
Ask him how your father is this evening."
"Accompany me and I will; and do not be
afraid to enter into conversation with him. He is
the mildest of creatures and devoted to his patient.
He likes nothing better than to talk about him."
Violet, with a meaning look at her brother, ran
up the steps at Roger's side. As she did so, the
old man turned and Violet was astonished at the
wistfulness with which he viewed her.
“What a dear old creature!" she murmured.
"See how he stares this way. You would think
he knew me.”
“He is glad to see a woman about the place. He
has felt our isolation-Good-evening, Abram.
Let this young lady have a spray of your sweetest
honeysuckle. And, Abram, before you go, how
is Father to-night? Still sitting up?”.
“Yes, sir. He is very regular in his ways.
Nine is his hour; not a minute before and not a


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
131
minute later. I don't have to look at the clock
when he says: 'There, Abram, I've sat up long
enough.""
"When my father retires before his time or goes
to bed without a final look at the sea, he will be a
very sick man, Abram."
“That he will, Mr. Roger; that he will. But he's
very feeble to-night, very feeble. I noticed that he
gave the boy fewer kisses than usual. Perhaps he
was put out because the child was brought in a
half-hour earlier than the stated time. He don't
like changes; you know that, Mr. Roger; he don't
like changes. I hardly dared to tell him that
the servants were all going out in a bunch to-
night."
“I'm sorry," muttered Roger. “But he'll for-
get it by to-morrow. I couldn't bear to keep a
single one from the concert. They'll be back in
good season and meantime we have you. Abram
is worth half a dozen of them, Miss Strange. We
shall miss nothing."
“Thank you, Mr. Roger, thank you," faltered
the old man. “I try to do my duty." And with
another wistful glance at Violet, who looked very
sweet and youthful in the half-light, he pottered
away.
The silence which followed his departure was as


132
The Grotto Spectre
Q
painful to her as to Roger Upjohn. When she
broke it it was with this decisive remark:
"That man must not speak of me to your father.
He must not even mention that you have a guest
to-night. Run after him and tell him so. It is
necessary that your father's mind should not be
taken up with present happenings. Run."
Roger made haste to obey her. When he came
back she was on the point of joining her brother
but stopped to utter a final injunction:
"I shall leave the library, or wherever we may
be sitting, just as the clock strikes half-past eight.
Arthur will do the same, as by that time he will
feel like smoking on the terrace. Do not follow
either him or myself, but take your stand here on
the piazza where you can get a full view of the
right-hand wing without attracting any attention
to yourself. When you hear the big clock in the
hall strike nine, look up quickly at your father's
window. What you see may determine Oh,
Arthur! still admiring the prospect? I do not
wonder. But I find it chilly. Let us go in."
Roger Upjohn, sitting by himself in the library,
was watching the hands of the mantel clock slowly
approaching the hour of nine.
Never had silence seemed more oppressive nor


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
133
en was
nan
his sense of loneliness greater. Yet the boom of
the ocean was distinct to the ear, and human
presence no farther away than the terrace where
Arthur Strange could be seen smoking out his cigar
in solitude. The silence and the loneliness were
in Roger's own soul; and, in face of the expected
revelation which would make or unmake his future,
the desolation they wrought was measureless.
To cut his suspense short, he rose at length and
hurried out to the spot designated by Miss Strange
as the best point from which to keep watch upon
his father's window. It was at the end of the
piazza where the honeysuckle hung, and the odour
of the blossoms, so pleasing to his father, well-
nigh overpowered him not only by its sweetness
but by the many memories it called up. Visions
of that father as he looked at all stages of their
relationship passed in a bewildering maze before
him. He saw him as he appeared to his childish
eyes in those early days of confidence when the
loss of the mother cast them in mutual dependence
upon each other. Then a sterner picture of the
relentless parent who sees but one straight course
to success in this world and the next. Then the
teacher and the matured adviser; and then-oh,
bitter change! the man whose hopes he had crossed
-whose life he had undone, and all for her who


134
The Grotto Spectre
now came stealing upon the scene with her slim,
white, jewelled hand forever lifted up between
them. And she! Had he ever seen her more
clearly? Once more the dainty figure stepped
from fairy-land, beauteous with every grace that
can allure and finally destroy a man. And as he
saw, he trembled and wished that these moments
of awful waiting might pass and the test be over
which would lay bare his father's heart and justify
his fears or dispel them forever.
But the crisis, if crisis it was, was one of his own
making and not to be hastened or evaded. With
one quick glance at his father's window, he turned
in his impatience towards the sea whose restless
and continuous moaning had at length struck his
ear. What was in its call to-night that he should
thus sway towards it as though drawn by some
dread magnetic force? He had been born to the
dashing of its waves and knew its every mood and
all the passion of its song from frolicsome ripple
to melancholy dirge. But there was something
odd and inexplicable in its effect upon his spirit
as he faced it at this hour. Grim and implacable
a sound rather than a sight-it seemed to hold
within its invisible distances the image of his future
fate. What this image was and why he should
seek for it in this impenetrable void, he did not


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
135
know. He felt himself held and was struggling
with this influence as with an unknown enemy
when there rang out, from the hall within, the pre-
paratory chimes for which his ear was waiting, and
then the nine slow strokes which signalized the
moment when he was to look for his father's
presence at the window.
Had he wished, he could not have forborne that
look. Had his eyes been closing in death, or so he
felt, the trembling lids would have burst apart
at this call and the revelations it promised.
And what did he see? What did that window
hold for him?
Nothing that he might not have seen there any
night at this hour. His father's figure drawn up
behind the panes in wistful contemplation of the
night. No visible change in his attitude, nothing
forced or unusual in his manner. Even the hand,
lifted to pull down the shade, moves with its
familiar hesitation. In a moment more that shade
will be down and— But no! the lifted hand falls
back; the easy attitude becomes strained, fixed.
He is staring now—not merely gazing out upon the
wastes of sky and sea; and Roger, following the
direction of his glance, stares also in breathless
emotion at what those distances, but now so im-
penetrable, are giving to the eye.


136
The Grotto Spectre
A spectre floating in the air above the promon-
tory! The spectre of a woman-of his wife, clad,
as she had been clad that fatal night! Outlined in
supernatural light, it faces them with lifted arms
showing the ends of rope dangling from either
wrist. A sight awful to any eye, but to the man
of guilty heart-
Ah! it comes—the cry for which the agonized
son had been listening! An old man's shriek,
hoarse with the remorse of sleepless nights and
days of unimaginable regret and foreboding! It
cuts the night. It cuts its way into his heart. He
feels his senses failing him, yet he must glance
once more at the window and see with his last
conscious look- But what is this! a change has
taken place in the picture and he beholds, not the
distorted form of his father sinking back in shame
and terror before this visible image of his secret
sin, but that of another weak, old man falling to
the floor behind his back! Abram! the attentive,
seemingly harmless, guardian of the household!
Abram! who had never spoken a word or given a
look in any way suggestive of his having played
any other part in the hideous drama of their lives
than that of the humble and sympathetic servant!
The shock was too great, the relief too absolute
for credence. He, the listener at the grotto? He,


Problem 4 for Violet Strange
137
the avenger of the family's honour? He, the
insurer of little Roger's continuance with the
family at a cost the one who loved him best would
rather have died himself than pay? Yes! there is
no misdoubting this old servitor's attitude of
abject appeal, or the meaning of Homer Upjohn's
joyfully uplifted countenance and outspreading
arms. The servant begs for mercy from man,
and the master is giving thanks to Heaven. Why
giving thanks? Has he been the prey of cankering
doubts also ? Has the father dreaded to discover
that in the son which the son has dreaded to
discover in the father?
It might easily be; and as Roger recognizes
this truth and the full tragedy of their mutual
lives, he drops to his knees amid the honeysuckles.
“Violet, you are a wonder. But how did you
dare?”
This from Arthur as the two rode to the train
in the early morning.
The answer came a bit waveringly.
"I do not know. I am astonished yet, at my
own daring. Look at my hands. They have not
ceased trembling since the moment you threw the
light upon me on the rocks. The figure of old
Mr. Upjohn in the window looked so august."


138
The Grotto Spectre
Arthur, with a short glance at the little hands
she held out, shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly.
It struck him that the tremulousness she com-
plained of was due more to some parting word
from their young host, than from prolonged awe
at her own daring. But he made no remark to
this effect, only observed:
“Abram has confessed his guilt, I hear."
“Yes, and will die of it. The master will bury
the man, and not the man the master.”
“And Roger? Not the little fellow, but the
father?”
“We will not talk of him," said she, her eyes
seeking the sea where the sun in its rising was
battling with a troop of lowering clouds and
slowly gaining the victory.
END OF PROBLEM IV


PROBLEM V
THE DREAMING LADY
“ AND this is all you mean to tell me?”
“I think you will find it quite enough, Miss
Strange."
"Just the address
"And this advice: that your call be speedy.
Distracted nerves cannot wait.”
Violet, across whose wonted piquancy there lay
an indefinable shadow, eyed her employer with a
doubtful air before turning away toward the door.
She had asked him for a case to investigate (some-
thing she had never done before), and she had
even gone so far as to particularize the sort of
case she desired: “It must be an interesting one,"
she had stipulated, “but different, quite different
from the last one. It must not involve death or
any kind of horror. If you have a case of subtlety
without crime, one to engage my powers without
depressing my spirits, I beg you to let me have it.
I-I have not felt quite like myself since I came
139


140
The Dreaming Lady
from Massachusetts.” Whereupon, without fur-
ther comment, but with a smile she did not under-
stand, he had handed her a small slip of paper on
which he had scribbled an address. She should
have felt satisfied, but for some reason she did not.
She regarded him as capable of plunging her into
an affair quite the reverse of what she felt herself
in a condition to undertake.
"I should like to know a little more," she pur-
sued, making a move to unfold the slip he had
given her.
But he stopped her with a gesture.
“Read it in your limousine," said he. “If you
are disappointed then, let me know. But I think
you will find yourself quite ready for your task.”
“And my father?”
“Would approve if he could be got to approve
the business at all. You do not even need to take
your brother with you."
“Oh, then, it's with women only I have to deal?"
“Read the address after you are headed up
Fifth Avenue."
But when, with her doubts not yet entirely re-
moved, she opened the small slip he had given her,
the number inside suggested nothing but the fact
that her destination lay somewhere near Eightieth


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
141
Street. It was therefore with the keenest surprise
she beheld her motor stop before the conspicuous
house of the great financier whose late death had so
affected the money-market. She had not had any
acquaintance with this man herself, but she knew
his house. Everyone knew that. It was one of
the most princely in the whole city. C. Dudley
Brooks had known how to spend his millions.
Indeed he had known how to do this so well that
it was of him her father, also a financier of some
note, had once said he was the only successful
American he envied.
She was expected; that she saw the instant the
door was opened. This made her entrance easy-
an entrance further brightened by the delightful
glimpse of a child's cherubic face looking at her
from a distant doorway. It was an instantaneous
vision, gone as soon as seen; but its effect was to
rob the pillared spaces of the wonderful hallway
of some of their chill, and to modify in some slight
degree the formality of a service which demanded
three men to usher her into a small reception-room
not twenty feet from the door of entrance.
Left in this secluded spot, she had time to ask
herself what member of the household she would be
called upon to meet, and was surprised to find that
she did not even know of whom the household


142
The Dreaming Lady
consisted. She was sure of the fact that Mr.
Brooks had been a widower for many years before
his death, but beyond that she knew nothing of his
domestic life. His son—but was there a son? She
had never heard any mention made of a younger
Mr. Brooks, yet there was certainly some one
of his connection who enjoyed the rights of an
heir Him she must be prepared to meet with
all due composure, whatever astonishment he
might show at the sight of a slip of a girl instead
of the experienced detective he had every right
to expect.
But when the door opened to admit the person
she was awaiting, the surprise was hers. It was a
woman who stood before her, a woman and an
oddity. Yet, in just what her oddity lay, Violet
found it difficult to decide. Was it in the
smoothness of her white locks drawn carefully
down over her ears, or in the contrast afforded
by her eager eyes and her weak and tremulous
mouth? She was dressed in the heaviest of
mourning and very expensively, but there was
that in her bearing and expression which made
it impossible to believe that she took any interest
in her garments or even knew in which of her
dresses she had been attired.
"I am the person you have come here to see,”


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
143
she said. “Your name is not unfamiliar to me,
but you may not know mine. It is Quintard;
Mrs. Quintard. I am in difficulty. I need assist-
ance-secret assistance. I did not know where to
go for it except to a detective agency; so I tele-
phoned to the first one I saw advertised; and-and
I was told to expect Miss Strange. But I didn't
think it would be you though I suppose it's all
right. You have come here for this purpose,
haven't you, though it does seem a little queer?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Quintard; and if you will tell
me
"
“My dear, it's just this-yes, I will sit down.
Last week my brother died. You have heard
of him no doubt, C. Dudley Brooks?”.
“Oh, yes; my father knew him—we all knew him
by reputation. Do not hurry, Mrs. Quintard. I
have sent my car away. You can take all the time
you wish.”
“No, no, I cannot. I'm in desperate haste.
Hebut let me go on with my story. My brother
was a widower, with no children to inherit. That
everybody knows. But his wife left behind her a
son by a former husband, and this son of hers my
brother had in a measure adopted, and even made
his sole heir in a will he drew up during the lifetime
of his wife. But when he found, as he very soon


144
The Dreaming Lady
did, that this young man was not developing in a
way to meet such great responsibilities, he made a
new will—though unhappily without the know-
ledge of the family, or even of his most intimate
friends-in which he gave the bulk of his great
estate to his nephew Clement, who has bettered
the promise of his youth and who besides has
children of great beauty whom my brother had
learned to love. And this will—this hoarded scrap
of paper which means so much to us all, is lost!
lost! and I—" here her voice which had risen
almost to a scream, sank to a horrified whisper,
"am the one who lost it.”
“But there's a copy of it somewhere there is
always a copy- "
"Oh, but you haven't heard all. My nephew
is an invalid; has been an invalid for years—that's
why so little is known about him. He's dying
of consumption. The doctors hold out no hope
for him, and now, with the fear preying upon
him of leaving his wife and children penniless,
he is wearing away so fast that any hour may see
his end. And I have to meet his eyes—such
pitiful eyes—and the look in them is killing me.
Yet, I was not to blame. I could not help—Oh,
Miss Strange," she suddenly broke in with the
inconsequence of extreme feeling, “the will is in


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
145
the house! I never carried it off the floor where I
sleep. Find it; find it, I pray, or ”
The moment had come for Violet's soft touch,
for Violet's encouraging word.
"I will try," she answered her.
Mrs. Quintard grew calmer.
“But, first,” the young girl continued, “I must
know more about the conditions. Where is this
nephew of yours—the man who is ill?”
"In this house, where he has been for the last
eight months.”
“Was the child his of whom I caught a glimpse
in the hall as I came in?”
“Yes, and "
"I will fight for that child!” Violet cried out
impulsively. "I am sure his father's cause is
good. Where is the other claimant—the one
you designate as Carlos?”
“Oh, there's where the trouble is! Carlos is on
the Mauretania, and she is due here in a couple of
days. He comes from the East where he has been
touring with his wife. Miss Strange, the lost will
must be found before then, or the other will be
opened and read and Carlos made master of this
house, which would mean our quick departure and
Clement's certain death."
“Move a sick man?-a relative as low as you say
OU
10


146
The Dreaming Lady
he is? Oh no, Mrs. Quintard; no one would do
that, were the house a cabin and its owners
paupers.”
“You do not know Carlos; you do not know his
wife. We should not be given a week in which to
pack. They have no children and they envy
Clement who has. Our only hope lies in discover-
ing the paper which gives us the right to remain
here in face of all opposition. That or penury.
Now you know my trouble."
“And it is trouble; one from which I shall make
every effort to relieve you. But first let me ask if
you are not worrying unnecessarily about this
missing document? If it was drawn up by Mr.
Brooks's lawyer— ".
“But it was not," that lady impetuously inter-
rupted. “His lawyer is Carlos's near relative, and
has never been told of the change in my brother's
intentions. Clement (I am speaking now of my
brother and not of my nephew) was a great
money-getter, but when it came to standing up for
his rights in domestic matters, he was ore timid
than a child. He was subject to his wife while
she lived, and when she was gone, to her relatives,
who are all of a dominating character. When he
finally made up his mind to do us justice and
eliminate Carlos, he went out of town-I wish


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
147
se
I could remember where — and had this will
drawn up by a stranger, whose name I cannot
recall."
Her shaking tones, her nervous manner betrayed
a weakness equalling, if not surpassing, that of the
brother who dared in secret what he had not
strength to acknowledge openly, and it was with
some hesitation Violet prepared to ask those
definite questions which would elucidate the cause
and manner of a loss seemingly so important.
She dreaded to hear some commonplace tale of
inexcusable carelessness. Something subtler than
this—the presence of some unsuspected agency
opposed to young Clement's interest; some par-
tisan of Carlos; some secret undermining force in
a house full of servants and dependants, seemed
necessary for the development of so ordinary a
situation into a drama justifying the exercise of
her special powers.
“I think I understand now your exact position
in the house, as well as the value of the paper which
you say you have lost. The next thing for me to
hear is how you came to have charge of this paper,
and under what circumstances you were led to
mislay it. Do you not feel quite ready to tell
me?”
"Is—is that necessary?” Mrs. Quintard faltered.


148
The Dreaming Lady
“Very,” replied Violet, watching her curiously.
“I didn't expectthat is, I hoped you would be
able to point out, by some power we cannot of
course explain, just the spot where the paper lies,
without having to tell all that. Some people can,
you know.”
“Ah, I understand. You regarded me as unfit
for practical work, and so credited me with occult
powers. But that is where you made a mistake,
Mrs. Quintard; I'm nothing if not practical. And
let me add that I'm as secret as the grave concern-
ing what my clients tell me. If I am to be of any
help to you, I must be made acquainted with every
fact involved in the loss of this valuable paper.
Relate the whole circumstance or dismiss me from
the case. You can have done nothing more foolish
or wrong than many— "
"Oh, don't say things like that!" broke in the
poor woman in a tone of great indignation. "I
have done nothing anyone could call either foolish
or wicked. I am simply very unfortunate, and
being sensitive But this isn't telling the
story. I'll try to make it all clear; but if I do
not, and show any confusion, stop me and help
me out with questions. I-I-oh, where shall I
begin?”
“With your first knowledge of this second will."


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
149
“Thank you, thank you; now I can go on. One
night, shortly after my brother had been given up
by the physicians, I was called to his bedside for a
confidential talk. As he had received that day a
very large amount of money from the bank, I
thought he was going to hand it over to me for
Clement, but it was for something much more
serious than this he had summoned me. When he
was quite sure that we were alone and nobody
anywhere within hearing, he told me that he had
changed his mind as to the disposal of his property
and that it was to Clement and his children, and
not to Carlos, he was going to leave this house and
the bulk of his money. That he had had a new
will drawn up which he showed me ”.
"Showed you?”
“Yes; he made me bring it to him from the safe
where he kept it; and, feeble as he was, he was so
interested in pointing out certain portions of it that
he lifted himself in bed and was so strong and
animated that I thought he was getting better.
But it was a false strength due to the excitement
of the moment, as I saw next day when he suddenly
died.”
"You were saying that you brought the will to
him from his safe. Where was the safe?"
"In the wall over his head. He gave me the


150
The Dreaming Lady
key to open it. This key he took from under his
pillow. I had no trouble in fitting it or in turning
the lock."
“And what happened after you looked at the
will?”
“I put it back. He told me to. But the key I
kept. He said I was not to part with it again till
the time came for me to produce the will."
“And when was that to be?”.
"Immediately after the funeral, if it so happened
that Carlos had arrived in time to attend it. But
if for any reason he failed to be here, I was to let it
lie till within three days of his return, when I was
to take it out in the presence of a Mr. Delahunt
who was to have full charge of it from that time.
Oh, I remember all that well enough! and I meant
most earnestly to carry out his wishes, but— "
“Go on, Mrs. Quintard, pray go on. What hap-
pened? Why couldn't you do what he asked ?".
"Because the will was gone when I went to take
it out. There was nothing to show Mr. Delahunt
but the empty shelf.”.
“Oh, a theft! Just a common theft! Someone
overheard the talk you had with your brother.
But how about the key? You had that?”
“Yes, I had that.”
“Then it was taken from you and returned?
senc


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
151
You must have been careless as to where you kept
it "
"No, I wore it on a chain about my neck.
Though I had no reason to mistrust any one in the
house, I felt that I could not guard this key too
carefully. I even kept it on at night. In fact
it never left me. It was still on my person when
I went into the room with Mr. Delahunt. But the
safe had been opened for all that.”.
“There were two keys to it, then?"
"No; in giving me the key, my brother had
strictly warned me not to lose it, as it had no
duplicate."
"Mrs. Quintard, have you a special confidant
or maid?"
“Yes, my Hetty."
“How much did she know about this key?”.
“Nothing, but that it didn't help the fit of my
dress. Hetty has cared for me for years. There's
no more devoted woman in all New York, nor one
who can be more relied upon to tell the truth.
She is so honest with her tongue that I am bound
to believe her even when she says- "
“What?"
“That it was I and nobody else who took the
will out of the safe last night. That she saw me
come from my brother's room with a folded paper


152
The Dreaming Lady
in my hand, pass with it into the library, and come
out again without it. If this is so, then that will
is somewhere in that great room. But we've looked
in every conceivable place except the shelves,
where it is useless to search. It would take days to
go through them all, and meanwhile Carlos "
“We will not wait for Carlos. We will begin
work at once. But just one other question. How
came Hetty to see you in your walk through the
rooms? Did she follow you?”
“Yes. It's—it's not the first time I have walked
in my sleep. Last night-but she will tell you.
It's a painful subject to me. I will send for her
to meet us in the library.”
“Where you believe this document to lie
hidden?"
“Yes.”
"I am anxious to see the room. It is upstairs,
I believe.”
“Yes."
She had risen and was moving rapidly toward
the door. Violet eagerly followed her.
Let us accompany her in her passage up the
palatial stairway, and realize the effect upon her
of a splendour whose future ownership possibly
depended entirely upon herself.
It was a cold splendour. The merry voices of


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
153
children were lacking in these great halls. Death
past and to come infused the air with solemnity
and mocked the pomp which yet appeared so much
a part of the life here that one could hardly imag-
ine the huge pillared spaces without it.
To Violet, more or less accustomed to fine in-
teriors, the chief interest of this one lay in its
connection with the mystery then occupying her.
Stopping for a moment on the stair, she inquired
of Mrs. Quintard if the loss she so deplored had
been made known to the servants, and was much
relieved to find that, with the exception of Mr.
Delahunt, she had not spoken of it to any one but
Clement. “And he will never mention it," she
declared, “not even to his wife. She has troubles
enough to bear without knowing how near she
stood to a fortune.”
“Oh, she will have her fortune!” Violet confi-
dently replied. “In time, the lawyer who drew up
the will will appear. But what you want is an
immediate triumph over the cold Carlos, and I
hope you may have it. Ah!”.
This expletive was a sigh of sheer surprise.
Mrs. Quintard had unlocked the library door
and Violet had been given her first glimpse of this,
the finest room in New York.
She remembered now that she had often heard
Me


154
The Dreaming Lady
it so characterized, and, indeed, had it been taken
bodily from some historic abbey of the old world,
it could not have expressed more fully, in structure
and ornamentation, the Gothic idea at its best.
All that it lacked were the associations of vanished
centuries, and these, in a measure, were supplied
to the imagination by the studied mellowness of
its tints and the suggestion of age in its carvings.
So much for the room itself, which was but a
shell for holding the great treasure of valuable
books ranged along every shelf. As Violet's eyes
sped over their ranks and thence to the five win-
dows of deeply stained glass which faced her from
the southern end, Mrs. Quintard indignantly
exclaimed:
"And Carlos would turn this into a billiard
room!"
“I do not like Carlos,” Violet returned hotly;
then remembering herself, hastened to ask whether
Mrs. Quintard was quite positive as to this room
being the one in which she had hidden the precious
document.
“You had better talk to Hetty,” said that
lady, as a stout woman of most prepossessing
appearance entered their presence and paused
respectfully just inside the doorway. "Hetty,
you will answer any questions this young lady


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
155
may put. If anyone can help us, she can. But
first, what news from the sick-room?"
"Nothing good. The doctor has just come for
the third time to-day. Mrs. Brooks is crying and
even the children are dumb with fear."
"I will go. I must see the doctor. I must tell
him to keep Clement alive by any means till — "
She did not wait to say what; but Violet under-
stood and felt her heart grow heavy. Could it be
that her employer considered this the gay and easy
task she had asked for?
The next minute she was putting her first
question:
“Hetty, what did you see in Mrs. Quintard's
action last night, to make you infer that she left
the missing document in this room?"
The woman's eyes, which had been respectfully
studying her face, brightened with a relief which
made her communicative. With the self-posses-
sion of a perfectly candid nature, she inquiringly
remarked:
“My mistress has spoken of her infirmity?"
“Yes, and very frankly."
"She walks in her sleep."
“So she said.”
"And sometimes when others are asleep, and
she is not."


156
The Dreaming Lady
“She did not tell me that.”
“She is a very nervous woman and cannot
always keep still when she rouses up at night.
When I hear her rise, I get up too; but, never being
quite sure whether she is sleeping or not, I am
careful to follow her at a certain distance. Last
night I was so far behind her that she had been to
her brother's room and left it before I saw her face."
“Where is his room and where is hers?"
"Hers is in front on this same floor. Mr.
Brooks's is in the rear, and can be reached either
by the hall or by passing through this room into
a small one beyond, which we called his den."
"Describe your encounter. Where were you
standing when you saw her first?"
“In the den I have just mentioned. There was
a bright light in the hall behind me and I could see
her figure quite plainly. She was holding a folded
paper clenched against her breast, and her move-
ment was so mechanical that I was sure she was
asleep. She was coming this way, and in another
moment she entered this room. The door, which
had been open, remained so, and in my anxiety
I crept to it and looked in after her. There was
no light burning here at that hour, but the moon
was shining in in long rays of variously coloured
light. If I had followed her—but I did not. I


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
157
ne.
just stood and watched her long enough to see
her pass through a blue ray, then through a green
one, and then into, if not through, a red one. Ex-
pecting her to walk straight on, and having some
fears of the staircase once she got into the hall, I
hurried around to the door behind you there to
head her off. But she had not yet left this room.
I waited and waited and still she did not come.
Fearing some accident, I finally ventured to ap
proach the door and try it. It was locked. This
alarmed me. She had never locked herself in
anywhere before and I did not know what to make
of it. Some persons would have shouted her name,
but I had been warned against doing that, so I
simply stood where I was, and eventually I heard
the key turn in the lock and saw her come out.
She was still walking stiffly, but her hands were
empty and hanging at her side.”
“And then?”
“She went straight to her room and I after her.
I was sure she was dead asleep by this time."
“And she was?”
“Yes, Miss; but still full of what was on her
mind. I know this because she stopped when she
reached the bedside and began fumbling with the
waist of her wrapper. It was for the key she was
searching, and when her fingers encountered it


158
The Dreaming Lady
hanging on the outside, she opened her wrapper
and thrust it in on her bare skin."
“You saw her do all that?"
"As plainly as I see you now. The light in her
room was burning brightly."
“And after that?".
“She got into bed. It was I who turned off the
light.”
“Has that wrapper of hers a pocket?"
“No, Miss."
"Nor her gown?"
“No, Miss."
“So she could not have brought the paper into
her room concealed about her person?”
"No, Miss; she left it here. It never passed
beyond this doorway."
"But might she not have carried it back to some
place of concealment in the rooms she had left?”
The woman's face changed and a slight flush
showed through the natural brown of her cheeks.
"No," she disclaimed; "she could not have done
that. I was careful to lock the library door behind
her before I ran out into the hall."
“Then,” concluded Violet, with all the emphasis
of conviction, “it is here, and nowhere else we
must look for that document till we find it."
Thus assured of the first step in the task she


160
The Dreaming Lady
The first took in the door, communicating with
the suite ending in Mr. Brooks's bedroom. A
diagram of this segment will show that the only
article of furniture in it was a cabinet.
BOOKS
BOOKS
ODOC
TAALE
It was at this cabinet Miss Strange made her
first stop.
“You have looked this well through?" she
asked as she bent over the glass case on top to
examine the row of mediæval missals displayed
within in a manner to show their wonderful
illuminations.


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
161
more
"Not the case,” explained Hetty. “It is locked
you see and no one has as yet succeeded in finding
the key. But we searched the drawers underneath
with the greatest care. Had we sifted the whole
contents through our fingers, I could not be more
certain that the paper is not there.”
Violet stepped into the next segment.
This was the one dominated by the huge fire-
place. A rug lay before the hearth. To this
Violet pointed.
Quickly the woman answered:
“We not only lifted it, but turned it over."
“And that box at the right?".
"Is full of wood and wood only."
"Did you take out this wood?"
“Every stick."
"And those ashes in the fire-place? Something
has been burned there."
“Yes; but not lately. Besides, those ashes are
all wood ashes. If the least bit of charred paper
had been mixed with them, we should have con-
sidered the matter settled. But you can see for
yourself that no such particle can be found.”
While saying this, she had put the poker into
Violet's hand. “Rake them about, Miss, and
make sure.”
Violet did so, with the result that the poker was
are


162
The Dreaming Lady
soon put back into place, and she herself down on
her knees looking up the chimney.
“Had she thrust it up there," Hetty made haste
to remark, “there would have been some signs of
soot on her sleeves. They are white and very
long and are always getting in her way when she
tries to do anything.".
Violet left the fire-place after a glance at the
mantel-shelf on which nothing stood but a casket
of open fretwork, and two coloured photographs
mounted on small easels. The casket was too
open to conceal anything and the photographs
lifted too high above the shelf for even the smallest
paper, let alone a document of any size, to hide
behind them.
The chairs, of which there were several in this
part of the room, she passed with just an inquiring
look. They were all of solid oak, without any
attempt at upholstery, and although carved to
match the stalls on the other side of the room,
offered no place for search.
Her delay in the third segment was brief.
Here there was absolutely nothing but the door
by which she had entered, and the books. As
she fitted on, following the oval of the wall, a
small frown appeared on her usually smooth
forehead. She felt the oppression of the books-


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
163
the countless books. If indeed, she should find
herself obliged to go through them. What a
hopeless outlook!
But she had still a segment to consider, and after
that the immense table occupying the centre of the
room, a table which in its double capacity (for it
was as much desk as table) gave more promise of
holding the solution of the mystery than anything
to which she had hitherto given her attention.
The quarter in which she now stood was the
most beautiful, and, possibly, the most precious
of them all. In it blazed the five great windows
which were the glory of the room; but there are
no hiding-places in windows, and much as she
revelled in colour, she dared not waste a moment
on them. There was more hope for her in the
towering stalls, with their possible drawers for
books.
But Hetty was before her in the attempt she
made to lift the lids of the two great seats.
"Nothing in either,” said she; and Violet, with
a sigh, turned towards the table.
This was an immense affair, made to accommo-
date itself to the shape of the room, but with a
hollowed-out space on the window-side large
enough to hold a chair for the sitter who would
use its top as a desk. On it were various articles


164
The Dreaming Lady
suitable to its double use. Without being crowded,
it displayed a pile of magazines and pamphlets,
boxes for stationery, a writing pad with its accom-
paniments, a lamp, and some few ornaments,
among which was a large box, richly inlaid with
pearl and ivory, the lid of which stood wide
open.
"Don't touch," admonished Violet, as Hetty
stretched out her hand to move some little object
aside. “You have already worked here busily in
the search you made this morning."
“We handled everything."
“Did you go through these pamphlets?”
“We shook open each one. We were especially
particular here, since it was at this table I saw
Mrs. Quintard stop."
“With head level or drooped?”
“Drooped.”
"Like one looking down, rather than up, or
around?"
“Yes. A ray of red light shone on her sleeve.
It seemed to me the sleeve moved as though she
were reaching out.”
“Will you try to stand as she did and as nearly
in the same place as possible?”
Hetty glanced down at the table edge, marked
where the gules dominated the blue and green, and


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
165
moved to that spot, and paused with her head
sinking slowly towards her breast.
“Very good,” exclaimed Violet. “But the
moon was probably in a very different position
from what the sun is now."
“You are right; it was higher up; I chanced to
notice it.”
“Let me come,” said Violet.
Hetty moved, and Violet took her place but in
a spot a step or two farther front. This brought
her very near to the centre of the table. Hanging
her head, just as Hetty had done, she reached out
her right hand.
"Have you looked under this blotter?" she
asked, pointing towards the pad she touched.
“I mean, between the blotter and the frame
which holds it?"
"I certainly did,” answered Hetty, with some
pride.
Violet remained staring down.
“Then you took off everything that was lying
on it?”
“Oh, yes.”
Violet continued to stare down at the blotter.
Then impetuously:
“Put them back in their accustomed places."
Hetty obeyed.


166
The Dreaming Lady
Violet continued to look at them, then slowly
stretched out her hand, but soon let it fall again
with an air of discouragement. Certainly the
missing document was not in the ink-pot or the
mucilage bottle. Yet something made her stoop
again over the pad and subject it to the closest
scrutiny.
"If only nothing had been touched!" she in-
wardly sighed. But she let no sign of her discon-
tent escape her lips, simply exclaiming as she
glanced up at the towering spaces overhead:
“The books! the books! Nothing remains but for
you to call up all the servants, or get men from the
outside and, beginning at one end-I should say
the upper one-take down every book standing
within reach of a woman of Mrs. Quintard's
height.”
"Hear first what Mrs. Quintard has to say
about that," interrupted the woman as that lady
entered in a flutter of emotion springing from more
than one cause.
“The young lady thinks that we should remove
the books," Hetty observed, as her mistress's eye
wandered to hers from Violet's abstracted
countenance.
“Useless. If we were to undertake to do that,
Carlos would be here before half the job was


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
167
finished. Besides, Hetty must have told you my
extreme aversion to nicely bound books. I will
not say that when awake I never place my hand
on one, but once in a state of somnambulism, when
every natural whim has full control, I am sure that
I never would. There is a reason for my prejudice.
I was not always rich. I once was very poor. It
was when I was first married and long before
Clement had begun to make his fortune. I was
so poor then that frequently I went hungry, and
what was worse saw my little daughter cry for
food. And why? Because my husband was a
bibliomaniac. He would spend on fine editions
what would have kept the family comfortable. It
is hard to believe, isn't it? I have seen him bring
home a Grolier when the larder was as empty as
that box; and it made me hate books so, especially
those of extra fine binding, that I have to tear the
covers off before I can find courage to read them.”
O life! life! how fast Violet was learning it!
"I can understand your idea, Mrs. Quintard,
but as everything else has failed, I should make a
mistake not to examine these shelves. It is
just possible that we may be able to shorten the
task very materially; that we may not have to call
in help, even. To what extent have they been
approached, or the books handled, since you dis-


168
The Dreaming Lady
SO
covered the loss of the paper we are looking
for?"
“Not at all. Neither of us went near them.”
This from Hetty.
“Nor any one else?”
“No one else has been admitted to the room.
We locked both doors the moment we felt satisfied
that the will had been left here."
“That's a relief. Now I may be able to do
something. Hetty, you look like a very strong
woman, and I, as you see, am very little. Would
you mind lifting me up to these shelves? I want
to look at them. Not at the books, but at the
shelves themselves.”
The wondering woman stooped and raised her
to the level of the shelf she had pointed out.
Violet peered closely at it and then at the ones
just beneath.
“Am I heavy?" she asked; “if not, let me see
those on the other side of the door.”
Hetty carried her over.
Violet inspected each shelf as high as a woman
of Mrs. Quintard's stature could reach, and when
on her feet again, knelt to inspect the ones below.
"No one has touched or drawn anything from
these shelves in twenty-four hours," she declared.
“The small accumulation of dust along their edges


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
169
has not been disturbed at any point. It was very
different with the table-top. That shows very
plainly where you had moved things and where
you had not."
“Was that what you were looking for? Well,
I never!"
Violet paid no heed; she was thinking and
thinking very deeply.
Hetty turned towards her mistress, then quickly
back to Violet, whom she seized by the arm.
“What's the matter with Mrs. Quintard?"
she hurriedly asked. “If it were night, I should
think that she was in one of her spells.”
Violet started and glanced where Hetty pointed.
Mrs. Quintard was within a few feet of them, but
as oblivious of their presence as though she stood
alone in the room. Possibly, she thought she did.
With fixed eyes and mechanical step she began to
move straight towards the table, her whole ap-
pearance of a nature to make Hetty's blood run
cold, but to cause that of Violet's to bound
through her veins with renewed hope.
“The one thing I could have wished!” she mur-
mured under her breath. “She has fallen into
a trance. She is again under the dominion of
her idea. If we watch and do not disturb her
she may repeat her action of last night, and


170
The Dreaming Lady
00
herself show where she has put this precious
document."
Meanwhile Mrs. Quintard continued to advance.
A moment more, and her smooth white locks
caught the ruddy glow centred upon the chair
standing in the hollow of the table. Words
were leaving her lips, and her hand, reaching
out over the blotter, groped among the articles
scattered there till it settled on a large pair of
shears.
“Listen," muttered Violet to the woman
pressing close to her side. “You are acquaint-
ed with her voice; catch what she says if you
can."
Hetty could not; an undistinguishable murmur
was all that came to her ears.
Violet took a step nearer. Mrs. Quintard's
hand had left the shears and was hovering uncer-
tainly in the air. Her distress was evident. Her
head, no longer steady on her shoulders, was turn-
ing this way and that, and her tones becoming
inarticulate.
"Paper! I want paper"; burst from her lips
in a shrill unnatural cry.
But when they listened for more and watched
to see the uncertain hand settle somewhere, she
suddenly came to herself and turned upon them


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
171
a startled glance, which speedily changed into one
of the utmost perplexity.
“What am I doing here?" she asked. “I have
a feeling as if I had almost seen-almost touched-
oh, it's gone! and all is blank again. “Why
couldn't I keep it till I knew—” Then she came
wholly to herself and, forgetting even the doubts
of a moment since, remarked to Violet in her old
tremulous fashion:
“You asked us to pull down the books? But
you've evidently thought better of it.”
“Yes, I have thought better of it.” Then, with
a last desperate hope of re-arousing the visions
lying somewhere back in Mrs. Quintard's troubled
brain, Violet ventured to observe: “This is likely
to resolve itself into a psychological problem, Mrs.
Quintard. Do you suppose that if you fell again
into the condition of last night, you would repeat
your action and so lead us yourself to where the
will lies hidden?"
"Possibly; but it may be weeks before I walk
again in my sleep, and meanwhile Carlos will have
arrived, and Clement, possibly, died. My nephew
is so low that the doctor is coming back at mid-
night. Miss Strange, Clement is a man in a
thousand. He says he wants to see you. Would
you be willing to accompany me to his room for a


172
The Dreaming Lady
moment? He will not make many more requests,
and I will take care that the interview is not
prolonged.”
"I will go willingly. But would it not be better
to wait- "
“Then you may never see him at all."
“Very well; but I wish I had some better news
to give.”
“That will come later. This house was never
meant for Carlos. Hetty, you will stay here.
Miss Strange, let us go now.”
“You need not speak; just let him see you."
Violet nodded and followed Mrs. Quintard into
the sick-room.
The sight which met her eyes tried her young
emotions deeply. Staring at her from the bed,
she saw two piercing eyes over whose brilliance
death as yet had gained no control. Clement's
soul was in that gaze; Clement halting at the
brink of dissolution to sound the depths behind
him for the hope which would make departure
easy. Would he see in her, a mere slip of a girl
dressed in fashionable clothes and bearing about
her all the marks of social distinction, the sort of
person needed for the task upon the success of
which depended his darlings' future?. She could


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
173
hardly expect it. Yet as she continued to meet his
gaze with all the seriousness the moment demanded,
she beheld those burning orbs lose some of their
demand and the fingers, which had lain inert upon
the bedspread, flutter gently and move as if to
draw attention to his wife and the three beautiful
children clustered at the foot-board.
He had not spoken nor could she speak, but the
solemnity with which she raised her right hand
as to a listening Heaven called forth upon his lips
what was possibly his last smile, and with the mem-
ory of this faint expression of confidence on his
part, she left the room, to make her final attempt
to solve the mystery of the missing document.
Facing the elderly lady in the hall, she addressed
her with the force and soberness of one leading a
forlorn hope:
"I want you to concentrate your mind upon
what I have to say to you. Do you think you can
do this?"
"I will try," replied the poor woman with a
backward glance at the door which had just been
closed upon her.
“What we want," said she, “is, as I stated be-
fore, an insight into the workings of your brain
at the time you took the will from the safe. Try
and follow what I have to say, Mrs. Quintard.


174
The Dreaming Lady
Dreams are no longer regarded by scientists as
prophecies of the future or even as spontaneous
and irrelevant conditions of thought, but as re-
flections of a near past, which can almost without
exception be traced back to the occurrences which
caused them. Your action with the will had its
birth in some previous line of thưught afterwards
forgotten. Let us try and find that thought.
Recall, if you can, just what you did or read
yesterday.”
Mrs. Quintard looked frightened.
“But, I have no memory," she objected. “I
forget quickly, so quickly that in order to fulfil
my engagements I have to keep a memorandum
of every day's events. Yesterday? yesterday?
What did I do yesterday? I went downtown for
one thing, but I hardly know where."
"Perhaps your memorandum of yesterday's
doings will help you."
“I will get it. But it won't give you the
least help. I keep it only for my own eye,
and "
“Never mind; let me see it."
And she waited impatiently for it to be put in
her hands.
But when she came to read the record of the
last two days, this was all she found:


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
175
Saturday: Mauretania nearly due. I must let
Mr. Delahunt know to-day that he's wanted here
to-morrow. Hetty will try on my dresses. Says
she has to alter them. Mrs. Peabody came to
lunch, and we in such trouble! Had to go down
street. Errand for Clement. The will, the will!
I think of nothing else. Is it safe where it is?
No peace of mind till to-morrow. Clement better
this afternoon. Says he must live till Carlos gets
back; not to triumph over him, but to do what
he can to lessen his disappointment. My good
Clement!
So nervous, I went to pasting photographs, and
was forgetting all my troubles when Hetty brought
in another dress to try on.
Quiet in the great house, during which the clock
on the staircase sent forth seven musical peals. To
Violet waiting alone in the library, they acted as a
summons. She was just leaving the room, when
the sound of hubbub in the hall below held her
motionless in the doorway. An automobile had
stopped in front, and several persons were entering
the house, in a gay and unseemly fashion. As she
stood listening, uncertain of her duty, she perceived
the frenzied figure of Mrs. Quintard approaching.


176
The Dreaming Lady
As she passed by, she dropped one word:“Carlos!”
Then she went staggering on, to disappear a
moment later down the stairway.
This vision lost, another came. This time it was
that of Clement's wife leaning from the marble
balustrade above, the shadow of approaching
grief battling with the present terror in her perfect
features. Then she too withdrew from view and
Violet, left for the moment alone in the great hall,
stepped back into the library and began to put on
her hat.
The lights had been turned up in the grand salon
and it was in this scene of gorgeous colour that
Mrs. Quintard came face to face with Carlos
Pelacios. Those who were witness to her en-
trance say that she presented a noble appearance,
as with the resolution of extreme desperation she
stood waiting for his first angry attack.
He, a short, thick-set, dark man, showing both
in features and expression the Spanish blood of
his paternal ancestors, started to address her in
tones of violence, but changed his note, as he met
her eye, to one simply sardonic.
“You here!” he began. “I assure you, madame,
· that it is a pleasure which is not without its in-
conveniences. Did you not receive my cable-


178
The Dreaming Lady
“You will give us all the time his condition
requires and more, much more. He is the real
owner of this house, not you. My brother left a
will bequeathing it to him. You are my nephew's
guests, and not he yours. As his representative
I entreat you and your wife to remain here until
you can find a home to your mind.".
The silence seethed. Carlos had a temper of
fire and so had his wife. But neither spoke, till
he had gained sufficient control over himself to
remark without undue rancour:
"I did not think you had the wit to influence
your brother to this extent; otherwise, I should
have cut my travels short." Then harshly:
“Where is this will?”.
“It will be produced.” 'But the words faltered.
Carlos glanced at the man standing behind his
wife; then back at Mrs. Quintard.
"Wills are not scribbled off on deatu-beds; or if
they are, it needs something more than a signature
to legalize them. I don't believe in this trick of
a later will. Mr. Cavanagh”—here he indicated
the gentleman accompanying them— "has done
my father's business for years, and he assured me
that the paper he holds in his pocket is the first,
last, and only expression of your brother's wishes.
If you are in a position to deny this, show us the


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
179
document you mention; show us it at once, or in-
form us where and in whose hands it can be
found.”
“That, for-for reasons I cannot give, I must
refuse to do at present. But I am ready to
swear "
A mocking laugh cut her short. Did it issue
from his lips or from those of his highstrung and
unfeeling wife. It might have come from either;
there was cause enough.
“Oh!” she faltered, “may God have mercy!”
and was sinking before their eyes, when she heard
her name called from the threshold, and, looking
that way, saw Hetty beaming upon her, backed by
a little figure with a face so radiant that instinc-
tively her hand went out to grasp the folded sheet
of paper Hetty was seeking to thrust upon her.
"Ah!" she cried, in a great voice, "you will not
have to wait, nor Clement either. Here is the
will! The children have come into their own."
And she fell at their feet in a dead faint.
"Where did you find it? Oh! where did you
find it? I have waited a week to know. When,
after Carlos's sudden departure, I stood beside
Clement's death-bed and saw from the look he
gave me that he could still feel and understand,


180
The Dreaming Lady
I told him that you had succeeded in your task
and that all was well with us. But I was not able
to tell him how you had succeeded or in what place
the will had been found; and he died, unknowing.
But we may know, may we not, now that he is
laid away and there is no more talk of our leaving
this house?”
Violet smiled, but very tenderly, and in a way
not to offend the mourner. They were sitting in
the library—the great library which was to remain
in Clement's family after all—and it amused her to
follow the dreaming lady's glances as they ran in
irrepressible curiosity over the walls. Had Violet
wished, she could have kept her secret forever.
These eyes would never have discovered it.
But she was of a sympathetic temperament, our
Violet, so after a moment's delay, during which
she satisfied herself that little, if anything, had
been touched in the room since her departure from
it a week before, she quietly observed:
“You were right in persisting that you hid it in
this room. It was here I found it. Do you notice
that photograph on the mantel which does not
stand exactly straight on its easel ?"
“Yes.”
“Supposing you take it down. You can reach
it, can you not?”


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
181
wa
“Oh, yes. But what "
“Lift it down, dear Mrs. Quintard; and then
turn it round and look at its back."
Agitated and questioning, the lady did as she
was bid, and at the first glance gave a cry of sur-
prise, if not of understanding. The square of
brown paper, acting as a backing to the picture,
was slit across, disclosing a similar one behind it
which was still intact.
“Oh! was it hidden in here?” she asked.
“Very completely," assented Violet. “Pasted
in out of sight by a lady who amuses herself with
mounting and framing photographs. Usually,
she is conscious of her work, but this time she
performed her task in a dream."
Mrs. Quintard was all amazement.
"I don't remember touching these pictures,"
she declared. "I never should have remembered.
You are a wonderful person, Miss Strange. How
came you to think these photographs might have
two backings? There was nothing to show that
this was so."
"I will tell you, Mrs. Quintard. You helped
me.”
"I helped you?”
“Yes. You remember the memorandum you
gave me? In it you mentioned pasting photo-


182
The Dreaming Lady
graphs. But this was not enough in itself to lead
me to examine those on the mantel, if you had not
given me another suggestion a little while before.
We did not tell you this, Mrs. Quihtard, at the
time, but during the search we were making here
that day, you had a lapse into that peculiar state
which induces you to walk in your sleep. It was
a short one, lasting but a moment, but in a moment
one can speak, and this you did - ".
“Spoke? I spoke?".
“Yes, you uttered the word 'paper!' not the
paper, but 'paper!' and reached out towards the
shears. Though I had not much time to think of
it then, afterwards upon reading your memoran-
dum I recalled your words, and asked myself if it
was not paper to cut, rather than to hide, you
wanted. If it was to cut, and you were but repeat-
ing the experience of the night before, then the
room should contain some remnants of cut paper.
Had we seen any? Yes, in the basket, under the
desk we had taken out and thrown back again a
strip or so of wrapping paper, which, if my memory
did not fail me, showed a clean-cut edge. To pull
this strip out again and spread it flat upon the desk
was the work of a minute, and what I saw led me
to look all over the room, not now for the folded
document, but for a square of brown paper, such
in-


Problem 5 for Violet Strange
183
as had been taken out of this larger sheet. Was
I successful? Not for a long while, but when I
came to the photographs on the mantel and saw
how nearly they corresponded in shape and size
to what I was looking for, I recalled again your
fancy for mounting photographs and felt that the
mystery was solved.
“A glance at the back of one of them brought
disappointment, but when I turned about its
mate You know what I found underneath the
outer paper. You had laid the will against the
original backing and simply pasted another one
over it.
“That the discovery came in time to cut short
a very painful interview has made me joyful for a
week.
“And now may I see the children?"
END OF PROBLEM V


PROBLEM VI
THE HOUSE OF CLOCKS
M ISS STRANGE was not in a responsive mood.
" This her employer had observed on first
entering; yet he showed no hesitation in laying on
the table behind which she had ensconced herself
in the attitude of one besieged, an envelope thick
with enclosed papers.
“There," said he. “Telephone me when you
have read them."
“I shall not read them."
"No?" he smiled; and, repossessing himself of
the envelope, he tore off one end, extracted the
sheets with which it was filled, and laid them down,
still unfolded, in their former place on the table-top.
The suggestiveness of the action caused the
corners of Miss Strange's delicate lips to twitch
wistfully, before settling into an ironic smile.
Calmly the other watched her.
184


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
185
"I am on a vacation," she loftily explained, as
she finally met his studiously non-quizzical glance.
“Oh, I know that I am in my own home!" she
petulantly acknowledged, as his gaze took in the
room; "and that the automobile is at the door;
and that I'm dressed for shopping. But for all
that I'm on a vacation-a mental one," she
emphasized; "and business must wait. I haven't
got over the last affair,” she protested, as he main-
tained a discreet silence, “and the season is so gay
just now—so many balls, so many— But that isn't
the worst. Father is beginning to wake up-and
if he ever suspects—" A significant gesture ended
this appeal.
The personage knew her father-everyone did
and the wonder had always been that she dared
run the risk of displeasing one so implacable.
Though she was his favourite child, Peter Strange
was known to be quite capable of cutting her off
with a shilling, once his close, prejudiced mind con-
ceived it to be his duty. And that he would so
interpret the situation, if he ever came to learn the
secret of his daughter's fits of abstraction and the sly
bank account she was slowly accumulating, the
personage holding out this dangerous lure had no
doubt at all. Yet he only smiled at her words and
remarked in casual suggestion:


186
The House of Clocks
“It's out of town this time—'way out. Your
health certainly demands a change of air.”
“My health is good. Fortunately, or unfor-
tunately, as one may choose to look at it, it
furnishes me with no excuse for an outing,” she
steadily retorted, turning her back on the table.
“Ah, excuse me!" the insidious voice apologized,
“your paleness misled me. Surely a night or two's
change might be beneficial."
She gave him a quick side look, and began to
adjust her boa.
To this hint he paid no attention.
“The affair is quite out of the ordinary," he
pursued in the tone of one rehearsing a part. But
there he stopped. For some reason, not altogether
apparent to the masculine mind, the pin of flashing
stones (real stones) which held her hat in place had
to be taken out and thrust back again, not once,
but twice. It was to watch this performance he
had paused. When he was ready to proceed, he
took the musing tone of one marshalling facts for
another's enlightenment:
“A woman of unknown instincts "
“Pshaw!” The end of the pin would strike
against the comb holding Violet's chestnut-col-
oured locks.
“Living in a house as mysterious as the secret


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
187
it contains. But,” here he allowed his patience
apparently to forsake him, “I will bore you no
longer. Go to your teas and balls; I will struggle
with my dark affairs alone.”
His hand went to the packet of papers she
affected so ostentatiously to despise. He could
be as nonchalant as she. But he did not lift them;
he let them lie. Yet the young heiress had not
made a movement or even turned the slightest
glance his way.
“A woman difficult to understand! A mys-
terious house-possibly a mysterious crime!”.
Thus Violet kept repeating in silent self-com-
munion, as flushed with dancing she sat that even-
ing in a highly-scented conservatory, dividing her
attention between the compliments of her partner
and the splash of a fountain bubbling in the heart
of this mass of tropical foliage; and when some
hours later she sat down in her chintz-furnished
bedroom for a few minutes' thought before retir-
ing, it was to draw from a little oak box at her
elbow the half-dozen or so folded sheets of closely
written paper which had been left for her perusal
by her persistent employer.
Glancing first at the signature and finding it to
be one already favourably known at the bar, she


188
The House of Clocks
read with avidity the statement of events thus
vouched for, finding them curious enough in all
conscience to keep her awake for another full
hour.
We here subscribe it:
I am a lawyer with an office in the Times Square
Building. My business is mainly local, but some-
times I am called out of town, as witness the follow-
ing summons received by me on the fifth of last
October.
DEAR SIR,–
I wish to make my will. I am an invalid and
cannot leave my room. Will you come to me?
The enclosed reference will answer for my respecta-
bility. If it satisfies you and you decide to
accommodate me, please hasten your visit; I have
not many days to live. A carriage will meet you
at Highland Station at any hour you designate.
Telegraph reply.
A. Postlethwaite,
Gloom Cottage,
N. J.
The reference given was a Mr. Weed of Eighty-
sixth Street-a well-known man of unimpeachable
reputation.
Calling him up at his business office, I asked him
what he could tell me about Mr. Postlethwaite


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
189
answer
of Gloom Cottage, — N. J. The answer
astonished me:
“There is no Mr. Postlethwaite to be found at
that address. He died years ago. There is a
Mrs. Postlethwaite-a confirmed paralytic. Do
you mean her?"
I glanced at the letter still lying open at the side
of the telephone.
"The signature reads A. Postlethwaite."
“Then it's she. Her name is Arabella. She
hates the name, being a woman of no sentiment.
Uses her initials even on her cheques. What does
she want of you?"
“To draw her will."
“Oblige her. It'll be experience for you.” And
he slammed home the receiver.
I decided to follow the suggestion so forcibly
emphasized; and the next day saw me at Highland
Station. A superannuated horse and a still more
superannuated carriage awaited me both too old
to serve a busy man in these days of swift convey-
ance. Could this be a sample of the establishment
I was about to enter? Then I remembered that
the woman who had sent for me was a helpless
invalid, and probably had no use for any sort of
turnout.
The driver was in keeping with the vehicle, and


190
The House of Clocks
as noncommittal as the plodding beast he drove.
If I ventured upon a remark, he gave me a long and
curious look; if I went so far as to attack him with
a direct question, he responded with a hitch of the
shoulder or a dubious smile which conveyed noth-
ing. Was he deaf or just unpleasant? I soon
learned that he was not deaf; for suddenly, after a
jog-trot of a mile or so through a wooded road
which we had entered from the main highway, he
drew in his horse, and, without glancing my way,
spoke his first word:
“This is where you get out. The house is back
there in the bushes."
As no house was visible and the bushes rose in
an unbroken barrier along the road, I stared at
him in some doubt of his sanity.
“But—" I began; a protest into which he at
once broke, with the sharp direction:
“Take the path. It'll lead you straight to the
front door."
"I don't see any path."
For this he had no answer; and confident from
his expression that it would be useless to expect
anything further from him, I dropped a coin into
his hand, and jumped to the ground. He was off
before I could turn myself about.
“Something is rotten in the State of Denmark,'"


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
191
I quoted in startled comment to myself; and not
knowing what else to do, stared down at the turf
at my feet.
A bit of flagging met my eye, protruding from a
layer of thick moss. Farther on I espied another
—the second, probably, of many. This, no doubt,
was the path I had been bidden to follow, and
without further thought on the subject, I plunged
into the bushes which with difficulty I made give
way before me.
For a moment all further advance looked hope-
less. A more tangled, uninviting approach to a
so-called home, I had never seen outside of the
tropics; and the complete neglect thus displayed
should have prepared me for the appearance of
the house I unexpectedly came upon, just as the
way seemed on the point of closing up before
me.
But nothing could well prepare one for a first
view of Gloom Cottage. Its location in a hollow
which had gradually filled itself up with trees and
some kind of prickly brush, its deeply stained
walls, once picturesque enough in their grouping
but too deeply hidden now amid rotting boughs
to produce any other effect than that of shrouded
desolation, the sough of these same boughs as they
rapped a devil's tattoo against each other, and the


192
The House of Clocks
ell
absence of even the rising column of smoke which
bespeaks domestic life wherever seen-all gave to
one who remembered the cognomen Cottage and
forgot the pre-cognomen of Gloom, a sense of buried
life as sepulchral as that which emanates from
the mouth of some freshly opened tomb.
But these impressions, natural enough to my
youth, were necessarily transient, and soon gave
way to others more business-like. Perceiving the
curve of an arch rising above the undergrowth
still blocking my approach, I pushed my way
resolutely through, and presently found myself
stumbling upon the steps of an unexpectedly
spacious domicile, built not of wood, as its name
of Cottage had led me to expect, but of carefully
cut stone which, while showing every mark of
time, proclaimed itself one of those early, carefully
erected Colonial residences which it takes more
than a century to destroy, or even to wear to
the point of dilapidation.
Somewhat encouraged, though failing to detect
any signs of active life in the heavily shuttered
windows frowning upon me from either side, I ran
up the steps and rang the bell which pulled as
hard as if no hand had touched it in years.
Then I waited.
But not to ring again; for just as my hand was


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
193
approaching the bell a second time, the door
fell back and I beheld in the black gap before me
the oldest man I had ever come upon in my whole
life. He was so old I was astonished when his
drawn lips opened and he asked if I was the lawyer
from New York. I would as soon have expected
a mummy to wag its tongue and utter English,
he looked so thin and dried and removed from this
life and all worldly concerns.
But when I had answered his question and he
had turned to marshal me down the hall towards a
door I could dimly see standing open in the twilight
of an absolutely sunless interior, I noticed that
his step was not without some vigour, despite the
feeble bend of his withered body and the incessant
swaying of his head, which seemed to be continu-
ally saying No!
"I will prepare madam," he admonished me,
after drawing a ponderous curtain two inches or
less aside from one of the windows. “She is very
ill, but she will see you."
The tone was senile, but it was the senility of
an educated man, and as the cultivated accents
wavered forth, my mind changed in regard to the
position he held in the house. Interested anew,
I sought to give him another look, but he had
already vanished through the doorway, and so
S.


194
The House of Clocks
noiselessly, it was more like a shadow's flitting than
a man's withdrawal.
The darkness in which I sat was absolute; but
gradually, as I continued to look about me, the
spaces lightened and certain details came out,
which to my astonishment were of a character to
show that the plain if substantial exterior of this
house with its choked-up approaches and weedy
gardens was no sample of what was to be found
inside. Though the walls surrounding me were
dismal because unlighted, they betrayed a splen-
dour unusual in any country house. The fres-
coes and paintings were of an ancient order, dating
from days when life and not death reigned in this
isolated dwelling; but in them high art reigned
supreme, an art so high and so finished that only
great wealth, combined with the most cultivated
taste, could have produced such effects. I was
still absorbed in the wonder of it all, when the quiet
voice of the old gentleman who had let me in
reached me again from the doorway, and I heard:
“Madam is ready for you. May I trouble you
to accompany me to her room."
I rose with alacrity. I was anxious to see ma-
dam, if only to satisfy myself that she was as
interesting as the house in which she was self-
immured.
:


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
195
I found her a great deal more so. But before I
enter upon our interview, let me mention a fact
which had attracted my attention in my passage
to her room. During his absence my guide evi-
dently had pulled aside other curtains than those
of the room in which he had left me. The hall, no
longer a tunnel of darkness, gave me a glimpse as
we went by, of various secluded corners, and it
seemed as if everywhere I looked I saw-a clock.
I counted four before I reached the staircase, all
standing on the floor and all of ancient make,
though differing much in appearance and value.
A fifth one rose grim and tall at the stair foot, and
under an impulse I have never understood I
stopped, when I reached it, to note the time.
But it had paused in its task, and faced me with
motionless hands and silent works-a fact which
somehow startled me; perhaps, because just then
I encountered the old man's eye watching me with
an expression as challenging as it was unintelligible.
I had expected to see a woman in bed. I saw
instead, a woman sitting up. You felt her
influence the moment you entered her presence.
She was not young; she was not beautiful;—never
had been I should judge,-she had not even the
usual marks about her of an ultra strong person-
ality; but that her will was law, had always been,


196
The House of Clocks
and would continue to be law so long as she lived,
was patent to any eye at the first glance. She
exacted obedience consciously and unconsciously,
and she exacted it with charm. Some few people
in the world possess this power. They frown, and
the opposing will weakens; they smile, and all
hearts succumb. I was hers from the moment I
crossed the threshold till— But I will relate the
happenings of that instant when it comes.
She was alone, or so I thought, when I made my
first bow to her stern but not unpleasing presence.
Seated in a great chair, with a silver tray before
her containing such little matters as she stood in
hourly need of, she confronted me with a piercing
gaze startling to behold in eyes so colourless. Then
she smiled, and in obedience to that smile I seated
myself in a chair placed very near her own. Was
she too paralysed to express herself clearly? I
waited in some anxiety till she spoke, when this
fear vanished. Her voice betrayed the character
her features failed to express. It was firm, re-
sonant, and instinct with command. Not loud,
but penetrating, and of a quality which made one
listen with his heart as well as with his ears. What
she said is immaterial. I was there for a certain
purpose and we entered immediately upon the
business of that purpose. She talked and I


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
197
SI
listened, mostly without comment. Only once
did I interrupt her with a suggestion; and as this
led to definite results, I will proceed to relate the
occurrence in full.
In the few hours remaining to me before leaving
New York, I had learned (no matter how) some
additional particulars concerning herself and
family; and when after some minor bequests,
she proceeded to name the parties to whom she
desired to leave the bulk of her fortune, I ventured,
with some astonishment at my own temerity, to
remark:
“But you have a young relative! Is she not to
be included in this partition of your property?".
A hush. Then a smile came to life on her stiff
lips, such as is seldom seen, thank God, on the face
of any woman, and I heard:
“The young relative of whom you speak, is in the
room. She has known for some time that I have
no intention of leaving anything to her. There is,
in fact, small chance of her ever needing it."
The latter sentence was a muttered one, but
that it was loud enough to be heard in all parts of
the room I was soon assured. For a quick sigh,
which was almost a gasp, followed from a corner
I had hitherto ignored, and upon glancing that
way, I perceived, peering upon us from the shadows,


198
The House of Clocks
the white face of a young girl in whose drawn fea-
tures and wide, staring eyes I beheld such evidences
of terror, that in an instant, whatever predilection
I had hitherto felt for my client, vanished in dis-
trust, if not positive aversion.
I was still under the sway of this new impression,
when Mrs. Postlethwaite's voice rose again, this
time addressing the young girl:
“You may go," she said, with such force in the
command for all its honeyed modulation, that I
expected to see its object fly the room in frightened
obedience.
But though the startled girl had lost none of the
terror which had made her face like a mask, no
power of movement remained to her. A picture
of hopeless misery, she stood for one breathless
moment, with her eyes fixed in unmistakable
appeal on mine; then she began to sway so help-
lessly that I leaped with bounding heart to catch
her. As she fell into my arms I heard her sigh as
before. No common anguish spoke in that sigh.
I had stumbled unwittingly upon a tragedy, to the
meaning of which I held but a doubtful key.
"She seems very ill,” I observed with some
emphasis, as I turned to lay my helpless burden
on a near-by sofa.
“She's doomed."


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
199
The words were spoken with gloom and with an
attempt at commiseration which no longer rang
true in my ears.
"She is as sick a woman as I am myself”; con-
tinued Mrs. Postlethwaite. “That is why I
made the remark I did, never imagining she would
hear me at that distance. Do not put her down.
My nurse will be here in a moment to relieve you
of your burden."
A tinkle accompanied these words. The reso-
lute woman had stretched out a finger, of whose use
she was not quite deprived, and touched a little
bell standing on the tray before her, an inch or
two from her hand.
Pleased to obey her command, I paused at the
sofa's edge, and taking advantage of the momen-
tary delay, studied the youthful countenance
pressed unconsciously to my breast.
It was one whose appeal lay less in its beauty,
though that was of a touching quality, than in the
story it told,-a story, which for some unaccount-
able reason I did not pause to determine what one
-I felt it to be my immediate duty to know. But
I asked no questions then; I did not even venture
a comment; and yielded her up with seeming
readiness when a strong but none too intelligent
woman came running in with arms outstretched


200
The House of Clocks
to carry her off. When the door had closed upon
these two, the silence of my client drew my atten-
tion back to herself.
“I am waiting," was her quiet observation, and
without any further reference to what had just
taken place under our eyes, she went on with the
business previously occupying us.
I was able to do my part without any too great
display of my own disturbance. The clearness of
my remarkable client's instructions, the definite-
ness with which her mind was made up as to the
disposal of every dollar of her vast property, made
it easy for me to master each detail and make care-
full note of every wish. But this did not prevent
the ebb and flow within me of an undercurrent of
thought full of question and uneasiness. What
had been the real purport of the scene to which I
had just been made a surprised witness? The few,
but certainly unusual, facts which had been given
me in regard to the extraordinary relations existing
between these two closely connected women will
explain the intensity of my interest. Those facts
shall be yours.
Arabella Merwin, when young, was gifted with a
peculiar fascination which, as we have seen, had
not altogether vanished with age. Consequently
she had many lovers, among them two brothers,


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
201
Frank and Andrew Postlethwaite. The latter was
the older, the handsomer, and the most prosper-
ous (his name is remembered yet in connection
with South American schemes of large importance),
but it was Frank she married.
That real love, ardent if unreasonable, lay at
the bottom of her choice, is evident enough to
those who followed the career of the young couple.
But it was a jealous love which brooked no rival,
and as Frank Postlethwaite was of an impulsive and
erratic nature, scenes soon occurred between them
which, while revealing the extraordinary force of
the young wife's character, led to no serious break
till after her son was born, and this, notwith-
standing the fact that Frank had long given up
making a living, and that they were openly de-
pendent on their wealthy brother, now fast ap-
proaching the millionaire status.
This brother-the Peruvian King, as some called
him-must have been an extraordinary man.
Though cherishing his affection for the spirited
Arabella to the point of remaining a bachelor for
her sake, he betrayed none of the usual signs of
disappointed love; but on the contrary made
every effort to advance her happiness, not only
by assuring to herself and husband an adequate
income, but by doing all he could in other and less


202
The House of Clocks
open ways to lessen any sense she might entertain
of her mistake in preferring for her lifemate his
self-centred and unstable brother. She should
have adored him; but though she evinced grati-
tude enough, there is nothing to prove that she
ever gave Frank Postlethwaite the least cause to
cherish any other sentiment towards his brother
than that of honest love and unqualified respect.
Perhaps he never did cherish any other. Perhaps
the change which everyone saw in the young
couple immediately after the birth of their only
child was due to another cause. Gossip is silent
on this point. All that it insists upon is that from
this time evidences of a growing estrangement
between them became so obvious that even the
indulgent Andrew could not blind himself to it;
showing his sense of trouble, not by lessening
their income, for that he doubled, but by spending
more time in Peru and less in New York where the
two were living.
However,—and here we enter upon those details
which I have ventured to characterize as uncom-
mon, he was in this country and in the actual
company of his brother when the accident oc-
curred which terminated both their lives. It was
the old story of a skidding motor, and Mrs.
Postlethwaite, having been sent for in great haste


204
The House of Clocks
hatred for the innocent object of their quarrel
that she refused to admit its claims or even to
acknowledge its existence.
But later-after his death, in fact-she showed
some sense of obligation towards one who under
ordinary conditions would have shared her wealth.
When the whole story became hers, and she dis-
covered that this secret had been kept from his
brother as well as from herself, and that conse-
quently no provision had been made in any way for
the child thus thrown directly upon her mercy, she
did the generous thing and took the forsaken girl
into her own home. But she never betrayed the
least love for her, her whole heart being bound up
in her boy, who was, as all agree, a prodigy of
talent.
But this boy, for all his promise and seeming
strength of constitution, died when barely seven
years old, and the desolate mother was left with
nothing to fill her heart but the uncongenial
daughter of her husband's first wife. The fact
that this child, slighted as it had hitherto been,
would, in the event of her uncle having passed
away before her father, have been the undisputed
heiress of a large portion of the wealth now at the
disposal of her arrogant step-mother, led many to
expect, now that the boy was no more, that Mrs.


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
205
Postlethwaite would proceed to acknowledge the
little Helena as her heir, and give her that place in
the household to which her natural claims entitled
her.
But no such result followed. The passion of
grief into which the mother was thrown by the
shipwreck of all her hopes left her hard and implac-
able, and when, as very soon happened, she fell a
victim to the disease which tied her to her chair
and made the wealth which had come to her by
such a peculiar ordering of circumstances little else
than a mockery even in her own eyes, it was upon
this child she expended the full fund of her secret
bitterness.
And the child? What of her? How did she
bear her unhappy fate when she grew old enough
to realize it? With a resignation which was the
wonder of all who knew her. No murmurs escaped
her lips, nor was the devotion she invariably dis-
played to the exacting invalid who ruled her as
well as all the rest of her household with a rod of
iron ever disturbed by the least sign of reproach.
Though the riches, which in those early days poured
into the home in a measure far beyond the needs of
its mistress, were expended in making the house
beautiful rather than in making the one young life
within it happy, she never was heard to utter so


206
The House of Clocks
much as a wish to leave the walls within which fate
had immured her. Content, or seemingly content,
with the only home she knew, she never asked
for change or demanded friends or amusements.
Visitors ceased coming; desolation followed neglect.
The garden, once a glory, succumbed to a riot of
weeds and undesirable brush, till a towering wall
seemed to be drawn about the house cutting it off
from the activities of the world as it cut it off from
the approach of sunshine by day, and the comfort
of a star-lit heaven by night. And yet the young
girl continued to smile, though with a pitifulness
of late, which some thought betokened secret
terror and others the wasting of a body too sensi-
tive for such unwholesome seclusion.
These were the facts, known if not consciously
specialized, which gave to the latter part of my
interview with Mrs. Postlethwaite a poignancy
of interest which had never attended any of my
former experiences. The peculiar attitude of Miss
Postlethwaite towards her indurate tormentor
awakened in my agitated mind something much
deeper than curiosity, but when I strove to speak
her name with the intent of inquiring more par-
ticularly into her condition, such a look confronted
me from the steady eye immovably fixed upon my
own, that my courage-or was it my natural pre-


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
207
caution-bade me subdue the impulse and risk no
attempt which might betray the depth of my inter-
est in one so completely outside the scope of the
present moment's business. Perhaps Mrs. Postle-
thwaite appreciated my struggle; perhaps she was
wholly blind to it. There was no reading the
mind of this woman of sentimental name but in-
flexible nature, and realizing the fact more fully
with every word she uttered I left her at last with
no further betrayal of my feelings than might be
evinced by the earnestness with which I promised
to return for her signature at the earliest possible
moment.
This she had herself requested, saying as I rose:
“I can still write my name if the paper is pushed
carefully along under my hand. See to it that
you come while the power remains to me.”
Se
I had hoped that in my passage downstairs I
might run upon someone who would give me
news of Miss Postlethwaite, but the woman who
approached to conduct me downstairs was not of
an appearance to invite confidence, and I felt
forced to leave the house with my doubts
unsatisfied.
Two memories, equally distinct, followed me.
One was a picture of Mrs. Postlethwaite's fingers


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
209
Monday's interview was a brief one and con-
tained nothing worth repeating. Mrs. Postle-
thwaite listened with stoical satisfaction to the
reading of the will I had drawn up, and upon its
completion rang her bell for the two witnesses
awaiting her summons, in an adjoining room. They
were not of her household, but to all appearance
honest villagers with but one noticeable character-
istic, an overweening idea of Mrs. Postlethwaite's
importance. Perhaps the spell she had so liber-
ally woven for others in other and happier days
was felt by them at this hour. It would not be
strange; I had almost fallen under it myself, so
great was the fascination of her manner even in
this wreck of her bodily powers, when triumph
assured, she faced us all in a state of complete
satisfaction.
But before I was again quit of the place, all my
doubts returned and in fuller force than ever. I
had lingered in my going as much as decency would
permit, hoping to hear a step on the stair or see
a face in some doorway which would contradict
Mrs. Postlethwaite's cold assurance that Miss
Postlethwaite was no better. But no such step
did I hear, and no face did I see save the old, old
one of the ancient friend or relative, whose bent
frame seemed continually to haunt the halls. As
14


210
The House of Clocks
before, he stood listening to the monotonous tick-
ing of one of the clocks, muttering to himself and
quite oblivious of my presence.
However, this time I decided not to pass him
without amore persistent attempt to gain his notice.
Pausing at his side, I asked him in the friendly
tone I thought best calculated to attract his
attention, how Miss Postlethwaite was to-day.
He was so intent upon his task, whatever that was,
that while he turned my way, it was with a glance
as blank as that of a stone image.
"Listen!" he admonished me. “It still says
No! No! I don't think it will ever say anything
else."
I stared at him in some consternation, then at
the clock itself which was the tall one I had found
run down at my first visit. There was nothing
unusual in its quiet tick, so far as I could hear, and
with a compassionate glance at the old man who
had turned breathlessly again to listen, proceeded
on my way without another word.
The old fellow was daft. A century old, and
daft.
I had worked my way out through the vines
which still encumbered the porch, and was taking
my first steps down the walk, when some impulse
made me turn and glance up at one of the windows.


212 The House of Clocks
IDO NOT WANT
TO DIEBUTISU-
RELY VILLIF
Or, in plain writing:
“I do not want to die, but I surely will if — "
Finish the sentence for me. That is the problem
I offer you. It is not a case for the police but one
well worth your attention, if you succeed in reach-
ing the heart of this mystery and saving this young
girl.
Only, let no delay occur. The doom, if doom it
is, is immanent. Remember that the will is
signed.
“She is too small; I did not ask you to send me
a midget."
Thus spoke Mrs. Postlethwaite to her doctor, as
he introduced into her presence a little figure in
nurse's cap and apron. “You said I needed care,
-more care than I was receiving. I answered
that my old nurse could give it, and you objected
that she or someone else must look after Miss
Postlethwaite. I did not see the necessity, but


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
213
I never contradict a doctor. So I yielded to your
wishes, but not without the proviso (you remember
that I made a proviso) that whatever sort of
young woman you chose to introduce into this
room, she should not be fresh from the training
schools, and that she should be strong, silent, and
capable. And you bring me this mite of a woman
-is she a woman? she looks more like a child, of
pleasing countenance enough, but who can no
more lift mem "
"Pardon me!" Little Miss Strange had ad-
vanced. “I think, if you will allow me the privi-
lege, madam, that I can shift you into a much
more comfortable position.” And with a deft-
ness and ease certainly not to be expected from
one of her slight physique, Violet raised the help-
less invalid a trifle more upon her pillow.
The act, its manner, and the smile accompany-
ing it, could not fail to please, and undoubtedly
did, though no word rewarded her from lips not
much given to speech save when the occasion
was imperative. But Mrs. Postlethwaite made no
further objection to her presence, and, seeing this,
the doctor's countenance relaxed and he left the
room with a much lighter step than that with
which he had entered it.
And thus it was that Violet Strange-an adept
W


214
The House of Clocks
in more ways than one became installed at the
bedside of this mysterious woman, whose days,
if numbered, still held possibilities of action which
those interested in young Helena Postlethwaite's
fate would do well to recognize.
Miss Strange had been at her post for two days,
and had gathered up the following:
That Mrs. Postlethwaite must be obeyed.
That her step-daughter (who did not wish to
die) would die if she knew it to be the wish of this
domineering but apparently idolized woman.
That the old man of the clocks, while senile in
some regards, was very alert and quite youthful
in others. If a century old—which she began
greatly to doubt-he had the language and manner
of one in his prime, when unaffected by the
neighbourhood of the clocks, which seemed in
some non-understandable way to exercise an
occult influence over him. At table he was an
entertaining host; but neither there nor elsewhere
would he discuss the family, or dilate in any way
upon the peculiarities of a household of which he
manifestly regarded himself as the least important
member. Yet no one knew them better, and when
Violet became quite assured of this, as well as of
the futility of looking for explanation of any kind


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
215
from either of her two patients, she resolved upon
an effort to surprise one from him.
She went about it in this way. Noting his
custom of making a complete round of the clocks
each night after dinner, she took advantage of
Mrs. Postlethwaite's inclination to sleep at this
hour, to follow him from clock to clock in the hope
of overhearing some portion of the monologue with
which he bent his head to the swinging pendulum,
or put his ear to the hidden works. Soft-footed
and discreet, she tripped along at his back, and at
each pause he made, paused herself and turned
her ear his way. The extreme darkness of the
halls, which were more sombre by night than by
day, favoured this attempt, and she was able,
after a failure or two, to catch the Nol no! no!
no! which fell from his lips in seeming repetition
of what he heard the most of them say. .
The satisfaction in his tone proved that the
denial to which he listened, chimed in with his
hopes and gave ease to his mind. But he looked
his oldest when, after pausing at another of the
many time-pieces, he echoed in answer to its
special refrain, Yes! yes! yes! yes! and fled the
spot with shaking body and a distracted air.
The same fear and the same shrinking were ob-
servable in him as he returned from listening to the


216
The House of Clocks
least conspicuous one, standing in a short corridor,
where Violet could not follow him. But when,
after a hesitation which enabled her to slip behind
the curtain hiding the drawing-room door, he
approached and laid his ear against the great one
standing, as if on guard, at the foot of the stairs,
she saw by the renewed vigour he displayed that
there was comfort for him in its message, even
before she caught the whisper with which he left
it and proceeded to mount the stairs:
"It says No! It always says No! I will heed
it as the voice of Heaven."
But one conclusion could be the result of such
an experiment to a mind like Violet's. This
partly touched old man not only held the key to
the secret of this house, but was in a mood to
divulge it if once he could be induced to hear
command instead of disuasion in the tick of this
one large clock. But how could he be induced?
Violet returned to Mrs. Postlethwaite's bedside
in a mood of extreme thoughtfulness.
Another day passed, and she had not yet seen
Miss Postlethwaite. She was hoping each hour
to be sent on some errand to that young lady's
room, but no such opportunity was granted her.
Once she ventured to ask the doctor, whose visits


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
217
were now very frequent, what he thought of the
young lady's condition. But as this question
was necessarily put in Mrs. Postlethwaite's pres-
ence, the answer was naturally guarded, and
possibly not altogether frank.
“Our young lady is weaker,” he acknowledged.
“Much weaker," he added with marked emphasis
and his most professional air, “or she would be
here instead of in her own room. It grieves
her not to be able to wait upon her generous
benefactress."
The word fell heavily. Had it been used as a
test? Violet gave him a look, though she had
much rather have turned her discriminating eye
upon the face staring up at them from the pillow.
Had the alarm expressed by others communicated
itself at last to the physician? Was the charm
which had held him subservient to the mother,
dissolving under the pitiable state of the child,
and was he trying to aid the little detective-nurse
in her effort to sound the mystery of her condition?
His look expressed benevolence, but he took care
not to meet the gaze of the woman he had just
lauded, possibly because that gaze was fixed upon
him in a way to tax his moral courage. The
silence which ensued was broken by Mrs. Postle-
thwaite:


218
The House of Clocks
“She will live—this poor Helena-how long?"
she asked, with no break in her voice's wonted
music.
The doctor hesitated, then with a candour hardly
to be expected from him, answered:
"I do not understand Miss Postlethwaite's
case. I should like, with your permission, to
consult some New York physician."
“Indeed!”
A single word, but as it left this woman's thin
lips Violet recoiled, and, perhaps, the doctor did.
Rage can speak in one word as well as in a dozen,
and the rage which spoke in this one was of no
common order, though it was quickly suppressed,
as was all other show of feeling when she added,
with a touch of her old charm:
“Of course you will do what you think best, as
you know I never interfere with a doctor's decisions.
But" and here her natural ascendancy of tone and
manner returned in all its potency, "it would kill
me to know that a stranger was approaching
Helena's bedside. It would kill her. She's too
sensitive to survive such a shock.
Violet recalled the words worked with so much
care by this young girl on a minute piece of linen,
I do not want to die, and watched the doctor's face
for some sign of resolution. But embarrassment


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
219
was all she saw there, and all she heard him say
was the conventional reply:
“I am doing all I can for her. We will wait
another day and note the effect of my latest
prescription."
Another day!
The deathly calm which overspread Mrs. Postle-
thwaite's features as this word left the physician's
lips warned Violet not to let another day go by
without some action. But she made no remark,
and, indeed, betrayed but little interest in anything
beyond her own patient's condition. That seemed
to occupy her wholly. With consummate art she
gave the appearance of being under Mrs. Postle-
thwaite's complete thrall, and watched with fas-
cinated eyes every movement of the one unstricken
finger which could do so much.
This little detective of ours could be an excel-
lent actor when she chose.
III
To make the old man speak! To force this con-
science-stricken but rebellious soul to reveal what
the clock forbade! How could it be done?
This continued to be Violet's great problem.
She pondered it so deeply during all the remainder
of the day that a little pucker settled on her


220
The House of Clocks
brow, which someone (I will not mention who)
would have been pained to see. Mrs. Postle-
thwaite, if she noticed it at all, probably ascribed
it to her anxieties as nurse, for never had Violet
been more assiduous in her attentions. But Mrs.
Postlethwaite was no longer the woman she had
been, and possibly never noted it at all.
At five o'clock Violet suddenly left the room.
Slipping down into the lower hall, she went the
round of the clocks herself, listening to every one.
There was no perceptible difference in their tick.
Satisfied of this and that it was simply the old
man's imagination which had supplied them each
with separate speech, she paused before the huge
one at the foot of the stairs,—the one whose
dictate he had promised himself to follow,-and
with an eye upon its broad, staring dial, muttered
wistfully:
"Oh! for an idea! For an idea!"
Did this cumbrous relic of old-time precision
turn traitor at this ingenuous plea? The dial
continued to stare, the works to sing, but Violet's
face suddenly lost its perplexity. With a wary
look about her and a listening ear turned towards
the stair top, she stretched out her hand and pulled
open the door guarding the pendulum, and peered
in at the works, smiling slyly to herself as she


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
221
221
pushed it back into place and retreated upstairs
to the sick room.
When the doctor came that night she had a
quiet word with him outside Mrs. Postlethwaite's
door. Was that why he was on hand when old
Mr. Dunbar stole from his room to make his
nightly circuit of the halls below? Something quite
beyond the ordinary was in the good physician's
mind, for the look he cast at the old man was quite
unlike any he had ever bestowed upon him before,
and when he spoke it was to say with marked
urgency:
"Our beautiful young lady will not live a week
unless I get at the seat of her malady. Pray that
I may be enabled to do so, Mr. Dunbar."
A blow to the aged man's heart which called
forth a feeble “Yes, yes," followed by a wild
stare which imprinted itself upon the doctor's
memory as the look of one hopelessly old, who
hears for the first time a distinct call from the
grave which has long been awaiting him!
A solitary lamp stood in the lower hall. As the
old man picked his slow way down, its small,
hesitating flame flared up as in a sudden gust,
then sank down flickering and faint as if it, too, had
heard a call which summoned it to extinction.


222
The House of Clocks
No other sign of life was visible anywhere. Sunk
in twilight shadows, the corridors branched away
on either side to no place in particular and serving,
to all appearance (as many must have thought in
days gone by), as a mere hiding-place for clocks.
To listen to their united hum, the old man
paused, looking at first a little distraught, but
settling at last into his usual self as he started
forward upon his course. Did some whisper,
hitherto unheard, warn him that it was the last
time he would tread that weary round? Who can
tell? He was trembling very much when with
his task nearly completed, he stepped out again
into the main hall and crept rather than walked
back to the one great clock to whose dictum he
made it a practice to listen last.
Chattering the accustomed words, “They say
Yes! They are all saying Yes! now; but this one
will say No!” he bent his stiff old back and laid
his ear to the unresponsive wood. But the time for
no had passed. It was Yes! yes! yes! yes! now,
and as his straining ears took in the word, he
appeared to shrink where he stood and after a
moment of anguished silence, broke forth into a
low wail, amid whose lamentations one could hear:
“The time has come! Even the clock she loves
best bids me speak. Oh! Arabella, Arabella!"


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
223
In his despair he had not noticed that the pendu-
lum hung motionless, or that the hands stood at
rest on the dial. If he had, he might have waited
long enough to have seen the careful opening of
the great clock's tall door and the stepping forth
of the little lady who had played so deftly upon his
superstition.
He was wandering the corridors like a helpless
child, when a gentle hand fell on his arm and a
soft voice whispered in his ear:
“You have a story to tell. Will you tell it to
me? It may save Miss Postlethwaite's life.”
Did he understand? Would he respond if he
did; or would the shock of her appeal restore him
to a sense of the danger attending disloyalty?
For a moment she doubted the wisdom of this
startling measure, then she saw that he had
passed the point of surprise and that, stranger as
she was, she had but to lead the way for him to
follow, tell his story, and die.
There was no light in the drawing-room when
they entered. But old Mr. Dunbar did not seem
to mind that. Indeed, he seemed to have lost all
consciousness of present surroundings; he was
even oblivious of her. This became quite evident
when the lamp, in flaring up again in the hall, gave


224
The House of Clocks
a moi
a momentary glimpse of his crouching, half-kneel-
ing figure. In the pleading gesture of his tremb-
ling, outreaching arms, Violet beheld an appeal, not
to herself, but to some phantom of his imagination;
and when he spoke, as he presently did, it was with
the freedom of one to whom speech is life's last
boon, and the ear of the listener quite forgotten
in the passion of confession long suppressed.
“She has never loved me," he began, “but I
have always loved her. For me no other woman
has ever existed, though I was sixty-five years of
age when I first saw her, and had long given up the
idea that there lived a woman who could sway
me from my even life and fixed lines of duty.
Sixty-five! and she a youthful bride! Was there
ever such folly! Happily I realized it from the
first, and piled ashes on my hidden flame. Per-
haps that is why I adore her to this day and only
give her over to reprobation because Fate is
stronger than my age stronger even than my
love.
“She is not a good woman, but I might have been
a good man if I had never known the sin which
drew a line of isolation about her, and within which
I, and only I, have stood with her in silent com-
panionship. What was this sin, and in what did


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
225
it have its beginning? I think its beginning was in
the passion she had for her husband. It was not
the every-day passion of her sex in this land of
equable affections, but one of foreign fierceness,
jealousy, and insatiable demand. Yet he was a
very ordinary man. I was once his tutor and I
know. She came to know it too, when-but I am
rushing on too fast, I have much to tell before I
reach that point.
"From the first, I was in their confidence. Not
that either he or she put me there, but that I
lived with them and was always around, and could
not help seeing and hearing what went on between
them. Why he continued to want me in the
house and at his table, when I could no longer be
of service to him, I have never known. Possibly
habit explains all. He was accustomed to my
presence and so was she; so accustomed they hardly
noticed it, as happened one night, when after a
little attempt at conversation, he threw down the
book he had caught up and, addressing her by
name, said without a glance my way, and quite as
if he were alone with her:
“Arabella, there is something I ought to tell you.
I have tried to find the courage to do so many times
before now but have always failed. To-night I
must.' And then he made his great disclosure, -


226
The House of Clocks
a mon
how, unknown to his friends and the world, he
was a widower when he married her, and the father
of a living child.
"With some women this might have passed with a
measure of regret, and some possible contempt for
his silence, but not so with her. She rose to her feet
- I can see her yet-and for a moment stood facing
him in the still, overpowering manner of one who
feels the icy pang of hate enter where love has
been. Never was moment more charged. I could
not breathe while it lasted; and when at last she
spoke, it was with an impetuosity of concentrated
passion, hardly less dreadful than her silence had
been.
“You a father! A father already!' she cried,
all her sweetness swallowed up in ungovernable
wrath. You whom I expected to make so happy
with a child? I curse you and your brat. I- '
"He strove to placate her, to explain. But rage
has no ears, and before I realized my own position,
the scene became openly tempestuous. That her
child should be second to another woman's seemed
to awaken demon instincts within her. When he
ventured to hint that his little girl needed a
mother's care, her irony bit like corroding acid.
He became speechless before it and had not a
protest to raise when she declared that the secret


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
227
he had kept so long and so successfully he
must continue to keep to his dying day. That
the child he had failed to own in his first wife's
lifetime should remain disowned in hers, and if
possible be forgotten. She should never give the
girl a thought nor acknowledge her in any way.
“She was Fury embodied; but the fury was of
that grand order which allures rather than repels.
As I felt myself succumbing to its fascination and
beheld how he was weakening under it even more
perceptibly than myself, I started from my chair,
and sought to glide away before I should hear him
utter a fatal acquiescence.
“But the movement I made unfortunately drew
their attention to me, and after an instant of
silent contemplation of my distracted countenance,
Frank said, as though he were the elder by the
forty years which separated us:
“You have listened to Mrs. Postlethwaite's
wishes. You will respect them of course.'
“That was all. He knew and she knew that I
was to be trusted; but neither of them has ever
known why.
“A month later her child came, and was wel-
comed as though it were the first to bear his name.
It was a boy, and their satisfaction was so great
that I looked to see their old affection revive. But
CO


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
229
doctor, hidden in the darkest corner of the room,
did so also.
"I never knew how she became acquainted with
the terms of her brother-in-law's will. He cer-
tainly never confided them to her, and as certainly
the lawyer who drew up the document never did.
But that she was well aware of its tenor is as posi-
tive a fact as that I am the most wretched man
alive to-night. Otherwise, why the darksome deed
into which she was betrayed when both the
brothers lay dying among strangers, of a dreadful
accident?
“I was witness to that deed. I had accompanied
her on her hurried ride and was at her side when
she entered the inn where the two Postlethwaites
lay. I was always at her side in great joy or in
great trouble, though she professed no affection
for me and gave me but scanty thanks.
“During our ride she had been silent and I had
not disturbed that silence. I had much to think of.
Should we find him living, or should we find him
dead? If dead, would it sever the relations be-
tween us two? Would I ever ride with her again?
“When I was not dwelling on this theme, I was
thinking of the parting look she gave her boy; a
look which had some strange promise in it. What
had that look meant and why did my flesh creep


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
231
nco
upon her impenetrable heart, and shuddered to the
core of my being when she repeated in that voice
which was so terrible because so expressionless:
"Take me to them.'
“They were lying in one room, her husband near-
est the door, the other in a small alcove some ten
feet way. Both were unconscious; both were
surrounded by groups of frightened attendants who
fell back as she approached. A doctor stood at the
bed-head of her husband, but as her eye met his
he stepped aside with a shake of the head and left
the place empty for her.
"The action was significant. I saw that she
understood what it meant, and with constricted
heart watched her as she bent over the dying man
and gazed into his wide-open eyes, already sight-
less and staring. Calculation was in her look and
calculation only; and calculation, or something
equally unintelligible, sent her next glance in the
direction of his brother. What was in her mind?
I could understand her indifference to Frank even
at the crisis of his fate, but not the interest she
showed in Andrew. It was an absorbing one,
altering her whole expression. I no longer knew
her for my dear young madam, and the jealousy
I had never felt towards Frank rose to frantic
resentment in my breast as I beheld what very
ven


232
The House of Clocks
likely might be a tardy recognition of the other's
well-known passion, forced into disclosure by the
exigencies of the moment.
“Alarmed by the strength of my feelings, and
fearing an equal disclosure on my own part, I
sought for a refuge from all eyes and found it in a
little balcony opening out at my right. On to this
balcony I stepped and found myself face to face
with a star-lit heaven. Had I only been content
with my isolation and the splendour of the spec-
tacle spread out before me! But no, I must look
back upon that bed and the solitary woman stand-
ing beside it! I must watch the settling of her
body into rigidity as a voice rose from beside the
other Postlethwaite saying, 'It is a matter of
minutes now,' and then-and then the slow
creeping of her hand to her husband's mouth, the
outspreading of her palm across the livid lips-its
steady clinging there, smothering the feeble
gasps of one already moribund, till the quivering
form grew still, and Frank Postlethwaite lay dead
before my eyes!
"I saw, and made no outcry, but she did, bring-
ing the doctor back to her side with the startled
exclamation:
“Dead? I thought he had an hour's life left
in him, and he has passed before his brother.'


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
233
“I thought it hate—the murderous impulse of a
woman who sees her enemy at her mercy and can
no longer restrain the passion of her long-cherished
antagonism; and while something within me re-
belled at the act, I could not betray her, though
silence made a murderer of me too. I could not.
Her spell was upon me as in another instant it was
upon everyone else in the room. No suspicion of
one so self-repressed in her sadness disturbed the
universal sympathy; and encouraged by this
blindness of the crowd, I vowed within myself
never to reveal her secret. The man was dead, or
as good as dead, when she touched him; and now
that her hate was expended she would grow gentle
and good.
“But I knew the worthlessness of this hope as
well as my misconception of her motive, when
Frank's child by another wife returned to my
memory, and Bella's sin stood exposed.
“But only to myself. I alone knew that the
fortune now wholly hers, and in consequence her
boy's, had been won by a crime. That if her
hand had fallen in comfort on her husband's fore-
head instead of in pressure on his mouth, he would
have outlived his brother long enough to have
become owner of his millions; in which case a
rightful portion would have been insured to his


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
235
shall see fit to make. Do not try to express your
thanks. I see them in your face.'
“Did she, or just the last feeble struggle my con-
science was making to break the bonds in which she
held me, and win back my own respect? I shall
never know, for she left me on completion of this
speech, not to resume the subject, then or ever.
“But though I succumbed outwardly to her
demands, I had not passed the point where inner
conflict ends and peace begins. Her recognition
of Helena and her reception into the family calmed
me for a while, and gave me hope that all would yet
be well. But I had never sounded the full bitter-
ness of madam's morbid heart, well as I thought I
knew it. The hatred she had felt from the first
for her husband's child ripened into frenzied dis-
like when she found her a living image of the
mother whose picture she had come across among
Frank's personal effects. To win a tear from those
meek eyes instead of a smile to the sensitive lips
was her daily play. She seemed to exult in the
joy of impressing upon the girl by how little she
had missed a great fortune, and I have often
thought, much as I tried to keep my mind free
from all extravagant and unnecessary fancies,
that half of the money she spent in beautifying
this house and maintaining art industries and even


236
The House of Clocks
great charitable institutions was spent with the
base purpose of demonstrating to this child the
power of immense wealth, and in what ways she
might expect to see her little brother expend the
millions in which she had been denied all share.
“I was so sure of this that one night while I was
winding up the clocks with which Mrs. Postle-
thwaite in her fondness for old timepieces has filled
the house, I stopped to look at the little figure
toiling so wearily upstairs to bed, without a
mother's kiss. There was an appeal in the small
wistful face which smote my hard old heart, and
possibly a tear welled up in my own eye when I
turned back to my duty.
“Was that why I felt the hand of Providence
upon me, when in my halt before the one clock to
which any superstitious interest was attached-the
great one at the foot of the stairs—I saw that it had
stopped and at the one minute of all minutes in our
wretched lives: Four minutes past two? The hour,
the minute in which Frank Postlethwaite had
gasped his last under the pressure of his wife's hand!
I knew it—the exact minute I mean–because
Providence meant that I should know it. There
had been a clock on the mantelpiece of the hotel
room where he and his brother had died and I had
seen her glance steal towards it at the instant she


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
237
withdrew her palm from her husband's lips. The
stare of that dial and the position of its hands
had lived still in my mind as I believed it did in
hers.
"Four minutes past two! How came our old
timepiece here to stop at that exact moment on a
day when Duty was making its last demand upon
me to remember Frank's unhappy child? There
was no one to answer; but as I looked and looked,
I felt the impulse of the moment strengthen into
purpose to leave those hands undisturbed in their
silent accusation. She might see, and, moved by
the coincidence, tremble at her treatment of
Helena.
“But if this happened-if she saw and trembled
-she gave no sign. The works were started up
by some other hand, and the incident passed. But
it left me with an idea. That clock soon had a way
of stopping and always at that one instant of time.
She was forced at length to notice it, and I remem-
ber an occasion when she stood stock-still with her
eyes on those hands, and failed to find the banister
with her hand, though she groped for it in her
frantic need for support.
“But no command came from her to remove
the worn-out piece, and soon its tricks, and every
lesser thing, were forgotten in the crushing calam-


238
The House of Clocks
ity which befel us in the sickness and death of little
Richard.
“Oh, those days and nights! And oh, the face
of the mother when the doctors told her that the
case was hopeless! I asked myself then, and I
have asked myself a hundred times since, which of
all the emotions I saw pictured there bit the deep-
est, and made the most lasting impression on her
guilty heart? Was it remorse? If so, she showed
no change in her attitude towards Helena, unless
it was by an added bitterness. The sweet looks
and gentle ways of Frank's young daughter could
not win against a hate sharpened by disappoint-
ment. Useless for me to hope for it. Release
from the remorse of years was not to come in that
way. As I realized this, I grew desperate and
resorted again to the old trick of stopping the
clock at the fatal hour. This time her guilty heart
responded. She acknowledged the stab and let
all her miseries appear. But how? In a way to
wring my heart almost to madness, and not benefit
the child at all. She had her first stroke that
night. I had made her a helpless invalid.
“That was eight years ago, and since then what?
Stagnation. She lived with her memories, and I
with mine. Helena only had a right to hope, and
hope perhaps she did, till— Is that the great clock


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
239
talking? Listen! They all talk, but I heed only
the one. What does it say? Tell! tell! tell!
Does it think I will be silent now when I come to
my own guilt? That I will seek to hide my weak-
ness when I could not hide her sin?”
"Explain!” It was Violet speaking, and her
tone was stern in its command. “Of what guilt
do you speak? Not of guilt towards Helena; you
pitied her too much- ".
“But I pitied my dear madam more. It was
that which affected me and drew me into crime
against my will. Besides, I did not know-not
at first—what was in the little bowl of curds and
cream I carried to the girl each day. She had
eaten them in her step-mother's room, and under
her step-mother's eye as long as she had strength
to pass from room to room, and how was I to guess
that it was not wholesome? Because she failed in
health from day to day? Was not my dear madam
failing in health also; and was there poison in her
cup? Innocent at that time, why am I not innocent
now? Because — Oh, I will tell it all; as though at
the bar of God. I will tell all the secrets of that day.
"She was sitting with her hand trembling on the
tray from which I had just lifted the bowl she had
bid me carry to Helena. I had seen her so a


240
The House of Clocks
hundred times before, but not with just that look,
in her eyes, or just that air of desolation in her
stony figure. Something made me speak; some-
thing made me ask if she were not quite so well as
usual, and something made her reply with the
dreadful truth that the doctor had given her just
two months more to live. My fright and mad ·
anguish stupefied me; for I was not prepared for
this, no, not at all;—and unconsciously I stared
down at the bowl I held, unable to breathe or
move or even to meet her look.
“As usual she misinterpreted my emotion.
“Why do you stand like that?' I heard her
say in a tone of great irritation. And why do you
stare into that bowl? Do you think I mean to
leave that child to walk these halls after I am
carried out of them forever? Do you measure
my hate by such a petty yard-stick as that? I
tell you that I would rot above ground rather
than enter it before she did?'
“I had believed I knew this woman; but what soul
ever knows another's? What soul ever knowsitself?
“Bella!' I cried; the first time I had ever pre-
sumed to address her so intimately. “Would you
poison the girl?' And from sheer weakness my
fingers lost their clutch, and the bowl fell to the
floor, breaking into a dozen pieces.


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
241
sa
“For a minute she stared down at these from
over her tray, and then she remarked very low and
very quietly:
“Another bowl, Humphrey, and fresh curds
from the kitchen. I will do the seasoning. The
doses are too small to be skipped. You won't?'—
I had shaken my head- But you will! It will
not be the first time you have gone down the hall
with this mixture.'
“But that was before I knew-'I began.
"And now that you do, you will go just the
same.' Then as I stood hesitating, a thousand
memories overwhelming me in an instant, she
added in a voice to tear the heart, 'Do not make
me hate the only being left in this world who
understands and loves me.'
"She was a helpless invalid, and I a broken man,
but when that word 'love' fell from her lips, I felt
the blood start burning in my veins, and all the
crust of habit and years of self-control loosen about
my heart, and make me young again. What if her
thoughts were dark and her wishes murderous!
She was born to rule and sway men to her will even
to their own undoing.
"I wish I might kiss your hand,' was what I
murmured, gazing at her white fingers groping
over her tray.
16


242
The House of Clocks
"You may,' she answered, and hell became
heaven to me for a brief instant. Then I lifted
myself and went obediently about my task.
“But puppet though I was, I was not utterly
without sympathy. When I entered Helena's
room and saw how her startled eyes fell shrinkingly
on the bowl I set down before her, my conscience
leaped to life and I could not help saying:
“Don't you like the curds, Helena? Your
brother used to love them very much.'
“His were
“What, Helena?'
"What these are not,' she murmured.
“I stared at her, terror-stricken. So she knew,
and yet did not seize the bowl and empty it out of
the window! Instead, her hand moved slowly
towards it and drew it into place before her.
"Yet I must eat,' she said, lifting her eyes to
mine in a sort of patient despair, which yet was
without accusation.
“But my hand had instinctively gone to hers
and grasped it.
“Why must you eat it?' I asked. 'If—if you
do not find it wholesome, why do you touch it?'
“Because my step-mother expects me to,' she
cried, and I have no other will than hers. When
I was a little, little child, my father made me


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
243
e
.
ONA
de
promise that if I ever came to live with her I
would obey her simplest wish. And I always have.
I will not disappoint the trust he put in me.'
“Even if you die of it?'
"I do not know whether I whispered these
words or only thought them. She answered
as though I had spoken.
"I am not afraid to die. I am more afraid to
live. She may ask me some day to do something
I feel to be wrong.'
“When I fled down the hall that night, I heard
one of the small clocks speak to me. Telll it
cried, tell! tell! tell! tell! I rushed away from it
with beaded forehead and rising hair.
"Then another's note piped up. No it
droned. No! no! no! no! I stopped and took
heart. Disgrace the woman I loved, on the brink
of the grave? I-who asked no other boon from
heaven than to see her happy, gracious, and good?
Impossible. I would obey the great clock's
voice; the others were mere chatterboxes.
"But it has at last changed its tune, for some rea-
son, quite changed its tune. Now, it is Yes! Yes!
instead of No! and in obeying it I save Helena.
But what of Bella? and O God, what of myself?"
A sigh, a groan, then a long and heavy silence,
into which there finally broke the pealing of the


Problem 6 for Violet Strange
245
little procession stopped,—the doctor with his hand
upon the rail, the lover with his burden clasped
yet more protectingly to his breast. That a little
speech awaited them could be seen from the force
and fury of the gaze which the indomitable woman
bent upon the lax and half-unconscious figure she
beheld thus sheltered and conveyed. Having
but one arrow left in her exhausted quiver, she
launched it straight at the innocent breast which
had never harboured against her a defiant thought.
“Ingrate!" was the word she hurled in a voice
from which all its seductive music had gone for-
ever. “Where are you going? Are they carrying
you alive to your grave?".
A moan from Helena's pale lips, then silence.
She had fainted at that barbed attack. But there
was one there who dared to answer for her and he
spoke relentlessly. It was the man who loved her.
“No, madam. We are carrying her to safety.
You must know what I mean by that. Let her go
quietly and you may die in peace. Otherwise "
She interrupted him with a loud call, startling
into life the echoes of that haunted hall:
“Humphrey! Come to me, Humphrey!"
But no Humphrey appeared.
Another call, louder and more peremptory than
before:


246
The House of Clocks
TS a
III
"Humphrey! I say, Humphrey!"
But the answer was the same-silence, and only
silence. As the horror of this grew, the doctor
spoke:
“Mr. Humphrey Dunbar's ears are closed to all
earthly summons. He died last night at the very
hour he said he would-four minutes after two."
"Four minutes after two !” It came from her lips
in a whisper, but with a revelation of her broken
heart and life. “Four minutes after two !" And
defiant to the last, her head rose, and for an in-
stant, for a mere breath of time, they saw her as
she had looked in her prime, regal in form, attitude,
and expression; then the will which had sustained
her through so much, faltered and succumbed,
and with a final reiteration of the words "Four
minutes after two!" she broke into a rattling
laugh, and fell back into the arms of her old nurse.
And below, one clock struck the hour and then
another. But not the big one at the foot of the
stairs. That still stood silent, with its hands point-
ing to the hour and minute of Frank Postle-
thwaite's hastened death.
END OF PROBLEM VI


PROBLEM VII
THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
VIOLET had gone to her room. She had a task
V before her. That afternoon, a packet had
been left at the door, which, from a certain letter
scribbled in one corner, she knew to be from her
employer. The contents of that packet must be
read, and she had made herself comfortable with
the intention of setting to work at once. But
ten o'clock struck and then eleven before she could
bring herself to give any attention to the manu-
script awaiting her perusal. In her present mood,
a quiet sitting by the fire, with her eyes upon the
changeful flame, was preferable to the study of any
affair her employer might send her. Yet, because
she was conscious of the duty she thus openly
neglected, she sat crouched over her desk with her
hand on the mysterious packet, the string of which,
however, she made no effort to loosen.
247


248 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
What was she thinking of?
We are not alone in our curiosity on this subject.
Her brother Arthur, coming unperceived into the
room, gives tokens of a similar interest. Never
before had he seen her oblivious to an approaching
step; and after a momentary contemplation of
her absorbed figure, so girlishly sweet and yet so
deeply intent, he advances to her side, and peer-
ing earnestly into her face, observes with a serious-
ness quite unusual to him:
“Puss, you are looking worried,—not like your.
self at all. I've noticed it for some time. What's
up. Getting tired of the business?".
"No-not altogether—that is, it's not that, if it's
anything. I'm not sure that it's anything. I- "
She had turned back to her desk and was pushing
about the various articles with which it was plenti-
fully bespread; but this did not hide the flush which
had crept into her cheeks and even dyed the snowy
whiteness of her neck. Arthur's astonishment at
this evidence of emotion was very great; but he
said nothing, only watched her still more closely,
as with a light laugh she regained her self-posses-
sion, and with the practical air of a philosopher
uttered this trite remark:
"Everyone has his sober moments. I was only
thinking— "


250 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
was letting her heart out in a succession of sisterly
kisses.
“O, Arthur, you good, good boy! Together we'll
soon make up the amount, and then- "
“Then what?"
A sweet soft look robbed her face of its piquancy,
but gave it an aspect of indescribable beauty quite
new to Arthur's eyes.
Tapping his lips with a thoughtful forefinger,
he asked:
“Who was that sombre-looking chap I saw bow-
ing to you as we came out of church last Sunday?"
She awoke from her dreamy state with an
astonishing quickness.
“He? Surely you remember him. Have you
forgotten that evening in Massachusetts—the
grotto-and-
“Oh, it's Upjohn, is it? Yes, I remember him.
He's fond of church, isn't he? That is, when he's
in New York.”
Her lips took a roguish curve then a very serious
one; but she made no answer.
"I have noticed that he's always in his seat
and always looking your way."
“That's very odd of him," she declared, her
dimples coming and going in a most bewildering
fashion. “I can't imagine why he should do that."


252 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
in any manner most convenient to yourself, for I
shall have a word to say to you then, which you
may be glad to hear, if as you have lately intimated
you need to earn but one or two more substantial
rewards in order to cry halt to the pursuit for which
you have proved yourself so well qualified.
The story, in deference to yourself as a young
and much preoccupied woman, has been written
in a way to interest. Though the work of an every-
day police detective, you will find in it no lack of
mystery or romance; and if at the end you perceive
that it runs, as such cases frequently do, up against
a perfectly blank wall, you must remember that
openings can be made in walls, and that the loosen-
ing of one weak stone from its appointed place,
sometimes leads to the downfall of all.
So much for the letter.
Laying it aside, with a shrug of her expressive
shoulders, Violet took up the manuscript.
Let us take it up too. It runs thus:
On the 17th of July, 194, a tragedy of no little
interest occurred in one of the residences of the
Colonnade in Lafayette Place.
Mr. Hasbrouck, a well known and highly re-
spected citizen, was attacked in his room by an
unknown assailant, and shot dead before assistance


254 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
astonished at the paucity of facts to be gleaned
from the inmates themselves. The old servant,
who was the first to talk, had only this account
of the crime to give:
The family, which consisted of Mr. Hasbrouck,
his wife, and three servants, had retired for
the night at the usual hour and under the usual
auspices. At eleven o'clock the lights were all
extinguished, and the whole household asleep, with
the possible exception of Mr. Hasbrouck himself,
who, being a man of large business responsibilities,
was frequently troubled with insomnia.
Suddenly Mrs. Hasbrouck woke with a start.
Had she dreamed the words that were ringing in her
ears, or had they been actually uttered in her
hearing? They were short, sharp words, full of
terror and menace, and she had nearly satisfied
herself that she had imagined them, when there
came, from somewhere near the door, a sound she
neither understood nor could interpret, but which
filled her with inexplicable terror, and made her
afraid to breathe, or even to stretch forth her hand
towards her husband, whom she supposed to be
sleeping at her side. At length another strange
sound, which she was sure was not due to her
imagination, drove her to make an attempt to rouse
him, when she was horrified to find that she was


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
255
alone in bed, and her husband nowhere within
reach.
Filled now with something more than nervous
apprehension, she flung herself to the floor, and
tried to penetrate with frenzied glances, the sur-
rounding darkness. But the blinds and shutters
both having been carefully closed by Mr. Has-
brouck before retiring, she found this impossible,
and she was about to sink in terror to the floor,
when she heard a low gasp on the other side of the
room followed by a suppressed cry.
“God! what have I done!”
The voice was a strange one, but before the fear
aroused by this fact could culminate in a shriek of
dismay, she caught the sound of retreating foot-
steps, and, eagerly listening, she heard them de-
scend the stairs and depart by the front door.
Had she known what had occurred-had there
been no doubt in her mind as to what lay in the
darkness on the other side of the room-it is likely
that, at the noise caused by the closing front door,
she would have made at once for the balcony that
opened out from the window before which she was
standing, and taken one look at the flying figure
below. But her uncertainty as to what lay hidden
from her by the darkness chained her feet to the
floor, and there is no knowing when she would have


256 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
moved, if a carriage had not at that moment passed
down Astor Place, bringing with it a sense of com-
panionship which broke the spell holding her, and
gave her strength to light the gas which was in
ready reach of her hand.
As the sudden blaze illuminated the room,
revealing in a burst the old familiar walls and well-
known pieces of furniture, she felt for a moment as
if released from some heavy nightmare and re-
stored to the common experiences of life. But in
another instant her former dread returned, and
she found herself quaking at the prospect of passing
around the foot of the bed into that part of the
room which was as yet hidden from her eyes.
But the desperation which comes with great
crises finally drove her from her retreat; and, creep-
ing slowly forward, she cast one glance at the floor
before her, when she found her worst fears realized
by the sight of the dead body of her husband lying
prone before the open doorway, with a bullet-hole
in his forehead.
Her first impulse was to shriek, but, by a power-
ful exercise of will, she checked herself, and ring-
ing frantically for the servants who slept on the top
floor of the house, flew to the nearest window and
endeavoured to open it. But the shutters had
been bolted so securely by Mr. Hasbrouck, in his


258 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
or in the condition of the body itself, which added
an iota to the knowledge already obtained. That
Mr. Hasbrouck had been in bed; that he had risen
upon hearing a noise; and that he had been shot
before reaching the door, were self-evident facts.
But there was nothing to guide me further. The
very simplicity of the circumstances caused a
dearth of clues, which made the difficulty of pro-
cedure as great as any I had ever encountered.
My search through the hall and down the stairs
elicited nothing; and an investigation of the bolts
and bars by which the house was secured, assured
me that the assassin had either entered by the front
door, or had already been secreted in the house
when it was locked up for the night.
"I shall have to trouble Mrs. Hasbrouck for a
short interview," I hereupon announced to the
trembling old servant, who had followed me like
a dog about the house.
He made no demur, and in a few minutes I was
ushered into the presence of the newly made widow,
who sat quite alone, in a large chamber in the rear.
As I crossed the threshold she looked up, and I
encountered a good, plain face, without the shadow
of guile in it.
“Madam,” said I, “I have not come to disturb
you. I will ask two or three questions only, and


260 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
the front door close.. I was paralysed by fear and
dread."
“Are you in the habit of trusting to the security
of a latch-lock only in the fastening of your front
door at night? I am told that the big key was not
in the lock, and that the bolt at the bottom of the
door was not drawn.”
“The bolt at the bottom of the door is never
drawn. Mr. Hasbrouck was so good a man that
he never mistrusted any one. That is why the big
lock was not fastened. The key, not working
well, he took it some days ago to the locksmith, and
when the latter failed to return it, he laughed, and
said he thought no one would ever think of
meddling with his front door."
“Is there more than one night-key to your
house?" I now asked.
She shook her head.
“And when did Mr. Hasbrouck last use his?"
"To-night, when he came home from prayer
meeting," she answered, and burst into tears.
Her grief was so real and her loss so recent that
I hesitated to afflict her by further questions. So
returning to the scene of the tragedy, I stepped out
upon the balcony which ran in front. Soft voices
instantly struck my ears. The neighbours on
either side were grouped in front of their own win-


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
261
dows, and were exchanging the remarks natural
under the circumstances. I paused, as in duty
bound, and listened. But I heard nothing worth
recording, and would have instantly re-entered the
house, if I had not been impressed by the ap-
pearance of a very graceful woman who stood at
my right. She was clinging to her husband, who
was gazing at one of the pillars before him in a
strange fixed way which astonished me till he
attempted to move, and then I saw that he was
blind. I remembered that there lived in this row
a blind doctor, equally celebrated for his skill and
for his uncommon personal attractions, and
greatly interested not only by his affliction, but in
the sympathy evinced by his young and affection-
ate wife, I stood still, till I heard her say in the
soft and appealing tones of love:
"Come in, Constant; you have heavy duties for
to-morrow, and you should get a few hours' rest
if possible.”
He came from the shadow of the pillar, and for
one minute I saw his face with the lamplight shin-
ing full upon it. It was as regular of feature as a
sculptured Adonis, and it was as white.
"Sleep!” he repeated, in the measured tones of
deep but suppressed feeling. “Sleep! with murder
on the other side of the wall!” And he stretched


262 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
out his arms in a dazed way that insensibly accen-
tuated the horror I myself felt of the crime which
had so lately taken place in the room behind me.
She, noting the movement, took one of the grop-
ing hands in her own and drew him gently towards
her.
“This way,” she urged; and, guiding him into
the house, she closed the window and drew down
the shades.
I have no excuse to offer for my curiosity, but the
interest excited in me by this totally irrelevant
episode was so great that I did not leave the
neighbourhood till I had learned something of
this remarkable couple.
The story told me was very simple. Dr. Za-
briskie had not been born blind, but had become
so after a grievous illness which had stricken him
down soon after he received his diploma. Instead
of succumbing to an affliction which would have
daunted most men, he expressed his intention of
practising his profession, and soon became so
successful in it that he found no difficulty in estab-
lishing himself in one of the best paying quarters
of the city. Indeed, his intuition seemed to have
developed in a remarkable degree after the loss of
his sight, and he seldom, if ever, made a mistake
in diagnosis. Considering this fact, and the per-


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
263
sonal attractions which gave him distinction, it
was no wonder that he soon became a popular
physician whose presence was a benefaction and
whose word law.
He had been engaged to be married at the time
of his illness, and when he learned what was likely
to be its result, had offered to release the young
lady from all obligation to him. But she would
not be released, and they were married. This had
taken place some five years previous to Mr.
Hasbrouck's death, three of which had been spent
by them in Lafayette Place.
So much for the beautiful woman next door.
There being absolutely no clue to the assailant
of Mr. Hasbrouck, I naturally looked forward to
the inquest for some evidence upon which to work.
But there seemed to be no underlying facts to this
tragedy. The most careful study into the habits
and conduct of the deceased brought nothing to
light save his general beneficence and rectitude,
nor was there in his history or in that of his wife,
any secret or hidden obligation calculated to pro-
voke any such act of revenge as murder. Mrs.
Hasbrouck's surmise that the intruder was simply
a burglar, and that she had rather imagined than
heard the words which pointed to the shooting as
a deed of vengeance, soon gained general credence.


264 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
But though the police worked long and arduously
in this new direction their efforts were without fruit
and the case bids fair to remain an unsolvable
mystery.
That was all. As Violet dropped the last page
from her hand, she recalled a certain phrase in her
employer's letter. “If at the end you come upon
a perfectly blank wall-" Well, she had come upon
this wall. Did he expect her to make an opening
in it? Or had he already done so himself, and was
merely testing her much vaunted discernment.
Piqued by the thought, she carefully reread
the manuscript, and when she had again reached
its uncompromising end, she gave herself up to a
few minutes of concentrated thought, then, taking
a sheet of paper from the rack before her, she wrote
upon it a single sentence, and folding the sheet,
put it in an envelope which she left unaddressed.
This done, she went to bed and slept like the child
she really was.
At an early hour the next morning she entered
her employer's office. Acknowledging with a nod
his somewhat ceremonious bow, she handed him
the envelope in which she had enclosed that one
mysterious sentence.
He took it with a smile, opened it offhand,


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
265
glanced at what she had written, and flushed a
vivid red.
"You are a-brick," he was going to say, but
changed the last word to one more in keeping
with her character and appearance. “Look here. I
expected this from you and so prepared myself."
Taking out a similar piece of paper from his own
pocket-book, he laid it down beside hers on the
desk before him. It also held a single sentence
and, barring a slight difference of expression, the
one was the counterpart of the other. “The one
loose stone,” he murmured.
“Seen and noted by both.".
“Why not?" he asked. Then as she glanced
expectantly his way, he earnestly added: "To-
gether we may be able to do something. The
reward offered by Mrs. Hasbrouck for the detec-
tion of the murderer was a very large one. She is a
woman of means. I have never heard of its being
withdrawn."
“Then it never has been," was Violet's emphatic
conclusion, her dimples enforcing the statement as
only such dimples can. “But-what do you want
of me in an affair of this kind? Something more
than to help you locate the one possible clue
to further enlightenment. You would not have
mentioned the big reward just for that."


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
267
upon the human side of this sombre story, a like-
ness to the former manuscript which may prove to
you, as it certainly did to Violet, to whose consider-
ation she was indebted for the readableness of the
policeman's report, which in all probability had
been a simple statement of facts.
But there, I am speaking of Violet again. To
prevent a further mischance of this nature, I will
introduce at once the above mentioned account.
II
No man in all New York was ever more inter-
ested than myself in the Hasbrouck affair, when
it was the one and only topic of interest at a period
when news was unusually scarce. But, together
with many such inexplicable mysteries, it had
passed almost completely from my mind, when it
was forcibly brought back, one day, by a walk I
took through Lafayette Place.
At sight of the long row of uniform buildings,
with their pillared fronts and connecting balconies
every detail of the crime which had filled the papers
at the time with innumerable conjectures re-
turned to me with extraordinary clearness, and,
before I knew it, I found myself standing stock-
still in the middle of the block with my eye raised
to the Hasbrouck house and my ears-or rather


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
269
of the crime, whose testimony had been suppressed
at the inquest, by fear or influence?
The possibility of having come upon a clue even
at this late day so fired my ambition that I took
the first opportunity of revisiting Lafayette Place.
Choosing such persons as I thought most open to
my questions, I learned that there were many who
could testify to having heard a woman's shrill
scream on that memorable night, just prior to the
alarm given by old Cyrus, but no one who could
tell from whose lips it had come. One fact, how-
ever, was immediately settled. It had not been
the result of the servant-women's fears. Both of
the girls were positive that they had uttered no
sound, nor had they themselves heard any till
Cyrus rushed to the window with his wild cries.
As the scream, by whomever given, was uttered
before they descended the stairs, I was convinced
by these assurances that it had issued from one of
the front windows, and not from the rear of the
house, where their own rooms lay. Could it be
that it had sprung from the adjoining dwelling,
and that,
I remembered who had lived there and was for
ringing the bell at once. But, missing the doctor's
sign, I made inquiries and found that he had moved
from the block. However, a doctor is soon found,


270 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
and in less than fifteen minutes I was at the door
of his new home, where I asked, not for him, but
for Mrs. Zabriskie.
It required some courage to do this, for I had
taken particular notice of the doctor's wife at the
inquest, and her beauty, at that time, had worn
such an aspect of mingled sweetness and dignity
that I hesitated to encounter it under any circum-
stances likely to disturb its pure serenity. But a
clue once grasped cannot be lightly set aside by a
true detective, and it would have taken more
than a woman's frowns to stop me at this
point.
However, it was not with frowns she received me,
but with a display of emotion for which I was even
less prepared. I had sent up my card and I saw
it trembling in her hand as she entered the room.
As she neared me, she glanced at it, and with a
show of gentle indifference which did not in the
least disguise her extreme anxiety, she courteously
remarked:
“Your name is an unfamiliar one to me. But
you told my maid that your business was one of
extreme importance, and so I have consented to see
you. What can an agent from a private detective
office have to say to me?"
Startled by this evidence of the existence of some


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
271
hidden skeleton in her own closet, I made an
immediate attempt to reassure her.
"Nothing which concerns you personally,” said
I. “I simply wish to ask you a question in
regard to a small matter connected with Mr.
Hasbrouck's violent death in Lafayette Place, a
couple of years ago. You were living in the adjoin-
ing house at the time I believe, and it has occurred
to me that you might on that account be able to
up.”
Instead of showing the relief I expected, her
pallor increased and her fine eyes, which had been
fixed curiously upon me, sank in confusion to the
floor.
“Great heaven!” thought I. “She looks as if
at one more word from me, she would fall at my
feet in a faint. What is this I have stumbled
upon!”
“I do not see how you can have any question to
ask me on that subject,” she began with an effort
at composure which for some reason disturbed
me more than her previous open display of fear.
“Yet if you have,” she continued, with a rapid
change of manner that touched my heart in spite
of myself, “I shall, of course, do my best to answer
you."


272 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
There are women whose sweetest tones and most
charming smiles only serve to awaken distrust in
men of my calling; but Mrs. Zabriskie was not of
this number. Her face was beautiful, but it was
also candid in its expression, and beneath the agita-
tion which palpably disturbed her, I was sure there
lurked nothing either wicked or false. Yet I held
fast by the clue which I had grasped as it were in
the dark, and without knowing whither I was tend-
ing, much less whither I was leading her, I pro-
ceeded to say:
"The question which I presume to put to you as
the next door neighbour of Mr. Hasbrouck is this:
Who was the woman who on the night of that
gentleman's assassination screamed out so loudly
that the whole neighbourhood heard her?".
The gasp she gave answered my question in a
way she little realized, and struck as I was by the
impalpable links that had led me to the threshold
of this hitherto unsolvable mystery, I was about
to press my advantage and ask another question,
when she quickly started forward and laid her
hand on my lips.
Astonished, I looked at her inquiringly, but her
head was turned aside, and her eyes, fixed upon the
door, showed the greatest anxiety. Instantly I
realized what she feared. Her husband was


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
273
entering the house, and she dreaded lest his ears
should catch a word of our conversation.
Not knowing what was in her mind, and unable
to realize the importance of the moment to her, I
yet listened to the advance of her blind husband
with an almost painful interest. Would he enter
the room where we were, or would he pass imme-
diately to his office in the rear? She seemed to
wonder too, and almost held her breath as he
neared the door, paused, and stood in the open
doorway, with his ear turned towards us.
As for myself, I remained perfectly still, gazing
at his face in mingled surprise and apprehension.
For besides its beauty, which was of a marked
order, as I have already observed, it had a touching
expression which irresistibly aroused both pity and
interest in the spectator. This may have been
the result of his affliction, or it may have sprung
from some deeper cause; but, whatever its source,
this look in his face produced a strong impression
upon me and interested me at once in his personal-
ity. Would he enter; or would he pass on? Her
look of silent appeal showed me in which direction
her wishes lay, but while I answered her glance by
complete silence, I was conscious in some indistinct
way that the business I had undertaken would be
better furthered by his entrance.
I8


274 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
The blind have often been said to possess a sixth
sense in place of the one they have lost. Though
I am sure we made no noise, I soon perceived that
he was aware of our presence. Stepping hastily
forward he said, in the high and vibrating tone of
restrained passion:
“Zulma, are you there?”
For a moment I thought she did not mean to
answer, but knowing doubtless from experience the
impossibility of deceiving him, she answered with
a cheerful assent, dropping her hand as she did
so from before my lips.
He heard the slight rustle which accompanied the
movement, and a look I found it hard to compre-
hend flashed over his features, altering his expression
so completely that he seemed another man.
"You have someone with you," he declared,
advancing another step, but with none of the
uncertainty which usually accompanies the move-
ments of the blind. “Some dear friend," he
went on, with an almost sarcastic emphasis and a
forced smile that had little of gaiety in it.
The agitated and distressed blush which an-
swered him could have but one interpretation.
He suspected that her hand had been clasped in
mine, and she perceived his thought and knew that
I perceived it also.
111
ove


276 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
lor
look like that, Constant; you know it is an hallu-
cination which must vanish the moment we drag
it into broad daylight—that hehe, the best man
in all the world, was himself the assailant of Mr.
Hasbrouck."
Good God!
"I say nothing of the impossibility of this being
so," she went on in a fever of expostulation.
“He is blind, and could not have delivered such a
shot even if he had desired to; besides, he had no
weapon. But the inconsistency of the thing
speaks for itself, and should assure him that his
mind is unbalanced and that he is merely suffering
from a shock that was greater than we realized.
He is a physician and has had many such instances
in his own practice. Why, he was very much
attached to Mr. Hasbrouck! They were the best
of friends, and though he insists that he killed him,
he cannot give any reason for the deed.”
At these words the doctor's face grew stern,
and he spoke like an automaton repeating some
fearful lesson:
"I killed him. I went to his room and deliber-
ately shot him. I had nothing against him, and
my remorse is extreme. Arrest me and let me pay
the penalty of my crime. It is the only way in
which I can obtain peace.”


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
277
Shocked beyond all power of self-control by
this repetition of what she evidently considered the
unhappy ravings of a madman, she let go his arm
and turned upon me in frenzy.
“Convince him!” she cried. “Convince him by
your questions that he never could have done this
fearful thing.”
I was labouring under great excitement myself,
for as a private agent with no official authority such
as he evidently attributed to me in the blindness
of his passion, I felt the incongruity of my position
in the face of a matter of such tragic consequence.
Besides, I agreed with her that he was in a dis-
tempered state of mind, and I hardly knew how to
deal with one so fixed in his hallucination and with
so much intelligence to support it. But the emer-
gency was great, for he was holding out his wrists
in the evident expectation o’ my taking him into
instant custody; and the sight was killing his wife,
who had sunk on the floor between us, in terror
and anguish.
“You say you killed Mr. Hasbrouck," I began.
“Where did you get your pistol, and what did you
do with it after you left his house?”
“My husband had no pistol; never had any pis-
tol," put in Mrs. Zabriskie, with vehement asser-
tion. “If I had seen him with such a weapon— "


278 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
“I threw it away. When I left the house, I cast
it as far from me as possible, for I was frightened
at what I had done, horribly frightened.”
"No pistol was ever found," I answered with a
smile, forgetting for the moment that he could not
see. “If such an instrument had been found in
the street after a murder of such consequence, it
certainly would have been brought to the police."
“You forget that a good pistol is valuable prop-
erty,” he went on stolidly. “Someone came along
before the general alarm was given; and seeing
such a treasure lying on the sidewalk, picked it up
and carried it off. Not being an honest man, he
preferred to keep it to drawing the attention of
the police upon himself.”
“Hum, perhaps,” said I; "but where did you
get it. Surely you can tell where you procured
such a weapon, if, as your wife intimates, you did
not own one.”
"I bought it that selfsame night of a friend; a
friend whom I will not name, since he resides no
longer in this country. I-" He paused; intense
passion was in his face; he turned towards his wife,
and a low cry escaped him, which made her look
up in fear.
"I do not wish to go into any particulars,” said
he. “God forsook me and I committed a horrible


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
279
crime. When I am punished, perhaps peace will
return to me and happiness to her. I would not
wish her to suffer too long or too bitterly for my
sin.”
“Constant!" What love was in the cry! It
seemed to move him and turn his thoughts for a
moment into a different channel.
"Poor child!” he murmured, stretching out his
hands by an irresistible impulse towards her.
But the change was but momentary, and he was
soon again the stern and determined self-accuser.
“Are you going to take me before a magistrate?”
he asked. “If so, I have a few duties to perform
which you are welcome to witness."
This was too much; I felt that the time had come
for me to disabuse his mind of the impression he
had unwittingly formed of me. I therefore said
as considerately as I could:
“You mistake my position, Dr. Zabriskie.
Though a detective of some experience, I have no
connection with the police and no right to intrude
myself in a matter of such tragic importance. If,
however, you are as anxious as you say to subject
yourself to police examination, I will mention the
same to the proper authorities, and leave them to
take such action as they think best."
“That will be still more satisfactory to me,”


280 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
said he; "for though I have many times contem-
plated giving myself up, I have still much to do
before I can leave my home and practice without
injury to others. Good-day; when you want me
you will find me here."
He was gone, and the poor young wife was left
crouching on the floor alone. Pitying her shame
and terror, I ventured to remark that it was not an
uncommon thing for a man to confess to a crime
he had never committed, and assured her that the
matter would be inquired into very carefully
before any attempt was made upon his liberty.
She thanked me, and slowly rising, tried to regain
her equanimity; but the manner as well as the
matter of her husband's self-condemnation was
too overwhelming in its nature for her to recover
readily from her emotions.
"I have long dreaded this," she acknowledged.
"For months I have foreseen that he would make
some rash communication or insane avowal. If
I had dared, I would have consulted some physi-
cian about this hallucination of his; but he was so
sane on other points that I hesitated to give my
dreadful secret to the world. I kept hoping that
time and his daily pursuits would have their effect
and restore him to himself. But his illusion grows,
and now I fear that nothing will ever convince


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
281
him that he did not commit the deed of which he
accuses himself. If he were not blind I would have
more hope, but the blind have so much time for
brooding.”
"I think he had better be indulged in his fancies
for the present," I ventured. "If he is labouring
under an illusion it might be dangerous to cross
him."
“If?” she echoed in an indescribable tone of
amazement and dread. “Can you for a moment
harbour the idea that he has spoken the truth?"
“Madam,” I returned, with something of the
cynicism of my calling, "what caused you to give
such an unearthly scream just before this murder
was made known to the neighbourhood?"
She stared, paled, and finally began to tremble,
not, as I now believe, at the insinuation latent in
my words, but at the doubts which my question
aroused in her own breast.
“Did I?" she asked; then with a burst of can-
dour which seemed inseparable from her nature,
she continued: “Why do I try to mislead you or
deceive myself? I did give a shriek just before
the alarm was raised next door; but it was not from
any knowledge I had of a crime having been com-
mitted, but because I unexpectedly saw before me
my husband whom I supposed to be on his way to


282 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
Poughkeepsie. He was looking very pale and
strange, and for a moment I thought I stood face
to face with his ghost. But he soon explained his
appearance by saying that he had fallen from the
train and had only been saved by a miracle from
being dismembered; and I was just bemoaning his
mishap and trying to calm him and myself, when
that terrible shout was heard next door of 'Murder!
murder! Coming so soon after the shock he had
himself experienced, it quite unnerved him, and I
think we can date his mental disturbance from that
moment. For he began immediately to take a
morbid interest in the affair next door, though it
was weeks, if not months, before he let a word fall
of the nature of those you have just heard. In-
deed it was not till I repeated to him some of the
expressions he was continually letting fall in his
sleep, that he commenced to accuse himself of
crime and talk of retribution."
"You say that your husband frightened you on
that night by appearing suddenly at the door when
you thought him on his way to Poughkeepsie.
Is Dr. Zabriskie in the habit of thus going and
coming alone at an hour so late as this must have
been?”
“You forget that to the blind, night is less full
of perils than the day. Often and often has my


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
283
husband found his way to his patients' houses
alone after midnight; but on this especial evening
he had Leonard with him. Leonard was his chauf-
feur, and always accompanied him when he went
any distance."
"Well, then,” said I, "all we have to do is to
summon Leonard and hear what he has to say
concerning this affair. He will surely know
whether or not his master went into the house next
door."
“Leonard has left us,” she said. “Dr. Zabriskie
has another chauffeur now. Besides (I have
nothing to conceal from you), Leonard was not
with him when he returned to the house that even-
ing or the doctor would not have been without his
portmanteau till the next day. Something-I
have never known what-caused them to separate,
and that is why I have no answer to give the
doctor when he accuses himself of committing a
deed that night so wholly out of keeping with
every other act of his life.”
"And have you never asked Leonard why
they separated and why he allowed his master to
come home alone after the shock he had received
at the station?”
'I did not know there was any reason for my
doing so till long after he had left us."


284 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
“And when did he leave?".
“That I do not remember. A few weeks or
possibly a few days after that dreadful night."
“And where is he now?”.
“Ah, that I have not the least means of knowing.
But,” she objected, in sudden distrust, "what do
you want of Leonard? If he did not follow Dr.
Zabriskie to his own door, he could tell us nothing
that would convince my husband that he is labour-
ing under an illusion.”
"But he might tell us something which would
codvince us that Dr. Zabriskie was not himself
after the accident; that he ".
"Hush!" came from her lips in imperious tones.
“I will not believe that he shot Mr. Hasbrouck
even if you prove him to have been insane at the
time. How could he? My husband is blind.
It would take a man of very keen sight to force
himself into a house closed for the night, and kill
a man in the dark at one shot.”
“On the contrary, it is only a blind man who
could do this,” cried a voice from the doorway.
"Those who trust to eyesight must be able to catch
a glimpse of the mark they aim at, and this room,
as I have been told, was without a glimmer of light.
But the blind trust to sound, and as Mr. Hasbrouck
spoke "


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
285
"Oh!" burst from the horrified wife, “is there no
one to stop him when he speaks like that?”
III
As you will see, this matter, so recklessly entered
into, had proved to be of too serious a nature for
me to pursue it farther without the cognizance
of the police. Having a friend on the force in
whose discretion I could rely, I took him into my
confidence and asked for his advice. He pooh-
poohed the doctor's statements, but said that he
would bring the matter to the attention of the
superintendent and let me know the result. I
agreed to this, and we parted with the mutual
understanding that mum was the word till some
official decision had been arrived at. I had not
long to wait. At an early day he came in with the
information that there had been, as might be
expected, a division of opinion among his superiors
as to the importance of Dr. Zabriskie's so-called
confession, but in one point they had been unani-
mous and that was the desirability of his appearing
before them at Headquarters for a personal exam-
ination. As, however, in the mind of two out of
three of them his condition was attributed entirely
to acute mania, it had been thought best to employ
as their emissary one in whom he had already


286 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
confided and submitted his case to,-in other
words, myself. The time was set for the next
afternoon at the close of his usual office hours.
He went without reluctance, his wife accom-
panying him. In the short time which elapsed
between their leaving home and entering Head-
quarters, I embraced the opportunity of observing
them, and I found the study equally exciting and
interesting. His face was calm but hopeless, and
his eye, dark and unfathomable, but neither frenzied
nor uncertain. He spoke but once and listened
to nothing, though now and then his wife moved as
if to attract his attention, and once even stole her
hand towards his, in the tender hope that he would
feel its approach and accept her sympathy. But
he was deaf as well as blind; and sat wrapped up in
thoughts which she, I know, would have given
worlds to penetrate.
Her countenance was not without its mystery
also. She showed in every lineament passionate
concern and misery, and a deep tenderness from
which the element of fear was not absent. But she,
as well as he, betrayed that some misunderstanding
deeper than any I had previously suspected drew
its intangible veil between them and made the
near proximity in which they sat at once a heart-
piercing delight and an unspeakable pain. What


288 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
unrest of a madman; so was his speech, which was
calm, straightforward, and quietly determined.
"I shot Mr. Hasbrouck," was his steady affirma-
tion, given without any show of frenzy or desper-
ation. “If you ask me why I did it, I cannot
answer; if you ask me how, I am ready to state all
that I know concerning the matter."
"But, Dr. Zabriskie," interposed one of the
inspectors, “the why is the most important thing
for us to consider just now. If you really desire
to convince us that you committed this dreadful
crime of killing a totally inoffensive man, you
should give us some reason for an act so opposed
to all your instincts and general conduct."
But the doctor continued unmoved:
"I had no reason for murdering Mr. Hasbrouck.
A hundred questions can elicit no other reply;
you had better keep to the how."
A deep-drawn breath from the wife answered the
looks of the three gentlemen to whom this sugges-
tion was offered. “You see,” that breath seemed
to protest, "that he is not in his right mind."
I began to waver in my own opinion, and yet
the intuition which has served me in cases seem-
ingly as impenetrable as this bade me beware of
following the general judgment.
“Ask him to inform you how he got into the


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
289
house," I whispered to Inspector D- , who sat
nearest me.
Immediately the inspector put the question
which I had suggested:
"By what means did you enter Mr. Hasbrouck's
house at so late an hour as this murder occurred?"
The blind doctor's head fell forward on his
breast, and he hesitated for the first and only
time.
“You will not believe me," said he; "but the
door was ajar when I came to it. Such things
make crime easy; it is the only excuse I have to
offer for this dreadful deed."
The front door of a respectable citizen's house
ajar at half-past eleven at night! It was a state-
ment that fixed in all minds the conviction of the
speaker's irresponsibility. Mrs. Zabriskie's brow
cleared, and her beauty became for a moment
dazzling as she held out her hands in irrepressible
relief towards those who were interrogating her
husband. I alone kept my impassibility. A
possible explanation of this crime had flashed like
lightning across my mind; an explanation from
which I inwardly recoiled, even while I felt forced
to consider it.
“Dr. Zabriskie," remarked the inspector for-
merly mentioned as friendly to him, “such old ser-
19


290 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
vants as those kept by Mr. Hasbrouck do not leave
the front door ajar at twelve o'clock at night.”
“Yet ajar it was,” repeated the blind doctor,
with quiet emphasis; “and finding it so, I went in.
When I came out again, I closed it. Do you wish
me to swear to what I say? If so, I am ready."
What reply could they give? To see this splen-
did-looking man, hallowed by an affliction so great
that in itself it called forth the compassion of the
most indifferent, accusing himself of a cold blooded
crime, in tones which sounded dispassionate be-
cause of the will forcing their utterance, was too
painful in itself for any one to indulge in unneces-
sary words. Compassion took the place of curios-
ity, and each and all of us turned involuntary
looks of pity upon the young wife pressing so
eagerly to his side.
"For a blind man," ventured one, “the assault
was both deft and certain. Are you accustomed
to Mr. Hasbrouck's house, that you found your
way with so little difficulty to his bedroom?"
"I am accustomed," he began.
But here his wife broke in with irrepressible
passion:
"He is not accustomed to that house. He has
never been beyond the first floor. Why, why do
you question him? Do you not see
wa


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
291
me
His hand was on her lips.
"Hush!” he commanded. “You know my skill
in moving about a house; how I sometimes deceive
those who do not know me into believing that I
can see, by the readiness with which I avoid
obstacles and find my way even in strange and
untried scenes. Do not try to make them think
I am not in my right mind, or you will drive me
into the very condition you attribute to me."
His face, rigid, cold, and set, looked like that of a
mask. Hers, drawn with horror and filled with
question that was fast taking the form of doubt,
bespoke an awful tragedy from which more than
one of us recoiled.
“Can you shoot a man dead without seeing
him?" asked the Superintendent, with painful
effort.
“Give me a pistol and I will show you," was the
quick reply.
A low cry came from the wife. In a drawer near
to every one of us there lay a pistol, but no one
moved to take it out. There was a look in the
doctor's eye which made us fear to trust him with a
pistol just then.
"We will accept your assurance that you possess
a skill beyond that of most men," returned the
Superintendent. And beckoning me forward, he


292 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
whispered: “This is a case for the doctors and not
for the police. Remove him quietly, and notify
Dr. Southyard of what I say."
But Dr. Zabriskie, who seemed to have an almost
supernatural acuteness of hearing, gave a violent
start at this, and spoke up for the first time with
real passion in his voice:
"No, no, I pray you. I can bear anything but
that. Remember, gentlemen, that I am blind;
that I cannot see who is about me; that my life
would be a torture if I felt myself surrounded by
spies watching to catch some evidence of madness
in me. Rather conviction at once, death, dis-
honour, and obloquy. These I have incurred.
These I have brought upon myself by crime, but
not this worse fate oh! not this worse fate."
His passion was so intense and yet so confined
within the bounds of decorum, that we felt strange-
ly impressed by it. Only the wife stood transfixed,
with the dread growing in her heart, till her white,
waxen visage seemed even more terrible to con-
template than his passion-distorted one.
“It is not strange that my wife thinks me de-
mented," the doctor continued, as if afraid of the
silence that answered him. “But it is your busi-
ness to discriminate, and you should know a sane
man when you see him."
one.


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
293
Inspector D— no longer hesitated.
“Very well,” said he, "give me the least proof
that your assertions are true, and we will lay your
case before the prosecuting attorney."
“Proof? Is not a man's word "
“No man's confession is worth much without
some evidence to support it. In your case there
is none. You cannot even produce the pistol
with which you assert yourself to have committed
the deed.”
“True, true. I was frightened by what I had
done, and the instinct of self-preservation led me
to rid myself of the weapon in any way I could.
But someone found this pistol; someone picked it
up from the sidewalk of Lafayette Place on that
fatal night. Advertise for it. Offer a reward. I
will give you the money." Suddenly he appeared
to realize how all this sounded. “Alas!" cried he,
“I know the story seems improbable; but it is not
the probable things that happen in this life, as
you should know, who every day dig deep into
the heart of human affairs."
Were these the ravings of insanity? I began to
understand the wife's terror.
“I bought the pistol,” he went on, "of-alas!
I cannot tell you his name. Everything is against
me. I cannot adduce one proof; yet even she is


294 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
beginning to fear that my story is true. I know
it by her silence, a silence that yawns between us
like a deep and unfathomable gulf."
But at these words her voice rang out with
passionate vehemence.
“No, no, it is false! I will never believe that
your hands have been plunged in blood. You are
my own pure-hearted Constant, cold, perhaps, and
stern, but with no guilt upon your conscience save
in your own wild imagination.”
“Zulma, you are no friend to me,” he declared,
pushing her gently aside. "Believe me innocent,
but say nothing to lead these others to doubt my
word.”
And she said no more, but her looks spoke
volumes.
The result was that he was not detained, though
he prayed for instant commitment. He seemed to
dread his own home, and the surveillance to which
he instinctively knew he would henceforth be
subjected. To see him shrink from his wife's
hand as she strove to lead him from the room was
sufficiently painful; but the feeling thus aroused
was nothing to that with which we observed the
keen and agonized expectancy of his look as he
turned and listened for the steps of the officer who
followed him.


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
295
"From this time on I shall never know whether
or not I am alone,” was his final observation as
he left the building.
Here is where the matter rests and here, Miss
Strange, is where you come in. The police were
for sending an expert alienist into the house; but
agreeing with me, and, in fact, with the doctor
himself, that if he were not already out of his mind,
this would certainly make them so, they, at my
earnest intercession, have left the next move to
me.
That move as you must by this time understand
involves you. You have advantages for making
Mrs. Zabriskie's acquaintance of which I beg you
to avail yourself. As friend or patient, you must
win your way into that home? You must sound
to its depths one or both of these two wretched
hearts. Not so much now for any possible reward
which may follow the elucidation of this mystery
which has come so near being shelved, but for
pity's sake and the possible settlement of a ques-
tion which is fast driving a lovely member of your
sex distracted.
May I rely on you? If som
Various instructions followed, over which Violet
mused with a deprecatory shaking of her head


296 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
till the little clock struck two. Why should she,
already in a state of secret despondency, intrude
herself into an affair at once so painful and so
hopeless?
IV
But by morning her mood changed. The pathos
of the situation had seized upon her in her dreams,
and before the day was over, she was to be seen,
as a prospective patient, in Dr. Zabriskie's office.
She had a slight complaint as her excuse, and she
made the most of it. That is, at first, but as the
personality of this extraordinary man began to
make its usual impression, she found herself for-
getting her own condition in the intensity of
interest she felt in his. Indeed, she had to pull
herself together more than once lest he should
suspect the double nature of her errand, and she
actually caught herself at times rejoicing in his
affliction since it left her with only her voice to
think of, in her hated but necessary task of
deception.
That she succeeded in this effort, even with one
of his nice ear, was evident from the interested way
in which he dilated upon her malady, and the
minute instructions he was careful to give her
-the physician being always uppermost in his


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
297
strange dual nature, when he was in his office or
at the bedside of the sick;-and had she not been
a deep reader of the human soul she would have
left his presence in simple wonder at his skill and
entire absorption in an exacting profession.
But as it was, she carried with her an image of
subdued suffering, which drove her, from that
moment on, to ask herself what she could do to
aid him in his fight against his own illusion; for
to associate such a man with a senseless and cruel
murder was preposterous.
What this wish, helped by no common deter-
mination, led her into, it was not in her mind to
conceive. She was making her one great mistake,
but as yet she was in happy ignorance of it, and
pursued the course laid out for her without a doubt
of the ultimate result.
Having seen and made up her mind about the
husband, she next sought to see and gauge the
wife. That she succeeded in doing this by means
of one of her sly little tricks is not to the point; but
what followed in natural consequence is very much
so. A mutual interest sprang up between them
which led very speedily to actual friendship.
Mrs. Zabriskie's hungry heart opened to the sym-
pathetic little being who clung to her in such
evident admiration; while Violet, brought face


298 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
to face with a real woman, succumbed to feelings
which made it no imposition on her part to spend
much of her leisure in Zulma Zabriskie's company.
The result were the following naïve reports
which drifted into her employer's office from day
to day, as this intimacy deepened.
The doctor is settling into a deep melancholy,
from which he tries to rise at times, but with only
indifferent success. Yesterday he rode around to
all his patients for the purpose of withdrawing his
services on the plea of illness. But he still keeps
his office open, and today I had the opportunity
of witnessing his reception and treatment of the
many sufferers who came to him for aid. I think
he was conscious of my presence, though an at-
tempt had been made to conceal it. For the
listening look never left his face from the moment
he entered the room, and once he rose and passed
quickly from wall to wall, groping with out-
stretched hands into every nook and corner, and
barely escaping contact with the curtain behind
which I was hidden. But if he suspected my
presence, he showed no displeasure at it, wishing
perhaps for a witness to his skill in the treatment
of disease.
And truly I never beheld a finer manifestation


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
299
of practical insight in cases of a more or less
baffling nature. He is certainly a most wonderful
physician, and I feel bound to record that his
mind is as clear for business as if no shadow had
fallen upon it.
Dr. Zabriskie loves his wife, but in a way tor-
turing to himself and to her. If she is gone from
the house he is wretched, and yet when she returns
he often forbears to speak to her, or if he does speak
it is with a constraint that hurts her more than his
silence. I was present when she came in today.
Her step, which had been eager on the stairway,
flagged as she approached the room, and he natu-
rally noted the change and gave his own interpre-
tation to it. His face, which had been very pale,
flushed suddenly, and a nervous trembling seized
him which he sought in vain to hide. But by the
time her tall and beautiful figure stood in the door-
way, he was his usual self again in all but the
expression of his eyes, which stared straight before
him in an agony of longing only to be observed
in those who have once seen.
“Where have you been, Zulma?” he asked, as
contrary to his wont, he moved to meet her.
"To my mother's, to Arnold & Constable's,
and to the hospital, as you requested,” was her


300 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
quick answer, made without faltering or embar-
rassment..
He stepped still nearer and took her hand, and
as he did so my eye fell on his and I noted that his
finger lay over her pulse in seeming unconscious-
ness.
“Nowhere else?" he queried.
She smiled the saddest kind of smile and shook
her head; then, remembering that he could not see
this movement, she cried in a wistful tone:
"Nowhere else, Constant; I was too anxious to
get back.”
I expected him to drop her hand at this, but he .
did not; and his finger still rested on her pulse.
“And whom did you see while you were gone?"
he continued.
She told him, naming over several names.
"You must have enjoyed yourself," was his cold
comment, as he let go her hand and turned away.
But his manner showed relief, and I could not but
sympathize with the pitiable situation of a man
who found himself forced into means like this for
probing the heart of his young wife.
Yet when I turned towards her, I realized that
her position was but little happier than his.
Tears are no strangers to her eyes, but those which
welled up at this moment seemed to possess a


302 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
affliction, he thanks her with courtesy and often
with kindness, yet I know she would willingly
exchange all his set phrases for one fond embrace
or impulsive smile of affection. It would be too
much to say that he is not in the full possession of
his faculties, and yet upon what other hypothesis
can we account for the inconsistencies of his
conduct?
I have before me two visions of mental suffer-
ing. At noon I passed the office door, and looking
within, saw the figure of Dr. Zabriskie seated in
his great chair, lost in thought or deep in those
memories which make an abyss in one's con-
sciousness. His hands, which were clenched,
rested upon the arms of his chair, and in one of
them I detected a woman's glove, which I had no
difficulty in recognizing as one of the pair worn by
his wife this morning. He held it as a tiger might
hold his prey or a miser his gold, but his set fea-
tures and sightless eyes betrayed that a conflict
of emotions was being waged within him, among
which tenderness had but little share.
Though alive as he usually is to every sound,
he was too absorbed at this moment to notice my
presence, though I had taken no pains to approach
quietly. I therefore stood for a full minute


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
303
ense
watching him, till an irresistible sense of the
shame at thus spying upon a blind man in his
moments of secret anguish compelled me to with-
draw. But not before I saw his features relax in
a storm of passionate feeling, as he rained kisses
after kisses on the senseless kid he had so long held
in his motionless grasp. Yet when an hour later
he entered the dining-room on his wife's arm, there
was nothing in his manner to show that he had
in any way changed in his attitude towards her.
The other picture was more tragic still. I was
seeking Mrs. Zabriskie in her own room, when I
caught a fleeting vision of her tall form, with her
arms thrown up over her head in a paroxysm of
feeling which made her as oblivious to my pres-
ence as her husband had been several hours before.
Were the words that escaped her lips “Thank
God we have no children!” or was this exclama-
tion suggested to me by the passion and unre-
strained impulse of her action?
So much up to date. Interesting enough, or so
her employer seemed to think, as he went hurriedly
through the whole story, one special afternoon in
his office, tapping each sheet as he laid it aside
with his sagacious forefinger, as though he would
say, “Enough! My theory still holds good;


304 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
nothing contradictory here; on the contrary com-
plete and undisputable confirmation of the one
and only explanation of this astounding crime.”
What was that theory; and in what way and
through whose efforts had he been enabled to
form one? The following notes may enlighten us.
Though written in his own hand, and undoubt-
edly a memorandum of his own activities, he evi-
dently thinks it worth while to reperuse them in
connection with those he had just laid aside.
We can do no better than read them also.
We omit dates.
Watched the Zabriskie mansion for five hours
this morning, from the second story window of an
adjoining hotel. Saw the doctor when he drove
away on his round of visits, and saw him when he
returned. A coloured man accompanied him.
Today I followed Mrs. Zabriskie. She went
first to a house in Washington Place where I am
told her mother lives. Here she stayed some time,
after which she drove down to Canal Street, where
she did some shopping, and later stopped at the
hospital, into which I took the liberty of following
her. She seemed to know many there, and passed
from cot to cot with a smile in which I alone dis-


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
305
cerned the sadness of a broken heart. When she
left, I left also, without having learned anything
beyond the fact that Mrs. Zabriskie is one who
does her duty in sorrow as in joy. A rare and
trustworthy woman I should say, and yet her
husband does not trust her. Why?
I have spent this day in accumulating details
in regard to Dr. and Mrs. Zabriskie's life previous
to the death of Mr. Hasbrouck. I learned from
sources it would be unwise to quote just here, that
Mrs. Zabriskie had not lacked enemies to charge
her with coquetry; that while she had never
sacrified her dignity in public, more than one per-
son had been heard to declare that Dr. Zabriskie
was fortunate in being blind, since the sight of his
wife's beauty would have but poorly compensated
him for the pain he would have suffered in seeing
how that beauty was admired.
That all gossip is more or less tinged with exag-
geration I have no doubt, yet when a name is
mentioned in connection with such stories, there
is usually some truth at the bottom of them.
And a name is mentioned in this case, though I do
not think it worth my while to repeat it here; and
loth as I am to recognize the fact, it is a name that
carries with it doubts that might easily account for
30


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
307
substantially this: That on the night so often
mentioned, he packed his master's portmanteau at
eight o'clock and at ten called a taxi and rode with
the doctor to the Central station. He was told to
buy tickets to Poughkeepsie where his master had
been called in consultation, and having done this,
hurried back to join Dr. Zabriskie on the platform.
They had walked together as far as the cars, and
Dr. Zabriskie was just stepping on to the train,
when a man pushed himself hurriedly between
them and whispered something into his master's
ear, which caused him to fall back and lose his
footing. Dr. Zabriskie's body slid half under the
car, but he was withdrawn before any harm was
done, though the cars gave a lurch at that moment
which must have frightened him exceedingly,
for his face was white when he rose to his feet, and
when Leonard offered to assist him again on the
train, he refused to go and said he would return
home and not attempt to ride to Poughkeepsie
that night.
The gentleman, whom Leonard now saw to be
Mr. Stanton, an intimate friend of Dr. Zabriskie,
smiled very queerly at this, and taking the doctor's
arm led him back to his own auto. Leonard
naturally followed them, but the doctor, hearing
his steps, turned and bade him, in a very peremp-


308 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
tory tone, to take the cars home, and then, as if
on second thought, told him to go to Poughkeepsie
in his stead and explain to the people there that he
was too shaken up by his misstep to do his duty,
and that he would be with them next morning.
This seemed strange to Leonard, but he had no
reasons for disobeying his master's orders, and so
rode to Poughkeepsie. But the doctor did not
follow him the next day; on the contrary he tele-
graphed for him to return, and when he got back
dismissed him with a month's wages. This ended
Leonard's connection with the Zabriskie family.
A simple story bearing out what the wife has
already told us; but it furnishes a link which may
prove invaluable. Mr. Stanton, whose first name
is Theodore, knows the real reason why Dr.
Zabriskie returned home on the night of the
seventeenth of July, 19. Mr. Stanton, conse-
quently, is the man to see, and this shall be my
business tomorrow.
Checkmate! Theodore Stanton is not in this
country. Though this points him out as the man
from whom Dr. Zabriskie bought the pistol, it
does not facilitate my work, which is becoming
more and more difficult.
Mr. Stanton's whereabouts are not even known


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
309
to his most intimate friends. He sailed from this
country most unexpectedly on the eighteenth of
July a year ago, which was the day after the murder
of Mr. Hasbrouck. It looks like a flight, especially
as he has failed to maintain open communication
even with his relatives. Was he the man who shot
Mr. Hasbrouck? No; but he was the man who put
the pistol in Dr. Zabriskie's hand that night, and
whether he did this with purpose or not, was evi-
dently so alarmed at the catastrophe which fol-
lowed that he took the first outgoing steamer to
Europe. So far, all is clear, but there are myster-
ies yet to be solved, which will require my utmost
tact. What if I should seek out the gentleman
with whose name that of Mrs. Zabriskie has been
linked, and see if I can in any way connect him
with Mr. Stanton or the events of that night.
Eureka! I have discovered that Mr. Stanton
cherished a mortal hatred for the gentleman above
mentioned. It was a covert feeling, but no less
deadly on that account; and while it never led
him into any extravagances, it was of force suffi-
cient to account for many a secret misfortune
occurring to that gentleman. Now if I can prove
that he is the Mephistopheles who whispered
insinuations into the ear of our blind Faust, I


310 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
may strike a fact that will lead me out of this
maze.
But how can I approach secrets so delicate
without compromising the woman I feel bound to
respect if only for the devoted love she manifests
for her unhappy husband!
I shall have to appeal to Joe Smithers. This is
something which I always hate to do, but as long
as he will take money, and as long as he is fertile
in resources for obtaining the truth from people
I am myself unable to reach, I must make use of
his cupidity and his genius. He is an honourable
fellow in one way, and never retails as gossip
what he acquires for our use. How will he pro-
ceed in this case, and by what tactics will he gain
the very delicate information which we need?
I own that I am curious to see.
I shall really have to put down at length the
incidents of this night. I always knew that Joe
Smithers was invaluable not only to myself but
to the police, but I really did not know he possessed
talents of so high an order. He wrote me this
morning that he had succeeded in getting Mr.
T 's promise to spend the evening with him,
and advised me that if I desired to be present as


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
311
well, his own servant would not be at home, and
that an opener of bottles would be required.
As I was very anxious to see Mr. T— with
my own eyes, I accepted this invitation to play
the spy, and went at the proper hour to Mr.
Smithers's rooms. I found them picturesque in
the extreme. Piles of books stacked here and
there to the ceiling made nooks and corners which
could be quite shut off by a couple of old pictures
set into movable frames capable of swinging out
or in at the whim or convenience of the owner.
As I had use for the dark shadows cast by these
pictures, I pulled them both out, and made such
other arrangements as appeared likely to facilitate
the purpose I had in view; then I sat down and
waited for the two gentlemen who were expected
to come in together.
They arrived almost immediately, whereupon I
rose and played my part with all necessary dis-
cretion. While ridding Mr. T of his overcoat,
I stole a look at his face. It is not a handsome one,
but it boasts of a gay, devil-may-care expression
which doubtless makes it dangerous to many
women, while his manners are especially attrac-
tive, and his voice the richest and most persuasive
that I ever heard. I contrasted him, almost
against my will, with Dr. Zabriskie, and decided


312 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
als
that with most women the former's undoubted
fascinations of speech and bearing would outweigh
the latter's great beauty and mental endowments;
but I doubted if they would with her.
The conversation which immediately began was
brilliant but desultory, for Mr. Smithers, with an
airy lightness for which he is remarkable, intro-
duced topic after topic, perhaps for the purpose
of showing off Mr. T— 's versatility, and per-
haps for the deeper and more sinister purpose of
shaking the kaleidoscope of talk so thoroughly,
that the real topic which we were met to discusss
should not make an undue impression on the mind
of his guest.
Meanwhile one, two, three bottles passed, and
I had the pleasure of seeing Joe Smithers's eye
grow calmer and that of Mr. T more brilliant
and more uncertain. As the last bottle was being
passed, Joe cast me a meaning glance, and the
real business of the evening began.
I shall not attempt to relate the half dozen
failures which Joe made in endeavouring to elicit
the facts we were in search of, without arousing
the suspicion of his visitor. I am only going to
relate the successful attempt. They had been talk-
ing now for some hours, and I, who had long before
been waved aside from their immediate presence,


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
313
was hiding my curiosity and growing excitement
behind one of the pictures, when I suddenly heard
Joe say:
"He has the most remarkable memory I ever
met. He can tell to a day when any notable
event occurred."
"Pshaw!” answered his companion, who, by the
way, was known to pride himself upon his own
memory for dates, “I can state where I went and
what I did on every day in the year. That may
not embrace what you call ‘notable events,'
but the memory required is all the more remarkable
is it not?"
"Pooh!” was his friend's provoking reply, “you
are bluffing, Ben; I will never believe that.”
Mr. T- , who had passed by this time into
that stage of intoxication which makes persistence
in an assertion a duty as well as a pleasure, threw
back his head, and as the wreaths of smoke rose
in airy spirals from his lips, reiterated his state-
ment, and offered to submit to any test of his
vaunted powers which the other might dictate.
“You keep a diary,” began Joe.
“Which at the present moment is at home,”
completed the other.
“Will you allow me to refer to it tomorrow, if I am
suspicious of the accuracy of your recollections?"


314 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
“Undoubtedly,” returned the other.
“Very well, then, I will wager you a cool fifty
that you cannot tell where you were between the
hours of ten and eleven on a certain night which I
will name.”
"Done!" cried the other, bringing out his pocket-
book and laying it on the table before him.
Joe followed his example and then summoned
me.
“Write a date down here," he commanded,
pushing a piece of paper towards me, with a look
keen as the flash of a blade. “Any date, man,"
he added, as I appeared to hesitate in the embar-
rassment I thought natural under the circum-
stances. “Put down day, month, and year, only
don't go too far back; not farther than two years."
Smiling with the air of a flunkey admitted to the
sports of his superiors, I wrote a line and laid it
before Mr. Smithers, who at once pushed it with
a careless gesture towards his companion. You
can of course guess the date I made use of: July
17, 194. Mr. T- , who had evidently looked
upon this matter as mere play, flushed scarlet as
he read these words, and for one instant looked as
if he had rather fly the house than answer Joe
Smithers's nonchalant glance of inquiry.
“I have given my word and will keep it,” he


316 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
“That noise?” It was Joe who was speaking.
“You don't know Reuben as well as I do or you
wouldn't ask. It is his practice, I am sorry to
say, to accentuate his pleasure in draining my
bottles by dropping a glass at every third one."
Mr. T—- went on.
“She was a married woman and I thought she
loved me; but—and this is the greatest proof I
can offer you that I am giving you a true account
of that night—she had not the slightest idea of the
extent of my passion, and only consented to see me
at all because she thought, poor thing, that a word
from her would set me straight, and rid her of
attentions she evidently failed to appreciate. A
sorry figure for a fellow like me to cut; but you
caught me on the most detestable date in my
calendar and "
There he ceased being interesting and I anxious.
The secret of a crime for which there seemed to be
no reasonable explanation is no longer a mystery
to me. I have but to warn Miss Strange
He had got thus far when a sound in the room
behind him led him to look up. A lady had en-
tered; a lady heavily veiled and trembling with
what appeared to be an intense excitement.
He thought he knew the figure, but the person,


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
317
whoever it was, stood so still and remained so
silent, he hesitated to address her; which seeing,
she pushed up her veil and all doubt vanished.
It was Violet herself. In disregard of her usual
practice she had come alone to the office. This
meant urgency of some kind. Had she too
sounded this mystery? No, or her aspect would
not have worn this look of triumph. What had
happened then? He made an instant endeavour
to find out.
"You have news,” he quietly remarked.
“Good news, I should judge, by your very cheery
smile.”
“Yes; I think I have found the way of bringing
Dr. Zabriskie to himself.”
Astonished beyond measure, so little did these
words harmonize with the impressions and conclu-
sions at which he had just arrived, something very
like doubt spoke in his voice as he answered with
the simple exclamation:
“You do!”
“Yes. He is obsessed by a fixed idea, and must
be given an opportunity to test the truth of that
idea. The shock of finding it a false one may
restore him to his normal condition. He believes
that he shot Mr. Hasbrouck with no other guidance
than his sense of hearing. Now if it can be proved


318 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
that his hearing is an insufficient guide for such an
act (as of course it is) the shock of the discovery
may clear his brain of its cobwebs. Mrs. Zabriskie
thinks so, and the police "
“What's that? The police?"
“Yes, Dr. Zabriskie would be taken before them
again this morning. No entreaties on the part of
his wife would prevail; he insisted upon his guilt
and asked her to accompany him there; and the
poor woman found herself forced to go. Of course
he encountered again the same division of opinion
among the men he talked with. Three out of the
four judged him insane, which observing, he be-
trayed great agitation and reiterated his former
wish to be allowed an opportunity to prove his
sanity by showing his skill in shooting. This made
an impression; and a disposition was shown to
grant his request then and there. But Mrs.
Zabriskie would not listen to this. She approved
of the experiment but begged that it might be de-
ferred till another day and then take place in
some spot remote from the city. For some reason
they heeded her, and she has just telephoned me
that this attempt of his is to take place tomorrow
in the New Jersey woods. I am sorry that this
should have been put through without you; and
--and when I tell you that the idea originated with


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
319
me that from some word I purposely let fall
one day, they both conceived this plan of ending
the uncertainty that was devouring their lives,
you will understand my excitement and the need
I have of your support. Tell me that I have done
well. Do not show me such a face--you frighten
me "
"I do not wish to frighten you. I merely wish
to know just who are going on this expedition.”
"Some members of the police, Dr. Zabriskie,
his wife, and—and myself. She begged— "
“You must not go."
“Why? The affair is to be kept secret. The
doctor will shoot, fail-Oh!" she suddenly broke
in, alarmed by his expression, “you think he will
not fail- "
"I think that you had better heed my advice
and stay out of it. The affair is now in the hands
of the police, and your place is anywhere but where
they are.”
“But I go as her particular friend. They have
given her the privilege of taking with her one of her
own sex and she has chosen me. I shall not fail
her. Father is away, and if the awful disappoint-
ment you suggest awaits her, there is all the more
reason why she should have some sympathetic
support."
OD
reason


320 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
This was so true that the fresh protest he was
about to utter died on his lips. Instead, he simply
remarked as he bowed her out:
"I foresee that we shall not work much longer
together. You are nearing the end of your
endurance.”
He never forgot the smile she threw back at him.
v
There are some events which impress the human
mind so deeply that their memory mingles with
all after-experiences. Though Violet had made it
a rule to forget as soon as possible the tragic
episodes incident to the strange career upon which
she had so mysteriously embarked, there was
destined to be one scene, if not more, which she has
never been able to dismiss at will.
This was the sight which met her eyes from the
bow of the small boat in which Dr. Zabriskie and
his wife were rowed over to Jersey on the afternoon
which saw the end of this most sombre drama.
Though it was by no means late in the day, the
sun was already sinking, and the bright red glare
which filled the west and shone full upon the faces
of the half dozen people before her added much to
the tragic nature of the scene, though she was far
from comprehending its full significance.


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
321
The doctor sat with his wife in the stern and it
was upon their faces Violet's glance was fixed.
The glare shone luridly on his sightless eyeballs,
and as she noticed his unwinking lids, she realized
as never before what it was to be blind in the
midst of sunshine. His wife's eyes, on the con-
trary, were lowered, but there was a look of hope-
less misery in her colourless face which made her
appearance infinitely, pathetic, and Violet felt
confident that if he could only have seen her, he
would not have maintained the cold and unre-
sponsive manner which chilled the words on his
poor wife's lips and made all advance on her part
impossible.
On the seat in front of them sat an inspector
and from some quarter, possibly from under the
inspector's coat, there came the monotonous
ticking of the small clock, which was to serve as
a target for the blind man's aim.
This ticking was all Violet heard, though the
river was alive with traffic and large and small
boats were steaming by them on every side.
And I am sure it was all that Mrs. Zabriskie heard
also, as with hand pressed to her heart, and eyes
fixed on the opposite shore, she waited for the
event which was to determine whether the man
she loved was a criminal or only a being afflicted
31


322 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
of God and worthy of her unceasing care and
devotion.
As the sun cast its last scarlet gleam over the
water, the boat grounded, and Violet was en-
abled to have one passing word with Mrs. Za-
briskie. She hardly knew what she said but the
look she received in return was like that of a
frightened child.
But there was always to be seen in Mrs. Za-
briskie's countenance this characteristic blending
of the severe and the childlike, and beyond an
added pang of pity for this beautiful but afflicted
woman, Violet let the moment pass without giving
it the weight it perhaps demanded.
"The doctor and his wife had a long talk last
night," was whispered in her ear as she wound her
way with the rest into the heart of the woods.
With a start she turned and perceived her em-
ployer following close behind her. He had come
by another boat.
"But it did not seem to heal whatever breach
lies between them,” he proceeded. Then in a
quick, anxious tone, he whispered: “Whatever
happens, do not lift your veil. I thought I saw
a reporter skulking in the rear.". .
"I will be careful,” Violet assured him, and
could say no more, as they had already reached


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
323
the ground which had been selected for this trial
at arms, and the various members of the party
were being placed in their several positions.
The doctor, to whom light and darkness were
alike, stood with his face towards the western
glow, and at his side were grouped the inspector
and the two physicians. On the arm of one of the
latter hung Dr. Zabriskie's overcoat, which he
had taken off as soon as he reached the field.
Mrs. Zabriskie stood at the other end of the
opening near a tall stump, upon which it had been
decided that the clock should be placed when the
moment came for the doctor to show his skill.
She had been accorded the privilege of setting the
clock on this stump, and Violet saw it shining in
her hand as she paused for a moment to glance
back at the circle of gentlemen who were awaiting
her movements. The hands of the clock stood at
five minutes to five, though Violet scarcely noted
it at the time, for Mrs. Zabriskie was passing her
and had stopped to say:
"If he is not himself, he cannot be trusted.
Watch him carefully and see that he does no mis-
chief to himself or others. Ask one of the in-
spectors to stand at his right hand, and stop him if
he does not handle his pistol properly."
Violet promised, and she passed on, setting the


324 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
clock upon the stump and immediately drawing
back to a suitable distance at the right, where she
stood, wrapped in her long dark cloak. Her face
shone ghastly white, even in its environment of
snow-covered boughs, and noting this, Violet
wished the minutes fewer between the present
moment and the hour of five, at which time he was
to draw the trigger.
"Dr. Zabriskie," quoth the inspector, "we have
endeavoured to make this trial a perfectly fair one.
You are to have a shot at a small clock which has
been placed within a suitable distance, and which
you are expected to hit, guided only by the sound
which it will make in striking the hour of five.
Are you satisfied with the arrangement?”
“Perfectly. Where is my wife?”
“On the other side of the field some ten paces
from the stump upon which the clock is fixed."
He bowed, and his face showed satisfaction.
“May I expect the clock to strike soon?"
“In less than five minutes," was the answer.
“Then let me have the pistol; I wish to become
acquainted with its size and weight.”
We glanced at each other, then across at her.
She made a gesture; it was one of acquiescence.
Immediately the inspector placed the weapon
in the blind man's hand. It was at once apparent


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
325
that he understood the instrument, and Violet's
hopes which had been strong up to this moment,
sank at his air of confidence.
"Thank God I am blind this hour and cannot see
her," fell from his lips; then, before the echo of
these words had died away, he raised his voice and
observed calmly enough, considering that he was
about to prove himself a criminal in order to save
himself from being thought a madman:
"Let no one move. I must have my ears free
for catching the first stroke of the clock." And he
raised the pistol before him.
There was a moment of torturing suspense and
deep, unbroken silence. Violet's eyes were on him,
so she did not watch the clock, but she was sud-
denly moved by some irresistible impulse to note
how Mrs. Zabriskie was bearing herself at this
critical moment, and casting a hurried glance in
her direction she perceived her tall figure swaying
from side to side, as if under an intolerable strain
of feeling. Her eyes were on the clock, the hands
of which seemed to creep with snail-like pace
along the dial, when unexpectedly, and a full
minute before the minute hand had reached the
stroke of five, Violet caught a movement on her
part, saw the flash of something round and white
show for an instant against the darkness of her


328 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
distant position they took, they saw her arms creep
round his neck, saw her head fall confidingly on his
breast, then silence settled upon them, and upon
all nature, the gathering twilight deepening, till
the last glow disappeared from the heavens above
and from the circle of leafless trees which enclosed
this tragedy from the outside world.
But at last there came a stir, and Dr. Zabriskie,
rising up before them with the dead body of his
wife held closely to his breast, confronted them
with a countenance so rapturous that he looked like
a man transfigured.
“I will carry her to the boat,” said he. “Not
another hand shall touch her. She was my true
wife, my true wife!" And he towered into an
attitude of such dignity and passion that for a
moment he took on heroic proportions and they
forgot that he had just proved himself to have
committed a cold blooded and ghastly crime.
The stars were shining when the party again
took their seats in the boat; and if the scene of
their crossing to Jersey was impressive, what shall
be said of the return?
The doctor, as before, sat in the stern, an awe-
some figure, upon which the moon shone with a
white radiance that seemed to lift his face out of


330 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
man, and so for many months turned a deaf ear
to his insinuations. But finally some change
which you detected in your wife's bearing or
conversation roused your own suspicions, and you
began to doubt her truth and to curse your blind-
ness, which in a measure rendered you helpless.
The jealous fever grew and had risen to a high point
when one night-a memorable night—this friend
met you just as you were leaving town, and with
cruel craft whispered in your ear that the man you
hated was even then with your wife and that if
you would return at once to your home you would
find him in her company.
“The demon that lurks at the heart of all men,
good or bad, thereupon took complete possession
of you, and you answered this false friend by say-
ing that you would not return without a pistol.
Whereupon he offered to take you to his house and
give you his. You consented, and getting rid of
your servant by sending him to Poughkeepsie with
your excuses, you entered your friend's automobile.
"You say you bought the pistol, and perhaps
you did, but, however that may be, you left his
house with it in your pocket, and declining com-
panionship, walked home, arriving at the Colon-
nade a little before midnight.
“Ordinarily you have no difficulty in recogniz-


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
331
ing your own doorstep. But, being in a heated
frame of mind, you walked faster than usual and
so passed your own house and stopped at that of
Mr. Hasbrouck, one door beyond. As the en-
trances of these houses are all alike, there was but
one way by which you could have made yourself
sure that you had reached your own dwelling, and
that was by feeling for the doctor's sign at the side
of the door. But you never thought of that.
Absorbed in dreams of vengeance, your sole im-
pulse was to enter by the quickest means possible.
Taking out your night key, you thrust it into the
lock. It fitted, but it took strength to turn it,
so much strength that the key was twisted and
bent by the effort. But this incident, which
would have attracted your attention at another
time, was lost upon you at this moment. An
entrance had been effected, and you were in too
excited a frame of mind to notice at what cost, or
to detect the small differences apparent in the
atmosphere and furnishings of the two houses,
trifles which would have arrested your attention
under other circumstances, and made you pause
before the upper floor had been reached.
"It was while going up the stairs that you took
out your pistol, so that by the time you arrived
at the front room door you held it already drawn


332 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
and cocked in your hand. For, being blind, you
feared escape on the part of your victim, and so
waited for nothing but the sound of a man's
voice before firing. When, therefore, the unfor-
tunate Mr. Hasbrouck, roused by this sudden
intrusion, advanced with an exclamation of as-
tonishment, you pulled the trigger, and killed him
on the spot. It must have been immediately
upon his fall that you recognized from some word
he uttered, or from some contact you may have
had with your surroundings, that you were in the
wrong house and had killed the wrong man; for
you cried out, in evident remorse, 'God! what have
I done!' and fled without approaching your victim.
“Descending the stairs, you rushed from the
house, closing the front door behind you and
regaining your own without being seen. But
here you found yourself baffled in your attempted
escape, by two things. First, by the pistol you
still held in your hand, and secondly, by the fact
that the key upon which you depended for enter-
ing your own door was so twisted out of shape that
you knew it would be useless for you to attempt
to use it. What did you do in this emergency?
You have already told us, though the story seemed
so improbable at the time, you found nobody to
believe it but myself. The pistol you flung far


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
333
away from you down the pavement, from which,
by one of those rare chances which sometimes
happen in this world, it was presently picked up by
some late passer-by of more or less doubtful char-
acter. The door offered less of an obstacle than
you had anticipated; for when you turned again
you found it, if I am not greatly mistaken, ajar,
left so, as we have reason to believe, by one who
had gone out of it but a few minutes before in a
state which left him but little master of his actions.
It was this fact which provided you with an answer
when you were asked how you succeeded in getting
into Mr. Hasbrouck's house after the family had
retired for the night.
“Astonished at the coincidence, but hailing
with gladness the deliverance which it offered, you
went in and ascended at once into your wife's
presence; and it was from her lips, and not from
those of Mrs. Hasbrouck, that the cry arose which
startled the neighbourhood and prepared men's
minds for the tragic words which were shouted a
moment later from the next house.
"But she who uttered the scream knew of no
tragedy save that which was taking place in her
own breast. She had just repulsed a dastardly
suitor, and seeing you enter so unexpectedly in a
state of unaccountable horror and agitation, was


334 The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
naturally stricken with dismay, and thought she
saw your ghost, or what was worse, a possible
avenger; while you, having failed to kill the man
you sought, and having killed a man you esteemed,
let no surprise on her part lure you into any danger-
ous self-betrayal. You strove instead to soothe her,
and even attempted to explain the excitement
under which you laboured, by an account of your
narrow escape at the station, till the sudden alarm
from next door distracted her attention, and sent
both your thoughts and hers in a different direc-
tion. Not till conscience had fully awakened and
the horror of your act had had time to tell upon
your sensitive nature, did you breathe forth those
vague confessions, which, not being supported by
the only explanations which would have made them
credible, led her, as well as the police, to consider
you affected in your mind. Your pride as a man
and your consideration for her as a woman kept
you silent, but did not keep the worm from preying
upon your heart.
"Am I not correct in my surmises, Dr. Zabris-
kie, and is not this the true explanation of your
crime?"
With a strange look, he lifted up his face.
“Hush!” said he; "you will waken her. See
how peacefully she sleeps! I should not like to


Problem 7 for Violet Strange
335
have her wakened now, she is so tired, and I-I
have not watched over her as I should.”
Appalled at his gesture, his look, his tone, Violet
drew back, and for a few minutes no sound was to
be heard but the steady dip-dip of the oars and
the lap-lap of the waters against the boat. Then
there came a quick uprising, the swaying before
her of something dark and tall and threatening,
and before she could speak or move, or even stretch
forth her hands to stay him, the seat before her was
empty and darkness had filled the place where but
an instant previous he had sat, a fearsome figure,
erect and rigid as a sphinx.
What little moonlight there was, only served to
show a few rising bubbles, marking the spot where
the unfortunate man had sunk with his much-
loved burden. As the widening circles fled farther
and farther out, the tide drifted the boat away,
and the spot was lost which had seen the termina-
tion of one of earth's saddest tragedies.
END OF PROBLEM VII


PROBLEM VIII
MISSING: PAGE THIRTEEN
Ore
“ONE more! just one more well paying affair,
and I promise to stop; really and truly
to stop."
"But, Puss, why one more? You have earned
the amount you set for yourself, or very nearly,
—and though my help is not great, in three months
I can add enough- "
"No, you cannot, Arthur. You are doing well;
I appreciate it; in fact, I am just delighted to have
you work for me in the way you do, but you can-
not, in your present position, make enough in
three months, or in six, to meet the situation as I
see it. Enough does not satisfy me. The meas-
ure must be full, heaped up, and running over.
Possible failure following promise must be pro-
vided for. Never must I feel myself called upon
to do this kind of thing again. Besides, I have
never got over the Zabriskie tragedy. It haunts
me continually. Something new may help to
336


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
337
put it out of my head. I feel guilty. I was
responsible "
“No, Puss. I will not have it that you were
responsible. Some such end was bound to follow
a complication like that. Sooner or later he
would have been driven to shoot himself— "
“But not her.”
“No, not her. But do you think she would
have given those few minutes of perfect under-
standing with her blind husband for a few years
more of miserable life?"
Violet made no answer; she was too absorbed
in her surprise. Was this Arthur? Had a few
weeks' work and a close connection with the really
serious things of life made this change in him?
Her face beamed at the thought, which seeing,
but not understanding what underlay this evi-
dence of joy, he bent and kissed her, saying with
some of his old nonchalance:
"Forget it, Violet; only don't let any one or
anything lead you to interest yourself in another
affair of the kind. If you do, I shall have to consult
a certain friend of yours as to the best way of stop-
ping this folly. I mention no names. Oh! you need
not look so frightened. Only behave; that's all.”
"He's right,” she acknowledged to herself, as
he sauntered away; "altogether right."
22


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
339
figure of a man now stood in the place held by the
vanished woman, and it was not only that of one
she knew but that of one whom she trusted-a
friend whose very presence gave her courage.
With this recognition came a better understanding
of the situation, and it was with a beaming eye
and unclouded features that she tripped up the
walk to meet the expectant figure and outstretched
hand of Roger Upjohn.
“You here!” she exclaimed, amid smiles and
blushes, as he drew her into the hall.
He at once launched forth into explanations
mingled with apologies for the presumption he
had shown in putting her to this inconvenience.
There was trouble in the house-great trouble.
Something had occurred for which an explanation
must be found before morning, or the happiness
and honour of more than one person now under
this unhappy roof would be wrecked. He knew
it was late—that she had been obliged to take a
long and dreary ride alone, but her success with
the problem which had once come near wreck-
ing his own life had emboldened him to tele-
phone to the office and— “But you are in
ball-dress,” he cried in amazement. “Did you
think- "
"I came from a ball. Word reached me between


340 Missing: Page Thirteen
the dances. I did not go home. I had been
bidden to hurry."
He looked his appreciation, but when he spoke
it was to say:
“This is the situation. Miss Digby- "
“The lady who is to be married to-morrow?"
“Who hopes to be married to-morrow.”
“How, hopes?"
"Who will be married to-morrow, if a certain
article lost in this house to-night can be found
before any of the persons who have been dining
here leave for their homes.”
Violet uttered an exclamation.
“Then, Mr. Cornell,” she began-
"Mr. Cornell has our utmost confidence,"
Roger hastened to interpose. "But the article
missing is one which he might reasonably desire
to possess and which he alone of all present
had the opportunity of securing. You can there-
fore see why he, with his pride—the pride of a man
not rich, engaged to marry a woman who is—should
declare that unless his innocence is established
before daybreak, the doors of St. Bartholomew
will remain shut to-morrow.”
“But the article lost—what is it?"
“Miss Digby will give you the particulars.
She is waiting to receive you," he added with


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
341
a gesture towards a half-open door at their
right.
Violet glanced that way, then cast her looks up
and down the hall in which they stood.
“Do you know that you have not told me in
whose house I am? Not hers, I know. She
lives in the city."
“And you are twelve miles from Harlem. Miss
Strange, you are in the Van Broecklyn mansion,
famous enough you will acknowledge. Have you
never been here before?"
"I have been by here, but I recognized nothing
in the dark. What an exciting place for an in-
vestigation!"
"And Mr. Van Broecklyn? Have you never
met him?"
“Once, when a child. He frightened me then.”
“And may frighten you now; though I doubt it.
Time has mellowed him. Besides, I have pre-
pared him for what might otherwise occasion him
some astonishment. Naturally he would not
look for just the sort of lady investigator I am
about to introduce to him.”
She smiled. Violet Strange was a very charm-
ing young woman, as well as a keen prober of odd
mysteries.
The meeting between herself and Miss Digby


342
Missing: Page Thirteen
was a sympathetic one. After the first inevi-
table shock which the latter felt at sight of the
beauty and fashionable appearance of the myste-
rious little being who was to solve her difficulties,
her glance, which, under other circumstances,
might have lingered unduly upon the piquant
features and exquisite dressing of the fairy-like
figure before her, passed at once to Violet's eyes
in whose steady depths beamed an intelligence
quite at odds with the coquettish dimples which so
often misled the casual observer in his estimation
of a character singularly subtle and well-poised.
As for the impression she herself made upon
Violet, it was the same she made upon everyone.
No one could look long at Florence Digby and not
recognize the loftiness of her spirit and the gener-
ous nature of her impulses. In person she was tall,
and as she leaned to take Violet's hand, the differ-
ence between them brought out the salient points
in each, to the great admiration of the one
onlooker.
Meantime, for all her interest in the case in
hand, Violet could not help casting a hurried look
about her, in gratification of the curiosity incited
by her entrance into a house signalized from its
foundation by such a series of tragic events.
The result was disappointing. The walls were


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
343
as
plain, the furniture simple. Nothing suggestive
in either, unless it was the fact that nothing was
new, nothing modern. As it looked in the days of
Burr and Hamilton so it looked to-day, even to the
rather startling detail of candles which did duty
on every side in place of gas.
As Violet recalled the reason for this, the fascin-
ation of the past seized upon her imagination.
There was no knowing where this might have
carried her, had not the feverish gleam in Miss
Digby's eyes warned her that the present held its
own excitement. Instantly, she was all attention
and listening with undivided mind to that lady's
disclosures.
They were brief and to the following effect:
The dinner which had brought some half-dozen
people together in this house had been given in
celebration of her impending marriage. But it
was also in a way meant as a compliment to one
of the other guests, a Mr. Spielhagen, who, during
the week, had succeeded in demonstrating to a few
experts the value of a discovery he had made which
would transform a great industry.
In speaking of this discovery, Miss Digby did
not go into particulars, the whole matter being
far beyond her understanding; but in stating its
value she openly acknowledged that it was in the


344
Missing: Page Thirteen
line of Mr. Cornell's own work, and one which
involved calculations and a formula which, if
prematurely disclosed, would invalidate the con-
tract Mr. Spielhagen hoped to make, and thus
destroy his present hopes.
Of this formula but two copies existed. One was
locked up in a safe deposit vault in Boston, the
other he had brought into the house on his person,
and it was the latter which was now missing, it
having been abstracted during the evening from a
manuscript of sixteen or more sheets, under cir-
cumstances which she would now endeavour to
relate.
Mr. Van Broecklyn, their host, had in his mel-
ancholy life but one interest which could be called
at all absorbing. This was for explosives. As a
consequence, much of the talk at the dinner-table
had been on Mr. Spielhagen's discovery, and the
possible changes it might introduce into this espe-
cial industry. As these, worked out from a formula
kept secret from the trade, could not but affect
greatly Mr. Cornell's interests, she found herself
listening intently, when Mr. Van Broecklyn, with
an apology for his interference, ventured to re-
mark that if Mr. Spielhagen had made a valuable
discovery in this line, so had he, and one which he
had substantiated by many experiments. It was


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
345
not a marketable one, such as Mr. Spielhagen's
was, but in his work upon the same, and in the
tests which he had been led to make, he had dis-
covered certain instances he would gladly name,
which demanded exceptional procedure to be
successful. If Mr. Spielhagen's method did not
allow for these exceptions, nor make suitable
provision for them, then Mr. Spielhagen's method
would fail more times than it would succeed. Did
it so allow and so provide? It would relieve him
greatly to learn that it did.
The answer came quickly. Yes, it did. But
later and after some further conversation, Mr.
Spielhagen's confidence seemed to wane, and before
they left the dinner-table, he openly declared his
intention of looking over his manuscript again that
very night, in order to be sure that the formula
therein contained duly covered all the exceptions
mentioned by Mr. Van Broecklyn.
If Mr. Cornell's countenance showed any change
at this moment, she for one had not noticed it;
but the bitterness with which he remarked upon
the other's good fortune in having discovered this
formula of whose entire success he had no doubt, was
apparent to everybody, and naturally gave point
to the circumstances which a short time afterward
associated him with the disappearance of the same.


346
Missing: Page Thirteen
IS
The ladies (there were two others besides herself)
having withdrawn in a body to the music-room,
the gentlemen all proceeded to the library to
smoke. Here, conversation loosed from the one
topic which had hitherto engrossed it, was pro-
ceeding briskly, when Mr. Spielhagen, with a
nervous gesture, impulsively looked about him
and said:
“I cannot rest till I have run through my thesis
again. Where can I find a quiet spot? I won't
be long; I read very rapidly."
It was for Mr. Van Broecklyn to answer, but
no word coming from him, every eye turned his
way, only to find him sunk in one of those fits of
abstraction so well known to his friends, and from
which no one who has this strange man's peace
of mind at heart ever presumes to rouse him.
What was to be done? These moods of their
singular host sometimes lasted half an hour, and
Mr. Spielhagen had not the appearance of a man
of patience. Indeed he presently gave proof of
the great uneasiness he was labouring under, for
noticing a door standing ajar on the other side of
the room, he remarked to those around him:
"A den! and lighted! Do you see any objection
to my shutting myself in there for a few minutes?"
No one venturing to reply, he rose, and giving


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
347
a slight push to the door, disclosed a small room
exquisitely panelled and brightly lighted, but
without one article of furniture in it, not even
a chair.
"The very place,” quoth Mr. Spielhagen, and
lifting a light cane-bottomed chair from the many
standing about, he carried it inside and shut the
door behind him.
Several minutes passed during which the man
who had served at table entered with a tray on
which were several small glasses evidently con-
taining some choice liqueur. Finding his master
fixed in one of his strange moods, he set the tray
down and, pointing to one of the glasses, said:
“That is for Mr. Van Broecklyn. It contains
his usual quieting powder.” And urging the gentle-
men to help themselves, he quietly left the room.
Mr. Upjohn lifted the glass nearest him, and
Mr. Cornell seemed about to do the same when he
suddenly reached forward and catching up one
farther off started for the room in which Mr.
Spielhagen had so deliberately secluded himself.
Why he did all this—why, above all things, he
should reach across the tray for a glass instead of
taking the one under his hand, he can no more
explain than why he has followed many another
unhappy impulse. Nor did he understand the


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
349
“Where are you going?” that gentleman asked.
The questioning tone, the severe look, expres-
sive at once of displeasure and astonishment,
were most disconcerting, but Mr. Cornell managed
to stammer forth:
"Mr. Spielhagen is in here consulting his thesis.
When your man brought in the cordial, I was
awkward enough to catch up your glass and carry
it in to Mr. Spielhagen. He drank it and I-I
am anxious to see if it did him any harm.”
As he uttered the last word he felt Mr. Van
Broecklyn's hand slip from his shoulder, but no
word accompanied the action, nor did his host
make the least move to follow him into the room.
This was a matter of great regret to him later, as
it left him for a moment out of the range of every
eye, during which he says he simply stood in a
state of shock at seeing Mr. Spielhagen still sitting
there, manuscript in hand, but with head fallen
forward and eyes closed; dead, asleep or-he
hardly knew what; the sight so paralysed him.
Whether or not this was the exact truth and the
whole truth, Mr. Cornell certainly looked very
unlike himself as he stepped back into Mr. Van
Broecklyn's presence; and he was only partially
reassured when that gentleman protested that
there was no real harm in the drug, and that


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
351
Where had it vanished, and through whose
agency had this misadventure occurred? No one
could say, or, at least, no one there made any
attempt to do so, though everybody started to
look for it.
But where look? The adjoining small room
offered no facilities for hiding a cigar-end, much
less a square of shining white paper. Bare walls,
a bare floor, and a single chair for furniture, com-
prised all that was to be seen in this direction.
Nor could the room in which they then stood be
thought to hold it, unless it was on the person of
some one of them. Could this be the explanation
of the mystery? No man looked his doubts; but
Mr. Cornell, possibly divining the general feeling,
stepped up to Mr. Van Broecklyn and in a cool
voice, but with the red burning hotly on either
cheek, said, so as to be heard by everyone present:
“I demand to be searched-at once and
thoroughly."
A moment's silence, then the common cry:
“We will all be searched.”
"Is Mr. Spielhagen sure that the missing page
was with the others when he sat down in the
adjoining room to read his thesis?” asked their
perturbed host.
“Very sure," came the emphatic reply. "In-


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
353
“Let us call the ladies," suggested one.
It was done, and however great the tension had
been before, it was even greater when Miss Digby
stepped upon the scene. But she was not a woman
to be shaken from her poise even by a crisis of this
importance. When the dilemma had been pre-
sented to her and the full situation grasped, she
looked first at Mr. Cornell and then at Mr. Spiel-
hagen, and quietly said:
“There is but one explanation possible of this
matter. Mr. Spielhagen will excuse me, but he is
evidently mistaken in thinking that he saw the lost
page among the rest. The condition into which
he was thrown by the unaccustomed drug he had
drank, made him liable to hallucinations. I have
not the least doubt he thought he had been study-
ing the formula at the time he dropped off to
sleep. I have every confidence in the gentleman's
candour. But so have I in that of Mr. Cornell,”
she supplemented, with a smile.
An exclamation from Mr. Van Broecklyn and a
subdued murmur from all but Mr. Spielhagen
testified to the effect of this suggestion, and there
is no saying what might have been the result if
Mr. Cornell had not hurriedly put in this extra-
ordinary and most unexpected protest:
“Miss Digby has my gratitude,” said he, "for a
23


354
Missing: Page Thirteen
confidence which I hope to prove to be deserved.
But I must say this for Mr. Spielhagen. He was
correct in stating that he was engaged in looking
over his formula when I stepped into his presence
with the glass of cordial. If you were not in a
position to see the hurried way in which his hand
instinctively spread itself over the page he was
reading, I was; and if that does not seem conclu-
sive to you, then I feel bound to state that in
unconsciously following this movement of his, I
plainly saw the number written on the top of the
page, and that number was—13."
A loud exclamation, this time from Spielhagen
himself, announced his gratitude and correspond-
ing change of attitude toward the speaker.
"Wherever that damned page has gone,” he
protested, advancing towards Cornell with out-
stretched hand, "you have nothing to do with its
disappearance."
Instantly all constraint fled, and every counte-
nance took on a relieved expression. But the
problem remained.
Suddenly those very words passed some one's
lips, and with their utterance Mr. Upjohn remem-
bered how at an extraordinary crisis in his own life,
he had been helped and an equally difficult problem
settled, by a little lady secretly attached to a pri-


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
355
vate detective agency. If she could only be found
and hurried here before morning, all might yet
be well. He would make the effort. Such wild
schemes sometimes work. He telephoned to the
office and
Was there anything else Miss Strange would like
to know?
III
Miss Strange, thus appealed to, asked where the
gentlemen were now.
She was told that they were still all together in
the library; the ladies had been sent home.
"Then let us go to them,” said Violet, hiding
under a smile her great fear that here was an affair
which might very easily spell for her that dismal
word, failure.
So great was that fear that under all ordinary
circumstances she would have had no thought for
anything else in the short interim between this
stating of the problem and her speedy entrance
among the persons involved. But the circum-
stances of this case were so far from ordinary, or
rather let me put it in this way, the setting of the
case was so very extraordinary, that she scarcely
thought of the problem before her, in her great
interest in the house through whose rambling halls


356
Missing: Page Thirteen
was
she was being so carefully guided. So much that
was tragic and heartrending had occurred here.
The Van Broecklyn name, the Van Broecklyn
history, above all the Van Broecklyn tradition,
which made the house unique in the country's
annals (of which more hereafter), all made an
appeal to her imagination, and centred her
thoughts on what she saw about her. There was
a door which no man ever opened—had never
opened since Revolutionary times-should she
see it? Should she know it if she did see it?
Then Mr. Van Broecklyn himself! Just to meet
him, under any conditions and in any place, was
an event. But to meet him here, under the
pall of his own mystery! No wonder she had no
words for her companions, or that her thoughts
clung to this anticipation in wonder and almost
fearsome delight.
His story was a well-known one. A bachelor
and a misanthrope, he lived absolutely alone save
for a large entourage of servants, all men and
elderly ones at that. He never visited. Though
he now and then, as on this occasion, entertained
certain persons under his roof, he declined every
invitation for himself, avoiding even, with equal
strictness, all evening amusements of whatever
kind, which would detain him in the city after
ave


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
357
ten at night. Perhaps this was to ensure no break
in his rule of life never to sleep out of his own bed.
Though he was a man well over fifty he had not
spent, according to his own statement, but two
nights out of his own bed since his return from
Europe in early boyhood, and those were in
obedience to a judicial summons which took him
to Boston.
This was his main eccentricity, but he had an-
other which is apparent enough from what has
already been said. He avoided women. If thrown
in with them during his short visits into town, he
was invariably polite and at times companionable,
but he never sought them out, nor had gossip,
contrary to its usual habit, ever linked his name
with one of the sex.
Yet he was a man of more than ordinary attrac-
tion. His features were fine and his figure impres-
sive. He might have been the cynosure of all
eyes had he chosen to enter crowded drawing-
rooms, or even to frequent public assemblages,
but having turned his back upon everything of the
kind in his youth, he had found it impossible to
alter his habits with advancing years; nor was he
now expected to. The position he had taken was
respected. Leonard Van Broecklyn was no longer
criticized.


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
361
even more awe-compelling than her imagination
had pictured; so much so indeed, that her resolu-
tion faltered, and she took a quick step backward;
which seeing, he smiled and her heart and hopes
grew warm again. That he could smile, and smile
with absolute sweetness, was her great comfort
when later- But I am introducing you too hur-
riedly to the catastrophe. There is much to be
told first.
I pass over the preliminaries, and come at once
to the moment when Violet, having listened to a
repetition of the full facts, stood with downcast
eyes before these gentlemen, complaining in some
alarm to herself:
“They expect me to tell them now and with-
out further search or parley just where this
missing page is. I shall have to balk that ex-
pectation without losing their confidence. But
how?"
Summoning up her courage and meeting each
inquiring eye with a look which seemed to carry
a different message to each, she remarked very
quietly:
“This is not a matter to guess at. I must have
time and I must look a little deeper into the
facts just given me. I presume that the table I
see over there is the one upon which Mr. Upjohn


364
Missing: Page Thirteen
chief characteristics, gave way to a deep flush,
as he explained:
“There was a door there once; but it has been
permanently closed. With cement," he forced
himself to add, his countenance losing its evanes-
cent colour till it shone ghastly again in the strong
light.
With difficulty Violet preserved her show of
composure. “The door!” she murmured to her-
self. “I have found it. The great historic door!"
But her tone was light as she ventured to say:
“Then it can no longer be opened by your hand
or any other?"
"It could not be opened with an axe."
Violet sighed in the midst of her triumph. Her
curiosity had been satisfied, but the problem she
had been set to solve looked inexplicable. But
she was not one to yield easily to discouragement.
Marking the disappointment approaching to
disdain in every eye but Mr. Upjohn's, she drew
herself up-(she had not far to draw) and made
this final proposal.
“A sheet of paper,” she remarked, “of the size
of this one cannot be spirited away, or dissolved
into thin air. It exists; it is here; and all we want
is some happy thought in order to find it. I ac-
knowledge that that happy thought has not come


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
365
to me yet, but sometimes I get it in what may seem
to you a very odd way. Forgetting myself, I
try to assume the individuality of the person who
has worked the mystery. If I can think with his
thoughts, I possibly may follow him in his actions.
In this case I should like to make believe for a few
moments that I am Mr. Spielhagen” (with what
a delicious smile she said this) “I should like to
hold his thesis in my hand and be interrupted in
my reading by Mr. Cornell offering his glass of
cordial; then I should like to nod and slip off
mentally into a deep sleep. Possibly in that sleep
the dream may come which will clarify the whole
situation. Will you humour me so far?”
A ridiculous concession, but finally she had her
way; the farce was enacted and they left her as
she had requested them to do, alone with her
dreams in the small room.
Suddenly they heard her cry out, and in another
moment she appeared before them, the picture of
excitement.
"Is this chair standing exactly as it did when
Mr. Spielhagen occupied it?" she asked.
"No," said Mr. Upjohn, “it faced the other
way.”
She stepped back and twirled the chair about
with her disengaged hand.


366
Missing: Page Thirteen
“So?"
Mr. Upjohn and Mr. Spielhagen both nodded,
so did the others when she glanced at them.
With a sign of ill-concealed satisfaction, she
drew their attention to herself; then eagerly cried:
“Gentlemen, look here!”
Seating herself, she allowed her whole body to
relax till she presented the picture of one calmly
asleep. Then, as they continued to gaze at her
with fascinated eyes, not knowing what to expect,
they saw something white escape from her lap
and slide across the floor till it touched and was
stayed by the wainscot. It was the top page of
the manuscript she held, and as some inkling of the
truth reached their astonished minds, she sprang
impetuously to her feet and, pointing to the fallen
sheet, cried:
“Do you understand now? Look where it lies,
and then look here!".
She had bounded towards the wall and was now
on her knees pointing to the bottom of the wains-
cot, just a few inches to the left of the fallen
IS-
page.
"A crack!" she cried, “under what was once the
door. It's a very thin one, hardly perceptible to
the eye. But see!” Here she laid her finger on
the fallen paper and drawing it towards her,


368
Missing: Page Thirteen
wall; it would take men with pickaxes, possibly
with dynamite, to make a breach there wide
enough for any one to reach in. And we are far
from any such help.”
In the midst of the consternation caused by these
words, the clock on the mantel behind his back
rang out the hour. It was but a double stroke,
but that meant two hours after midnight and had
the effect of a knell in the hearts of those most
interested.
“But I am expected to give that formula into
the hands of our manager before six o'clock in the
morning. The steamer sails at a quarter after.”
“Can't you reproduce a copy of it from mem-
ory?” some one asked;“and insert it in its proper
place among the pages you hold there?".
“The paper would not be the same. That
would lead to questions and the truth would come
out. As the chief value of the process contained
in that formula lies in its secrecy, no explanation
I could give would relieve me from the suspicions
which an acknowledgment of the existence of a
third copy, however well hidden, would entail.
I should lose my great opportunity."
Mr. Cornell's state of mind can be imagined.
In an access of mingled regret and despair, he cast
a glance at Violet, who, with a nod of under-


370
Missing: Page Thirteen
wa
dwarf that of the two men in the room behind
them.
"I am discreet,” she whisperingly declared.
“I have heard the history of that door-how it
was against the tradition of the family to have it
opened. There must have been some very dread-
ful reason. But old superstitions do not affect
me, and if you will allow me to take the way you
mention, I will follow your bidding exactly, and
will not trouble myself about anything but the
recovery of this paper, which must lie only a little
way inside that blocked-up door."
Was his look one of rebuke at her presumption,
or just the constrained expression of a perturbed
mind? Probably, the latter, for while she watched
him for some understanding of his mood, he reached
out his hand and touched one of the satin folds
crossing her shoulder.
“You would soil this irretrievably,” said he.
“There is stuff in the stores for another,” she
smiled. Slowly his touch deepened into pressure.
Watching him she saw the crust of some old fear
or dominant superstition melt under her eyes, and
was quite prepared, when he remarked, with what
for him was a lightsome air:
"I will buy the stuff, if you will dare the dark-
ness and intricacies of our old cellar. I can give


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
373
sound of her beating heart. But presently she
came to a turn, beyond which her fingers failed
to reach any wall on her left. Then came a step
up which she stumbled, and farther on a short
flight, each tread of which she had been told to
test before she ventured to climb it, lest the decay
of innumerable years should have weakened the
wood too much to bear her weight. One, two,
three, four, five steps! Then a landing with an
open space beyond. Half of her journey was done.
Here she felt she could give a minute to drawing
her breath naturally, if the air, unchanged in years,
would allow her to do so. Besides, here she had
been enjoined to do a certain thing and to do it
according to instructions. Three matches had
been given her and a little night candle. Denied
all light up to now, it was at this point she was to
light her candle and place it on the floor, so that
in returning she should not miss the staircase and
get a fall. She had promised to do this, and was
only too happy to see a spark of light scintillate
into life in the immeasurable darkness.
She was now in a great room long closed to the
world, where once officers in Colonial wars had
feasted, and more than one council had been held.
A room, too, which had seen more than one tragic
happening, as its almost unparalleled isolation


374
Missing: Page Thirteen
proclaimed. So much Mr. Van Broecklyn had
told her; but she was warned to be careful in
traversing it and not upon any pretext to swerve
aside from the right-hand wall till she came to a
huge mantelpiece. This passed, and a sharp
corner turned, she ought to see somewhere in the
dim spaces before her a streak of vivid light shining
through the crack at the bottom of the blocked-up
door. The paper should be somewhere near this
streak.
All simple, all easy of accomplishment, if only
that streak of light were all she was likely to see or
think of. If the horror which was gripping her
throat should not take shape! If things would
remain shrouded in impenetrable darkness, and
not force themselves in shadowy suggestion upon
her excited fancy! But the blackness of the
passage-way through which she had just struggled,
was not to be found here. Whether it was the
effect of that small flame flickering at the top of the
staircase behind her, or of some change in her own
powers of seeing, surely there was a difference in
her present outlook. Tall shapes were becoming
visible—the air was no longer blank—she could
see — Then suddenly she saw why. In the wall
high up on her right was a window. It was small
and all but invisible, being covered on the outside


380
Missing: Page Thirteen
"I was frightened by the silence and the dark-
ness, and so cried out,” she explained in answer to
their questions. “Any one would have done so
who found himself alone in so musty a place,”
she added, with an attempt at lightsomeness
which deepened the pallor on Mr. Van Broeck-
lyn's cheek, already sufficiently noticeable to have
been remarked upon by more than one.
"No ghosts?” laughed Mr. Cornell, too happy
in the return of his hopes to be fully sensible of the
feelings of those about him. “No whispers from
impalpable lips or touches from spectre hands?
Nothing to explain the mystery of that room so
long shut up that even Mr. Van Broecklyn declares
himself ignorant of its secret?"
"Nothing," returned Violet, showing her dimples
in full force now.
“If Miss Strange had any such experiences—if
she has anything to tell worthy of so marked a
curiosity, she will tell it now,” came from the
gentleman just alluded to, in tones so stern and
strange that all show of frivolity ceased on the
instant. “Have you anything to tell, Miss
Strange?"
Greatly startled, she regarded him with widening
eyes for a moment, then with a move towards
the door, remarked, with a general look about her:


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
383
the very source of the tradition from which it
sprung forgotten. You are right; but if you look
long into human nature, you will see that the bonds
which hold the firmest are not material ones-
that an idea will make a man and mould a char-
acter—that it lies at the source of all heroisms
and is to be courted or feared as the case may be.
“For me it possessed a power proportionate to
my loneliness. I don't think there was ever a
more lonely child. My father and mother were so
unhappy in each other's companionship that one
or other of them was almost always away. But
I saw little of either even when they were at home.
The constraint in their attitude towards each other
affected their conduct towards me. I have asked
myself more than once if either of them had any
real affection for me. To my father I spoke of her;
to her of him; and never pleasurably. This I am
forced to say, or you cannot understand my story.
Would to God I could tell another tale! Would to
God I had such memories as other men have of a
father's clasp, a mother's kiss—but no! my grief,
already profound, might have become abysmal.
Perhaps it is best as it is; only, I might have been
a different child, and made for myself a different
fate—who knows.
"As it was, I was thrown almost entirely upon
SES


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
385
of the dark-had always been. But curiosity
and the spirit of adventure triumphed. Saying
to myself that I was Robinson Crusoe exploring
the cave, I crawled in, only to find that I had
gained nothing. It was as dark inside as it had
looked to be from without.
“There was no fun in this, so I crawled back,
and when I tried the experiment again, it was with
a bit of candle in my hand, and a surreptitious
match or two. What I saw, when with a very
trembling little hand I had lighted one of the
matches, would have been disappointing to most
boys, but not to me. The litter and old boards
I saw in odd corners about me were full of possi-
bilities, while in the dimness beyond I seemed to
perceive a sort of staircase which might lead-
I do not think I made any attempt to answer that
question even in my own mind, but when, after
some hesitation and a sense of great daring, I
finally crept up those steps, I remember very well
my sensation at finding myself in front of a narrow
closed door. It suggested too vividly the one
in Grandfather's little room—the door in the wain-
scot which we were never to open. I had my first
real trembling fit here, and at once fascinated and
repelled by this obstruction I stumbled and lost
my candle, which, going out in the fall, left me in
SU


386
Missing: Page Thirteen
total darkness and a very frightened state of
mind. For my imagination which had been greatly
stirred by my own vague thoughts of the forbidden
room, immediately began to people the space
about me with ghoulish figures. How should I
escape them, how ever reach my own little room
again undetected and in safety?
"But these terrors, deep as they were, were
nothing to the real fright which seized me when,
the darkness finally braved, and the way found
back into the bright, wide-open halls of the house,
I became conscious of having dropped something
besides the candle. My match-box was gone
not my match-box, but my grandfather's which I
had found lying on his table and carried off on this
adventure, in all the confidence of irresponsible
youth. To make use of it for a little while, trust-
ing to his not missing it in the confusion I had
noticed about the house that morning, was one
thing; to lose it was another. It was no common
box. Made of gold and cherished for some special
reason well known to himself, I had often heard
him say that some day I would appreciate its value
and be glad to own it. And I had left it in that
hole and at any minute he might miss it-possibly
ask for it! The day was one of torment. My
mother was away or shut up in her room. My


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
387
father-I don't know just what thoughts I had
about him. He was not to be seen either, and
the servants cast strange looks at me when I spoke
his name. But I little realized the blow which had
just fallen upon the house in his definite departure,
and only thought of my own trouble, and of how
I should meet my grandfather's eye when the
hour came for him to draw me to his knee for his
usual good-night.
“That I was spared this ordeal for the first time
this very night first comforted me, then added to
my distress. He had discovered his loss and was
angry. On the morrow he would ask me for the
box and I would have to lie, for never could I find
the courage to tell him where I had been. Such
an act of presumption he would never forgive, or so
I thought as I lay and shivered in my little bed.
That his coldness, his neglect, sprang from the
discovery just made that my mother as well as my
father had just fled the house forever was as little
known to me as the morning calamity. I had
been given my usual tendance and was tucked
safely into bed; but the gloom, the silence
which presently settled upon the house had a
very different explanation in my mind from
the real one. My sin (for such it loomed
large in my mind by this time) coloured
V


Problem 8 for Violet Strange
389
SO
undertaking, to be affected by anything not bear-
ing directly upon it.
“Of the terror caused by my own shadow on the
wall as I made the turn in the hall below, I have
as keen a recollection to-day as though it happened
yesterday. But that did not deter me; nothing
deterred me, till safe in the cellar I crouched down
behind the casks to get my breath again before
entering the hole beyond.
“I had made some noise in feeling my way
around these casks, and I trembled lest these
sounds had been heard upstairs! But this fear
soon gave place to one far greater. Other sounds
were making themselves heard. A din of small
skurrying feet above, below, on every side of me!
Rats! rats in the wall! rats on the cellar bot-
tom! How I ever stirred from the spot I do not
know, but when I did stir, it was to go forward,
and enter the uncanny hole.
“I had intended to light my candle when I got
inside; but for some reason I went stumbling along
in the dark, following the wall till I got to the steps
where I had dropped the box. Here a light was
necessary, but my hand did not go to my pocket.
I thought it better to climb the steps first, and
softly one foot found the tread and then another.
I had only three more to climb and then my right


392
Missing: Page Thirteen
sick and gave a choking gasp which was lost in
the rush she made into the centre of the room, and
the keenness of her swift low cry.
“Garde-toil for only one of us will ever leave
this room alive!
“A duel! a duel to the death between this
husband and wife—this father and mother-in this
hole of dead tragedies and within the sight and
hearing of their child! Has Satan ever devised
a scheme more hideous for ruining the life of an
eleven-year-old boy!
“Not that I took it all in at once. I was too
innocent and much too dazed to comprehend such
hatred, much less the passions which engendered
it. I only knew that something horrible--some-
thing beyond the conception of my childish mind-
was going to take place in the darkness before me;
and the terror of it made me speechless; would
to God it had made me deaf and blind and dead!
“She had dashed from her corner and he had
slid away from his, as the next fantastic gleam
which lit up the room showed me. It also showed
the weapons in their hands, and for a moment I
felt reassured when I saw that these were swords,
for I had seen them before with foils in their hands
practising for exercise, as they said, in the great
garret. But the swords had buttons on them,


394
Missing: Page Thirteen
"He made no answer; and those subtle move-
ments-shadows of movements I might almost call
them-recommenced. Then there came a sudden
cry, shrill and poignant—had Grandfather been in
his room he would surely have heard it—and the
flash coming almost simultaneously with its
utterance, I saw what has haunted my sleep from
that day to this, my father pinned against the wall,
sword still in hand, and before him my mother,
fiercely triumphant, her staring eyes fixed on his
and-
“Nature could bear no more; the band loosened
from my throat; the oppression lifted from my
breast long enough for me to give one wild wail
and she turned, saw (heaven sent its flashes quickly
at this moment) and recognizing my childish form,
all the horror of her deed (or so I have fondly
hoped) rose within her, and she gave a start
and fell full upon the point upturned to receive
her.
"A groan; then a gasping sigh from him, and
silence settled upon the room and upon my heart,
and so far as I knew upon the whole created
world.
O
“That is my story, friends. Do you wonder
that I have never been or lived like other men?"


396
Missing: Page Thirteen
linked me to life—my little bed, the toys on the
window-sill, my squirrel in its cage--I forced
myself to retraverse the empty house, expecting
at every turn to hear my father's voice or come
upon the image of my mother-yes, such was the
confusion of my mind, though I knew well enough
even then that they were dead and that I should
never hear the one or see the other. I was
so benumbed with the cold in my half-dressed
condition, that I woke in a fever next morn-
ing after a terrible dream which forced from
my lips the cry of ‘Mother! Mother!' — only
that.
"I was cautious even in delirium. This de-
lirium and my flushed cheeks and shining eyes led
them to be very careful of me. I was told that my
mother was away from home; and when after two
days of search they were quite sure that all efforts
to find either her or my father were likely to prove
fruitless, that she had gone to Europe where we
would follow her as soon as I was well. This
promise, offering as it did, a prospect of immediate
release from the terrors which were consuming me,
had an extraordinary effect upon me. I got up
out of my bed saying that I was well now and
ready to start on the instant. The doctor, finding
my pulse equable, and my whole condition wonder-


398
Missing: Page Thirteen
hold. Sometimes I think I have been foolish;
and sometimes I know that I have been very wise.
My reason has stood firm; how do I know that it
would have done so if I had subjected myself to
the possible discovery that one of both of them
might have been saved if I had disclosed instead
A pause during which white horror had shone on
every face; then with a final glance at Violet, he
said:
“What sequel do you see to this story, Miss
Strange? I can tell the past, I leave you to picture
the future."
Rising, she let her eye travel from face to face
till it rested on the one awaiting it, when she
answered dreamily:
"If some morning in the news column there
should appear an account of the ancient and his-
toric home of the Van Broecklyns having burned
to the ground in the night, the whole country
would mourn, and the city feel defrauded of one
of its treasures. But there are five persons who
would see in it the sequel which you ask for."
When this happened, as it did happen, some
few weeks later, the astonishing discovery was
made that no insurance had been put upon this


Problem 9 for Violet Strange
401
moment of silence, “You bore yourself so bravely
at the time, I thought, or rather, I hoped, that
success had made you forget the horror. I could
not have slept myself, if I had known— ".
"It is part of the price I pay,” she broke in
gently. “All good things have to be paid for.
But I see I realize that you do not consider what
I am doing good. Though it helps other people
has helped you-you wonder why, with all the
advantages I possess, I should meddle with matters
so repugnant to a woman's natural instincts."
Yes, he wondered. That was evident from his
silence. Seeing her as she stood there, so quaintly
pretty, so feminine in look and manner-in short,
such a flower—it was but natural that he should
marvel at the incongruity she had mentioned.
"It has a strange, odd look," she admitted, after
a moment of troubled hesitation. "The most
considerate person cannot but regard it as a dis-
play of egotism or of a most mercenary spirit.
The cheque you sent me for what I was enabled
to do for you in Massachusetts (the only one I
have ever received which I have been tempted to
refuse) shows to what extent you rated my help
and my-my expectations. Had I been a poor
girl struggling for subsistence, this generosity
would have warmed my heart as a token of your


Problem 9 for Violet Strange
405
he asked questions and—and I answered them.
He wasn't pleased-in fact he was very displeased,
- I don't think we can blame him for that—but we
had no open break for I love him dearly, for all my
opposing ways, and he saw that, and it helped,
though he did say after I had given my promise to
stop where I was and never to take up such work
again, that,” here she stole a shy look at
the face bent so eagerly towards her—"that I
had lost my social status and need never hope
now for the attentions of-of-well, of such men
as he admires and puts faith in. So you see,"
her dimples all showing, “that I am not such a
very good match for an Upjohn of Massachusetts,
even if he has a reputation to recover and an
honourable name to achieve. The scale hangs
more evenly than you think.”
“Violet!"
A mutual look, a moment of perfect silence,
then a low whisper, airy as the breath of flowers
rising from the garden below: “I have never
known what happiness was till this moment. If
you will take me with my story untold "
"Take you! take you!" The man's whole
yearning heart, the loss and bitterness of years,
the hope and promise of the future, all spoke in
that low, half-smothered exclamation. Violet's


Problem 9 for Violet Strange
407
of first awakening, comes back to me with all its
original vividness. There was no light in the room
save such as the moon made; but that was enough
to reveal the passion burningly alive in either face,
as, bending towards each other, she in supplica-
tion and he in a tempest of wrath which knew no
bounds, he uttered and she listened to what I
now know to have been a terrible arraignment.
I may have an interesting countenance; you have
told me so sometimes; but she-she was beautiful.
My elder by ten years, she had stood in my
mother's stead to me for almost as long as I could
remember, and as I saw her lovely features con-
torted with pain and her hands extended in a
desperate plea to one who had never shown me
anything but love, my throat closed sharply and
I could not cry out though I wanted to, nor move
head or foot though I longed with all my heart to
bury myself in the pillows.
For the words I heard were terrifying, little as
I comprehended their full purport. He had sur-
prised her talking from her window to someone
down below, and after saying cruel things about
that, he shouted out: “You have disgraced me,
you have disgraced yourself, you have disgraced
your brother and your little sister. Was it not
enough that you should refuse to marry the good


408
Violet's Own
man I had picked out for you, that you should
stoop to this low-down scoundrel-this-" I did
not hear what else he called him, I was wonder-
ing so to whom she had been stooping; I had never
seen her stoop except to tie my little shoes.
But when she cried out as she did after an in-
terval, “I love him! I love him!" then I listened
again, for she spoke as though she were in dreadful
pain, and I did not know that loving made one ill
and unhappy. “And I am going to marry him,"
I heard her add, standing up, as she said it, very
straight and tall.
Marry! I knew what that meant. A long
aisle in a church; women in white and big music
in the air behind. I had been flower-girl at a
wedding once and had not forgotten. We had
had ice cream and cake and-
But my childish thoughts stopped short at the
answer she received and all the words which fol-
lowed, -words which burned their way into my
infantile brain and left scorched places in my
memory which will never be eradicated. He spoke
them-spoke them all; she never answered him
again after that once, and when he was gone she
did not move for a long time and when she did,
it was to lie down, stiff and straight, just as she
had stood, on her bed alongside mine.


Problem 9 for Violet Strange
409
I was frightened; so frightened, my little brass
bed rattled under me. I wonder she did not hear
it. But she heard nothing; and after awhile she
was so still I fell asleep. But I woke again.
Something hot had fallen on my cheek. I put up
my hand to brush it away and did not know even
when I felt my fingers wet that it was a tear from
my sister-mother's eye.
For she was kneeling then; kneeling close beside
me and her arm was over my small body; and the
bed was shaking again but not this time with my
tremors only. And I was sorry and cried too
until I dropped off to sleep again with her arm still
passionately embracing me.
In the morning, she was gone.
It must have been that very afternoon that
Father came in where Arthur and I were trying
to play;—trying, but not quite succeeding, for I
had been telling Arthur, for whom I had a great
respect in those days, what had happened the
night before, and we had been wondering in our
childish way if there would be a wedding after
all, and a church full of people, and flowers,
and kissing, and lots of good things to eat, and
Arthur had said No, it was too expensive; that
that was why Father was so angry; and com-
forted by the assertion, I was taking up my doll


410
Violet's Own
again, when the door opened and Father stepped
in.
It was a great eventmany visit from him to the
nursery—and we both dropped our toys and stood
staring, not knowing whether he was going to be
nice and kind as he sometimes was, or scold us as
I had heard him scold our beautiful sister.
Arthur showed at once what he thought, for
without the least hesitation he took the one step
which placed him in front of me, where he stood
waiting with his two little fists hanging straight at
his sides but manfully clenched in full readiness for
attack. That this display of pigmy chivalry was
not quite without its warrant is evident to me
now, for Father did not look like himself or act like
himself any more than he had the night before.
However, we had no cause for fear. Having
no suspicion of my having been awake during his
terrible interview with Theresa, he saw only two
lonely and forsaken children, interrupted in their
play.
Can I remember what he said to us? Not
exactly, though Arthur and I often went over it in
choked whispers in some secret nook of the dreary
old house; but his meaning—that we took in well
enough. Theresa had left us. She would never
come back. We were not to look out of the win-


Problem 9 for Violet Strange 411
dow for her, or run to the door when the bell rang.
Our mother had left us too, a long time ago, and
she lay in the cemetery where we sometimes car-
ried flowers. Theresa was not in the cemetery,
but we must think of her as there; though not as
if she had any need of flowers. Having said this,
he looked at us quietly for a minute. Arthur was
trying very hard not to cry, but I was sobbing like
the lost child I was, with my cheek against the
floor where I had thrown myself when he said that
awful thing about the cemetery. She there! my
sister-mother there! I think he felt a little sorry
for me; for he half stooped as if to lift me up. But
he straightened again and said very sternly:
"Now, children, listen to me. When God takes
people to heaven and leaves us only their cold,
dead bodies we carry flowers to their graves and
talk about them some if not very much. But
when people die because they love dark ways better
than light, then we do not remember them with
gifts and we do not talk about them. Your
sister's name has been spoken for the last time in
this house. You, Arthur, are old enough to know
what I mean when I say that I will never listen
to another word about her from either you or
Violet as long as you and I live. She is gone and
nothing that is mine shall she ever touch again.


414
Violet's Own
"He'll never do anything for her, no matter what
happens; I've heard him say so. And Laura has
vowed the same." (Laura is our aunt.) “Besides,
Theresa has a pride of her own quite equal to her
father's. She wouldn't take anything from him
now. She'd rather struggle on. I'm told-I
don't know how true it is—that she's working in
a department store; one of the Sixth Avenue ones.
Oh, there's Mrs. Vandegraff! Don't you want to
speak to her?"
They moved off, leaving me still gazing with
unseeing eyes at the picture before which I stood
planted, and saying over and over in monotonous
iteration, “One of the department stores in Sixth
Avenue! One of the department stores in Sixth
Avenue!
Which department store?
I meant to find out.
I do not know whether up till then I had had the
least consciousness of possessing what is called
the detective instinct. But, at the prospect of
this quest, so much like that of the proverbial
needle in a haystack, as I did not even know my
sister's married name and something within me
forbade my asking it, I experienced an odd sense
of elation followed by a certainty of success which
in five minutes changed me from an irresponsible


Problem 9 for Violet Strange 415
girl to a woman with a deliberate purpose in
life.
I am not going to write down here all the details
of that search. Some day I may relate them to you,
but not now. I looked first for a beautiful woman,
for the straight, slim, and exquisite creature I
remembered. I did not find her. Then I tried
another course. Her figure might have changed in
the ten years which had elapsed; so might her ex-
pression. I would look for a woman with beauti-
ful dark eyes; time could not have altered them.
I had forgotten the effect of constant weeping,
And I saw many eyes, but not hers; not the ones
I had seen smiling upon me as I lay in my crib
before the days I was lifted to the dignity of the
little brass bed. So I gave that up too and listened
to the inner voice which said, “You must wait for
her to recognize you. You can never hope to
recognize her.” And it was by following this plan
that I found her. I had arranged to have my
name spoken aloud at every counter where I bar-
gained; and oh, the bargains I sought, and the gar-
ments I had tried on! But I made little progress
until one day, after my name had been ut-
tered a little louder than usual I saw a woman
turn from rearranging gowns on a hanger, and
give me one look.


Problem 9 for Violet Strange
417
ing one, for this was to be her last day in the store;
she had no talent as a saleswoman and was merely
working out her week.
I felt my heart sink heavily at this, for the
evidences of poverty were plainly to be seen in her
clothes and the thinness of her face and figure.
How could I help? What could I do? I took her
to a restaurant for food and talk, and before she
would order, she looked into her purse, with the
result that we had only a little toast and tea.
It was all she could afford and I, with a hundred
dollars in bills at that moment in my bag, could not
offer her anything more though she was needing
nourishment and dishes piled with savoury meats
were going by us every moment.
I think, if she had let me, I would have dared my
father's displeasure and been disobedient to his
wishes by giving her one wholesome meal. But
she was as resolute of mind as he, and, as she said
afterwards, had chosen her course in life and must
abide by it. My love she would accept. It took
nothing from father and gave her what her heart
was pining for—had pined for for years. But
nothing more not another thing more. She would
not even let me go home with her; and I knew why
when her eyes fell at the searching look I gave her.
Something would turn up, and when her husband's
27


418
Violet's Own
health was better and she had found another posi-
tion she would send me her address and then I
could come and see her. As we walked out of the
restaurant we ran against a gentleman I knew.
He stopped me for a passing word and in that min-
ute she disappeared. I did not try to follow her.
I could get her street and number from the store
where she had worked.
But when I had done this and embraced the
first opportunity which offered to visit her, I found
that she had moved away in the interim, leaving
everything behind in payment of her rent, except
such small things as she and her husband could
carry. This was discouraging as it left me with-
out any clue by which to follow them. But I
was determined not to yield to her desire for
concealment in the difficult and disheartening task
I now saw before me.
Seeking advice from the man who has since
become my employer, I entered upon this second
search with a quiet resolution which admitted of
no defeat. It took me six months, but I finally
found her, and satisfied with knowing where she
was, desisted from rushing in upon her, till I had
caught one glimpse of her husband whom, in the
last six months, I had heard described but had
never seen. To understand her, it was perhaps


420
Violet's Own
leaving her to my love and possibly to our father's
forgiveness.
But I did not know Theresa. After her hus-
band's death, which occurred very soon, she let me
come to her and we had a long talk. Shall I ever
forget it or the sight of her beauty in that sordid
room? For, account for it as you will, the loveli-
ness which had fled under her sense of complete
isolation had slowly regained its own with the
recognition that she still had a place in the heart
of her little sister. Not even the sorrow she felt
for the loss of her suffering husband-and she
did mourn him; this I am glad to say-could
more than temporarily stay this. Six months
of ease and wholesome food would make her-I
hardly dared to think what. For I knew, without
asking her, or she telling me, that she would accept
neither; that she was as determined now, as ever,
that nothing which came directly or indirectly from
Father should go to the rebuilding of her life.
That she intended to start anew and work her way
up to a place where I should be glad to see her she
did say. But nothing more. She was still the
sister-mother, loving, but sufficient to herself,
though she had but ten dollars left in the world, as
she showed me with a smile that made her beauti-
ful as an angel.


Problem 9 for Violet Strange
425
to her. She has been in Europe for a year and last
week she made her debut. You read about it in
the papers, but neither you nor any one else in this
country but myself knew that under the name she
had chosen to assume, Theresa Strange, the long
forgotten beauty, has recovered that place in the
world, to which her love and genius entitle her.
This is my story and hers. From now on, you
are the third in the secret. Some day, my father
will be the fourth. I think then, a new dawn of
love will arise for us all, which will stay the
whitening of his dear head-for I believe in him
after all. Yesterday when he passed the wall
where her picture once hung-no other has ever
hung thereI saw him stop and look up, and,
Roger, when he passed me a minute later, there
was a tear in his hard eye.
FINIS