WIDENERLIBRARY
T__
：
|-
-
-
（…）
：
ſae
ſae
ſſſſſſſſſſſ
I. l
|-ſaeſae- …
（）
ſiſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſſ-ſ.§.
||||||||||||||ſae│ ├─Hi，-│


/ 12% 4.3, W, Z5-
HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
FROM THE BEQUEST OF
ROLAND BURRAGE DIXON
CL-Ass OF 1897
PROFESSOR OF ANTHROPOLOGY
1916-1935


%,w & J2.992 - .
A-4→ X





THE QUINCUNX CASE





- - -
- -
BY
WILLIAM DENT PITMAN
BOSTON
-i
8 ;
«№， ,
pae|
ż|
Š •
№ $3
. +→.
ſº·
£ 4|-
£&
ſae|-
§ . . .
№r:, !
|-
|-！
-- ：） ----
==


A ! 2 ° 43', ſ, ſº
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
HERBERT B. TURNER & Co.
ENTERED AT STATIONER'S HALL.
All Rights Reserved.
HARWARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
BEQUEST OF
ROLAND BURRAGE DIX0M
MAY 19, 1936
Published September, 1904.


THE QUINCUNX CASE
“As for the delights, commodities, mysteries,
with other concernments of this order, we are
wnwilling to fly them over—and therefore shall
enlarge with additional ampliations.”
SIR THoMAs BRowNE: The Quincuna mysti-
cally considered.





To H. S. H. Prince Florizel of Bohemia:
MY DEAR PRINCE:
It is some years since we talked upon the
Quincunx, of number One, number Two, and,
more particularly of number Four, and doubt-
less much of the matter has passed from your
mind. For myself I might say the same, were
it not that a sprained ankle, a balcony at Castel-
lamare, and a touch of ambition literary, have
combined irresistibly to recall them.
I have often made the observation (as no less
a man than Goethe before me) that life casts
itself spontaneously into drama upon our small
whirling planet. Should any one be tempted to
deny the romance of actuality, let him turn the
following pages in repentance. Surely never
man had more whimsical experiences than my-
self, enjoyed them less at the moment, or more
in the retrospection. Once, only, may I say
truly, did the prize of honor and gold taste as
Sweetly in the mouth, as the remembrance of
winning it, and that was when I was permitted
the honor of bearing you company among the
Mediterranean Islands.
'Tis in memory, therefore, of those blue days
and fiery nights; of our talk; of your incompar-
able chef; of your tobacco; and of yourself,
Suave, inimitable and urbane, that I venture the
following narrative. Would it were in that
English which you enrich with the accent of
Bohemia! Your friend,
PHILIP ADRIAN,





THE QUINCUNX CASE





THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. I
by a preliminary skirmish through all my coat
pockets, and her dear little purse and chatelaine
bag, and the result, in tangible moneys, reached
the encouraging total of thirty-one dollars and
forty-three cents. Between this sum, and the
one at which I had arrived with a pencil on the
back of an envelope, there existed the same
gulf as once between Dives and Lazarus, and
with as little chance for meeting.
“You see,” I argued, for she looked distract-
ingly pretty and worried in the lamplight, ‘‘the
trouble is with you and me. We are much too
young, younger, I find, than is customary in
New York. This is a difficulty I shall overcome,
but you, never! During all our acquaintance
you have grown steadily younger.”
“Heaven be praised l’’ cried she, and added
with fervent irrelevance, “I should hate so to
be a hag, Phil!”
“You will never be, my dear, you couldn't.”
“Particularly”, she continued, her face
clouding, “in view of the truth—”
“You mean because you actually have the
seniority by a few years? I am convinced that
is a mistake; it never happened. I love you
dearly, but you are much younger than I, and
must do as I say.”
12


CHAP. I THE QUINCUNX CASF
She laughed. “You absurd boy! Don't I
always?”
“No, not always”, I replied a little sadly,
and there was a pause. She looked at me out
of the tail of her eye and then came and put
her arms around my neck over the back of my
chair.
“Is there such a dreadful difference” she
asked, “between what we’ve spent here and
that?”
She indicated our personalty with a gesture.
“There is an appalling difference.”
“But how did it happen—I thought I was so
careful!”
“So did I.”
“It is all my fault,” she said. “We ought
never to have come here at all. But I felt so
sure you would get a position l’’
“On the contrary, it was I who insisted on
it, it is I who have dragged you into this—into
the Indigent Gentlewomen.”
“How can you say that, Phil?”
We both felt better after these handsome
assumptions. Meanwhile Dives, represented
by a row of figures on the envelope lay on the
floor glaring at Lazarus, sorry and inadequate,
on the table. She asked me by and by what
13


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. I
the figures were, which was self-sacrificing on
her part, for she hated calculations.
“We’ve spent in a month”, I answered, indi-
cating Dives, “the stipend of the well-to-do,
and we’ve only got that”, indicating the $31.43
representing Lazarus, “to pay it with.”
“We can’t possibly manage it?” she vent-
ured.
“There is a current belief, my dear, that we
cannot, but it is founded on mathematics which
you do not understand.”
She continued to stroke my hair softly, in the
way she did when I was tired. “You mean
it’s the difference between three and six?”
“More like three and twelve.” I said gloom-
ily.
“Well, but if so’’, her face brightened,—
“nobody can expect it, you know, and we might
just as well have one pleasant evening. Shall
I ring for the cab?”
I glared at her, but I knew her to be incorri-
gible, young as she was.
“You seem to forget, my dear!” I said, “that
this is a boarding-house and our week is up
to-morrow. That money isn’t yours or mine—
what there is belongs to the people here.”
Perhaps my tone was harsh, at any rate her
14


CHAP. I THE QUINCUNX CASE
eyes filled with tears. “Oh Phill” she cried
out, “I believe you’re sorry we did it! I believe
you wish we hadn’t come !”
“My dear mother l’’ I ejaculated, and she
stopped, because that is a name I never call
her unless I am displeased with her. I was
just going to protest with vehemence, when
there came a knock at the door.
Although our week was not up till afternoon,
and no one knew of the fiscal fiasco but our-
selves, yet such is the ugly influence of liability
that my heart gave a nervous thump; and I felt
reluctant to open the door to a possibly raging
landlady. However, I did it, while my mother
hastily dried her eyes in a corner, and it was
nobody but Peter, the buttons, with a letter.
“And forwarded from home!” was my com-
ment as I gave it to her, and picked up Dives
from the floor, with repugnance. But when
glancing at the postmark, she called out “Uncle
Adrian l’’—I went quickly to read it over her
shoulder.
“ASHUELOT, N. H., June 1.
“MY DEAR SISTER:
It is some years now since we met, and your
son Philip must be of an age when the question
of his position in the world is of great impor-
15


CHAP. I THE QUINCUNX CASE
industry had erected that village and those
factories—my father's step-brother, a person-
ality as dry as sand. The difference in age
between my uncle and my father had been less
great than the difference in their temperaments,
for Mr. John Adrian had been a man of busi-
ness through and through; Philip, his brother,
only a man of parts. My father’s marriage
had seemed the culmination of his imprudences
to the richer man, whose interest in him, never
great, from that point appeared to cease en-
tirely. Fortunately for Philip Adrian, his wife
was one of those rare women who make life
picturesque with her humor and color. He
had talents and tastes, but they were not of the
kind for which America pays highly at the
present day. She knew his weaknesses, but
would not have exchanged them for the virtues
of his half-brother. She was the bravest and
most devoted of wives, and when he died,
although her life might truly have been de-
scribed as a hard one, she looked upon herself
as a woman chosen by fate to have experienced
the highest form of happiness.
This was the atmosphere of my boyhood, one
of pride and joy and endurance; her humor
and her spirit making easy the hardest path.
17


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. I
We settled in a small town, and she taught
music and painting; was loved, and busy and
successful, till I was old enough to test fortune
also.
We managed during these years to forget
all about Uncle Adrian and his enormous
wealth. Sometimes his name, or more often his
daughter’s in the newspaper, recalled to my
mother the one visit, which, during her engage-
ment, she had made under his roof. She would
repeat once more, with her inimitable mimicry,
their conversation on the subject of money, his
clumsy effort to warn her, his disgust at her
attitude. Then we would laugh together and
talk of something else, and certainly she never
wondered that this man of large means had
forgotten the existence of his brother’s wife
and child.
TJnfortunately for my mother (I use this
word though it makes her fiery) her son was
very like his father. My education had been
good, and I was studious and romantic. Very
young, I managed to get pupils, and I taught
for five years contentedly, until that fateful day
when a leading magazine accepted my short
story. The sum we received (for the work
was half my mother's) seemed enormous at
18


CHAP. I THE QUINCUNX CASE
the rate per hour, and I see now that it sent
us at once off our heads. I gave up a good
pupil in order to work harder, and when a
second acceptance followed, became giddy
enough to do anything she might propose. We
had little economies, we had enterprise, and
one fine March day (will it be believed?) we left
our satisfactory small home, cut our cables,
burnt our boats, and set off for New York,
where I was instantly to obtain a salaried liter-
ary position. I was twenty-six and romantic,
and you have already seen what she was.
Three delightful months followed. The
bright city, the shops, the pictures and music,
were to her an intoxication; and at no time
prudent about money, she grew positively reck-
less. I visited polite editors, received com-
pliments and vague suggestions; and never
dreamed, poor devil, of their smiles behind my
back. Our little economies went in vast extrav-
agances, till the latter part of May brought the
first doubts and dreads. My mother, who was
courageous if not practical, had gone so far as
to consult such friends as she had in town, and
there seemed a chance that if the worst came
to the worst, she might obtain charge of the
linen-room at the Indigent Gentlewomen. We
19


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. I
had jeered at this scornfully enough at the
first, but now it began to look imminent for
all our jeers.
All this, running through my mind in the
pause, set me contemplating her face and the
letter in her hand. I felt an instinctive dislike
to Uncle Adrian, a repugnance to the visit; and
I saw that she, too, was struggling with pride
and dislike. But I knew I must go, and I
must make her wish it.
So I said, “I wish he had asked you too,
dear! The country is exquisite now !” in tones
of mingled satisfaction and regret. She looked
up quickly.
“You want to go? Why, I feared . . . . . . 9 3
and she broke off.
‘‘Perhaps not altogether, but he means it
well. And have we really any choice?”
“I suppose not”, she said wistfully, “but
after all these years, I rather hate to begin
to take from him now !”
“I know, dear, how you feel—”, I was be-
ginning, when my eye caught the folded check
lying ignored on the carpet, and I picked it
up and showed it to her.
“It makes Dives quite able to look Lazarus
in the face,” I said cheerfully, watching her
20


CHAP. II THE QUINCUNX CASE
behind. The carryall had jogged on, and I
had dozed within it, rousing always to see the
mysterious shadows cast by its lantern upon
the thickets on either hand, to note that we
passed through perpetual forest, the boughs
seeming to dissolve as we approached. The
woods were full of pleasant sounds, small
brooks gurgling through the roots of the rho-
dodendrons, the steady pouring of the summer
wind among the trees, and now on one side
and now on the other of the road, the shouting
of a considerable stream. It had been dim
and dreamy for mile after mile, and I had
hardly noted that we passed near bulks of
building whose chimneys cut the clear starry
sky. After this we climbed a long steep hill,
turned sharply at the top between high gate-
posts, and drew up before a brilliant doorway.
It was too dark to see anything of the house,
beyond that it was large and square and white,
with a pillared portico. I was still half asleep
as I gathered my wraps, and stumbled up the
steps, instinctively toward the light of cheerful
wood-fire in the hall. Not till I had reached
it, did I notice the tall young woman who
stood in a nearby doorway, and surveyed me.
We shook hands somewhat awkwardly.
23


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. II
“Is this my cousin Philip?” she said. “I
am Cecil.”
Her voice was low and clear, and that was
my chief impression as I followed her into
a sitting-room opening out of the hall. Here
were warm crimson walls and high book-cases,
another good fire, and on a round table in the
centre a little supper was set forth. It was
all totally different from what I had antici-
pated—much simpler, more homelike, more un-
pretentious. There was no sign of a servant,
nothing to ruffle the pride of a poor relation. I
must have glanced about with this in mind,
for Miss Adrian's next remark had a note of
apology.
“My father can never break a habit,” she
said smiling. “He has gone to bed at ten o’clock
for thirty years, and that is the reason he is
not here to welcome you.” I disclaimed the
idea of wishing Uncle Adrian to put himself
out, and there fell another pause. My cousin
motioned me to the table.
“You must be very hungry and tired,” said
she. “Won't you help yourself?”
I was not very hungry, but I took the chair
she indicated, and as I hoped, she seated her-
self opposite, resting her arms on the table
-
24


CHAP. II THE QUINCUNX CASF
and began to study me under the lamp-light.
I was not the person to omit to repay the
compliment and for a few moments we ex-
changed the most reflective scrutiny until a
certain humor (also unexpected,) began to
glow in my cousin’s eye, and at a touch we fell
agreeably into laughter.
“Please forgive me,” she cried, still laugh-
ing, “but you are so —so different from what
I thought !”
“I was about to say the same,” I retorted.
“Preconceived ideas,” said my cousin, “are
very dangerous. When did you get yours?”
“Oh, I’ve a vivid imagination”, I went on
giddily, “and the newspapers . . . . . . . . . . . . ”.
But here I stopped and again we both laughed.
Miss Adrian, however, soon became grave.
“We must be careful,” she said, lowering her
voice, “or we will wake my father!”
This was the very last thing I desired, so I
sunk my own voice to nearly a whisper, and
she was obliged to lean her head nearer to hear
Iſle.
“You haven’t told me how I am different.”
“Well you see,” she confessed, “I knew you
had been tutoring, so I expected a much—
much—.”
25


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. II
“Graver pedagogue, with eye-glasses and a
dictionary? I’m sorry to disappoint you!”
“But I’m not disappointed won’t you
have another glass of wine?”
Her manner changed delightfully into that of
the hostess. The supper was delicious, and I
began to entertain higher hopes of the pleas-
ures of my visit. On the crimson wall opposite
there hung a large old-fashioned mirror, and
it reflected, as if framing a picture, the table
with the lamp hung low over it, my hostess and
myself. My ideas on her appearance had been
formed from my knowledge of her father's
wealth, and an occasional line from the news-
paper. I had fancied a good-humored, bounc-
ing girl in noticeably magnificent clothes, and
my first glance had been for a pair of diamond
earrings. Instead of this I saw a slender, light-
footed, plainly dressed young woman of twenty-
three or four. Her pale brown hair was taken
back from a heart-shaped face in a way to
accentuate that outline. Her eyes, which were
blue, or gray, or green, had a mingling of
reserve and humor. Her features, if irregular,
were full of a certain quality, which my want
of knowledge could only denominate character.
Her manner was elusively playful, with dignity
26


CHAP. II THE QUINCUNX CASF
just ready to protest; and there were latent
possibilities of spirit and abandon about the
corners of her mouth, which were there for
the undoing of any man who loved power.
What she had expected of me, Heaven alone
knew l—but I remember growing critically
analytical at my own reflection in the mirror;
and deciding that the strong looking young
man, with the steady blue eyes and quick smile,
had far too much verve and gesticulation and
general vivacity for the pedagogic rôle. And
there was, even then, a subconsciousness that
an imaginative, concentrated temperament, a
dramatic sense, and a distinct literary bent
added still greater unfitness, therefore, that the
mirror framed some very pretty possibilities.
Our conversation had been quietly cut short
by Cecil’s rising to show me to my room, yet
it had left me with the desire to continue it
on the morrow. All these recollections, and
the excitement of such new experiences ran
through my mind on awaking and made staying
in bed impossible. Six o'clock had not yet
struck, but I decided to accept the invitation
of the sun to explore my surroundings.
The garden shone with dew, and a hundred
early rose bushes perfumed the June air. The
27


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. II
grounds were not large, but the trees were
old and fine, with beds of lilies-of-the-valley
and fern planted among them. The house
stood high and commanded a view of the purple
and golden valley and of the rolling New Hamp-
shire hills. I wandered to the gate, then out
upon the high-way, and some yards down the
hill, came upon a cross-road. One branch was
evidently that which I had taken the night
before, for it led steeply down to where I saw
buildings, heard the rattle of machinery and
noted the veil of smoke. I was in no mood
for the factory, so I took the other branch, and
lit a cigarette preparing to enjoy myself. A
quarter of a mile further on, I came to where
a huge oak jutted into an angle of the road.
Its roots were mossy and gnarled and formed
a natural seat, tempting to the philosopher,
which gave a view of the only habitation in
sight, a small, old, deserted stone cottage.
This was of a shape common in New England,
two-storied, with a hipped roof, a tumbledown
outhouse attached to one end. A creeper hid
the other with a mass of green, relieved against
the silver hue of the weather-worn shingles.
Among the weeds in the door-yard, a few
flowers still bloomed; but the whole place was
utterly ruinous and dilapidated.
28


CHAP. II THE QUINCUNX CASE
The picturesqueness of the building pleased
me, although I had a passing wonder that Uncle
Adrian allowed such neglect so near his own
house. Some purplish flower nodded against
the broken window, and chimney-swallows flew
briskly about the roof. I drew out my pocket
sketch-book and began a rapid outline,whistling
as I worked, and with my thoughts hovering
pitifully over the loneliness of my little mother
left behind. Of course, Uncle Adrian’s check
had done away with any idea of the Indigent
Gentlewomen, but even in her pleasant lodgings
I knew she would be shedding a few tears.
Whatever may be the hesitation of the drama-
tist, life never hesitates to bring together the
hour, the circumstance and the man. I know
not which of the Olympians had me in hand
that morning and led me to the oak-tree, thus
making me a witness at an hour when witnesses
were unlikely. I had been ten minutes at my
sketch when I saw the old station-wagon, the
same which had brought me last night, climb
slowly up the hill and stop at the gate of the
house I was drawing. I recognized the lean,
white horse, and rusty leather curtains, and
wondered what purpose took it to a place so
obviously deserted. The horse backed round
29


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. II
at the gate like a mechanical toy, and his driver
leaned back and held some conversation with
the person or persons in the darkened interior:
then I saw the door of the wagon open, and
the figure of a young woman appeared and
jumped lightly to the ground. I was not near
enough to distinguish her features, which by
the way were hidden in a white veil, but I no-
ticed the pink-and-white freshness of her sum-
mer dress, the deeper colored roses on her large
hat, and the gleam of something like a jewel at
her wrist. She did not pause, but walking rap-
idly up the cottage path, put a key in the lock,
struggled with it a moment, then opening it,
disappeared inside. The wagon remained
drawn up at such an angle that it was impos-
sible to see if she had been its only occupant. I
paused in my sketch, interested to know what
took this lady into such a dusty and ruinous
place, and kept my eyes on the door until I
saw her re-appear. She held her dress daintily
high with one hand, and in the other was a
sheet of paper, which had certainly not been
there before.
I jumped up and moved a pace or two nearer,
to see her run back to the wagon, and hand this
sheet of paper to someone within. Then with
30


CHAP. II THE QUINCUNX CASE
her foot on the step, she waited, gesticulating
freely meanwhile, though the wind carried her
voice away from me. I craned my neck to see
the second person alight, but instead saw only
a pair of hands flash from the shadow of the
vehicle, tear the paper across and across into
several pieces and throw them out upon the
morning breeze. I saw the white fragments
scatter along the road and catch in the grass;
there followed some further talk, the lady evi-
dently suggesting a return to the hut, the hands
gesticulating angrily in reply; then she mounted
the wagon, the door shut upon them and the
horse jogged off in the way he had come.
My imagination played fancifully about this
incident while I finished my drawing until the
tones of a distant bell striking eight o’clock
recalled me to my relatives and breakfast. I
therefore put away my sketch-book and walked
briskly back to the house. Entering the crimson
sitting-room where I had been received the
night before, I found myself in the presence
of Cecil and of a short, gray, elderly man, who
could be no other than my Uncle Adrian.
31


CHAPTER III
THE FIRST ACCOUNT OF BALSAMO
“Humph, glad to see you!” grunted my uncle,
as he shook hands. He gave me a glance over
his eye-glasses, and then fell ravenously upon
the financial page of the New York Evening
Post. I was very willing to turn from him to
Cecil, who was full of hospitable enquiries.
“So you’ve been exploring the country al-
ready,” she said. “I hope it wasn’t because
you slept badly?”
“You say that to a man just come from a
hall bed-room of a Harlem boarding-house!
On the contrary, Iwaked up from sheer delight
and to the sound of the birds.”
“And you went out without your breakfast!”
she observed.
“Who could think of breakfast on such a
golden morning?” *
I was trying to make out the real color of
her eyes—a tint between green and gray,
strange and beautiful—and I really had for-
gotten Uncle Adrian; so, when he grunted
32


CHAP. III THE QUINCUNX CASE
again, I jumped, and saw his spectacles fixed
on me, above the Post.
“You’re like your father, Philip,” he re-
marked.
I mumbled something to suggest that I was
complimented by the comparison.
He gave a sour laugh. “Don’t suppose for
an instant that I consider the resemblance an
advantage!” he said amiably, and I saw Cecil’s
face swept with color at his tone. Breakfast
at this point was announced. Uncle Adrian
folded up his Post, and with the air of one who
has finished his religious exercises for the day,
filed it carefully away upon some heaps of the
same frivolous literature and marched into the
dining-room.
We seated ourselves round a table, upon
which was presently placed a huge New Eng-
land breakfast. I caught myself wondering
where on earth in Uncle Adrian's spare, lean
frame, he put so much beefsteak and hot cakes,
and baked beans and coffee. My Uncle looked
at my plate with the strongest disapproval.
“No man ever did a square morning’s work
on an egg,” he commented as I cracked the
shell, and this was his only remark during the
first half of the meal. However, during my
33


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. III
conversation with Cecil I caught once or twice
his little eye fixed keenly on me, and I do not
know why, but the glance had the odd effect
of a stimulus. Several times I made Cecil
laugh, and I could see by her expression that
it was not habitual with her breakfasting.
“So you are one of these lively talkative
young fellows,” said he suddenly after a long
silence. “Well, well, that’s like your father,
too. Phil always had lots to say, but tongue
never filled the till that I could see.”
His manner was so markedly ungracious that
I could only judge it to be purposely so, and
although my face flamed, I held my tongue.
His next remark showed me that I was right,
for he went on rather more cordially: “You
can hang on to yours when you have to,
anyhow.”
There followed a pause, and during it I met
the apologies and entreaties of Cecil’s eyes.
It was on their account that I spoke again.
“Tell me about that ruined cottage down the
road,” I said; “it looks as if there might be
a story about it.”
“You must mean Balsamo's cottage, I think.
You are right, it is picturesque. To begin with
it’s one of the oldest buildings about here.”
34


CHAP. III THE QUINCUNX CASE
“I looked for the date,” said I, “while I
was sketching the place,” and I took out my
book to show her the drawing.
“Why, that's capital, Philip !” she cried
evidently once more at ease. “The creeper,
and the overgrown garden, are charmingly
done. But the imaginary girl on the door-step
is out-of-place,” she added, “for no-one will
go near the cottage any more.”
“Really?” I cried much interested. “Then I
wonder who was the girl I saw go in there this
morning?”
The question had altogether disproportionate
effect upon both Cecil and her father. He
frankly stared at me, and she cried out quick
and eagerly:-
“A girl . . . . . . in Balsamo's cottage, this
morning? Impossible!”
Briefly as I could I described the whole inci-
dent; Uncle Adrian listened with the closest
attention and followed with a question.
“You say the pieces of paper this girl had
were thrown away, then and there? You are
perfectly sure?”
Wondering more and more, I replied that I
was. My uncle arose.
“It wouldn't hurt to try,” he said as if to
35


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. III
himself, and then aloud, “Cecil, if you have
finished your breakfast, take Philip with you
and see if you can find any of those scraps of
paper.”
“Certainly, Papa.”
“There was not much breeze,” I said; “they
cannot have gone far. But why are you both
so interested—what’s the mystery?”
My uncle fairly snarled. “Young man this
is a matter of business, it isn’t a dime novel !”
he said roughly, and was about marching away
toward his little study when his daughter
touched him on the arm.
“You know I don’t agree with you, Papa,”
said she, “I think it is much more than busi-
mess—the whole affair was so extraordinary.
You have no objection to my telling Philip?”
Evidently she took his silence for consent,
for she led the way swiftly out on the veranda.
Then she turned to me:
“I always forget,” she said apologetically,
“that what meant to me merely an exciting;
story, was to Papa a big disappointment, the
biggest he ever had. He has been so used to
success that he can’t bear the idea even now.”
I saw her effort, and could not but like her
for it.
36


CHAP. III THE QUINCUNX CASE
“I am to hear the story, am I not?”
“By and by,” she answered, “but we must
look for those papers first.”
We set off together briskly down the road.
The sun touching her hair gave its pale coils
more life than they seemed to have the night
before. The shape of her face and setting of
her eyes were fascinating in their irregularity.
The night before I had thought her elegant and
elusive; here, in her short skirt and active step
she was all directness and simplicity, and
always dominating these was a sense of strength
and reserve.
We walked straight to the tangled weedy
growth, where I had seen the unknown throw
the scraps of paper; and I confess that when I
drew near I repented of my confidence as to
finding them again. Most of the fence had
rotted down and the grass ran wild into the
road. But the earlier breeze had died, the
ruined hut seemed absolutely deserted, and we
bent at once to our search, parting the weeds
and grasses and bending low over the roadside
ditch. My cousin found the first piece, and a
moment later I held up triumphantly what
seemed to be the page of an old note-book all
but torn in half.
37


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. III
“Do you think there are any others?” Cecil
asked me.
“I was too far away to tell exactly,” I
replied, “though she could not have carried
many from the ease with which they were torn.
Let us look down the road the way the wind
was blowing.”
“You say there were two people?” she con-
tinued, as we walked.
“Yes, but I saw only the hands of the second,
and do not know if it was a man or woman—
see, isn’t that a piece in the ditch?’”
It was a quarter of a page, and further on
we found a fourth piece. Here, however, our
discoveries ended. Although I had certainly
seen many more pieces flying to the winds, yet
the most careful search failed to find them. So
finally, breathless with stooping, we gave it
up.
“Don’t you think I deserve a reward now?”
I begged her. “I have not even asked a
question. Here is this comfortable root where
I sat this morning, out of the sun. I will sit at
your feet, and you shall tell me the story.”
She assented, and in the cool shade, she gave
me what I have since come to call the first
account of Balsamo. Her narrative as here
38


CHAP. III THE QUINCUNX CASE
set down is copied from my old diary of that
time. It is therefore not in Cecil’s own words,
for she told it on that day rather badly, and
was too frequently interrupted by my questions.
Joseph Balsamo, the chemist, came to the
Adrian Leather Works through the recommen-
dation of their Boston agent. Nominally, the
post was one of chemist temporarily employed
for the purpose of testing and investigating
Some new, foreign leather process. Really, the
situation had been offered Balsamo because
the agent led Uncle Adrian to believe that he
was a man of important and original talent, on
the eve of making a discovery likely to revolu-
tionize the treatment of patent leathers.
It is not my purpose, nor is it necessary to go
into the question of patent leather processes in
these pages. Enough to say that up to this
time no such leather could be guaranteed from
cracking, owing to the fact that the French
method killed the skins, which sooner or
later must disintegrate. All processes then
in use were variations on this one, and subject
to the same disadvantage. The plan on which
Balsamo hoped to set to work was one totally
new and untried. His experiments were in the
nature of a chemical formula producing a sub-
39


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. III
stance which was flowed on to the leather,
whether in skins, or made-up, leaving the
leather itself in its originally fresh, elastic con-
dition. Such a process was better and cheaper;
and the probable profits, as figured out by Uncle
Adrian, were enough to fire even his damp and
chilly imagination, and cause him to bear with
something very like patience the chemist’s
eccentricities.
Cecil’s description of Balsamo omitted none
of his peculiarities. She seemed rather to
wonder that one so antagonistic to her father
should have yet succeeded in convincing
him. Of Balsamo's past history, even of his
nationality, very little was known. It was his
fancy to claim that he was a direct descendant
of the famous Count Cagliostro; but this had
been probably inspired by a slight likeness to
the portraits of that mysterious personage.
He spoke French and Italian better than Eng-
lish, and he had a tremendous outpouring of
language in these tongues. When alone he
muttered and gesticulated, and notwithstanding
his apparent peaceableness, he was a figure to
be avoided in the dusk by the nervously in-
clined. But if at times he acted like a crazy
man, at others he seemed more than usually
40


CHAP. III THE QUINCUNX CASE
sane. When he first came to the Adrian Works
he was entirely alone, but later he appears to
have produced a wife and daughter—the latter
about Cecil’s own age. The wife, an equally
foreign person, did not inhabit the cottage with
him, but settled in the town some ten miles dis-
tant, and the little girl vibrated between her two
parents. The villagers and work-people pitied
the thin, shy, morose creature clinging to her
odd father’s arm, and were glad when she was
sent to a distant convent school.
I should have mentioned here that the arriv-
al of Balsamo and his family took place during
Cecil’s last year at school; followed by her trip
to Europe and appearance in the gay world.
When she returned to her home she found her
father very tired of being perpetually disap-
pointed by Balsamo, and of his never-ending
requests for more money. There had been
angry scenes and threats from Uncle Adrian of
withdrawing his protection; but oddly enough,
he seemed to believe in the man’s ability, and
to be unwilling to let him go. On his part,
the chemist talked wildly, grew more morose
and peculiar, was given to vanishing and leav-
ing his laboratory for days at a time, and other-
wise tried Mr. Adrian’s patience to the full.
41


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. III
Matters were certainly more strained than Cecil
liked. While Balsamo had always been fawn-
ingly polite to herself, yet she distrusted his
thin-lipped, lined face, and the eyebrows raised
on the temples over the smouldering eyes. She
begged her father to dismiss the man, but he,
although furious at the waste of time and
money, seemed certain that Balsamo was near-
ing an important result.
This was the situation in May, three years
back, when Cecil invited a house-party of friends
to Ashuelot for the first and last time. Her
father, who was always liberal to her, made
every effort, got up riding-parties, dinners and
dances that must have made his house unwont-
edly bright. Personally he took little interest
in his guests, for he was absorbed in the chemi-
cal experiments, every day going to Balsamo's
laboratory in the expectation of final and con-
clusive results, yet every day put off with eva-
sions and further requests for money. Then it
was that for the first time he began to doubt the
man's good faith. Some-one must have hinted
that Balsamo was playing with him, was hold-
ing back his discovery, or in secret treating
with a rival firm. This suspicion seems to have
taken strong hold of Uncle Adrian, and in-
42


CHAP. III THE QUINCUNX CASF
furiated him. On the day the house-party
was to break up with a final dance, there was
an unusually violent scene between the two men
in Mr. Adrian’s study. Cecil, frightened, she
knew hardly why, heard it from an adjoining
room. Balsamo demanded money. Mr. Adrian
positively and finally refused it, and requested
the formula of the process in writing according
to contract. The other met his request with
actual tears, and piteous acknowledgments of
failure, but held out great hopes along a new
line of experiments to be undertaken so soon as
he was supplied with means. Mr. Adrian with
another curt refusal rose to end the interview.
But the chemist added prayers to his facile
tears, asserted his wife’s extravagance, her
debts, his inability to meet them, and repeated
over and over that he was a desperate man.
Cecil, trembling in the next room, overheard
her father’s final “no,” and rejoiced at the
silence in which Balsamo left the house.
She saw him shamble down the hill, but a
sinister impression remained when he had gone.
That night she and her guests danced late.
It was well after midnight when a pistol shot
rang out from the second floor, followed after
an instant of deathly silence, by a second. The
43


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. III
men precipitated themselves in the direction
whence the shots had come, but in the confusion,
several minutes passed before they gathered
before a bed-room door.
The occupant of this room—M. du Caylus,
one of Cecil’s intimate friends,-had left the
ball-room twenty minutes before, complaining
of a headache. He was therefore the only
person upon the second floor. You may imag-
ine the excitement of the group who hammered
on his door, and their relief to hear his voice
within saying—
“I am all right, wait till I open the door,
there has been a robbery, I think.” An instant
passed, the key turned in the lock, and the
Frenchman, calm and unhurt, appeared on the
threshold, holding a lamp and a revolver.
“I wish you to understand, Mr. Adrian,” he
addressed my uncle, “that I acted wholly in
Self-defense.”
The men fell into the room. On the floor,
near the window, lay the body of Balsamo, the
chemist. In his pockets were various trifles,
a gold cigarette-case, a ring, taken from the
room adjoining. Near him on the floor was a
revolver, of which a single charge had just ex-
ploded.
44


CHAP. III THE QUINCUNX CASE
M. du Caylus told his story. He had been
fatigued, and so gone up early to his room,
and slipped on his dressing-gown, intending
to read. But the May evening was mild, so
instead he drew his chair near the window and
sat in the darkness enjoying the perfumed air.
He may have dozed, when he suddenly heard a
slight noise of steps in the next room to which
the door was open—saw a strange man enter
silently, and move to the dressing table. Du
Caylus sitting in the darkness had remained
perfectly still, until he realized that an at-
tempted burglary was taking place. At his
exclamation, the robber turned and fired the
first shot. His position gave du Caylus an
advantage, and he immediately retorted with
a second and more effective bullet. The whole
affair was so swift and startling that he had
remained as if stunned, until he heard the
others clamoring outside his door.
My uncle caused the body to be examined.
A letter from his wife demanding money, and
some bills to a rather large amount, and the
cover of a note-book with the pages missing
were all that could be found on it except the
stolen articles. There was nothing to be done
but hush the matter up as far as possible, and
45


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. III
notify his wife. The most significant incident
of all developed when they attempted to do so,
for it was found that she had left her lodging,
giving no address. Stories were afloat of
lights burning that night in Balsamo's cottage,
and a woman’s shadow at its windows, but
nothing more tangible; and later enquiries at
the convent where the child had been, proved
that the mother had been there and taken her
away, leaving no trace.
“Of course, my uncle searched the cottage
afterward?” I asked Cecil.
“To very little purpose, I believe. The stove
contained a heap of ashes and fragments of
burnt paper, among which there were various
letter-headings from some of father’s largest
rivals in the trade. This made him certain that
the man had been a double-dealer. And in the
cellar were fine skins, and carboys of various
substances recently bought, showing he had
been really experimenting. But after that,
father got disgusted and threw over the whole
thing. Of course, the party was broken up,
and I was glad enough to have father by him-
self, for his disappointment was bitter.”
46


CHAPTER IV
INVESTIGATIONS, AND THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF
THE QUINCUNX
The slight air which had stirred about us as
Cecil began to speak, had died out into the
warm silence of a June mid-day. The kindly
oak threw his heavy shade over us, and made
purplish shadows under my cousin's eyes. I
had followed her with close attention, and yet
still felt in the apparently simple course of
events the presence of a something unexplained
and hidden.
“May I question you a little on one or two
points?” I asked her. “There are some things
here which I don’t fully understand.”
“Certainly you may,” replied Cecil, and
turned her gaze candidly upon me. I looked
away, for I wanted to keep a clear head.
“Which room did Balsamo die in?”
“The one you have,” was her prompt reply.
“Why then, did M. du Caylus claim he shot
Balsamo at the dressing-table, and yet he was
found dead near the window? There is the
width of the room between them.”
47


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IV
She looked puzzled an instant, then said slow-
ly, “He may have been mistaken—or, could the
dying man have staggered there?”
“Hardly. You did not see the body, I
suppose?”
She shuddered. “Of course not—and it is
not certain what was said. It is over three
years ago.”
“That’s the trouble, it’s so far back.-You
are sure yourself that it was robbery?”
“Why, Philip, the things were found in his
pockets' And in the talk with my father that
day, you remember he said that he must have
money.”
I began to strip little pieces of bark from the
tree and throw them away.
“Tell me about this M. du Caylus.”
She colored, and her voice changed imper-
ceptibly. “He was a friend of mine,—is any-
thing more necessary?”
“Yes,” I persisted, “when did you meet?
How old was he?”
“We met in New York. He brought letters
of introduction to my aunt, Mrs. Culver. He
was thirty-five or forty.”
“Unmarried?”
“Yes.”
48


CHAP. IV THE QUINCUNX CASE
“And you liked him?”
“Immensely.”
“Then why did you refuse him?”
She turned her flashing eyes on me. “How
did you know?” she cried, and then witheringly,
“How did you dare?”
“Please don’t be angry,” I begged, “I’m
taking only an investigator’s interest, nothing
personall I simply want to understand the
position at that time, that’s all.”
Cecil did not look convinced. “I don’t see
the connection. However, M. du Caylus had
never been to the United States before. He
was a remarkable man in many ways; most
polished and cultivated. I simply did not care
for him enough to marry him, that’s all. He
did ask me, on the very next day before he left.
The whole affair distressed him a good deal.”
“Then we must eliminate M. du Caylus,” I
quietly rejoined. There was a pause, which
Cecil broke in another tone.
“After all, there is no reason why I should
not be frank with you, Philip. I’ve often won-
dered why I didn't care. But there seemed
something underneath his wit and humor, and
taste, and kindness and ability, which I felt,
and didn’t understand, and didn’t like. I can’t
49


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IV
point to any one thing, it was just a girl's
fancy.”
“Or a woman’s intuition?”
“Perhaps.”
We were both silent. In the delight of her
confidences and her friendliness, I was in
danger of forgetting our lurid little problem.
“And your father gave up all search of any
formula which Balsamo may have left?”
“He tried at first, but got no trace. Then
he got angry, and said he had lost money
enough.”
I sighed, commiserating Uncle Adrian on his
lack of my own valuable services.
“Suppose we look at those papers, now that
I understand.”
She put them into my hand. They were torn
pages from an ordinary note-book or diary,
closely filled with writing in a small foreign
hand. Two sheets were torn across, but read-
able,_the third piece was merely a fragment.
They were written in the most astonishing
mixture of French and English, the two lan-
guages often dovetailing in the same sentence.
The following is a translation:
** Feb. 12th.
At work all day. In town, saw Marianna. ".
50


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IV
and we two, with Chavaignac, followed the body
to the grave. No family; no relatives to notify,
—Pauvre cher viewa!! Feel more relieved than
for months past, however, and worked most of
the night. Mr. Adrian grumbling about money,
whereas his millions! His is not the only
leather concern he will find.
Mar. 25.
To date—Marianna $150.00 for my little one.
From Mr. Adrian $200– Vet. and Cha. $439.19
—I wish it was as good each time.”
This ended the two complete pages of what
had been evidently the chemist’s diary. The
fragment that remained was smaller and so
badly torn that only a part of the sentences
remained. I was struck in examining it, by the
appearance, no less than six times repeated, of
a cluster of five dots arranged as on a playing
card. I give this scrap as it stood.
25–Mai. Travaillais . . . Il y á..........
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Succès. Plusieurs notes . . .
N'est ce que. . . . . . . . . . . . . 21. Lettre de Jones
Frères. Envoyé à Vettori. Il est d’avis qu’il
faut finir par lä. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Mai.
Affaire finie. . . . a Chavaignac. . . . . . . . . . . . . .


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IV
“I don’t mean anything yet. I want to
look.”
Our eyes encountered; she must have de-
tected a spark of excitement in mine. For I
am,_it is my bane and my blessing, of that
temperament, imaginative, concentrated, fiery,
which carries on and convinces others before
I am myself carried on and convinced. Cecil
was a woman and did not ask me for facts,
she simply lit her torch at my enthusiasm and
swept along with me. At bottom my theories
were but nebulous, my brain busy spinning
possibilities for being of use to my uncle in
some unexpected way. And governing it all
was a deeply literary interest in the story, and a
thirst for further details. I’ve vowed to be
truthful in this narrative, so you see on what
an underpinning of straw was the fabric
erected; and yet, understand this too, a more
conventional, experienced man would have been
less favored by events.
Cecil undertook to get the key from the
gardener, and ten minutes later we stood in the
front entry of the cottage. The change was
great from the warm, clear sunshine, the life
and growth without, to this dusky and ruinous
decay, falling plaster making a gray dust, a
54


CHAP. IV THE QUINCUNX CASE
shivering damp rising from the floor and bring-
ing a musty smell to our nostrils.
“Ugh,” said Cecil, and raised her skirts with
both hands. A charming pair of Colonial ties
pirouetted in the patches of sunshine which had
come in with us, but I did not even pause to
admire them. The ghost of Sherlock Holmes
held me in his grip.
I made Cecil name me the rooms. On our
right was the parlor, absolutely empty, thick
with dust and plaster which no footstep had
disturbed. The same description applied to
the other rooms on the first floor, kitchen, out-
house and laboratory, though my cousin was
evidently dissatisfied with the passing glance
I gave them.
“I should have thought this the place to
search,” she suggested; “that’s where father
looked.”
“Then surely there is no use in our doing
so. And moreover, what I want to find out now
is where that woman went this morning, and
you can see for yourself it was not here.”
“Oh!” said Cecil respectfully, and subsided.
We came back to the front hall and inspected
the stairs. Here were at last traces of passage,
the touch of slight fingers on the dusty balus-
55


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IV
trade, and the swirl made by a skirt on the
step.
“But look!” I cried in dismay, “could she
have changed her mind and turned back? The
mark of her skirt ends at the second step l’’
“Because she held it up out of the dirt,”
remarked Cecil serenely. I drew a breath.
“Man was not born to live alone!” I ejacu-
lated fervently. “Let’s go up-stairs.”
More finger-marks on the stair-rail guided
us to the upper entry, where Cecil triumphantly
pointed out to me a neat footprint. This I
followed in turn to the doors of the only bed-
rooms in the cottage. The larger of these was
filled with the contents of the laboratory, piled
pell-mell upon the floor. The other articles
were a large table without drawers, a bureau,
whose drawers had been taken out and stood on
end, and a rickety washstand. I went to the
washstand, because the mysterious foot-print
led straight to it; but the foot-print led away
again and I found the wash-stand absolutely
empty.
There remained the smaller of the two rooms,
and nothing looked more unpromising. A
couple of beds, taken down, stood against the
wall; the mattresses were rolled up in a corner.
56


CHAP. IV THE QUINCUNX CASE
There was a broken chair, an old clock, and
a small hanging cabinet of cheap make, sus-
pended from a gas-fixture. The little door of
this cabinet stood open, and merely to be
thorough, I went across and shook it without
any result. But I did not at once hang it up
again. The wooden back was splintered and
broken, but one of the screws which had been
originally used to fasten to the wall still re-
mained. The piece of twine which hung it upon
the gas-jet was new and strong. I then re-
placed it, but I rather wondered why and from
where it had been moved. We had finished
examining this end of the house, and turned our
attention to the little room over the wood-shed,
known in New England often as the “cuddy” or
‘‘the Cud.”
However, I found this end of the cottage so
ruinous and unsafe that I was obliged to send
Cecil down-stairs to wait for me. She went
reluctantly enough, and I hastened my survey
to rejoin her. The “cud” was hardly larger
than a closet. From a trap-door, a rotting
ladder led down into the outhouse. There were
shelves, and a press painted grey, whose doors
stood open. The floor was covered with lumps
of plaster, so that I had no longer the foot-
prints to guide me.
57


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. TV
I was just turning away, when I saw, pro-
truding above a gaping rent in the plaster, a
screw, the fellow to that in the back of the little
wooden cabinet; and I realized suddenly that
here was where that cabinet had originally
hung. I examined the place and found the
whole wall surface bathed with moisture, from
a leak in the gutter-pipe at the angle of the
roof above. This then was the reason the
cabinet had been taken down, and this had just
come to me, when I noticed sticking to the screw
a small fragment of pink stuff. I examined it
eagerly,–it was a bit of thin dress goods sig-
nificantly fresh, crisp, dry and new; my mind
instantly recalled the pink-clad figure I had
watched that morning and I became convinced
that it was the cabinet for which she had been
searching. But I had found that cabinet
empty!
It must have been a flash of inspiration.
Cecil was calling me. I was turning the pink
shred in my fingers and recalling the whole
thing, the shattered back of the cabinet, the
gap in the wall at my side. . . . . . and then I
went and thrust my hand deep into the hole in
the wall, and far down between the clap-boards
my fingers met papers. I drew them up and
58


CHAP. IV THE QUINCUNX CASE
at a glance recognized more pages from the
chemist’s diary.
Cecil called again, but I was tearing the wall
out in my excitement; and when I finally joined
her, covered with mould and plaster, I had
twenty pages or more of Balsamo's note-book.
“From what you told me,” I said to her as
we locked the door behind us, and stood again
in the sunshine, “and what I saw, the thing is
almost plain. Evidently she came for these
pages of the diary, and went straight to the
place where the cabinet used to hang. There
she tore her sleeve on the screw. Then she
went to the bed-rooms, found the cabinet where
we found it, with one or two papers inside,
which she took away. But, she never thought
to look for the rest where they had fallen into
the hole in the wall.”
“I think you are quite remarkable, Philip,”
said my cousin, and I was ready to agree.
“Very few women really understand the in-
ductive method,” I consoled her.
It was late, and we should have gone straight
home, but could not forbear pausing to examine
our prize.
And here I underwent mortification from too
hasty conclusions. For I saw at a glance the
59


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IV
justness of my reasoning, and my own foolish
triumph, which I ought to have carried a step
further. The leak and the resulting dampness,
which had been the last link in my chain, had
undone me, and the pages which I had recovered
were practically illegible.
60


CHAPTER V
A CBIALLENGE FROM MY UNCLE
Never was a man more crest-fallen than I
at this discovery, nor one more entitled, it
would seem, to sympathy. And instead of con-
solation, Cecil gave me only peals of unkindly
laughter.
“Oh, it’s too delicious, your expression!”
she cried between laughs. “The foiled detec-
tive, the complete reasoner in one volume
utterly refuted!”
“Was I so pedantic as that?” I asked, be-
tween my teeth.
“You had been lecturing at me a little, you
know!” she remarked cruelly.
“I should have known they would be wet; it
was the whole point. Why didn’t you say
something?”
“So few women understand the inductive
method l’’
I did not look at her; I knew her eyes were
sparkling with the tint of the sun-lit ocean. I
walked on furiously, with big strides; she kept
61


| THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. V
lightly beside me. As we neared the house
gates, I took the bundle of papers and was just
about to hurl them into the bushes when she
restrained me.
“No, no,” she cried more seriously, “don’t
do that, father may want to see them,-and
besides, you don’t know if some may be better
than others... . . . . And isn’t it a good sign that
I should tease you on such short acquaintance?
One doesn’t poke a friend’s fire till he has
known him seven years.”
“I wish you were my friend,” I retorted
gloomily, stuffing the papers back into my
pocket, and slackening my pace.
“But am I not, a new friend at least?”
“I don’t know, friendship implies equal-
ity.”
“Now you are childish,” she said a little
haughtily, but I was in the mood to be indis-
creet.
“That is what your father thinks at any
rate. Do you suppose he has asked me here
except as a poor relation,-one who is not to
presume on the invitation? Certainly that is
the way I read his manner of this morning.”
Cecil was silent for a moment. When she
spoke, I was already repenting my ill-humor.
62


CHAP. V. THE QUINCUNX CASE
“My father is not at all well,” she said, very
quietly, “and pain makes him often rough and
brusque in his speech. It means very little,
and I thought you understood it. I am quite
sure that you will find he treats you always as
his kin, and a gentleman.”
I met her eyes this time, and found them
full of kindness.
“Thank you,” I said in the same tone, and
a flash of sympathy and understanding passed
between us.
“Now,” said Cecil gaily, “we will go and tell
our great discoveries to Papa!”
I followed her, thinking I had never seen a
face more sensitive, a gentler mouth, or deeper,
sweeter eyes. We found Uncle Adrian sitting
at his desk in the little study; a pipe in his hand,
and blue clouds of smoke whirling around his
head. He listened in silence to Cecil’s lively
account of our doings, but when she handed
him the papers, flung them impatiently on the
table.
“How did you come to find these papers?”
he asked presently.
Cecil answered: “Philip reasoned out where
they must be, though the mysterious lady of
this morning failed to find them.”
63


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. V.
|Uncle Adrian blew out a fresh curl of smoke.
“And he thinks,” Cecil went on eagerly,
“that by carefully analyzing these papers We
may find some clue to what Balsamo really did.”
“Philip has an ardent imagination l’’ sneered
my uncle.
“At least it is worth trying ....” I ventured.
“What is worth trying?” he interrupted.
“I have spent my last cent on that d. . . .d
foreign rascal and cheat, I can tell you that! I
believe he deceived me from the first and never
made any experiments at all. Patent leather
indeed! He knew as much about patent
leather processes as he did about bacteri-
ology l’’
“But the laboratory, sir, the materials?”
“All a blind, to help him in sticking me.
Oh, I was milked,” cried Uncle Adrian furious-
ly, “regularly, like a cow.”
“But, Uncle, then why did he correspond
with Jones Brothers?”
“How do you know he did? Those letter-
heads I found prove nothing.”
“True,” I said pointedly, “but in one of
those papers which you don’t think is worth
while to look at, he says he had a letter from
them.” I handed him the scrap, and he conde-
scended to look at it.
64


CHAP. V. THE QUINCUNX CASE
“I can’t make head nor tail of the stuff,”
he grumbled, “and it’s all d. . . . d fantastic
nonsense anyhow.”
“Well, I don’t agree with you,” said I, and
felt sulky at being balked by the old man.
Here Cecil, however, broke in.
“But Papa,” said she, and leaned forward
her face full of earnestness, “just suppose
Balsamo had made some discovery, it belongs
to you, and . . . . . . . . 5 y
“If he had,” her father cut her short, ‘‘some
other firm would be advertising and using the
process after three years. Don’t be silly, Ce-
cill What do you know about it? If the
formula had been good, it would be in use by
now, and don’t you suppose I’ve been watching
the trade ever since to see?”
I began to see there was more than pighead-
edness to Uncle Adrian's position, but instead
of daunting, this roused me. At bottom, I
suppose I was determined my discoveries and
theories should be acknowledged as worth some-
thing by this unyielding business man.
“But that might be explained.” I observed.
“O, yes,” he rejoined with raised eyebrows,
“it only needs literary talents like yours!”
He had a gift of saying disagreeable things
65


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. V
which I have never seen equalled; but this time
I was not angry. In truth, I seemed to catch,
in his persistent rudeness a note of deliberate
effort to test my self-control, so I simply went
on firmly: “At all events, we have not taken
into account that the woman I saw this morning
went in for something, therefore, that others
are in search besides ourselves.”
“Then I suggest,” the truculent voice re-
torted, “that one of you competent young
people might have tried to find out who this
person was, if it was anyone.”
His eye deliberately searched me while he
spoke. Cecil’s face flamed, but I was not even
annoyed. After all it was not so bad a method
of testing a young man's mettle, though a rough
OIle.
“I was about to propose doing so with your
permission, sir.”
“Well,” he said, “we will talk of it again
after you have done so. Cecil, do you know
that you are keeping me waiting for dinner?”
Cecil apologized and fled. As for me, I also
left the study, followed into the hall by a long
unmistakable chuckle of satisfaction from Mr.
Adrian’s corner. At that sound I lost all my
fear of him.
66


CHAP. V. THE QUINCUNX CASE
With my partial interest stimulated into
something very like determination, I made
careful enquiries at the village concerning the
passengers who had been driven to Balsamo's
cottage the day after my arrival. The informa-
tion was meagre and left us as much in the
dark as before. The ladies had apparently
been driven over from the little mountain re-
sort, Monadnock, six miles from Ashuelot,
where they had been staying in the hotel for
a week past. The boy driver told me of two
sisters, one in the deepest mourning. They
had been in the habit of taking long drives, had
claimed to have explored the ruined cottage
with a friend the day before, and while there
to have dropped an important letter. The
younger of the two had asked for the key at
old Jackson’s cottage, and gone to hunt for the
letter, but they had come away disappointed,—
“crying too, for I heard her, all the way home,”
the boy said. They had left the hotel the next
day by the Boston train,_I found this out when
I rode over there, and also saw the register.
The names “Miss Smith, Miss Jones, New-
buryport,” furnished me with very little infor-
mation. Old Jackson, the gardener, was how-
ever positive that no other visit had been made
67


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. V
to Balsamo's cottage, and that nothing had been
said to him of a lost letter. As the place was
nominally for rent, he had no excuse for refus-
ing the key.
These were the only facts obtainable. When
I attempted cross-examination as to details of
dress and personal appearance, I became hope-
lessly befogged by the New England mind.
Both ladies had been veiled, the one in mourn-
ing heavily so; the other was presented to me as
blond and brunette, as tall, thin, but not real
thin, just a mite fleshy, and as dressed in blue,
pink, white and green.
The incident certainly, however, did not
minimize the whole affair, and I opened the
subject to Uncle Adrian with more confidence.
“Surely, sir,” I cried, “you must acknowl-
edge there is something odd about the situation.
This man writes of ‘success,” and the “affair
finished” yet nothing has happened. After
three years some one searches his cottage!
Suppose there is a formula.”
“It belongs to me,” said Uncle Adrian, and
shut his mouth. We were sitting by the study
fire after dinner. Cecil at the piano in the next
room was singing softly to herself.
“And there is so much in the story of the
68


CHAP. V. THE QUINCUNX CASE
chemist's death, which in my mind is not prop-
erly accounted for. Why was this French
gentleman, a guest in your house, armed with
a revolver, on the night of the dance?”
“Because he was a Frenchman,” said my
uncle as if that settled it. There was a pause
and he said gruffly, but not rudely, as he had
done at the first interview:
“Don’t you realize, Philip, that we speculated
just this way at the time? The affair was fishy,
of course, the man was a charlatan. I was
done by him, and that’s enough for me. I don’t
believe there ever was a formula.”
“In the face of that paper, sir!” I cried,
rising. Uncle Adrian suddenly lost his patience.
“The mutilated copy of a lunatic's ravings!”
he burst out. “I challenge you, you young fool,
to make anything out of it! There are the
papers in my desk, take them and work out
your theory if you like; but I challenge you,
mind, to produce anything that a sensible man
would listen to !”
“That remains to be seen,” I said, and rose
for Cecil’s voice called to me from the drawing-
room, “Come, Philip, and sing “The Roses of
Yester Year” for me.”
I went in and stood by the piano. The room
69


CHAP. V THE QUINCUNX CASE
voice low as I bent over her. “It seems the only
way that offers, a queer fantastic one but still
—what he thinks of me doesn’t matter, if
yOll. . . . . . . . 5 y
“The words of it are very pretty,” she inter-
rupted, “and certainly I do, Philip; aren’t you
a sort of cousin?”
“Let’s have something rousing and cheerful
this time!” called Uncle Adrian from the next
I’OOIſl.
71


CHAPTER VI
THE GRANTING OF THE QUEST
In order to make perfectly clear the results
of my analysis of Balsamo's diary, it becomes
necessary for the reader to know something,
briefly, of my method of procedure. The whole
business occupied five or six evenings. I began
by counting and numbering the pages them-
selves. There were twenty-six, including frag-
ments, written on both in pencil and ink, much
soiled, creased, rubbed and damaged in every
possible way. These pages I took one at a time,
gave them a superficial cleansing, and subjected
them to the closest possible study with the aid
of a good microscope. When sentences, single
words, or even parts of words could be deciph-
ered, I copied them on sheets of foolscap under
separate headings, trying always to get them
into the proper order of time. I then made a
list of the people mentioned in the diary, and
thus placed some of the fragmentary sentences
in their right relations. I was helped a little by
the fact that the entries were usually very brief,
72


CHAP. VI THE QUINCUNX CASE
and invariably dated, the dates covering the
space of two years.
So much for my system. The results were
alas! seemingly not worthy of so much care.
When all was done, the scraps we had picked
up in the road remained the most significant,
the twenty odd pages I had found in the cottage
furnished me with very little additional infor-
mation. The decipherable portions proved to
be records of expenditure or experiments, men-
tion of his wife and child, casual notes upon
other names, and the constant recurrence, in the
latter pages of the diary, of the little five-spot,
or quincunx symbol. The garbled and mis-
spelled French in which the entries were written
was a great bar to clearness, particularly when
it ran, without warning, into strangely con-
structed English, interspersed with Italian
phrases and proverbs. In this I could not have
proceeded, without Cecil’s help.
When all was copied out and grouped, I sat
down to consider the material at hand. The
personages mentioned in the diary were the
following:
1. Marianna (his wife).
2. His daughter (called always “petite” or
some other diminutive, but never by name).
73


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VI
3. Alessandro (often shortened to Sandro)
Vettori, evidently a very influential friend or
near relative.
4. Anthony Gellatly, (both of these first
names were furnished by the body of the diary)
a friend who died violently and mysteriously
in Boston, two months before Balsamo's own
death.
5. Pierre Chavaignac, whose address was
given, all but the town, which after much
thought I decided must be Quebec. There
might be a ‘Sous-le-fort Street, in any French
town, to be sure, but these people were all in
America, and I thought the Canadian city more
probable.
The five-dot symbol, which I will hereafter
call the quincunx, gave me a great deal of
trouble. It could not be a person, for the use
of it in phrases like “worked . . . .” seemed to
point rather to Balsamo's experiments. At the
same time, it was often jotted down seemingly
at random in the middle of a sentence, or used
almost like a qualificative to a phrase, such as
“. . . . 1 a Chavaig...... ” and no. 3 . . .
à. . . . . . ” and even “ . . . 2”, which I found
repeated in some of the earlier pages. Also
what was one to make of “Plusieurs notes
74


CHAP. VI THE QUINCUNX CASE
• : " " which suggested almost an abstraction?
The consideration of this important symbol was
to be approached, I felt sure, only through the
light thrown upon it by the rest of the material.
Along its main lines, the diary bore out what
I already knew. Constant need of money was
expressed in every word; the chemist's wife
was rarely mentioned except as asking or re-
ceiving it. There was no allusion to Mr.
Adrian, save in the parts I have already set
down, chiefly in the, to me, immensely signi-
ficant remark of his ‘not being the only leather
concern, etc., as he will find.” The child was
always tenderly spoken of. Gellatly's appear-
ance and rend has been already copied, but the
mention of Vettori often abbreviated to “V”
ran through all the pages, that tantalizing
“V” frequently meeting my eye, the only legi-
ble mark in a paragraph.
Passing to the subject of Balsamo's accounts
we came face to face with some important
facts. He makes scrupulous mention of sums
received from Mr. Adrian and from Vettori,
and thus places before us the curious truth that
these latter were so much the larger and more
important. In fact, at the time he was repre-
senting himself to Mr. Adrian as penniless,
75


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VI
he was noting in his diary the receipt of
sums double in amount those he asked of his
employer. Under March 25 for instance, he
gets $200 from his patron, and $439.19 from
the influential Vettori! So it runs through the
diary, and according to that record of expenses,
Balsamo must when he died have been worth
some $3000 or $4000! And yet he died a
thief.-What had become of that money?
This was my first point. The second was
made from the remarks about the Jones Leather
Co.—Wettori’s advice to conclude an arrange-
ment with them, and the words “affaire
finie”—translated by me as “matter settled.”
It only remained to call attention to the word
“success,” with which he ended a sentence on
that 25th day of May, just a week before his
shameful death.
Before giving the summing-up which I laid
before Uncle Adrian, I repeat my own doubts
and queries on the subject of the death-scene.
Personally, I was very far from being satisfied
with the account I had received. I still wished
an explanation of why Uncle Adrian’s guest
went armed in his house; indeed I would have
doubted his whole story had I not myself found
the bullet embedded in the wood-work of the
76


CHAP. VI THE QUINCUNX CASE
room. With this matter, however, we had not
at present to do, so I omitted all treatment of
it when I laid before Uncle Adrian, the account
which I had prepared. It sets forth all the
above points, and ends with the following con-
clusions:
a—That there is no suggestion of failure,
internal or external in the diary, but always
the cheerful note of success, and once the use
of that word itself.
b—That unquestionably, Balsamo was treat-
ing with Mr. Adrian’s largest rivals in the
trade and that his friends knew of the existence
and value of his discovery.
c—Therefore, that all evidence pointed to a
successful formula in existence or which had
existed, and also known to these people, one
of whose addresses is furnished us.
d—That some outside event or complication
of which we know nothing, precipitated Bal-
samo's tragic death and lost us his formula.
This may have been stolen, or only hidden by
the chemist, or possibly was never written
down, but its existence once, and its value at
that time, seems to be proved by the effort
made to find his diary by the two unknown
young women.
77


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VI
And, finally, that the quincunx symbol being
the only symbol in the diary, is therefore the
most important fact in it; that whether it
stands for the process itself, or for some sub-
stance used in the process, or some place where
Balsamo worked in secret; or, merely verbal, as
the indication of a cipher in the body of the
manuscript, it serves to conceal the facts, and
is therefore the one point to be aimed at in
my interview with the people mentioned in the
diary, should we ever run across them. Fol-
lowing my conclusions, I suggested to my uncle
that the address of Pierre Chavaignac gave us
a possible, though dubious clue, through which
we ought to reach one or other of the persons
in question. Personally, I added, whether he
moved in the matter or not, I was absolutely
convinced that Balsamo's discovery existed,
and was being held back from us for some
reason unknown.
It was with much excitement, and a touch of
trepidation, that I waited for Uncle Adrian to
comment on the above document. He did not
seem in any hurry to do so, however, and I
might have speculated upon the fact of his
silence if I had not been more absorbingly
employed. Need I say I had come to dread any
78


CHAP. VI THE QUINCUNX CASE
chance that might disturb the present, or make
a change in the direction of that current which
swept me so powerfully along? It is easy to
decide that I was a presumptuous young dog,
and should have paused, and qualified, and re-
flected after the modern fashion.
But we were practically alone together, she
and I, in that great house on the hill-top, whose
windows looked out always upon purple and
golden hillsides, much as my thoughts looked
out upon a distant and beautiful future. We
walked together, through green woods and val-
leys, climbed cliff-tops together, rode together
through miles of deserted wood-trails, read or
sung together in the evenings. If it had been
yourself, good reader, who had Cecil beside you
in the woods, the sun and shade dappling her
white gown, the mystery of forest stillness in
her face; or if you had ridden beside her in
exhilaration of early morning, seen her hair
glow in the sun, and the joy in her eyes as she
swept up the hill in a gallop; or if she had read
to you, in her flexible voice, or listened to you
with dilating pupils, while you spoke of your
ambitions, would you have come forth un-
scathed? I had never cared before; and Ce-
cil’s face possessed that inscrutability and
79


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VI
elusive quality, which deepens the mystery for
a young man. She had come to open the door
of her reserve to me, once or twice, and in the
space I had caught glimpses of such richness
and glow, of such splendid color of emotion,
of such ‘barbaric pearl and gold'—was it a
wonder I grew dazzled?
It was a fortnight tense with exquisite
possibilities of happiness; and once when her
horse stumbled, and I thought for an instant
he had thrown her, of exquisite possibilities of
pain as well.
“What is the matter?” she called gaily, as
I came up. “You look as white as a sheet.”
“I thought for a moment you were thrown.”
She made some playful denial, and we rode
on together in silence. My gravity evidently
puzzled her, for presently she said:
“I hope that stumble did not trouble you,
Philip. I am not often so careless. It had no
real significance.”
“That is what I am wondering,” I replied.
“You think I cannot be trusted any longer.”
“I was not thinking so of you.”
“You are slandering poor Bourbon l’” she
laughed, and patted her horse, and I did not
answer. The incident had awakened me. I
80


CHAP. VI THE QUINCUNX CASE
had lost power of letting myself drift in the
joy of the present moment;-I must face the
truth now and take up my man’s burden of
anxiety and responsibility. I was no longer
sure of myself, and any moment might pre-
cipitate a crisis in which I should lose my head.
The only safety so far as I could see lay in
immediate flight.
That same evening my uncle called me into
his study. I went gladly, prepared to tell him
that I must terminate my visit; and, oddly
enough, was almost disappointed when I saw
he held the papers in the Balsamo matter in
his hand. He opened the conversation in his
abrupt manner.
“I wanted to tell you,” he remarked, “that
I’ve been reading this over, and I don’t think
you are so much of a fool as I thought you at
first.”
At this handsome concession, I bowed.
“You seem to have a neat way of putting it,
anyhow,” my uncle went on, pushing on a pair
of spectacles and glaring at me through them.
“Not that I think it’s anything at all practical,
still . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the truth is, Phil., I always
thought that Balsamo a d. ...d clever rascal!”
“I agree with you,” said I.
81


CHAP. VI THE QUINCUNX CASE
‘‘I’d pay your expenses, of course.”
“Thanks, but I can’t afford a holiday.”
There was another pause. My attitude, be
it understood, was far from being natural; that
course would have been to offer myself unre-
servedly to my uncle, without a question of
money. But my object was to make him re-
spect me, which he would never have done had
I followed my temperament, literary instinct
told me that.
“Perhaps you don’t quite realize the situ.
ation,” I said, leaning back and speaking crisp-
ly. “Already there have been two violent
deaths in this matter. There were several peo-
ple in it, and the gang was certainly not the
most law-abiding. They’ll expect money. I’ll
have to pay it. I may have to travel about in
search of them, and perhaps take all summer,
and fail in the end. You know how I am placed.
I must make a start in the world, and have no
time to lose. I thought that was your idea in
asking me here.” -
“You are not so much like your father as I
thought,” he vouchsafed.
“That is a pity,” I replied, having pro-
gressed since the first day.
“Your mother was a good little woman,”
n
83


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VI
was his next remark. “I remember her well.”
“She is waiting in New York,” I said, “for
me to turn to and stop being an idler.”
“You wouldn’t expect the same amount if
you failed, of course?”
“I’d expect to be paid for my time,” said
I, as bluntly as himself.
“I shouldn’t wonder if you might be of some
use in the works after all,” mused my uncle,
shuffling the papers.
“Let’s put it this way,” said I, sitting back
coolly, although my heart was thumping. “I’ll
undertake to run up there, and spend the rest
of the summer hunting the formula. You pay
my expenses, including what’s needed to buy
the thing if it exists, and a salary, of, say, the
same you’d give me if I were starting as a
clerk in the works, I suppose about ten dollars
a week. If by November first, I have no clue
and no chance, I’ll give it up and turn in to
whatever work you like. But if I find the
formula.”
“Well?” said Uncle Adrian.
“You will sign an agreement giving me a
royalty on the sale of its product, and a check
for five thousand dollars.”
“The devil I will!” My uncle bounded on
his chair.
84


CHAP. VI THE QUINCUNX CASE
“Those are my terms,” I concluded, “and
very moderate they are. If you get the thing,
and it’s no use, you’re only out five thousand,
a mere trifle. If it is valuable, well, you can
afford the royalty.”
“You are . . . . . . . . ” my uncle spluttered and
choked back the epithet; while I waited, stand-
ing, in an attitude of respectful resolve.
“You will start to-morrow?” he got out at
last.
“To-night, if you like.” I said affably, “It’s
merely a question of a Notary Public and a
check.”
“You young. . . . . . . . . . . ” began he, turning
purple; and then, to my great relief, burst into
a roar of laughter, and repeated my last words
as though they had been an excellent joke, “A
Notary Public and a check indeed! You imper-
tinent young scamp !”
85


BOOK TWO
THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF AN
ALIAS -
CHAPTER VII
I AM CALLED GELLATINY
The echoes of his laughter followed me as I
went out, wiping my brow. It was a warm
summer night, and hardly a breath stirred the
trees. My mind was in a tangle of joy and
determination, and triumph, and doubt, and
dread—seeing my opportunity, but knowing
it visionary; daring the future but fearing it;
resolving on success, yet feeling it likely to be
determined by the merest whim of chance. I
walked out upon the porch, and saw Cecil’s
white dress there, so drew near and sat down,
trembling.
“I’ve got my chance,” I breathed to her.
“I am very glad,” she answered in the same
tone. I could not see her in the dusk, but it
seemed to me that a tense note like a thrill of
music ran along her voice.
86


CHAP. VII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“Of course,” I went on, arguing with myself,
“I know it is a wild-goose chase, at best, . . . . . .
three years too late, a lot of fishy foreigners
to hunt up, and like as not, no formula when I
find them;..... but no 1. . . . . that I denyl and I
won't go back on my convictions. Do you hear,
Cecil? There is a formula. I believe there is,
and it is only a question of me, me, and what
I can do, and how much tact and energy and
ingenuity I can use to find it!”
“You have all of them,” said the voice with
the music in it.
“Do you believe in it, too?” I asked her.
“I should feel so much stronger if I thought
SO.”
“I believe in it, and you,” she answered.
“The devil of it is, it means so much,” I said
after a pause. “I’m to go into the works as a
clerk, if I fail, and why should I pretend to
you, that I like that? But there is my little
mother, waiting so faithfully, so trustingly, just
as she waited all my father’s life time for the
time of pinching and worry to be over. I must
end that for her, somehow.”
“I know I should love her,” said Cecil.
“Whereas, if I can put this through, it means,
oh, a great deal besides money, Uncle
87


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VII
Adrian’s confidence in me, and liking for me,
perhaps. . . . . . . . . . 3 *
“He has that already,” Cecil interjected
softly.
“. . . . . . and a chance at a kind of work I
should like and could do. And then, then,
- - - - - - ” I had caught the shining of her eyes,
not so far from me, and it made me perfectly
reckless. “Don’t-don’t think I don’t realize
the position 1 A poor devil getting work from
his rich uncle, I know, but there are rights
that belong to every man, and I’m not overstep-
ping mine now. I meant to go away this after-
noon, when Bourbon stumbled, and I saw that—
that I couldn’t answer for myself any longer.
But to-night has made a difference; I’ve a
chance in life, a pretty slim one, and fantastic,
but if I can pull it through, I shan’t feel
ashamed, I shan’t hesitate l’’
She had turned her eyes from me as I hurried
on, speaking barely above a whisper. It was
so still that the broken sound of my own voice
struck me. The hem of her dress just touched
me, and her hand which lay along it, moved
with her breathing; while we both looked out
upon the garden and the clear stars.
“I’m going very early to-morrow,” I said,
. . . 88


CHAP. VII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“so I shall say good-bye now. Will you wish
me good luck? I don’t know how it will all
end—I feel like one of those old chaps in Mal-
lory, going off on a quest. . . . . . I only know one
thing, that if I do succeed, I shall want to see
you before I tell your father.”
Her hand moved until it reached mine.
“And if you don’t find it?” she said.
“I must find it!” I cried, and I bent down
to her hand and kissed it. The touch of it
seemed to break everything down.
“Oh Cecil,” I said, “Cecill” and my voice,
I know, rang with feeling, “Go away from me
quickly, because I’m not so strong as I
thought!”
The most exquisite moment in my life, was
that in which I felt her hesitate. But just then,
some one opened a door within, and a flood of
lamplight gilded the piazza-floor; so I heard her
murmur “good-bye’ and then she moved swiftly
away and left me alone in the caress of the
darkness. My head spun and my heart sang,
but the night was kind to me as she is to all
young lovers, she quieted me with her stillness
and her touch; and when I came in I was quite
ready to talk business with Uncle Adrian.
I did not see Cecil again that night, and when
89


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VII
I saw her in the morning, she was just my
reserved, cousinly hostess, thoughtful and
kind. My uncle had his Notary from the works,
and we signed our agreement along the lines
which I had laid down. Then he gave me
money in green-backs, and wrung my hand with
actually a touch of bluff cordiality, and I got
into the carryall and was driven off to catch the
train. I had an odd sensation of being in a
dream, so fantastic did my errand seem to me,
and so hard it was to take it all seriously, after
the greater reality of Cecil’s glance. That
glance, and the touch of that hand,-those re-
membrances filled my mind for the first three
hours of my journey to the total exclusion of
Balsamo and his affairs, but after that, I made
resolutions and strove to think of them no more.
After all, I had a campaign to plan, and had
better set about it.
Often since that time, I have wondered how
much of my enthusiasm on the subject of the
formula was due to a mere young combativeness
and desire to make an impression; certainly at
the beginning I hardly expected to be taken at
my word. But now, after poring upon it for
so long, the fantastic story had come to have
a reality and a value, and I had become to feel
90


CHAP. VII THE QUINCUNX CASF
convictions. It was true what commonsense
whispered, that after a lapse of three years, any
evidence on the point of such a discovery was
likely to be destroyed or unattainable; yet at
bottom, I held to the hope aroused by the salient
features of the story, namely, that the causes
of the tragedy were too remarkable or impor-
tant, to be easily obliterated. It was no ordi-
nary train of circumstances, I was confident,
which led the chemist to such a crime, and to
such a death; it was no slight tie, I suspected,
which bound him to the men whose names he
mentioned; although how extraordinary the
circumstances, how singular the relation, I was
very far from guessing. These things were in
my favor, and it was through the true history
of Balsamo and his friends that I meant to
force my way to the formula, if formula there
Were.
The night express from Portland brought
me to the station at Point Levis early in the
morning, and I stepped on the platform, tasting
with refreshment the cooler airs of Canada.
As I stood waiting for the ferry, I noted the
panorama of the St. Lawrence spread before
me, the beak of the cliff crowned with the
irregular bastions of the Citadel; the town
91


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VII
huddled about its foot, and the yellowish walls
of a beautiful and picturesque building thrown
prominently forward upon this grey-blue back-
ground. The stage-setting, I felt, was perfect,
and I smiled somewhat whimsically to myself
as I thought of the possible dramatis-personae.
At that same instant there first came to me the
truth that I, myself, possessed the disadvantage
I had been so quick to point out to my uncle;
for was not my name Adrian as well as his?
Evidently, I must change it for the time of my
stay in Canada, and it was none too soon, either,
to make the proper preparations. I had no
time to consider or reflect. I took the first
name that came into my head which naturally
enough was that of Anthony Gellatly of the
diary. During my hurried mental search, I
remembered that the man bearing this name
was dead, and that he had left no family, no
friends, so there seemed no reason against his
lending it to me. He, poor devil, was all over
and done with, I thought in my giddiness, for-
getful of the words of his namesake, and a
greater Antony.
To clinch the matter, I sent a telegram then
and there to my mother telling her how and
where to address me; and I missed a ferry-boat
92


CHAP. VII THE QUINCUNX CASE
t
while mutilating and defacing my suit-case with
a knife; my trunk had no initials, which was
satisfactory. When, an hour later, a young
man of Smiling aspect, and a dancing eye
approached the sovereign ruler of the Château
Frontenac for accommodations, he wrote in the
register with dash and confidence the signature
“Anthony Gellatly, Boston.” So I took the first
step on the curious road of my experience,—
so, noiselessly, without a tinkle, the curtain rose
upon the anticipated drama, and never I knew
whether it was to be ‘tragical-comical’ or “his-
torical-pastoral.’
I was given a room overlooking Dufferin
Terrace and the river, where, after breakfast,
I spent some hours unpacking and writing
letters. Then armed with the address, I set
forth in search of the necessary and mysterious
Pierre Chavaignac.
A calèche-driver seized me, and I consented
to take his jinriksha-like vehicle, not without
misgivings. Although noon in late June, the
air was deliciously fresh and invigorating; the
aspect of the streets had much naïve pictur-
esqueness. Quebec is a town where two peoples
meet without assimilation, and each, therefore,
preserves much of its original color and char-
93


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VII
acter. Here the scarlet clad British soldier
dominates the street side by side with his twin
over-lord, the Roman Catholic Church; here the
bells of innumerable convents and churches
jangle on the air with those of an English war-
ship anchored in the harbor below. True, the
streets have lost the Indian and the voyageur,
but they retain the habitant and the soldier, the
green-sashed seminary boys, and the religious,
male and female, of every habit. Tiny irregular
patches of garden, miniature bastion and ram-
part, winding streets and terraces looking down
upon bright tiled roofs, all this brought to
my mind those toy fortresses sold to military-
minded small boys, and filled with stiff little
figures in primary colors. Old-fashioned, it is,
as we Americans know it, yet with none of the
elder melancholy, the quiet mellow age of
European towns, for Quebec still keeps a touch
of bristling readiness; an outpost in the wilder-
ness of northern forest.
My way led down Fabrique street and under
the crumbling, unsafe cliff, into a tortuous
alley where the second stories of the houses
almost met. Here at the indicated house, I
knocked. An elderly woman opened the door
and regarded me with distrust. I have a fair
94


CHAP. VII THE QUINCUNX CASE
amount of French, but the patois is another
matter, and I found it hard to understand.
The name of Chavaignac, however, seemed
entirely unknown to her, and the only interest
aroused by a liberal fee, led to the appearance
of her husband who had lounged in the back-
ground. He, however, had some English, and
when he had grasped the nature of my enqui-
ries, he was quite willing to tell me the little
he knew. He had only occupied the house for
eighteen months. Before then it had been used
as a lodging-house, but the widow who kept it
had done very well, sold out, and retired to a
little farm on the Beauport road, or over by
Rivière du Loup. Another small tip did pro-
cure me the widow’s name and exact address,
and the promise of a liberal reward in money
for any information about the man I was look-
ing for, seemed to arouse something very like
enthusiasm.
“There must surely be men about who had
lodged here in the Veuve Ladou's time, who
would remember Chavaignac, and as Mon-
sieur was willing to pay. . . . . . 9 y
|Upon this theme he escorted me to the
calèche, (I could see the driver’s estimation of
me visibly falling) and I set forth.back to the
95


CHAP. VII THE QUINCUNX CASE
then, have remembered my alias, and the errors
into which it was likely to lead me, but when I
did, it was of course to bid the boy take me
to the gentleman at once. My mind hardly
occupied itself with the incident, so confident
was I of closing it after a few words. When I
reached the parlor which fills the large round
tower of the Frontenac, it was empty save for
a tall man who stood with his back to the
window. This threw his face into shadow, but
showed clear against the panes the outlines of
a figure erect, soldierly and trim, with square,
well-balanced head, and hands folded over his
Carle.
The boy disappeared. I advanced, prepared
in a few courteous phrases to dismiss my mis-
taken caller. The gentleman had turned, and
stood, evidently uncertain, awaiting my ap-
proach. Something—I know not what —in the
poise, so still, so attentive, the head bent for-
ward to me; something, I know not what—in
the eye which dilated upon my face with a very
intensity of penetration, these trifles served to
check my careless purpose of dismissal. And
one step further changed my indifference into
watchful curiosity, for I heard the man draw a
sudden deep breath, whether more of surprise
or relief, it would be hard to say.
97


CHAP. VII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“I am delighted to meet you! I suppose you
refer to my relatives?”
M. le Colonel’s smile was open and charming.
“Then you are connected? What a happy
chance for me! I hope you left my friends
Well?”
“Very well, thank you. And what the
deuce,” I thought, “is the man driving at?”
There fell a short pause, during which I studied
my visitor; a man of forty-five, active in habits,
powerful in build, and whose head was covered
with hair slightly gray. His features were
handsome, strong and bronzed; the mouth,
hidden under an iron-gray moustache, was
quick to smile; the eyes were dark blue, steady
and penetrating. Here showed breeding, and
better than that, force. I was disposed to
accept the chance of so desirable an acquain-
tance, one which might be of practical assist-
aIlC6.
“Do you stay long in Quebec?” was his next
remark.
“I hardly know—” said I, hesitating.
“I am an old resident,” said the Colonel,
“but the place has not outgrown its charm for
me. You must let me be your cicerone,” (I
noticed he pronounced the word correctly)
99


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VII
“and show you some picturesque bits. I see
you sketch.” (how did he see that?) “So much
the better, if you are fond of history as well
as architecture, why, I can promise you a
fruitful stay.”
“I bey your pardon,” I asked, “but how did
you know? It is quite true, but I carry my
sketch-book in an inside pocket.”
He laughed. “But your box of drawing-pen-
cils in an outside one.”
“You are most observant, M. de Pétry. I
wish I could accept your suggestion. But my
stay depends upon my business.”
“And that, of course, is an unknown
quantity?”
“More or less.” I was still somewhat
puzzled, but I began to like the man. “There
is no secret about it,” I went on, “and indeed,
I should be only too glad of a little help from
anyone who knows Quebec.”
“Any relative of my good friends. . . .” the
Colonel bowed and I bowed; he listened to me
with the greatest attention and I proceeded:
“I’m looking for a man who was in Quebec
three years ago. The name is Pierre Chavaig-
nac, and I have his address at that time, though
I failed to find him there. Can you suggest
anything?”
100


CHAP. VII THE QUINCUNX CASE
There was a moment’s pause, during which
M. de Pétry reflectively bit his moustache and
looked out of the window.
“Chavaignac,” he repeated. “The name is
Quite unfamiliar to me, but it is doubtless
common in Canada. I will make enquiries; the
priests of that parish, for instance, might fur-
nish a clue. The Church, Mr. Gellatly, keeps a
close account of her flock.”
“I am infinitely obliged,” said I, “for I
must find this man.”
Then fell another pause. “Are you the son
of Mr. John Gellatly?” asked my visitor
abruptly.
“No. My father’s name was Philip,” I re-
plied at once, and then recollecting myself, I
suppose I flushed, for I caught his eye on me.
“You would not have known it,” I hurried
on in explanation and quite truthfully, “for my
father died under painful circumstances,
several years since.”
“Ah!” replied the Colonel sympathetically,
and rose to take his departure. I thanked him
for his call and his interest, he reiterated his
offers of service, and so we parted.
101


CHAPTER VIII
THE MAISON DE L'oRME
The only letter which the next morning’s
mail brought me was written in an unknown
hand and bore the postmark of Quebec. Open-
ing it I read as follows:—
MAISON DE L’orME,
THURSDAY
DEAR MR. GELLATLY:—
It will give my daughter and myself great
pleasure if you will dine with us most inform-
ally this evening at seven. The driver of
any calèche will know where to find us. I
am in hopes of being able to serve you, and in
any case am anxious for your further acquain-
tance. Believe me, very sincerely,
H. DE PáTRY DE CHAMBORD
Here then was the problem. I had blamed
myself, after the conversation with this
cordial Canadian, for my constraint and my
squeamishness, in the matter of my alias.
Surely, I was Mr. Adrian's employee, and
on his business, and if this false name was
102


CHAP. VIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
necessary, it was no further concern of mine.
Yet now, face to face with this rather tempt-
ing opportunity to lessen the tedium of my
lonely evenings, I felt again troubled by the
fact and disinclined to accept. I might have
declined, had it been wholly a question of
my own pleasure; I would have declined,
but that I still bore the vivid remembrance
of the Colonel’s eye as it first met mine;
of the attentive head; of the suddenly relieved
breath laboring in a gasp. Trifles these, yet
they puzzled me; the fact of friends with whom
he identified me did not seem wholly to account
for them. Gellatly too, was a name whose con-
nections I could hardly afford to ignore. I re-
solved to go, and perhaps because I was going,
I sent the message of acceptance in a thrill of
excitement which lingered with me all the day.
The hours passed rapidly; I could do nothing
further directly in my search for Chavaignac,
so I spent them sketching or dreaming on the
terrace, or wandering on the grass-grown ram-
parts of the Citadel in the sole company of the
regimental cow. She somewhat resented my
appearance on the breastworks, and put her
head down at me, but with the fort ditch be-
tween us, I was safer than most enemies. I
103


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VIII
explored by-streets, alleys and short-cuts;
(Heavens! it was fortunate I did!) investigated
Parloir Street, and the back of the Ursuline
Convent; studied the lower town, but scorned
the more modern portions beyond St. Louis
Gate.
I found on enquiring that Colonel de Pétry's
house was nearly three miles out of the town
on the Cap Rouge road. The night was cloudy
and warm with a heavy sultriness. The grey
clouds swept down the St. Lawrence and hung
low over the houses, bringing with them a thin,
penetrating mist. My calèche whirled through
the dusty streets at what seemed to me a peril-
ous pace; the driver, seated almost on the tail
of the horse, urged him forward with ejacula-
tions. We turned corners, sped through dark
ways until my sense of direction was wholly
confused, and when we finally came out upon
the more open country, the mist hid all land-
marks from my view. Here our speed if pos-
sible, increased; we jolted, shook, twisted, like a
ship in a sea, the fog blowing in my face, the
ineffectual lanterns making odd, bobbing
shadows on the roadside. We went on and on;
I was beginning to wonder if I were going to
be late for dinner when the driver made a sharp
104


CHAP. VIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
turn to the left between high stone gate-posts
into the deep shadows of an avenue.
A moment later the horse was hauled sudden-
ly upon his haunches and we came to a dead
stop in the darkness of the road. I looked out
expecting to see a house, but thick bushes were
impenetrable on either hand, and I saw that the
cause of our stoppage was a man holding a
lighted lantern in his hand, and conversing in
rapid patois with my driver.
“What’s the matter? What are we stopping
for?” I called a little angrily, for my watch
said seven o’clock.
Both men turned to me and poured forth an
eager, respectful, wholly unintelligible flood of
explanation; the man on the road advanced
nearer to the calèche and thrust his lantern
under the hood so that its light fell upon me. I
had a momentary glimpse of a young, foreign-
looking, evil face, of sharp white teeth under
a black moustache and of dark eyes scrutinizing
me with the utmost attention. Annoyed and
surprised, I was on the point of protest, when
he stepped back with a grunt, lowered the lan-
tern and retreated into the shadows whence he
had come. We plunged forward at once, and
in an instant drew up before the lighted door-
way of a house.
105


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VIII
The incident passed immediately from my
mind as Colonel de Pétry himself stepped for-
ward into the hall to greet me. Seen under the
lamplight and in evening dress his manner
served to deepen the favorable impression I
had received, and put me at once at my
ease. Wringing me warmly by the hand, he
called to a butler who stood in the hall to
relieve me of my coat. The man, with all
the swiftness of a well-trained French ser-
vant, took my hat and coat to an inner hat
rack. I cannot say what caused me to be con-
scious of his presence to a greater degree than
I usually am of the domestics of my acquain-
tances. Perhaps the hold-up at the gate had
roused me to a nervous alertness, a greater
keenness of sight and feeling. I know that
under ordinary circumstances I should never
have glanced in the mirror opposite as this man
took away my things; but I did so then, and it
was with a start that I saw his face turned
back over his shoulder as he went, the eyes
fixed on myself with an expression of devouring
interest and curiosity. There was something
almost sinister in its concentration, and in the
butler’s little eyes, broad, flat, pale face, and
white hair. It was the second time that eve-
106


CHAP. VIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
ning that I had been subjected to this curious
scrutiny, and I began to have an odd, uneasy
sensation. However, there was no help for it
now, I reflected, as I followed my host through
a doorway on the left whence came the sound
of women’s voices.
A great, high-ceilinged drawing-room opened
before me, so large that the three lamps made
but a slight impression upon its shadows. I
had seen too little of the house so far to tell if
it were old or new; but this heavy carved
marble mantel, and these gilded cornices must
date at least from the French possession. The
gilding was tarnished, the marble discolored,
the woodwork cracked and worn, but the room
retained its air of dignity, its effort for the
stateliness of Paris in the wilderness. The
furnishings, too, were old, and gained by it.
The damask curtains had faded from fiery
crimson to a soft, pale glow, which warm tint
was repeated on the chairs and sofas, and
mingled on the wreaths and medallions of the
carpet, now worn and blended by time into the
tones of an oriental rug. The room was spa-
cious, stiff and bare; there was a piano, a
table with a book or two; no pictures, no flowers,
no ornaments; yet the architectural propor-
107


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VIII
tions were so good that I, at least, felt no lack.
Colonel de Pétry preceded me over the bare
space of carpet to the farther end of the room,
where two young women were seated under a
tall lamp. He presented me:
“My daughter Claire, Mr. Gellatly; my niece
Mademoiselle Marguerite de Pétry.”
I drew up a chair, and under cover of his
pleasant, inclusive manner, I had a chance while
talking to take observations. Both these girls
were about the same age and the same height;
both were very dark. These points of likeness
granted, with the general bearing and manner of
wearing the hair, one was much more struck
by the points of difference. Mademoiselle
Claire, as I shall call the Colonel’s daughter,
was of that distinct style so rarely found out-
side of France, thin, slight and angular, but
erect and graceful, with a pale complexion, and
remarkably black, brilliant eyes. Her hair was
black; her features, small and irregular, ex-
pressed vivacity and spirit, but by their very
mobility impressed one with a nervous want of
repose. Indeed, everything about Mademois-
elle Claire lacked repose; her angles, her in-
cessant, changing expressions, her gestures, her
very dress over-elaborately trimmed, and the
profusion of her rings.
108


CHAP. VIII THE QUINCUNX CASF
On the other hand, her cousin, Mademoiselle
Marguerite, had a rich, olive skin; red lips;
heavy, regular, features; and large, brown, mild
eyes like those of an animal. The features
never changed; her handsome face seemed like
a sullen mask. She half-sat, half-lay back in
her chair, rarely speaking, indolent and lan-
guid. She wore a plain, black dress, and there
was not one ring upon her quiet, brown hands.
Dinner was announced by the white-haired
butler before we had fairly broken the ice, and
I passed from the drawing-room into a dining-
room which opened, evidently, upon a sort of
veranda and garden. Here we enjoyed an ex-
cellent meal, while the conversation was carried
on almost wholly by my host and his daughter,
and with every effort at cordiality.
“You have one of the French houses here, I
see,” said I, looking about me. “Is it a family
place?”
“Oh no,” replied M. de Pétry filling my glass.
“I am a Frenchman of the French, and have
been an inhabitant of Quebec only a few years.
I rent this old place, and I’ve grown very fond
of it. It has quite a history; it was attached
at one time to the Seigneurie at Sillery, half-
a-mile beyond.”
109


CHAP. VIII THE QUINCUNX CASF
must have seen that I was disconcerted, for fol-
lowing my eyes he turned sharply and spoke
with roughness to the man.
“Dufour, what do you mean? You forget
yourself!”
This came from him in rapid French, and the
butler, much embarrassed, murmured an apol-
ogy, bowed, and retreated. Mademoiselle
Claire looked after him angrily. The other
kept her indolent eyes upon her plate.
The Colonel took up the theme and was soon
telling me in his delightful fashion incidents
of old border warfare, or legends of Bigot of
infamous memory. We had coffee in the draw-
ing-room, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, when
requested, sat down in her deliberate manner
and played some fiery Spanish music with an
abandon wholly contradicted by her face. I
talked easily with Mademoiselle Claire, and my
host was simple geniality itself. The time
passed quickly. I had ordered the calèche to
return at ten, and when that hour struck I
a TOSe.
“And you must really go?” said Colonel de
Pétry, “Let me see if your man has come.”
He rang, the butler appeared and received
the order. In a moment word was brought back
111


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VIII
that the man had not yet appeared. I was very
willing to have ten minutes respite, but half an
hour passed and there was no sign of my cal-
èche. Colonel de Pétry went himself to enquire,
and returned shaking his head.
“My dear sir, your fellow has evidently for-
gotten. Careless chaps, these drivers, and it
is pouring cats and dogs. You must stay with
us.”
“It is certainly odd,” I cried, much annoyed.
“The man promised to return, and besides I
did not pay him.” The Colonel and his daugh-
ter exchanged glances.
“Oh, they are very independent,” he said.
“But really, we shall be delighted to have you
stay, shall we not, Claire?”
“Delighted!” repeated his daughter.
“But I cannot put you to the inconvenience,”
I protested, “I had rather walk.”
“Walk, Mr. Gellatly, in that downpour!”
exclaimed de Pétry in horror. And I could
hear in truth, the steady pouring of the rain
upon the windows.
“Besides,” he resumed kindly, seeing me
hesitate, “it is no inconvenience. There is a
room always in readiness. We live so far out,
you see, this sort of thing happens all the time.
112


CHAP. VIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
Ah, if you knew how often I had stopped with
your kind relatives in Boston!”
He was watching me but I did not wince.
After all there was no harm in accepting this
cordial hospitality, and, moreover, my interest
in this family had been aroused. I did not feel
at all sure of the long road homeward in the
rain, so there was nothing for it but assent and
thanks.
My host and Mademoiselle Claire together,
left the room to make the necessary arrange-
ments. Mademoiselle Marguerite, still seated
at the piano, had taken no part in the discus-
sion, but on being left alone with me, a certain
light came into her eyes and she played some
scraps of melody uncertainly.
“It is not so far to Quebec, Mr. Gellatly,”
she remarked suddenly, keeping her eyes on the
keys, “and the road is not hard to find. Should
you really have to return, I do not believe....”
The sentence was cut short by the hurried
entrance of Claire, who called out as she came
up, “Everything is ready, and I hope we shall
be able to make you tolerably comfortable.”
Her eyes rested on the other who kept on
steadily playing. I myself wondered a little;
why did this girl wish me not to stay? But it
was ridiculous to take any notice of her speech,
113


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. VIII
in the face of a courtesy so unconstrained as
Colonel de Pétry's, who entered at that moment
to carry me off to the pleasant room prepared
for me. Here, as downstairs, all was old-
fashioned, comfortable and dignified. The
butler attended to my needs and troubled me
no more with his glances. I was very tired
and must have fallen at once into a deep sleep.
Something in the middle of the night awoke
me with a jerk. I sat up, listening with all my
ears. The steady gush of rain rang on the
veranda roof; the room was pitch dark; it must
have been an hour or so after midnight. All
was silent, and I had begun to fancy Imust have
dreamed, when again I heard it—the noise of a
door shut to quietly within the house, while, an
instant later, muffled steps crossed the veranda
below my open window and were blotted out
in the rain and the night.
I wondered who it was that left the Maison
de l'Orme so late; and then wondered anew that
I had so much to wonder at. Even then, I had
a dim forecasting that when I set seriously to
work to add up these incidents, there would be
a sum total for me to reckon with, but I was
disinclined to be kept awake. I turned over
and dismissed all these considerations till the
morning.
114


CHAPTER IX
SECOND APPEARANCE OF THE QUINCUNX
When I awoke the sunshine flooded my room.
The boughs of the great elm which evidently
gave the house its name drooped in silver and
green before the windows, and far off down a
sloping meadow the waters of the river raced
and laughed. All this clear freshness and
bright tangibility of my surroundings made my
over-night thoughts'appear fanciful and absurd.
While dressing I read myself a lecture on my
riotous imagination and compared myself,
scornfully, to the heroine of ‘Northanger Ab-
bey.” What were the facts after all? I was
a guest in the house of a very polite and hos-
pitable gentleman, and surely if he had an ec-
centric servant or late visitors, it was no busi-
ness of mine. Moreover, how could I be sure I
had not dreamed? I must not get off my bal-
ance during my mission and fancy supplemen-
tary mysteries, or I was in danger of making
myself ridiculous.
There was no one about in the upper floor, so
115


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
I started down to the drawing-room. At the
turn of the stair-case I paused an instant look-
ing down into the lower hall. Nobody has ever
fully explained the mysteries of instinct; why
our bodies act, at times, before our brains
direct them; how we chance to pause; to remain
silent or to hasten onward before we have actu-
ally become aware of the cause. I do not know
why I came to a stand there, motionless, and
looking down. The front door stood open, giv-
ing a glimpse of bright lawns and flower-
beds, and the back of the postman as he went
whistling down the drive. The hallway itself
was large and airy and bare, and occupied only
by the butler Dufour. He stood in plain view
and absorbingly occupied in trying to open a
letter without tearing it. The rest of the morn-
ing’s mail stood by him on a tray. I watched
him as he worked, silently, dexterously, in a
sort of concentrated, furious haste, and saw
him finally work loose the gummed flap and slip
out the contents. It all took only an instant;
his glance at the unfolded sheet, his quick ejacu-
lation of disappointment, his hasty, but
thorough examination of the other letters, shak-
ing them, holding them to the light, and finally
hiding the tampered letter in his pocket, his
116


CHAP. IX THE QUINCUNX CASE
disappearance into the inner room with the
rest of the mail on a tray.
The sight aroused all my feelings of the
night before in a wave; while suspicion radi-
ating from this man as a centre, embraced
all the inhabitants of the Maison de l'Orme.
I went down stairs with every nerve alert.
The young ladies were alone at the breakfast
table, Claire behind the coffee-pot, her cousin
Opposite; my host was no where to be seen.
My experiences had had little effect upon my
appetite, and I ate heartily while chatting with
Claire; for Marguerite, her face still and scorn-
ful as the night before, spoke hardly at all.
Presently the Colonel appeared, active and
cheerful, bringing with him a sense of vigor
and good-fellowship. He sat down beside me,
asked how I had slept, and then while taking his
coffee, ran on in good-humored, easy fashion
about the little concerns of his house and gar-
den. Again he renewed in me the sense of a
forcible and pleasant personality, so that my
perplexities took a new turn, meeting his direct,
sympathetic manner. In his rough morning-
suit, he looked a very young father for Mad-
emoiselle Claire; his eye was clear, and had a
touch of vivacity; his laugh was ready and his
117


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
observations bore him out to be a man of sense.
I never heard sounder philosophy, or kindlier
estimates of his fellow-man than from M. le
Colonel Horace de Pétry de Chambord.
“I know it’s the fashion to be pessimistic,”
he said to me as we sat together after break-
fast smoking on the terrace, “and to sound the
cry “vanitas vanitatum,” but to save my life I
have never been able to do so. I have lived
nearly double your years, Gellatly, and I say
in all sincerity that I have found existence
wholly worth while, man in the main honest
and loyal, opportunities not lacking, and
woman....” he finished in a ripple of laughter,
“always kind.”
“Ah,” said I sententiously, “there is every-
thing in being born a Frenchman.”
The Colonel nodded. “It is the truth, my
friend. Personally, I feel I shall never under-
stand you Americans. So cold, so complex, so
fiery in pursuit of wealth, so careless of what
it gives! So hard to stir—yet so heady when
aroused So indifferent to public, so intense
over private wrongs—so witty, so humorous,
and so lax in commercial and political princi-
ples— and in everything else so moral, so con-
foundedly moral!”
118


CHAP. IX THE QUINCUNX CASE
These observations struck me, and being at no
time wise in my own conceit, I promised myself
to learn much from this tolerant analyst.
Therefore I suggested that he had enjoyed un-
usual advantage as an institutor of compari-
sons. He nodded an acceptance:
“But if you men offer me a problem—your
women!” He raised his eyebrows and comi-
cally spread his hands abroad, “But I beg
their pardon—the ladies. What perverted
mental development and fatal disregard of the
métier de femme!”
He became so serious that I began to smile.
“Have your wide experiences included them
also?” I asked gaily. “If so, I wish you would
enlighten a junior.”
“There was one American woman,” said he
solemnly, “with whom I had a relation of the
utmost beauty, and one only possible in this
continent—your relative, Mrs. Gellatly, my
dear sir. An extraordinary woman; such a
combination of wit, tact, beauty and virtue in
one personality | Would it have been possible
to believe in her existence if one had not
known her?”
Nature herself could not refrain a side-glance
as he put this preposterous question. But
119


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
no! that frank, soldierly gaze had no guile,
and my suspicion ended in making me uncom-
fortable. Yet I was glad when he dropped the
personal and harked back lightly to the general
reflections which had opened our talk.
“All I mean, my dear Gellatly, is that I have
learned from experience to protest against in-
differentism. It leads to cynicism. . . . . . . . and
cynicism is merely the clever acknowledgment
of failure. I am an old fellow, but I find life
very good for which I have the highest author-
ity. . . . . . and I ‘reverence the dreams of my
youth.” By-the-way that sentiment, do you
know it? Strange to say it comes from a Ger-
man—a people who have neither reverence nor
dreams, nor youth—as we of Sedan know but
too Well!”
He sighed and his face clouded. I said to
recall him from unpleasant recollections:–
“But my dear Colonel de Pétry, you may
have been the fortunate youth. We are not
all so.”
‘‘No, no. . . . . . ” he denied this as he knocked
the cigar ash to the floor, “I had no unusual
advantages save in the sympathy of my friends.
I am impulsive by temperament, with strong
likes and dislikes. When I take a fancy to a
120


CHAP. IX THE QUINCUNX CASE
man—I must let him know it. Yourself, now,
you see how I talk to you ! I often amused mes
bons amis of Dartmouth Street by my expan-
siveness—so un-American, they said. Even
Mrs. Gellatly herself would say to me—“My
dear Horace, you have no reserves—you are a
child!’ and she was right as always.” He
sighed, “What a woman! What a loss to your
family l’’
So she was dead it appears. I was not to
meet on earth that improbable combination of
excellences. At his tone of genuine regard, I
hated myself for a cheap and tricky literary
charlatan.
“You are sensitive beyond most of us, I
think,” I ventured, to cover these feelings.
“I appreciate the good,” said he, “and I
most fervently believe in human nature. It
makes life so much easier for us all. You, my
young friend, are still in your aspiring and un-
bridled youth. Take the assurance of a man
twice your age and have faith in your fellow-
man; and in other realities, sentiment, the con-
solations of a beneficent religion; in nature, the
sublime and austere, and in Art and Poetry.”
I told myself here was an actual treasure
and a valuable mentor. I longed to abase my-
121


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
self and make confession, and yet—and yet—l
I was wrestling with this disinclination, when
his next speech gave me a cordial invitation to
remain as his guest.
“And by-the-by, I have a sort of clue for
you,” he went on, “which we will discuss later.
But surely it would be far better for you to stay
here if only in the interests of your search.
Then you see what a quiet household we are:
we will make no fuss over you, you will disar-
range nobody. Will it not be more cheerful
than the Frontenacº”
His manner was warmly cordial yet it would
have availed little save for the circumstances
which had aroused my curiosity. I wanted to
understand this thing better, these people, these
incidents; the discursive Colonel’s motive in
allying me with supposititious Gellatlys of Bos-
ton, and asking me to stay—Marguerite’s mo-
tive in urging me not to stay. . . . . . the whole
curious puzzle. This, and this only, made me
willing to accept an invitation under the cir-
cumstances, but this was enough. I told him,
however, that I hoped to find the man Chavaig-
mac before very long and so get home. Where
home was the Colonel did not ask.
“You will want to go back to the Frontenac,
122


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
“Yes, for Chavaignac.”
Marguerite held her work off to study the
effect of a new shade of silk in the pause. I
wondered if she were about to suggest dis-
sent again, but she merely said: “You will find
us almost as dull as the Frontenac, I fear.”
“Not to me,” I said with emphasis, and met
for the first time her large eyes full on mine.
“Is this your first visit to Quebec, Mr. Gellat-
ly?” she pursued again turning to her work.
I nodded.
“How odd,” she remarked, “as the Colonel
says, when all your family know Canada so
Well!”
“My family, Mademoiselle?”
“Yes, the Gellatlys of Boston.”
Her remark was like the first drawing of a
weapon, and I was conscious of the flash and
prick of the blade as though it were tangible.
I answered without hesitation, however,
“Not all of us, not my branch at least,” and
leant back idly in my chair to gaze out over the
lawn and the river.
“They tell me American men are so chival-
rous,” was the seemingly inconsequent turn
which she next gave to the conversation, “that
women are so much more considered in the
States. Do you think it true?”
124


CHAP. IX THE QUINCUNX CASE
“I rather think so, Mademoiselle.”
“It is hard to test, is it not?” she went on
more rapidly. “I have often wondered myself
what a man would do if his chivalry were ap-
pealed to. . . . . . if he would give up any course,
abandon a pursuit, or . . . . . . OT. . . . . . 2 3
“Desert a duty?” I suggested, wondering
more and more.
“If you choose to put it that way.” Again
her eyes met mine, her large, limpid eyes, like
those of a kind animal, showing a certain
entreaty in their depths.
“I am afraid that age is past,” I replied
lightly, and uncomfortably conscious, somehow,
of her presence. I picked up the book she had
laid upon the wicker table. It was a copy of
Rousseau's Emile charmingly bound in moroc-
co and gold, the design bearing an intricate
monogram which I could not decipher.
“I read little English,” said Marguerite as
I opened the volume. “In fact we keep very
closely our ties to France in this house. We all
speak English, of course . . . . . . . . . . why, what
is the matter, Mr. Gellatly?”
“I fear I have torn a page,” said I striving
to hide my excitement. “Please forgive my
carelessness. I did not realize the book was a
legacy.”
125


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
“It’s no matter,” said she coldly, and re-
ceived the volume. She seemed annoyed, al-
though the tear was a trifle, but I was too much
agitated to trouble about her vexation. The
book had opened to the yellowish title page,
and you can imagine my amazement when I
saw that page covered irregularly with little
groups of dots—five dots grouped together;
and at the top a date “Paris, January 1880” in
a small, foreign, handwriting, which many
night’s study had made as familiar to me as
my own.
I had risen to make the speech about the
legacy, and hand ‘Emile’ back to its owner, for
I saw my host seated in an exercising cart,
driving a spirited brown horse up the avenue.
Marguerite must have seen him too, for she rose
also, turning toward me a countenance from
which the sullen mask had dropped, showing it
full of mixed emotions, of entreaty, anger, pity,
yes and fear, fear definite and unmistakable. I
stood aside to let her pass me, and passing she
spoke.
“You will go now; you will not stay?” The
voice was choked and eager, and my mind was
too great a turmoil to reflect on the importance
of this appeal. I answered as lightly as I
could,-
126


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
and business, and sooner or later no doubt it
would come to that. But meanwhile reason
told me that I had better let things take their
course for awhile, or until I knew these people
better. There was too much unexplained for
me to dare be open as yet, and the fact that I
was on the track of Balsamo gave the unex-
plained a greater significance. I would be cool,
wary and observant, until such time as I could
safely ask my host’s pardon for my conceal-
“ment.
All this I decided as we went rapidly along,
and then gave my attention more fully to what
the Colonel was saying, for he had left the
genial vein of philosophy in which he often
indulged, and had begun the subject of my
search.
“I told you I had a sort of clue,” he was
saying; “it is through the priest of that parish,
who chances to be an estimable man. Ah,
Gellatly, the hold of the Church is the one
encouraging thing about this place. . . . . . but I
suppose you are a heretic?”
“I suppose I am. . . . . . ” said I, “but what
did your priest have to say?”
“I am immensely interested in such subjects
and I wish your stay here might interest you
128


CHAP. IX THE QUINCUNX CASE
in Catholicism,” pursued the kindly fellow.
“You probably have never considered it,
however, that is for another time. I learned
that although Chavaignac is far from a common
name, there is record of such a man at that
lodging-house three years ago.”
“You did?” I said overjoyed. “Then you
know where to find him?”
“Not quite, but I have hopes. The fellow
had left for Les Eboulements to work at a
lumber-mill there, but the priest has written
him.”
“My dear M. de Pétry I am infinitely obliged.
Ought I to go there, or do you think the man
will turn up?”
“Probably he will....although,” the Colonel
added, “it depends somewhat on the nature of
your errand. If he knows of it. . . . . . 3 *
“He knows nothing of it.”
“Or if it is unfriendly,–these fellows are
suspicious, you know, quick and suspicious, and
he may be up and off at the first word.”
I considered as to how much I should tell
him.
“It is not at all unfriendly,” I said at length,
“Ineed some information, some evidence, which
he alone can give me, that is all, I am prepared
129


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
to pay for it, and pay well, for it is of great
value to the people I represent.”
“Ah,” said the Colonel, “the Gellatlys of
Dartmouth Street?”
I met his eye. “Precisely.”
He whipped his horse. “Well, well,” he said
in an easy tone, “you are discreet, which is a
rare quality in a young fellow. But I ought
to give you some friendly advice in dealing
with these people. You cannot be unsure, or
take for granted. You must be very firm, and
very certain of your rights, and your position,
and your backing before you try to cross-
examine them.”
“I am not afraid,” I rejoined laughing, “for
my rights are certain, and I think my position
and backing are proven by the course I am
willing to take.”
“Being the aggressor, you mean?” de Pétry
suggested, his horse spinning through the St.
Louis gate.
“The approacher, I should say,” I replied.
“Ah, perhaps they do not guess that,” he
said. The plural did not escape me.
“I am perfectly willing for them to know,”
was my rejoinder, and we dropped the subject.
De Pétry began to point out landmarks, and
130


CHAP. IX THE QUINCUNX CASF
meanwhile I was thinking, “The second warn-
ing—this grows interesting.”
We drove into the court-yard of the hotel,
and jumping down, I went in to get my letters
before going to my room. Ten minutes later
in the midst of my packing Colonel de Pétry
found me.
“Can I get your mail for you?” said he.
“Thank you,” I said, “I stopped for it a
moment since.”
“Suppose then, I leave your new address at
the office,” he persisted.
“If you will be so kind.”
Somehow his tenacity brought to my mind
the morning’s incident of the butler and the
letters. As I heard the Colonel’s steps go down
the corridor, I tore my mother’s note and the
other I had received into tiny scraps. Then
and there, on the back of an old sheet of paper
I scribbled her a hasty note, and one to Uncle
Adrian. -
“I think I'm on the track,” I wrote the latter.
“I’m going to stop with people who seem to
know something, but I do not want them to
know you are in it. So it’s safer to send my
letters to the general postoffice. I’m passing
under another name, and my hopes are high,
131


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. IX
but to be frank, the business gets more intricate
every day, and I don’t know how it’s going to
wind up.”
Luckily I had stamped envelopes in my
pocket, so by the time de Pétry had returned
I had these letters ready for mailing.
At last my trunk was locked, and on my way
out I easily slipped my notes into the post-box.
The drive home was spent in general talk,
interspersed with anecdotes and jests. M. de
Pétry seemed in the highest spirits and I was
very well content, anticipating an interesting
visit. Dinner and the evening passed off
delightfully; the ladies sang and played, the
Colonel and I sat up late, smoking and discuss-
ing religion and serious subjects, which he did
with earnestness as striking in its way as his
lighter touch. I went to bed entirely uncon-
strained and quite at home. Dimly, in the dark
middle of the night, I seemed again to be aware
of steps and voices, but this time they were only
woven into my dreams.
132


CHAPTER X
KIND ATTENTIONS OF M. DE PáTRY
My stay at the Maison de l'Orme began in
this easy, tranquil fashion, bringing nothing
definite to harass or to annoy me. The next
three or four days were uneventful, and offered
me no tete-à-tête with Marguerite, and no
further suspicious occurrences. I awaited an
answer to the priest’s letter, and meanwhile,
no one questioned me about my affairs, no one
looked at me curiously; I was treated like a
guest and a friend. I heard no more night
sounds, and I grew able to pass the butler
Dufour without that disagreeable conscious-
ness of his notice. In fact, I would have for-
gotten everything, believed it all owing to my
own nerves, let myself slip into perfect security,
but for one little thing. There is always one
little thing in such cases, because human nature
is not infallible.
This particular slight fact did not dawn upon
me until the end of the second day. By the
third day it had grown to a suspicion, and by
133


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. X
the fourth to a positive certainty. It was no
more, no less than this; that I was never allowed
to go outside the house alone. When I came
down from my room some one lingered upon
the veranda; if I left the tennis-court to stroll
in the garden, the Colonel invariably came out
of his room to join me. If I expressed an
intention of going to Quebec, he or his daughter
drove me there. This surveillance was per-
fectly unobtrusive, it may have been no more
than an excess of hospitality, I thought it no
more, until I began to test it with experiments.
One afternoon, watching my chance I got to the
bottom of the garden unobserved, when I heard
a voice, and turning, beheld the butler running
after me with a cardcase, which was not mine,
in his hand.
“Monsieur dropped this?” he asked, hurry-
ing up. I glanced at it and him. “No, it
is not mine,” I replied and turned to go my
way. But he kept beside me.
“It looks like rain. Shall I get Monsieur
his umbrella?” he offered.
“No, thanks,” I said curtly and hurried on.
The man persisted.
“If Monsieur is going to Quebec,” he sug-
gested, always deferential, “I can order the
horse in an instant.”
134


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. X
This curious man had a store of anecdotes,
each swinging upon a feminine pivot, and about
which he managed to wreathe the most fragrant
and virtuous reflections. Personally, I thought
the taste an odd one, but took it to be an idiosyn-
crasy. On this particular walk he strode along
vigorously, snipping the weeds with his stick,
and indulging in his usual comparisons and
amazements on the subject of the American
woman. The Colonel rolled off his tongue the
qualities of his feminine acquaintances of other
nationalities in something the manner of a vir-
tuoso enumerating the objects of his cabinet—
it was a point of view which I never could ac-
cept—although he called upon me for sympathy
at every third sentence.
“As for courage, my dear Gellatly—they
have it to an extraordinary degree, but it is an
overrated virtue at best and entirely out of
place in a woman. A woman too courageous
for graceful surrender is a blot upon civiliza-
tion. Sometimes it is a quality positively im-
pudent. For instance—” here his military eye
sparkled, “When I first landed there was a
charming Americaine with whom I was most
anxious to be au mieux. She did not seem un-
willing, or so I flattered myself, and the game
136


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. X
is impossible,” he said cheerfully, striding
along. “One should not refuse to go to the
tables because Destiny keeps the bank; I ask
only fair play, and I thank myself if my pockets
are empty.”
“I wish I could learn your invincible buoy-
ancy and faith,” I observed a little dryly.
“You should,” he pursued eagerly, “It will
help you to succeed in life. This world's casi-
no furnishes admirable entertainment, my dear
young friend, to any man of spirit possessing a
cool head, daring, and un peu de philosophie
mondaine. . . . . . . . As for the big words with
which they try to frighten us—words like
Ethics, and Responsibility, and Development!”
he made a grimace, “fe fi fo fum! I smell
the blood of an Englishman!”
I laughed at his energy, and forgot to be an-
noyed any longer at the incident just past.
The Canadian summer had come at last, the
days had turned balmy, and the fogs had van-
ished. The sun hung the white highways with
veils of dust, and the distant hills blent in
purple and blue with the sky. Even the nights
had their edge taken off, and breathed so mild
of July perfumes that at Mademoiselle Claire's
suggestion we took our after dinner coffee on
138


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. X
later a card was brought out by the butler to
Mademoiselle Claire. She read it, but seemed
to hesitate,_and I caught myself wondering
if it were at leaving her cousin and me alone
together.
“Won't you come, Marguerite?” she asked
the other tepidly.
“If you like,” replied her cousin, listless as
always, “but I have rather a headache.”
Claire still lingered. Through the open
drawing-room window I could plainly see the
visitor, a Swaggering young man in the act of
passing the time by looking at the few photo-
graphs on the mantel,-and there was one of
Marguerite which he studied for some moments.
Her cousin noted this and it seemed to turn the
scale in his favor. She excused herself, mock-
ingly, and disappeared through the long win-
dow which she closed behind her.
Marguerite and I remained in the silence and
partial darkness of the terrace, side by side, in
a complete pause for more than a minute. I
had finished my cigar, and sat without moving,
undergoing a sense of inevitable crisis, which a
word would precipitate. Marguerite spoke
first.
“Did you notice that?” she said with a touch
140


CHAP. X THE QUINCUNX CASE
telling my errand, and so probably, losing for-
ever the last chance of fathoming the mystery
of this household? For let me confess it, at
that moment, had I known I could never find the
missing formula I should hardly have cared,
if only I might come to hold the key to this
whole situation.
“I should never have spoken, never!” again
the subdued passionate voice continued, “only
I saw in your face, a something, something that
gave me hope in my utter wretchedness. And
then I could not bear it. . . . . . . I have cried
myself blind these nights, and tortured myself
—Are you mad, or wholly reckless that you stay
here? You, in search of Chavaignac, you know-
ing his handwriting when you saw it in that
book, you consent to remain in this house.”
“I must stay. . . . . . . . ” I said, as quietly as I
could.
“Oh the time goes, it is going!” she cried in
an agony. “Tell me, I beg you!. . . . . . I will
promise anything, for I have influence still; I
will help you, I will get you out of this horrible
place, no one shall hurt you, only tell me......
tell me. . . . . . 3 y
The words stammered and died on her tongue.
A foot sounded on the terrace, and the Colonel’s
143


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. X
tall figure turned the corner, and came towards
us with a quickening step.
“Tête-à-tête in the moonlight, eh, my dear
child?” he called playfully to the girl. “That’s
right; youth and the moon have strong affin-
ities. But must you leave us?”
Marguerite arose, swiftly and silently, and
bade us good-night. I marvelled at the com-
posure of her voice and face. She passed into
the house, and the Colonel throwing himself
into the chair she had left, indulged in a long
and quiet fit of laughter.
“When one gets to forty year, my dear Gel-
latly,” he vouchsafed, seeing that I was at a
loss to understand this inopportune merriment,
“the interest of young people in these old
worn-out situations, the moon, the terrace, the
sex, the trace of tears upon the cushion of this
chair, seems really amusing !”
The man must have eyes like a cat, I thought,
or a sense of touch like the blind. I found it
hard to reply, but fortunately he did not expect
it.
“Ah, but I should not laugh,” he resumed in
his usual sympathetic voice, “for it is a mar-
vellous night; the river touched here and there
with silver, and old codger as I am, I hope I’m
144


CHAP. X THE QUINCUNX CASE
not unappreciative of nature. Nature and
poetry after all, Gellatly—c'est tout.” He
went on in his wonderfully trained voice to re-
peat one of Paul Verlaine's little lyrics,
touched with mysticism and music, with an
understanding of the subtle mood of the verse
which I should never have expected. But my
pleasure was not this time so great as to blot
out all that had passed; and I felt disinclined
for a literary discussion. So a long pause
followed, and then the Colonel suddenly sat
erect.
“By Jove, Gellatly, I had all but forgotten
what I came out to tell you, -the Chavaignac
man you want has been hunted out, and is com-
ing down in a couple of days from the moun-
tains to see you; at least so Father Antoine
writes me tonight.”
An hour before I should have been eager
over this information, now it left me merely
cool and cautious. And I saw his eye rest on
me as I quietly thanked him and fell again
into silence.
“I fear your talk with my niece was depress-
ing,” he began suddenly, in his kind voice,
“poor, unhappy girl!” and he sighed.
“Mademoiselle has not very high spirits,”
I murmured.
145


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. X
“Who could have?” said the uncle pityingly.
Ever since she came to us, Claire and I have
done the best we could to cheer her up, but I
fear her melancholy has gone too deep.”
“I take it there was something tragic?” I
ventured. My host nodded.
“A very unfortunate experience, and to be
plain, I fear it left permanent effects.” He
tapped his forehead significantly—“A love-
affair,” he explained. “Marguerite’s mother
opposed it, they separated, and the man died.
Girls take these things so seriously; indeed,
what wonder they do? Theirs is the cloistered
and the introspective life, which we more active
men are apt to forget. But really, lately, she
has worried me greatly. Did you notice any-
thing wild in her talk? It’s a delicate matter,
Gellatly, but I feel that you are a friend and
I may as well speak frankly; was there any-
thing overstrained, any touch, you know, of
those vague fears, and turning against her
friends which are such definite symptoms of a
certain nervous condition?”
Now Colonel de Pétry was a very clever man,
and he worked up to this enquiry in a remark-
ably shrewd and careful manner, but when it
came out he gave, unfortunately, that slight,
146


CHAP. X THE QUINCUNX CASE
but significant over-accentuation which is the
pitfall of all diplomatists. I understood his
meaning perfectly; and I lied promptly and
from the shoulder.
“I noticed nothing at all of the kind,” I
said; “a tendency to melancholy, if you like, a
little over-sensibility. She did in truth speak
of the death you mention, and I was very sorry
to hear it.”
“I shall have to take her to a specialist, I
fear,” said the Colonel. “What do you say
to the smoking-room, Gellatly, it seems a little
chilly on the terrace?”
147


CHAPTER XI
I GET MY LETTERS
The reader will not have forgotten the means
I took at the outset of my visit, to prevent my
letters from falling into the hands of the trust-
worthy Dufour. I had not repented my course
as the days drew on, nor did I fail to be relieved
each morning at breakfast when the mail was
brought in, and Colonel de Pétry would say,
half-gay, half questioning:—“And none for
you, Gellatly l'You are forgotten at home, mon
ami!”
That there were letters, however, I was sure,
and I determined to make an effort to get
them, for perhaps Cecil herself had written.
This was an idealtwhich spurred one to effort,
so the seventh night of my residence at the
Maison de l'Orme, I laid my plans.
A sortie under cover of the darkness would
be the natural idea, but I could not rid myself
of the remembrance of those nocturnal steps
and movements. Dawn therefore, seemed to
promise better, and I forced myself to wake a
148


CHAP. XI THE QUINCUNX CASE
little after three, dressed noiselessly, and
slipped to the lower floor. The house was abso-
lutely still; outside, the grey was turning to
silver and the river mists were beginning to
rise, to spread their mauve and pinkish wings
to the dawning like a flock of great birds which
had brooded on the water all night. This the
window showed me, and it seemed, for twenty
minutes or so, likely that I should get no other
view, for the lower floor of the Maison de
l'Orme turned out to be barred and locked like
a penitentiary. My giddy hopes of a key left
sticking in some door vanished, as I noted iron
bars, heavy iron shutters, chain bolts, and no
sign of a key.
I wandered forlornly from room to room,
feeling like the prisoner I suppose I was, till
I reached M. de Pétry's smoking-room, which
opened on the veranda. I knew this little place
and its furnishings well—the big desk,
locked as I found, (when I tried for a possible
door-key) the tall walnut cabinets, locked also;
the leather chairs, the book-case, also locked,
but showing through its glass doors a hetero-
geneous collection of volumes consisting of live-
ly French and Italian fiction, books on anti-
quities and mineralogy, and a copy of the
149


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XI
elderly man plainly dressed, he passed me with
a sharp glance which I tried to assure myself
was chiefly due to my imagination. The en-
counter made me hesitate and walk a few
paces further toward the water. It was all de-
serted and peaceful in the early glow. The
roofs of Sillery shone a half-a-mile beyond. A
little boat-slip ran out into the water, and fast-
ened to it was a graceful, well-built steam-
launch. In golden letters on her stern was the
name “Nénuphar,’ and indeed, she rode the
water like a very flower. Charming, innocent,
she appeared, a gentleman’s pleasure-boat; yet
as the last link in a chain-locked house—occu-
pants evidently concealing something, midnight
steps, jewellers’ cotton, copies of the U. S. Tar-
iff Laws, the river St. Lawrence, and finally the
swift steam-launch, Nénuphar, was not one
driven to damning inferences?
Surely I had plentiful matter for reflection
during my brisk walk to Quebec and back. Sup-
pose this were the explanation, suppose the in-
habitants of the Maison de l'Orme were merely
engaged in United States commerce, omitting
the formalities of the Custom-house, how did
that explain their attitude toward me? Did
they think me an American Secret Service man,
152


CHAP. XI THE QUINCUNX CASE
and if so, why seek me out, take me into the
house, and proceed on their nefarious opera-
tions under my very nose? There was no rea-
son in it. Marguerite’s deadly earnestness, her
tears, her passionate warnings, they too rang
in my ears; yet, that touch of wildness, of in-
coherence in them, had not her Uncle explained
it, and was he not after all the more convincing
of the two? Where could I put my hand on
anything out of the way in his behavior?
Then the pedestrian I had just met, at so
unusual an hour, this started a new train of
thought. How much personal risk did I run,
if the smuggling hypothesis were true? Sup-
pose the police were on the watch—an arrest
meant the end of my search, ignominious and
final. These reflections unpleasant and menac-
ing as they were, suggested no solution, save
that I had no time to lose, and that I was glad
my interview with Chavaignac was to be soon.
I found my letters at the post-office, read them
at once, and used them—(yes, even Cecil’s,
though I hated to do it) as cigarette lighters
all the way home. It was just a quarter to
nine as I turned in at the gate of the Maison
de l'Orme, and cannonaded into a man, running
at top-speed.
153


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XI
It was Dufour.
“Monsieur has come back?” he gasped out,
and stared at me.
“Why certainly!” I replied, and I made a
point to look him insolently in the eye, “I was
only out for a stroll. Where is M. de Pétry?”
“They are all at breakfast waiting for
Monsieur.”
His hurry, his amazement had left him. I
could not but admire the sudden withdrawal
into the subservient butler,-even the flush of
running left his face and it was again, with its
wide smile, and little eyes, that ineffably sly
flat sinister face I knew. He followed me quiet-
ly, and respectfully into the house.
I have always wished I had paused to catch
some of the argument which was in progress
rather heatedly in the dining-room. My en-
trance, of course, produced silence; and Claire
from her place behind the coffee cups, bade me
a cheerful good-morning. I noticed that Mar-
guerite was absent, and that my host had been
pacing the room.
“I hope,” said I, “I’ve not delayed break-
fast. I have had an enchanting stroll.”
“We were beginning to be troubled,” said the
Colonel, and not a shade of annoyance tinged
154


CHAP. XI THE QUINCUNX CASE
the courtesy of his voice. “There have been
rough characters about, and some of them are
not courteous to strangers. How far did you
go?”
“Only to Quebec,” I said, “I thought there
might be some letters for me at the General
Post-office. But I saw no suspicious charac-
ters.”
“I’m very glad,” said the Colonel and
changed the subject. I took advantage of a
pause to enquire for Mademoiselle Marguerite.
“She has a wretched headache,” Claire as-
sured me; “you will have to fall back upon me
as a pis-aller.” And she fluttered her eye-lids
at me in a way to cause my indifference toward
her to deepen to dislike.
We finished breakfast. The Colonel excused
himself, and was soon briskly writing in his
little study. Of course, Claire remained faith-
fully by me, but in the intervals of her vivacious
sallies I could see she shared the preoccupation
which seemed to pervade the house. Even Du-
four showed it, and I met him coming out of
his master’s presence with a sullen, hangdog
air. Marguerite did not appear, and I began
to wonder if she were being purposely removed,
so to speak, from contact with myself?
155


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XI
The morning was long and tedious, and I
found myself becoming nervously keyed up.
Marguerite did not join us at lunch, and her
uncle told me she was confined to her room.
M. de Pétry did not seem inclined to give me
his company, and a growing distaste for more
hours of his daughter’s, made me plead letters
to write and so escape to my room.
As I passed through the upper hall, the door
of the room next mine opened and the figure
of a nun appeared on the threshold, in the dull
black-and-white of her robes. Our gaze met.
There was something not unfamiliar about the
face in the close, harsh setting of its white coif;
in the oval chin, full mouth, weak nose, large
sad eyes. The sister bowed, I bowed. She
glided down the corridor, and I entered my
room. It was the warmest day we had had, and
I welcomed the cool shadows within. I turned
the key in the lock (how quickly one acquires
the little habits of suspicion') and threw myself
into a chair near the window. There was a
tension of impending crisis in the atmosphere,
and I could no longer leave my plan of conduct
to chance or impulse. These people knew now
that I knew on what terms I remained in their
house, and whatever their motive had been, it
156


CHAP. XI THE QUINCUNX CASE
might not be strong enough to keep me. In
an hour I might be politely dismissed, and so
say farewell to my quest. Or, and this was
even less pleasant, there might be a visit of the
police, and arrests, in which I could not fail, if
only temporarily, to be included. I must act,
and act quickly, yet how?
I put my elbows on the sill, and leaned my
head on my hands. It was four o’clock and a
light breeze began to rustle the elm-leaves, and
even breathed upon my aching head. I thrust
the shutters wider apart to meet it, and then I
had that unmistakable consciousness of hidden
eyes watching me. A chill passed over me and
I turned my head.
Two windows away was the room in which
Marguerite indulged her headache, and from
behind those shutters I caught a glimpse of
black-and-white robes, of large, intent, melan-
choly eyes. We stared steadily at one another,
she behind the bars. Somehow, this partly-
seen, this silent, lurking watcher, imbued me
with the idea of something shadowy and menac-
ing, at the same time that dim memories rose
in my mind and, formless, groped about for
words.
The eyes vanished; and my heart which had
157


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XI
stood still quivering, started off like a fright-
ened horse. Certainly, I thought impatiently,
another week in this house, and my nerves
will be in rags. There was a slight creak, the
shutter moved, a pair of hands large and white,
thrust forward in the sunshine a twist of paper
attached to a string. They remained, holding
it toward me, quite within my reach.
Of course, the intention was plain; and I
immediately leaned down and picked up the
string. The hands waited, folded upon the
sill. I struggled vainly with those indefinite
memories, which seemed to show me the same
pair of hands, large and white and strong, once
before thrust into the sunshine holding a paper
—only, in my recollection they seemed to tear
it across and across, in an intensity which gave
the self-same impression of menace, of danger,
of fatality.
My fingers shook as I unfolded the paper.
It was written in pencil on a page torn out of
a novel.
“I am an utterly wretched girl,” it ran, “and
there seems no hope for me, unless you help
me. Before the Mother of God, I swear
solemnly that this is no trap, and that I am in
real danger. They are going to take me away
158


CHAP. XI THE QUINCUNX CASF
because I warned you. Then it will be your
turn. If you are really he they fear, do not
remain an instant in this house. Your life is
merely a question of hour to hour. If you know
anything of my father, however, you will know
that I am innocent of any evil, and you will
help me.” It was signed “Marguerite Bal-
samo.”
So excited was I at this instant that even
the name did not amaze me. I was prepared
for anything. But my feelings crystallized at
once into a resolution when I read it. I did not
under-estimate the risks which, through telling
the truth, this generous girl was running, and
I must not be less generous. I did not pause,
but scribbled upon the other side of the paper:
“My name is Philip Adrian, and I promise to
help you all I can. If you are the daughter of
Balsamo, the chemist, you may be able to tell
me what I have come here to find out. I am
not afraid for myself and should they take you
away I will go after you and set you free. I
promise this, but you must in turn promise not
to tell these people what I have told you. If
you agree, burn this at once.”
I retied the string and threw it out of the
window. It fell across the window-catch and
159


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XI
was drawn into the room. I sat there anxiously
listening, but no sound reached me. By and
by, however, I smelled smoke, and saw a thin,
blue curl of it float out upon the air.
160


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XII
mark my words, it is all sheer pigheadedness,
and if you ever intend to use firm measures with
the idiot, I say you are leaving them too long!”
“My dear Claire!” M. de Pétry turned an
offended frown upon his daughter and went on
more coldly than I had ever heard him. “I
do not know what you mean l You strangely
forget yourself!—Your unhappy cousin is at
liberty to remain in her room so long as she
chooses, of course. I shall certainly take no
‘measures’ save those of tenderness. Your
accusation, Claire, hurts me, it hurts me more
than I can say!”
“You know what I mean,” said she sullenly,
dropping her eyes.
“I confess I do not,” said the Colonel, still
stiffly, and evidently upset by the incident, he
turned and left the room. Mademoiselle Claire
made a little grimace as much as to say,
“Foolish old Papa!” and took her seat quite
at her ease. I thought to myself that the strain
between these two girls gave the dullest of men
a chance, and I proceeded to devote myself, with
all gallantry to Mademoiselle Claire.
“It must be so hard for you,” I suggested,
as we talked, “to have for companion a person
like your cousin, who is, let us say, a trifle
exigeante and depressing...... 2 3
- 162


CHAP. XII THE QUINCUNX CASE
My sympathy, as I had hoped, unloosed her
tongue.
“No one knows what it is l’” she asseverated;
“just because it suits Papa's plans to keep her
—I have to stand all her whims and ill-humors!
She must always be first—all attentions must be
to her, or else the sulks, a headache! I am
tired Of it !”
“I don’t wonder,” said I; “it is apt to be
the way with the less attractive of two com-
panions, as no doubt she feels, Mademoiselle !”
Gratified vanity sparkled in her eyes, and
then she dropped them. “Oh, but one does not
like to think it is that.”
“But what else could it be?” I conjectured.
“Monsieur is so sympathetic,” Mademoiselle
Claire sighed.
“And you have daily to look forward to such
unhappy scenes!”
“Not indefinitely!” she protested, her little
face set again into triumph and hatred—“This
is probably the last time I shall stand her whims
I assure you. Even Papa's patience has about
given out, and I really think there will be
measures taken with Mademoiselle la Martyre'
When I think of her, and how she came. . . . . . 5 y
She checked herself, noting perhaps the
163


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XII
eagerness in my face. That unhappy woman
in the closed room upstairs. . . . . . I wondered
how she had fallen into these hands, if she were
in truth the daughter of Balsamo. What an
extraordinary business from first to last!
I felt certain that Marguerite would make
another attempt to communicate with me during
the day; and several times therefore I showed
myself at my window. I was not mistaken,
although it was again afternoon when the twist
of paper on a string was flung out for me. This
time the words were very few.
“I am locked in here, and therefore cannot
talk to you, but I will send a messenger to whom
you can speak freely. Be in the shrubbery at
the back of the old tool-house at half-past eleven
to-night.”
The note was unsigned. My reluctance, I
confess, at the hour and the errand was great;
yet I trusted the girl and knew I must not fail
her. After all, she was more likely to help me
than Chavaignac, and she seemed to feel that
I could help her—of which I was doubtful.
Night made the Maison de l'Orme an uncertain
prowling ground; for the first time I realized
that my work demanded at least the safe-guard
of a weapon, and to marvel at foolhardy forget-
164


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XII
A certain nervousness lay hold of me as I
pushed aside the branches, but all was still
within. I found myself in a little cave of dark-
ness, my back against the wall of the tool-house,
the sheltering growth hemming me in, while
above my head a clearer dark, if one may put
it so, showed in a patch of sky. To stand in
absolute blackness for ten minutes waiting for
the unknown, is trying to the stoutest nerves.
It is like being forced to keep the eyes shut;
there is a constant effort to open them anticipat-
ing relief, while the other senses grow morbidly
acute, so that the texture of a leaf seems rough
and harsh to the finger, and the rattle of the
wind among the twigs is like that of musketry.
I had just made up my mind I could not stand
it, but would wait in the open space beyond
when my ear caught the step and rustle of an
approach. I held my breath as the presence
drew near over the grass; I heard the step
move toward me and cease; then the bushes
were parted as I had parted them. I strained
my eyes, but though fully conscious some one
stood there breathing, within touching distance
of my hand, yet I could see no outline, I could
only feel the eyes. The strain was too great.
I spoke.
166


CHAP. XII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“Who is it?”
A woman's voice, one I had never heard
before, answered, so close that I started back:-
“I have brought a message from Marguerite.”
There was a pause. I said, putting out my
hand, “I cannot see anything. Is your dress
black?” .
“Black, all black,” replied the other and a
strain of melancholy ran in the voice.
“Pardon me,” I went on, “but we must see
to speak together. Where are you?” Just
then my hands touched heavy folds of stuff,
and then encountered wooden beads to which a
cross with metal on it was attached. It was
as I had supposed; Marguerite's messenger was
the nun I had seen at her window. Strange
occupation for a religious—but I had no time
to speculate.
“No, we cannot talk here,” said the voice,
and the dress moved away. I followed, we
came out upon the patch of lawn, which, dark
as it was, seemed clear light compared to that
cavern of trees. Then we paused.
“I hope, ma soeur,” I began awkwardly,
“Mademoiselle was not vexed at my request?”
She shook her head. I could see now her
veiled hood, the white coif, and her hand against
her dress.
167


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XII
“Marguerite sent me,” the nun answered,
speaking in a soft convent undertone, “first,
because she could not come herself, and
secondly, because I am almost as well qualified,
Monsieur, to talk to you as she. I know her
very well, and all her family. I knew her
unhappy father the chemist; and there are
circumstances. . . . . ” she breathed and changed
her phrase—“there are reasons, I mean, why
references to the past are very painful to
Marguerite, and would agitate her very much.”
“I do not want to raise them, as I told her,”
I said earnestly. “I have offered to help her
if she needs it. . . . . . 2 3
“She will need it,” said the nun, “but you
spoke of information. . . . . . !”
“Which I need from her; that is true, but
it need not agitate her. Her father left some
papers. . . . . . 2 3
The nun started at my words, and the beads
rattled as they fell from her fingers.
“Papers, ’’ she stammered, “what papers—
what do you mean?”
I drew nearer while speaking, “I mean
papers relative to a chemical formula at which
he was working for Mr. Adrian when he died.”
She was peering at me. “And the name and
everything!” she exclaimed, “you know!”
168


CHAP. XII THE QUINCUNX CASE
Her tone was one of deep incredulity and
amazement.
“I know,” I said significantly, for here I saw
a chance not only at the formula but for the full
explanation. “I know everything. But it is
that formula I want now. If you or Marguerite
can tell me where to find it, I will let the rest
go.”
I could hear her gasp: “The rest!” she
whispered, “the rest. . . . . . 7 5
“I will let it go, if you will give me the
formula,” I said, purposely changing the terms
of my demand. The woman, making a strong
effort at self-possession, again began to finger
mechanically at her rosary. I could hear the
beads shake, but I could see nothing of her
expression.
“I am thinking, Monsieur,” she got out at
length. “It is all a long time ago.”
“Yes,’’ I replied, “it is long ago, but such
things always come out in time.”
The random shot told and she quivered; then
the undertone of her voice went quietly on.
“I shall not deceive you, Monsieur, it would not
become me even were it of any use. What I
tell you is the truth; but I fear it will not help
you greatly. Marguerite, poor child, herself
169


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XII
knows very little. She was at school when her
father died, and she knew nothing until one day
her mother. . . . . . » 2
“Ah,” I cried, “her wicked mother?”
“Her wicked mother—” the nun repeated
solemnly, “came and took her away. But the
day before she had received a letter from her
father, containing a sealed envelope, which he
bade her keep as it held valuable papers.”
“And did she open it?”
“She opened it afterwards, yes Monsieur,
and she found within it a sheet of parchment
with what looked like a recipe.”
“That was it !” I cried.
“Unfortunately, no, it was only a part.”
She paused, but my disappointment was too
great for me to interrupt, and she continued
more evenly,
“As I said, she did not examine it until after
her father’s death, and then in secret she took
it to some one she trusted, a chemist, who would
understand. And he said it was part only of
a formula, and quite valueless without the other
parts.”
“It was marked with the five-dot mark?” said
I in despair.
“The quincunx—yes Monsieur.”
170


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XII
Mademoiselle herself warned me of it, three
days ago. I am sure she knows where to find
that paper, and that she is willing to help me.
Tell her I must see her. . . . . . . . 5 *
“Ah, but that you cannot do!” she broke in,
half pityingly, half-triumphant.
“That I must see her!” I repeated, “and if
she leaves the Maison de l'Orme she must try
and get a word to me where she is going; and
I will certainly seek her out.”
“Suppose I refuse to take your message,”
said the sister.
“You wear a strange costume to refuse!” I
cried. “I do not know if holy women usually
leave their convents to mix in such intrigues,
but if your habit is not merely a disguise....”
She turned quickly and her eyes flashed in-
dignantly into mine. ...“How dare you say so,
Monsieur? My office is to nurse the sick and
had you seen that poor, poor girl. . . . . . . . . . 7 y
“I ask your pardon then,” said I, “but reflect
a moment, and you will see that my suspicion
is not so strange.”
I referred of course to her unconventional
errand, but the remark seemed to touch her
more deeply and she drooped her head with a
profound sigh.
172


CHAP. XII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“Ah,” said she bitterly, “it is not so
strange—” and again her lips murmured a
prayer. “It is getting very late,” she said
quietly after a moment. “Have you said every-
thing?”
“You will take my message then?” I asked.
“I Will take it.”
“You will ask her to communicate with me,
if she can?”
“If she can.”
Was there a faint irony here? I was won-
dering, when suddenly she wheeled around and
pointed with her outstretched hand.
“Look!” said she imperiously, “the lights!
The Nénuphar is returning. You must go back
at once to the house, Monsieur—or I will not
answer for what may happen.”
I also saw the lights of the steam-launch
bobbing at the slip.
“Go quickly, go!” she repeated as I did not
move. “You are foolhardy to linger.”
“But you,” I asked, “are you going to
stay?”
“I shall go down to the slip and detain them
till you are safe in your room,” she explained.
“Do not waste any more time, Monsieur, but
go!”
173


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XII
I revolted at this. “You yourself may be
in danger,” I protested. “Won’t they hurt
you?”
She gave a shrug and a gesture. “Ah no!”
she said with a dreary, bitter little laugh, “not
now !”
And as I started reluctantly toward the
house, I saw her hastening to the water’s edge,
her robe held up, her pace quickened almost to
a run, her long veil streaming in the wind.
174


CHAPTER XIII
NUMBER Two, AND CHAVAIGNAC
When I awoke the next morning it was with
a feeling that I must make the best of what I
hoped to be my last day at the Maison de
l'Orme. The night’s interview had shown me
that my stay was becoming impossible, that
freedom was now an essential to my business.
I had therefore three things to do: to see Mar-
guerite, to interview the man Chavaignac, and
to get safely away from the house. Sheer au-
dacity, I thought, might get me the first; the
second was easy; how to accomplish the third,
I had not a notion in the world.
The reader has not failed to note the gradual
change which had taken place in my estimate
of the friendly, and philosophic M. le Colonel
Horace de Pétry de Chambord. Once or twice,
in contact with his geniality, his bonhomie and
his charm, I had, as it were, gone deeper,
touched ice, and chilled at the touch. Once or
twice, meeting his eye, obtrusively frank, pro-
testingly open, I had suddenly understood to
175


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XITIt
the core the significance of Shakespeare’s
phrase, “Honest, honest Iagol” Thus is made
plain the fact that when I descended that morn-
ing to breakfast, found myself alone with him,
and saw that he had for once laid aside his
smiling mask and sat visibly preoccupied, mo-
rose and anxious, I experienced a fear such as
no other person has ever inspired in me. In-
voluntarily, as I poured myself a cup of coffee,
I remembered Marguerite’s words, “Your life
is merely a question of hour to hour.” Yet I
did not agree with Marguerite, for I believed
that de Pétry had more reason to find out my
real object than to kill me; that I was safe so
long as I could play upon the mysterious and
deep fear which the name Gellatly evidently in-
spired.
The Colonel read his newspapers, I sipped
my coffee, in silence. Our eyes avoided each
other. Presently I observed:
“I hope Mademoiselle Marguerite is well
enough to receive visitors this morning?”
“Do you wish to be one?” smiled my oblig-
ing host.
“I do indeed,” said I, and fixed an eye upon
the ceiling as I went on with deliberation—“I
take a deep interest in her since finding that she
176


CHAP. XIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
was the daughter of an old friend of mine—a
dear old friend!”
“Really?” replied the Colonel, and I must
say I admired the intonation. “Have we other
ties beside the Gellatly’s of Boston? Is it pos-
sible you knew my lamented brother?”
“The proper name of Mr. Joseph Balsamo,
then, was Pétry?” I asked. This was an ex-
ceedingly bold shot, and fired, let me confess,
out of sheer giddy audacity. My host was a
man of resource, of wit, and of trained self-
command, but it was impossible that such a re-
mark should be wholly without effect. His rud-
dy hue changed somewhat; his eyes steadied,
the pupils dwindled to two points. But he
laid down his paper with a perfectly steady
hand, and his voice showed just the right shades
of surprise, cordiality and paternal anxiety, as
he replied:
“So Marguerite told you she was the daugh-
ter of Balsamo. . . . . . . . extraordinary 1”
I could have cut out my tongue for the im-
prudence, but it was too late, so I merely
nodded.
“Upon my soul,” said de Pétry in a voice of
concern, “the child’s condition must be even
worse than I thought. Joseph Balsamo was my
177


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIII
brother's intimate friend, it is true—but such
an idea—incredible! The thing grows serious;
when Marguerite's frenzy comes to cast such
reflections on her dead parents, I feel it is time
I should take steps l’”
His tone, his accent, it was impossible not to
believe them. I felt suddenly dismayed and
mortified. Would not any sensible man have
said to me, “Come, you are foolish. This man
is respectable and convincing. It is his niece
and yourself who are crack-brained and hyster-
ical. What reason have you for imagining
anything wrong in this case?”
Everyone, I think, undergoes such reactions
in the midst of unusual situations; reactions of
prudence, of conservatism. The frank counter-
proposition by this quiet man of the world
had an effect on my excited fancy like a jet of
cold water.
“Possibly the mistake is mine.” I grudged
this reply. “I may have jumped at conclusions
which Mademoiselle did not intend.”
“She should not have given you cause. The
idea not only distresses me—, it mortifies me
exceedingly,” said the Colonel with dignity;
and I seemed to see a man who felt with the
utmost keenness the vagaries of a morbid child.
178


CHAP. XIII THE QUINCUNX CASF
“It was doubtless my imagination,” I hast-
ened to assure him; and his tone was somewhat
mollified as he replied:
“I do not say you are to be blamed,” and
returned to his newspaper. I was in a strong-
ly reactionary mood of mortification and indig-
nation at myself, and I took up a sheet of the
newspaper to recover behind it. My feelings
at the moment seemed absolutely with the
Colonel,-but there is a truth that men are
guided strongly and continuously by conviction
alone, and that truth saved my life. I thought
I was absorbed in an account of a lacrosse-
match, yet my eye guided by this conviction I
feel sure, stole a look at my host from the
shelter of the page. Ah, he was no more ab-
sorbed in reading than I was; the face he bent
over the sheet was contorted with fury and per-
plexity, he gnawed his iron-grey moustache;
and the glance which I encountered whipped
out and was gone, like the flash of a little
Snake across a path.
I should have believed him, I should have
been lured easily into fancied security if he
had been able to retain for half-an-hour longer,
his mien of smiling bonhomie. As it was, his
glance showed me a dangerous man, one I knew
179


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIII
for an enemy. I cooled; my nerves strung taut,
once more I faced the combat. All this passed
in sixty crucial seconds.
Mademoiselle Claire, entering from the ter-
race, found her guest and her father reading in
apparent harmony. The latter arose and em-
braced her with his usual demonstrativeness;
and I laid down my paper and stood also.
“By-the-way, M. de Pétry,” I said as if to
continue a conversation, “that interview with
Mademoiselle Marguerite,_I should really like
to have it, if you will ask her to name an
hour.”
“I am so sorry,” said the Colonel smoothly,
“but my niece charged me to deliver you her
regards and farewells. She left us early this
morning.”
Already! I looked from father to daughter.
“She has left the Maison de l'Orme?” I
asked, “and where has she gone?”
“Yes, she left us early to-day. The doctor
had advised change of air and a complete rest.
Marguerite is a deeply religious child, so she
decided to make a retreat. How valuable,”
continued the Colonel enthusiastically, “are
the aids of the Church to tired and burdened
minds! A retreat is merely a species of rest-
180


CHAP. XIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
cure, and I have no doubt that when she re-
turns the child will be infinitely benefited physi-
cally and much calmer in mind, don’t you think
so Claire?”
“I think it an admirable decision on her
part,” said Claire, with dignity.
There was nothing for me to do but leave the
room, feeling that the enemy had scored a
point. I stood on the terrace for a while, deep
in thought. The sunshine was warm; the air
brought the freshness of the wide spaces of the
St. Lawrence; distant and faint came the peal
of many bells from the grey town whose streets
are never wholly free from that wild and music-
al clamor. Before me lay the avenue and the
high-way—apparently, open, free,_yet I knew
better than to try them, weaponless as I was.
All about me seemed peaceful, simple, natur-
al,—yet I was like a man who walks between
iron walls, to some dark and terrible end. I
might dare a dash for freedom and the town,
but to do so meant to give up my quest, or
worse even, to abandon the wretched girl who
had cried to me for help.
I stood there as I have said, looking out and
listening to the bells, and wondering if they
were the last bells I should hear; if I should
181


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIII
had not turned the corner of the avenue, before
a man in the blue jeans of a gardener began
to busy himself at the front of the house, and
at the back there was always Dufour. It would
be two or three to one, whether the Colonel
was there or not.
My next thought was to wonder whether Mar-
guerite had really gone, but of that there
seemed no doubt. And while this was still in
my mind, the silent, heavy-faced, stolid woman
who was the only female servant at the Maison
de l'Orme, came up to tell me that the man I
wished to see was waiting downstairs.
I went at once to the Colonel’s study. The
shutters had been partially drawn against the
strong summer sunshine, making a pleasant
cool obscurity. Standing near the window I
saw a tall Canadian in a typical habitant dress,
the blue shirt, the heavy boots, the blue tasselled
cap which he twirled between his fingers. So
far as I could see, his appearance was equally
typical; he had the blond moustache and bunchy
blond hair of the Norman, with rather small
black eyes. The man seemed an honest, slow-
witted fellow, speaking little English, so that I
had some trouble in following the long-winded
history with which he began—all about Père
184


CHAP. XIII THE QUINCUNX CASF
Antoine, and the message, and why he had come
to Quebec that day. “The letter said I could
tell M’sieu something and he would pay,” he
concluded, and I nodded.
“Yes,” I said, taking a near-by chair, “I will
pay well, if you answer my questions. You
once lived in the States, I think?”
“Yes, M'sieu,” he answered promptly. “I
lived there for a few months.”
“Four years ago, was it not?”
“M'sieu is quite right.”
He stood in front of me still playing with his
cap, his little bright eyes moving restlessly over
the room.
“At that time you had a friend, a chemist—
named Joseph Balsamo?”
He nodded assent.
“And this Balsamo died,” I went on slowly,
“under peculiar circumstances?”
This time he did not look at me.
‘‘M’sieu has heard. . . . . . . . . . . . !”
“I know,” I said emphatically, “It is use-
less to try to deceive me, as you will see.”
“If M'sieu knows, all,” the man said
hoarsely,–though I noticed his color did not
change, “he must know that I, Pierre Chavaig-
nac, am entirely innocent.”
185


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIII
“That may be,” I said, and then I paused.
My ear had caught the faint scrape of a foot
on the veranda behind the shuttered windows.
“It’s too warm in here to talk,” I cried loudly,
and going to the windows, I threw the shutters
wide. The veranda was empty. In the flood
of sunlight I wheeled a chair to the window,
and sat where I could command the view out-
side. The walls were thick, we were away
from the closed door, so this manoeuvre put
eavesdropping out of the question.
“Now the papers that Balsamo left,” I con-
tinued, again facing Chavaignac, “were in your
charge?”—
I did not go on.
In the newly entered, strong light from the
window I noted the curious appearance of the
man. The red burned in two spots in his
cheeks, the rest of his face was ghastly white;
I thought he trembled.
“I see M’sieu knows I am innocent—that I
knew nothing!” he repeated, and moistened his
dry lips.
“Others might not think so,” said I sternly,
“but if you will answer me truthfully, Chavaig-
nac, I will do my best for you.”
“I have M’sieu’s promise?”
186


CHAP. XIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“Yes, I promise.”
His face cleared with relief. When I cried
impatiently, “Now tell me,” his pause was only
one of reflection.
“I was not the nearest friend to Balsamo, as
M’sieu knows,” said he sinking his voice.
“But I liked him too, and I knew he feared
those closer than I, you understand? He told
me when he found it—his preparation, and his
dread lest the secret should be stolen from him.
He wanted it kept for. . . . . . . . 2 y
“His daughter, Mademoiselle Marguerite,”
I interjected. Chavaignac put a hand to his
throat.
“M'sieu promised” he whispered desperate-
ly, and his eyes grew wild with fear.
“Yes, go on, go on!” I urged.
“He knew I was his friend—but he was so
suspicious—ce pauvre Joseph 1 He would con-
fide in nobody. But near the last he said to me,
‘Pierre, mon ami, I confide in thee. This is
a paper—it is to be kept for my little one,’
and he gave me this. M'sieu sees I have kept
it safely?”
We had drawn close together. The man
fumbled in his shirt, drew forth a tiny leather
bag and untied the strings. The perspiration
187


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIII
stood on my face as I watched him take out a
tiny square of parchment, curiously folded.
He handed it to me. It bore in Balsamo's
handwriting, a name, ‘‘Pierre Chavaignac,” a
large number 2 and the mark . . . ; Ibroke the
seal. Within was a line or two of writing and
figures, but a glance showed me that it was only
a part of the required formula. Then the light
broke on me. The nun’s description returned
to my mind and the chemist’s scheme became
perfectly clear. Trusting no one wholly among
his questionable associates, he had divided his
formula into five separate sections, numbered
each, and distributed them, giving each friend
to understand he had the whole. Thus the
quincunx was his symbol for the formula.
Here was one number; I had heard of another—
but the other three—l
The flash of thought in which I understood all
this, a second after was driven out by another
flash. Chavaignac bent eagerly toward me and
the sunlight beat full on his face. Over the
right ear there showed a patch of short white
hair under his yellow wig'
“This is what I want, I will pay you well
for it,” I said quietly, and took a step nearer.
Then with a sudden movement the whole golden
188


CHAP. XIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
wig was in my hand, and there stood before me
blinking, but not disconcerted, a head I knew;
the bullet head covered with scanty white hair,
the pale face painted into ruddiness, the little
shifty eyes of the butler, Dufour.
“You villain!” I cried, and sprang at him.
“Not so loud M'sieu!” he cried, “not so
loud!”
“How dare you trick me?” I repeated, for
I was furious.
“I did not,” he repeated. “Chavaignac is
my name, and I am he M’sieu wished to see.”
At this I sat down dazed. “It was you, all
the time?”
“It was I, and you will not blame me when
you understand, M'sieu Gellatly! I am in your
hands. I can do nothing, I will obey, you
shall have the paper, only I beg you not to tell
the Colonel !”
The man's agony of fear was not assumed,
and I began dimly to see the chance of an ally.
The subordinate had failed in his game, and
I had no reason to think his superior would be
lenient—thus, fear might throw the former
upon my side, if I could play on it.
“I have promised,” I said, and he hung on
my words, “because I believe you may be inno-
cent of the worst.”
189


CHAP. XIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
turned!” he whispered. I too heard the
trotting of a horse up the avenue, and I rose.
“You can go,” I said hurriedly, “but remem-
berl” and I left him bowing, and mechanically
twirling the woolen cap in his shaking hand.
The cart drew up to the step, the Colonel and
his daughter alighted, and the horse was taken
to the stable by the prison guard in blue over-
alls. All this I watched, sheltered behind the
drawing-room curtains, and when my host came
in he found me enjoying a cigar and a book.
“A satisfactory interview, I hope, my dear
Gellatly?” "
“Quite, my dear de Pétry.”
“Was the fellow an obstinate boor, as they
are so often?”
“Oh no—that would be harsh. I had trouble
at first, but after that we got on famously.”
He could not hide his surprise. “You got
your information then?”
“All I required, in full. But you, did you
drive far?”
“A long way on the Lorette road. Pepin
went splendidly; he will have to rest this after-
noon.”
I recalled the shining brown horse capering
and dancing on its way to the stables, and the
193


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIII
foot I had heard on the veranda, and I smiled.
But the Colonel was occupied with other
thoughts, and did not notice my amusement.
He excused himself in some haste, and I knew
without being told that he went at once to the
butler’s pantry.
Meanwhile, I sat where he had left me, and
my smile gave way to a frown of perplexity. I
was face to face with the next step—the impor-
tant step of leaving the Maison de l'Orme.
I knew enough of men to know I could not
count on Chavaignac; I knew enough of the
genial M. de Colonel Horace de Pétry de Cham-
bord to know that if I did not leave in the next
hour—before he found out everything—I had
very little likelihood of leaving at all. And if
I stayed—but here my reflections became melo-
dramatic: I could only tell myself that I
must—I must go! And in the thought I raised
my eyes from my book, and in an instant I was
on my feet. What I saw was the most natural
thing in the world, merely an express-wagon
from the town driving up the avenue. But the
driver was a big, burly, honest-faced fellow;
there was a half-grown lad beside him on the
seat, and the sight of them meant life, freedom,
everything, to me.
194


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIII
“You will be so kind as to send them after
me, to the Frontenac.”
“I cannot let you go like this,” he said.
“I fear I must,” said I.
“It is absurd! At least come in and let us
discuss it.”
“Thanks, but my hat is here.”
He could not keep all signs of his anger from
his face, and I saw the express-man and the boy
exchange glances. I put my foot on the wheel.
“I’m infinitely obliged for your hospitality,
and your help,” I said gayly, “but I mustn't
keep this good fellow waiting. Thank you and
au revoir l’’
“Won't you come in at least and say good-
bye to Claire?” said he. I saw his hand go
idly to the pocket of his coat, and if ever I saw
murder in a man’s eye, I saw it then.
“Thank Mademoiselle for me,” I said from
the wagon, “and—will you come a little
nearer?”
He came and stood by the side of the wagon
and our eyes encountered. -
“Mademoiselle Marguerite's convent—” I
said, “may I have the address?”
“She would not be allowed to see you,” he
replied, “even if she wished. A retreat can-
not be disturbed with callers.”
196


CHAP. XIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“The matter is important and urgent.”
: “It is against religious practice. It would
never be permitted.”
“But it concerns life and death,” I said
significantly, “three years ago, I know, but still
‘. . . . . . . However, you may do my errand for
me if you will.”
“I cannot wait, sir,” remarked the express-
man. I leant close down to the Colonel's
furious, contained face.
“I gave Mademoiselle some important
papers,” I went on, “relating to our mutual
friend, the late Balsamo. Will you get them
back from her since I cannot?”
“I will see that they are returned,” said he
shortly, and turning upon his heel walked into
the house. The expressman picked up the
reins and looked at me in surprise, for I
whistled loudly as we rattled down the avenue.
197


CHAPTER XIV
MY WORK BEGINS
“Queer folk in that there house, they say,”
remarked the expressman as we turned out of
the gate.
“Oh, do they?” I asked him, interested.
“The old man didn’t want to let you go, now,
did he?”
“Merely his hospitality,” said I.
“Well, if you ask me, I should say you’re
well out of it,” concluded the expressman,
chirruping to his horse, and his boy and he once
again exchanged looks. -
I was of the same opinion. Never seemed
road so beautiful as that white, warm, dusty
highway, or vehicle more to my taste than the
express-wagon. True, I was without a supply
of extra clothes, and likely to remain so for
some time to come, for even if my friend the
Colonel did send them to my hotel, I was not
likely to be at liberty to claim them there. To-
day, as I felt, my work began; the real task,
the labor, the running to earth, was in my
198


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIV
had told M. de Pétry about the papers I had
given to Marguerite would have an effect upon
which I thought I might calculate with cer-
tainty. Whether he believed it or not, he must
inevitably go to Marguerite herself to find out
the truth, and where Colonel de Pétry went I
meant to follow. I could do nothing it seemed
to me, until I found Marguerite and talked with
her, and in this chase I meant to seek the assis-
tance of the redoubtable Dufour.
Of course, I did not go near to the front of
the Maison de l'Orme. I took the back lane,
skirmished through the undergrowth and
marched boldly to the kitchen door. As I
hoped, Dufour was there and bade me ‘be off.”
roughly enough, although he at the same
moment put a big piece of bread into my hand.
It was good, however, to see him start and
cringe, when I spoke in my natural voice:–
“Merci, M'sieu, but it is not food I want—
this time.”
“You are mad, sir, I believe!” he gasped out,
shutting the door after him as he came out on
the step, “The Colonel is in a rage—Mon Dieul
I have never seen him worse. If he sees you—
well, you will die here and no one will be the
Wiserl’’
200


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIV
“M'sieu means no harm to Mademoiselle?”
he asked doubtfully.
“I am the only friend she has in the place,
except yourself,” I replied impatiently, “I
promised her to find where she was and to help
her. If you refuse to aid me the harm will
come to her.”
“I will help all I can—but if he should
know?”
“He must not know, that is all. Did you see
her go this morning, yourself?” I asked, as I
was about to move off.
“Only at a distance, sir. I knew better than
to try to speak to Mademoiselle,” he assured
me. “She left in the cart with the sister who
attended her, and her face was covered with a
long, thick veil.”
“Doubtless she has gone to some convent—
or it may be to some hiding place. Wherever
it is, I must know it. I shall return at six
to-morrow,” and giving him a nod, I retreated
into the bushes, fully satisfied that the man
would do as he was told.
I was at my post early the next morning,
refreshed and strengthened by a night’s sleep
in security. Prompt to the hour, I saw Dufour
come out from the kitchen and steal down to
202


CHAP. XIV THE QUINCUNX CASE
the shrubbery, giving furtive backward glances
as he ran. On seeing me he gave a gasp almost
of relief.
“I have watched as M'sieur wished,” he said,
“but the Colonel—Oh, he is a terrible man!”
Evidently fear of his superior was now added
to his other fears in Dufour’s mind. It was
stamped visibly upon his face, and as he made
me his report, his eye shifted uneasily and his
hand shook. The Colonel had made no attempt
to leave the house. Dufour had watched all
night as agreed, but it had been without devel-
opments. Earlier in the evening the two men
had talked, and de Pétry had apparently suc-
ceeded in reviving in his subordinate the sense
of his own cunning and power. This talk was
chiefly about myself, the danger menacing them
through me, his vain search in my effects, (here
I laughed) for anything to give them a clue.
His failure to identify me had aroused de Pétry
to a perfect frenzy of suspicion and hate. “He
knows not whom to trust, now,” the man said
naïvely, “since M'sieu knows all that passed
three years ago.”
Inodded. I was well satisfied in the strategy
of painting the wooden cannon black—but I
foresaw the time was at hand when I should
need real artillery.
203


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIV
“You were quite right about Mademoiselle,”
Dufour proceeded, “she is not in any convent,
for he said to me himself, “I could not put her
with a lot of tattling women,” and he laughed,
sir, in a way to turn me cold.”
“And he said nothing to suggest he meant
to go to her?” I questioned.
“Nothing, M'sieu. When he spoke of her—
he only sang under his breath, and laughed, as
I have told you. And then he said, “Never
fear, Pierre mon ami, you and I have been in
worse places than this,'—and it is true, M'sieu,
—but then,. . . . . . 5 y
“You were both on the same side, eh?”
“He has never been a fair comrade,” Dufour
broke out hotly, “I have been as true as a
brother to him, and never asked a share—all
these years, M'sieu, look at the pittance he has
given me, but when it comes to Mademoiselle—”
“You are right, man, it is the time to stop,”
I said kindly, for the fellow had honest and
loyal points. “Now go back to your work in
the kitchen. If he leaves the house during the
day, I will follow him, and to-night will be your
turn again.”
He shook his head in a depressed way and
walked back to the kitchen-door, and I skirted
204


CHAP. XIV THE QUINCUNX CASE
round towards the front of the house to the
bushes opposite the gate, where, remembering
Pepin the brown cob, I had tethered a very
fair little saddle horse.
It was ten o’clock when Pepin and the cart,
the upright figure driving them, swung out of
the avenue on to the Quebec road. I had been
taking the restlessness out of my beast by a
canter, and fortunately saw them coming and
got well off in the opposite direction. “Now
my work begins,” I thought, as I pulled my
steed's head around and set off steadily behind
Pepin’s cloud of dust.
M. de Pétry de Chambord went to Quebec, put
up his team at a stable, and made a round of the
city on foot. I followed, put up mine at the
same stable, and began light-heartedly enough
to walk in his wake, at a distance so that my
face could not be examined. The business
sounds easy:-I commend it with my honest
curse to my worst enemy, as the most heart-
breaking I ever undertook. I think at times the
devil must have entered into the man, he did
so many things, he walked so fast, was so
untiring, was so exasperatingly capricious in
his choice of routes—visited so many shops, and
had so little thought of luncheon. It was three
205


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIV
o'clock before I saw him safe on the road home
again, and four ere I had an instant to snatch
a mouthful at a public-house. Thereafter, I
was never without provisions in my pocket, and
many a meal I had to take in the saddle or on
the corner of a street.
That day’s work was a sample of the rest of
the week. The Colonel spent his evenings at
home; and I crawled to my lodging, dusty, spent
and weary, for an hour or two of sleep. Dawn
found me on my post as white and haggard
almost as Dufour who met me there, met to
tell me always the same story of his own night
watch over a soundly sleeping man. To dis-
trust Dufour was impossible when one looked
at him; the fellow was grey, worn and possessed
by unknown terrors; each time de Pétry clapped
him on the shoulder, or called him “mon ami,”
he shook with blind, superstitious fear.
I would try to cheer the man, and we would
part, I to my horse in the bushes and my dreary
footman’s round; he to tasks and terrors I knew
and sought to know nothing of. No sign of
Marguerite's whereabouts had been revealed
to me by the week's watch. The Colonel visited
no houses or convents, or mysterious places; he
was an idle, energetic person; he shopped, he
206


CHAP. XIV THE QUINCUNX CASE
played billiards, he lingered in the Governor’s
Garden, and when the whim took him he climbed
the town walls and made a circuit of their tops.
He made no sign of knowing he was followed,
unless you take his restless wanderings; but
these I myself set down to habitual caution and
some trouble of mind. On Sunday he went to
church, and I rested my tired bones in a back
pew where I was edified by his Catholic fervor,
and the flowers in his daughter’s hat.
On the Wednesday following, the tenth day
of my watch, there was a slight change in
affairs at the Maison de l'Orme. Pepin and
the cart did not appear, but instead, furniture
vans drew up to the house and took away a
large part of its contents. Shortly afterwards
a calèche drove up, and Mademoiselle Claire
dressed for a journey, bade her father an
affectionate farewell and was driven off in it.
I hated to let her slip, yet I knew he was the
more important game, and I had a hope that
matters were coming to a crisis.
I spoke of this to Dufour, but was disap-
pointed to find that the Colonel expected to go
on living by himself in the Maison de l'Orme,
for some time to come. “M'sieu knows his
affairs,” Dufour went on to suggest, “they
need him there.”
207


CHAP. XIV THE QUINCUNX CASE
lowering his voice, “for I have cause, I know,
but not as I fear the Colonel ! If he does sus-
pect me. . . . . . M’sieu, then there is no use in
my helping you for you cannot save me.”
“Stuff and nonsense, man,” I cried roughly,
“What harm can he do to you? You’re
nervous !”
“M'sieu Gellatly remembers. . . . . . 2 3
“Well, what?”
“His father?” Dufour whispered, as if
hardly daring to speak. I jumped—my father!
So that was their idea, was it? I began to
laugh.
“Why man!” I said still laughing into his
horrified face, “how old do you take me for?
Anthony Gellatly was only thirty-six when he
died three years ago!”
“We the Colonel thought of that—but still
- - - - - - ” Dufour stammered, “if you are not,
sir, why then. . . . . . !”
“The question is not who I am,” I inter-
rupted quickly. “Is your name Dufour, my
friend? Or is his de Pétry?”
“Mon Dieu, I do not understand!”
“You need not try. As for the other Gellatly,
I know what you mean to say. He was dis-
trusted also, and he died, by an accident.”
209


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIV
Dufour kept silence, and I asked:—
“After all, what reason have you to think
the Colonel suspects you of watching him?”
He made a helpless gesture. -
“There is nothing—nothing! Save that his
eye is kind and he calls me ‘Pierre mon ami,”
and promises me money if things go well, and
confesses often to the priest. It is just that
I feel he knows.”
“And you are afraid of him?”
“He is a terrible man, M'sieu!”
“You must take courage;” I assured him,
although I was not unaffected by his terror,
“perhaps we are wrong and he knows nothing.
Even if he does, he will not dare to touch you.”
Again he made that gesture of helplessness.
“If he knows, then I am dead,” he said simply,
and as our interview was over we parted, and
he walked back to the house with hanging head.
All that day I watched the Maison de l'Orme,
but nobody came out. Sometimes I saw de
Pétry at the windows, and Dufour pass and
re-pass on his household duties. Luckily the
weather was fine—I had been favored all along
by splendid summer days, and I was glad, like
a tired hound, to rest in the shade. Dusk came
and the lamps were lit; I took my way home.
ward, pretty well discouraged and worn-out.
210


CHAP. XIV THE QUINCUNX CASE
I used to buy a local newspaper on my way
to my post in the mornings, and on the eleventh
day I did so without misgiving. A name caught
my eye on the front page, I stood still, and my
heart went down, down.
A man named Pierre Dufour, the paper
asserted, employed as butler in the house of
Col. de Pétry de Chambord, had been beaten
by roughs late last night and had died early
that morning in the Quebec Hospital. The
information was scanty, but it told me more
than it knew. The man’s body had been found
just after eleven o’clock in the narrow lane
leading to the river by some passers-by. He
was fearfully beaten about the head, but still
breathed. The finders, who refused to give
their names, had carried him up to the house.
“Fortunately,” the paper stated, “they found
the master of the house still up and dressed,
and he had instantly identified the man as his
servant. An ambulance had been summoned,
and Colonel de Pétry accompanied the dying
man to the hospital, where he spent the night.
M. de Pétry had been much shocked, had de-
scribed the man as a faithful servant, and could
assign no reason for the assault except the large
number of water-side roughs who frequented
211


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIV
Sillery. He was to make a further deposition
before the Coroner's inquest that morning.”
Ah, poor Dufour! How well he had foreseen
the end To me the whole thing was simple.
Half an hour later the men might have knocked
in vain at the Maison de l'Orme, and my prey
would have escaped me. The Colonel’s plans
had miscarried, but it did not look as though
that slip were likely to change the end. For I
must watch alone henceforward, and I could
not help seeing it was with very small likelihood
of success.
212


CHAPTER XV
NUMBERS ONE AND THREE OF THE QUINCUNX
I had bought and read this newspaper, stand-
ing by the toll gate just across from Wolfe’s
monument, in the quiet of the early morning.
When I had done I folded it up, and paused in
the vital perplexity the news brought me. For
which way should I go? On one hand was the
trudge to the Maison de l'Orme, where I had
small hope of finding my quarry. On the other
was the walk in the opposite direction to the
General Hospital, where, if again I erred, I
might lose valuable time. However I must
make a decision, so, relying rather desperately
upon the newspaper, I decided upon this latter
COUII'Se.
The morning was fresh, and I walked briskly,
turning back by the Rue Dorion to Sauvageau
Hill, and so to the Boulevard Langelier. I
knew the hospital building well, but the sight
of it suggested a thousand difficulties in the way
of my task. How could one man watch on all
sides and take note of every door—? The only
213


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XV
monstrous personality, and I felt a touch of
something like admiration—such as a man feels
perhaps, when he comes at last face to face in
the forest glade with the stately stag he has
been tracking so long.
“Ah, M. le Colonel Horace de Pétry de Cham-
bord!” I thought to myself with inward exulta-
tion, “this is your last fight, my friend, and we
will see which wins.”
A north wind roared down the St. Lawrence,
and seemed to shake loose the tongues of a
hundred bells over the city. The scarlet folds
of the flag above the citadel streamed upon the
wind like the flame of a torch. Bright life
seemed to sparkle on that fortified cliff; out-
lines were clear-cut; the bells, the color, the air,
mounted to the brain like wine. My pulse beat
steadily, and Heaven knows I had need. We sat
there, he and I, not twenty feet apart, upon
Dufferin Terrace, and looked out upon the busy
ferry-boats and the shining river and all the
veins and arteries of the Lower town.
He started up St. Louis street about half-past
five. An announcement of summer opera
bouffe at the Academy of Music caught his eye,
and he went across and bought two seats for
that night. I loitered within ear-shot and then
216


CHAP. XV THE QUINCUNX CASE
promptly went in and bought another seat some
rows further back in the middle of a line. I
was particularly pleased with myself for this
precaution, remembering how one is apt to
notice the people on the end seats. Then he
took a calèche for the Maison de l'Orme, and I
followed in another a quarter of a mile behind.
I saw him safely into the house at a quarter
of seven o’clock; and then with a sigh I drove
rapidly to my own lodging. And I have never
been more tired in my life.
I was early in my seat at the theatre, and need
not have been for the Colonel was late. The
curtain rose indeed while his seat was still
empty. A fair performance began, with bright
music and high-spirits to atone for its lack of
finish, and I am bound to say I relished it, and
that it diverted my mind. It may have been
this diversion, or the stupefying days spent in
the open, or the strain of the last week which
rendered me so dull. Will any-one believe that
I let slip the first entr’acte, merely wondering
what delayed the Colonel, and turning my head
to watch for his coming in? The second act
opened upon the shabby, cheap scene, and the
soubrette, haggard in her battered finery, sang
a song, beginning “Beware, he deceives thee!”
217


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XV
To this day I can see the honest, startled
faces turned toward me, as I rose with a loud
ejaculation, and literally ran out of the theatre.
In the street I must have behaved like a
man distracted. Oh, double, triple-dyed idiot
I had been not to see through the trick! Of
course he knew he was being watched, he had
laid his plans there, sitting on the terrace, while
I vaingloriously exulted! It was past nine
o'clock, he had two hours start—no doubt he
was gone and with him my last chance at the
Quincunx, at the whole mystery, or to help Mar-
guerite Balsamo. To have watched so long,
and to be out-generalled at the last. . . . . . . . . . !
My impulse was go sullenly home, take my
ticket and turn my defeated back upon the
whole affair. But I remembered that men had
found poor Chavaignac—there had been a mis-
calculation of time in that case, there might be
again. I lost five precious minutes getting a
calèche, and I offered an enormous fee to drive
like the devil to the Maison de l'Orme. The
driver was not unwilling, his horse was good;
we covered the three miles in a dead gallop, and
I halted him at the avenue gate, slipped the gold
into his hand and bade him wait there in the
road for me. When I think of it, it makes me
laugh.
218


CHAP. XV THE QUINCUNX CASF
With my hand on my weapon, and much in
the mood to use it, I walked rapidly up to the
house. It was a moonless night studded with
stars, a filmy shifting light in the north sky
showed with the north wind. But there was no
light in the Maison de l'Orme; its windows
gaped unmistakably empty and blank. I
walked all round it, peering and prying, but
it was evidently quite deserted.
The wave of anger and disappointment which
swept over me as I stood on the veranda, I will
not attempt to describe. It was impossible to
believe that I had failed, hopelessly and igno-
miniously, after my long struggle, after accom-
plishing so much!....I would not give up, I
simply stood there, reluctant to abandon the
place, to jog home in my calèche, a beaten man.
And while I waited, in this agony of furious
indecision, suddenly a sound came out of the
night toward me in the pauses of the wind.
It was the sound of running feet rapidly ap-
proaching the house from the river. I heard
it in a silence between two blasts, pat, pat, upon
the gravel-path—then I lost it in the roar and
rustle, and heard it again much nearer, pat, pat,
pat.
Another silence, the feet had left the gravel
219


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XV
path for the grass—and then, just as I blotted
myself into the hawthorn-bushes, a yard from
the veranda—I saw the runner himself cross-
ing the lawn, with a light, long stride. It was
not de Pétry—that I saw at once—but a man
much younger, He made straight for the
house; I watched him, breathless. With no
special effort at silence he crossed the veran-
da, and fumbled at the prepared door into the
Colonel’s study. Indeed, he left it open behind
him, so I could see plainly the spark of a match
and then the steady light of a lamp. I crept
nearer and looked in. The man’s back was
toward me as he stood at de Pétry's desk: he
had opened a drawer and was hastily rifling it,
tossing the papers it contained right and left
upon the floor. Evidently his haste was great,
his movement swift and nervous, but at last I
saw him pause as if satisfied and hold something
he had found closer to the light for examina-
tion. I was at the door by this time, and I could
see plainly that he held two small square pieces
of yellowish parchment, curiously folded and
sealed.
The sight of them simply swept from me
every instinct of prudence or caution, kindling
me at once to violent action. I had pulled my
220


CHAP. XV THE QUINCUNX CASE
hat well down upon my brow, and no doubt
presented a very passable figure of a desperado.
And desperado I was in the real sense, as I
made straight for the man covering him with
my revolver. He turned with a gasp. He was
only a lad, dark and slim, curly-haired and
brown-eyed; his face marked with Latin rest-
lessness and gayety was now the picture of
amazement and terror.
“Throw up your hands !” I cried to him.
The fellow did not move save to obey me; his
gaze was fastened as if fascinated upon the
shining barrel,-he did not stir even when I
approached nearer to the table, and deliberately
took the two pieces of parchment, (they were
marked 1 and 3) and put them in my pocket.
Then he sprang at my throat.
It was a sudden and brave assault on his part,
and for an instant I was disconcerted. We
struggled violently for the possession of the
pistol, and we were a fair match, for he was a
lithe, strong fellow and active as a cat. I saw
him try to get at his knife and had to keep him
off that and my pistol as well, which was no
light task, although I had some advantage in
weight. The room was small and in our fight
we battered to and fro against the furniture
221


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XV
and amongst the scattered papers. For five
minutes neither gave way and I saw it would
not be easy to beat the man off in a fair combat.
As we drew near the desk therefore, I swept
the lamp to the floor, and at the same in-
stant fired in the air. The man went limp
in my arms at the noise, but I was hindered by
the dark as well as he, and before I realized it
he had wriggled from my grasp and made a
dash from the door to the lawn.
Out across the dewy grass he ran, and I after
him at top speed. I remember regretting as
I went that I was obliged to leave all those
papers scattered about the Colonel’s study, for
they must have been interesting reading, and I
told myself I should return to them afterwards
—such was the irony of my confidence 1 We
had reached the bottom of the lawn, and it was
plain that he was making for the river. Here
I slackened pace, for the thought crossed my
mind that I was really more interested in fol-
lowing than in capturing this fellow. Anxious
therefore to give him the idea I had abandoned
the pursuit, I turned aside into the undergrowth
by the tool-house, crossed the little open space
where I had talked with the nun, and so made
for the St. Lawrence at an angle. The crack-
222


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XV
launch a violent push from the slip. In a
second the wind had us and swept us out into
the river, while the man lay and looked up at
me, stupified. I sat down, having taken out his
knife and thrown it overboard, covered him
with the revolver and spoke to him in Canadian
French.
“Now,” said I, “understand that no one will
hurt you if you behave yourself. If you would
have stopped to hear reason there would have
been no need for all this. I want nothing save
to be taken to Colonel Pétry—for it is he, isn’t
it? who sent you back for those papers? You
are unarmed and I have five shots in this revol-
ver. Moreover should you attempt treachery,
you would have to reckon with the Colonel, for
I am the Gellatly you have heard of, no doubt.
You had best be quiet and obedient, I want
nothing except to be taken to M. de Pétry.”
It was hard to say if he understood me. He
lay still giving merely a sort of grunt. What
he would have done had the water been calm
I cannot say, but certainly our present situation
changed the aspect of affairs. In the middle
of the St. Lawrence it was blowing a gale, and
even while I spoke water splashed into the boat.
I saw the white teeth of little waves around the
224


CHAP. XV THE QUINCUNX CASF,
launch which was drifting at a dangerous angle.
“Get up man,” I called to him roughly, “and
take the wheel. It’s no night for nonsense.”
The other grunted again, sat up slowly,
looked round him and then said with an ex-
pressive shrug: “As for seeing the Colonel
to-night, I have my doubts for both of us. It
was bad enough coming down with the wind.
As for getting back. . . . . . . . . . !”
He did not finish. The launch shivered, re-
ceived a blow on the side and reeled under it;
had he not sprang at once to the wheel we should
have capsized. As it was, we were both
instantly wet through.
“You see,” I called to him good-naturedly,
“it’s a poor time for a quarrel. Shall we call
it off till We are out of this?”
“What were you doing with Colonel’s pa-
pers?” he demanded a trifle less gruff.
“Faith, I thought you were the burglar,”
said I, “till I saw you at the slip there—and
that was no chance for an explanation.”
He seemed struck by this. “And you only
want to be taken to the Colonel?”
“That’s all,” said I, and ducked to avoid
another wetting. The wind took his answer
from me, and he had to repeat with his hands
to his mouth.
225


CHAPTER XVI
THE CHASE of THE NáNUPHAR
The craft was a fifteen-foot open shell, with
an engine forward and a padded seat aft. She
was new and staunch with air-tight compart-
ments, but sat low in the water, and had no
protection from the sea save by a canvas cover,
adjusted on hoops. This was now put up by
my companion while I steered, affording wel-
come shelter to a man exceedingly ill-prepared
for a sail on the St. Lawrence. Even with this
in place, we took in water enough.
Fortunately, the clearness of the night let
us see enough to avoid some of the worst seas,
and once we had run past the town we hugged
the shore more closely and made better time.
We exchanged but few remarks, my unknown
companion tended the engine, and, finding he
knew his business, I obeyed him promptly at the
wheel. Meanwhile, my mind, freed by the
action from most of its anxieties, began for
the first time to recapitulate, to set in order and
to understand some of the incidents of the past
227


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVI
month, with a view to the pressing dangers of
the near future. It is odd but I have never
been clearer-headed than I was on that voyage,
when I felt that a careless word and when I
knew that a careless action meant almost cer-
tain death. This possibility however, seemed
trivial compared to the crisis I was approach-
ing, and for which I mentally, as it were, cleared
my decks for action.
Long since, though too much occupied to
reflect on it, I had succeeded in disentangling
the two threads which formed the warp and
woof of the mystery, and I had traced them
separately to their two causes; one the nefarious
proceedings of the present which I had decided
to be elaborate smuggling, the other the tragic
happenings of three years back. When you add
to these two main currents, the two minor
efforts, i.e., my own and de Pétry's, to obtain
the precious formula, you see at once the proba-
bilities of a general mystification. Indeed,
from their point of view the mystery must have
appeared absolutely uncanny. For suddenly,
I walk in upon this confident and secure set of
rascals—I myself, bearing a name only too
well-known, in open search of another equally
significant—I, myself, full of reserves, cautions,
228


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVI
cleverly in smuggling precious stones across the
border, a lucrative business, which, properly
managed, is not nearly so hard as it ought to
be. The “Nénuphar,” the right number of con-
federates and an ingenious variety of methods,
had probably stood him in good stead for
years—and so far as I could see, he himself was
in no danger. Some unfortunate would be
caught in the United States, but there would
be nothing to connect him with M. le Colonel de
Pétry de Chambord, that notable citizen of the
province of Quebec.
Now that I was likely to meet this man, both
our masks laid aside, what was to be my course?
I possessed three numbers of the quincunx
formula, I had two more to collect, and I had
to help the girl according to my word. I was
alone, without resources except a revolver and
a few cartridges, now without even an ally as
I had had in Chavaignac. Truly the case
looked desperate and the danger pressing, and
yet I must go on, trusting to the impression of
my power which these people had received.
There had been no talk between my com-
panion and me for a long time. I tended the
wheel, he bent constantly above his engine, or
bailed out forward whenever we shipped water.
230


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVI
listen. There was an affair last month, you
understand. They chased us, and one of them
paid for it before we got away. I believe the
“Nénuphar” is too well known. I slid by
unnoticed when I came up, but now they mean to
overhaul us. They must have put up below
Montmorenci.”
I also saw the lights of a good-sized steam-
tug setting out from shore—about a mile behind
UIS.
“Can she do it?” I enquired.
He shrugged his shoulders. “At least we
can give her some trouble,” said he, and turned
to his engine. We had an advantage in being
able to keep to the smoother, shallower water
near shore, while the police-tug was forced to
keep out in the wilder mid-stream. Thus for
half-an-hour we seemed to gain, but the gain
was but temporary. Fresh puffs of black
smoke rose from the stack of the tug, and
showed that she had by no means abandoned
the pursuit. My companion whistled.
“There will be music in the mountains,”
said he. “Have you a good story up your
sleeve, sir? for you’re going to need it. And
when we are so near, too !”
“They can’t see us,” I suggested, “because
of this canvas cover. Can you swim?”
232


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVI
water and then let go. The little craft started
forward with a bound of increased speed.
We were too far to be seen in the darkness
except under the keenest scrutiny, and soon saw
that we had succeeded in concentrating their
attention on the ‘Nénuphar.” So far so good,
but the water was bitter and running in short
choppy waves. To keep track of each other
in that rough and icy sea was no easy matter
and had not the current set in an eddy toward
the shore just then, we should have been swept
helplessly out into mid-stream. My companion
was a good swimmer, but the task was too much
for a man alone; we had to rest frequently, each
helping the other; once a big floating timber
hit him on the head, and I thought all was over
with him. I had a little liquor in a flask and
I supported him on a log for a few minutes till
I could pour it down his throat. All this time
my ears were strained for the sound of oars, but
none came; and after ten minutes rest on the
log, drifting helplessly, I struck out for shore
again, towing him. Criminal he may have
been; he was no coward, and he obeyed me like
a soldier, or we should never have come out of
it. I swam slowly and steadily, and he with
his feet when he could summon the strength,
234


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVI
strike, I think. There is an auberge, Picot's,
about half-a-mile away; what do you say to
trying for it? I am not sure of my own legs in
the mountains, unless I get thoroughly warmed
first.”
“Very good,” said I, and we set out.
He seemed at least to know his ground, and
led the way up the steep cliff, over fields and
through woods without faltering. By and by
we came out upon a road, and not far off a light
twinkled in a low, steep-roofed cottage, half
inn, half village store. My companion led the
way, and after some knocking and banging, he
succeeded in rousing the proprietor, M'sieu
Picot, to our needs.
I could not but admire the fluency with which
a whole imaginary history rolled from my
friend’s tongue in explanation of our plight—
and the details with which he worked it out.
How we had tried to row from somewhere on
the Isle d’Orleans across to the north shore, and
were carried down and upset. Doubting my
own command of the patois I said very little,
playing the part of a man half-dead from his
immersion—but no one seemed to suspect me,
and as I caught a glimpse of myself in a look-
ing-glass against the wall I did not wonder.
236


CHAP. XVI THE QUINCUNX CASE
My wig was still on, but a line of gum on my
chin showed where the river had ravished my
beard. I admired my comrade's self-posses-
sion when he first saw me without that article,
which was now tossing on the St. Lawrence, or,
who knows puzzling the police force.
The friendly Picot had a roaring fire in a few
minutes, and some grog of no innocent inten-
tion was served to us. Under ordinary cir-
cumstances the stuff would have put me under
the table, but now it only served to give me back
my sinews. We were at Picot's an hour and
got thoroughly warmed, dried and fed, for
which service the honest man would have taken
no money. But we insisted and paid our score;
incidentally I laid in a fresh supply of car-
tridges, and just as the dawn was breaking,
cold and cloudy, we set out again upon what
I hoped would be the last stage of the journey.
Picot's house stood on high ground, with a
view over the tumbling river, but there was no
sign left either of the police-boat or of the ‘Né-
nuphar!”—Indeed I often have wondered what
became of that graceful pleasure-boat. Incon-
gruous in her name and her bright brasses, she
must have been about many a dark and secret
business and borne many a strange cargo and
237


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVI
desperate crew in her time. Now it was all
over—her career as a pirate craft; and I
seemed to have a vision of her, dragged woe-
begone and white and vanquished, astern of
the conquering tug.
238


CHAPTER XVII.
PASQUALINO CONVERSES
As we turned our backs upon Picot's and the
St. Lawrence, and faced the wild, new country
and the hill-range where the road climbed, a
sort of constraint fell between my companion
and me. The immediate danger and the need
for action had swept from us the feeling caused
by our struggle in the Maison de l'Orme, but
now in the quiet of our walk this partially
returned. It came upon me that I did not even
know his name, and yet not only my success in
this errand, but my life too, were in his hands.
We trudged in silence for about a mile—the
road rising all the time and the dawn brighten-
ing behind us, and the result of my reflections
at least was to determine that I must find out
how he stood affected toward me.
“By-the-way,” I said to him carelessly, “we
have been too busy since we met to think of it—
but do you know I’ve never heard your name?”
“Oh you can call me Pasquale;” he replied,
“that will do as well as any. I am Pasqualino
239


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVII
with the old man, and last names do not count
in the mountains.”
“Is yours Wettori by any chance?” I asked,
at random. But the name had no effect on
him; and he shook his head.
“No. I do not know that name,” he said,
and we walked on a few paces in silence till
he took up the question in his turn.
“And you. . . . . . ” he said, “are Gellatly. I
remember that. Antonio—was it not?”
“Yes,” I replied, “Antonio.”
“And a friend of the old man’s, I think you
said? You want to go to him at once?”
I saw something more of his face than I had
done yet for the morning light fell clear on it.
It was drawn and white and weary, but there
was a lurking humor in the eye. I had to take
some risks, so I took them then and there.
“There is a person I would like to see first.”
“Oho!” said he, “a lady, perhaps?”
I nodded, feeling a bit nervous as to the
result of this confession, but the humor in his
eye simply broadened into laughter, and he
slapped his thigh.
“Well done, Pasqualinol” he cried out, still
laughing, “I saw at first what affair this was,
when you landed on my head in the ‘Nénuphar’
240


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVII
not that kind. I said there as I say now, not
one of them would have done it—not one! But
I speak as a friend—I warn as a friend, this
is not the right day. The Chief is in hard luck
and he is not easy at the best of times. Now,
when the current runs against us, it is sheer
madness to disobey him, and merely for a
woman too! He is capable of anything to-day;
and what good will it do you to get a bullet
in your brain under her window? Better take
my advice, and try it later on when all this has
blown over.”
“Pasqualino,” I began, “I see you speak as
a friend, but you do not understand. M. de
Pétry need not trouble about me, for I shall not
add to his troubles, unless he tries to keep me
from seeing Mademoiselle Marguerite. I have
come all this way to see her and to take her
away if she will come. You must have known
that she was kept there unwillingly.”
“That is true,” said he, “for I myself saw
her in tears, and not a day ago. But they said
she had been talking—that she had endangered
us all.”
“Pooh! A girl—” said I, “what did she
know? Depend on it, Pasqualino, that is only
an excuse to keep her away from me.”
242


CHAP. XVII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“But those papers of the Colonel’s? '' he
asked doubtfully, and scratching his head,
“You have them still, I suppose?”
“We will talk about those—but first let me
tell you how you came to go back for them—
and that will show you I speak the truth. He
talked with her, did he not—to get her to give
up to him a paper like this?”
Pasqualino turned his surprised face toward
Ine.
“That he did—for I heard while on guard at
the door. Then he called me. . . . . . 3 *
“And told you to take the ‘Nénuphar’ and
go back, and get those two scraps, that he might
prove to her he had them. Now shall I tell
you the truth, Pasqualino? They belong to her,
they are part of a legacy, and he has no more
title to them than you, my friend.”
“It may be,” replied he, “but where do you
come in, with your revolver?”
“I am trying to save her and hers,” I
answered earnestly, “Your chief is a great
robber, Pasqualino—why should he take every-
thing? These are Mademoiselle’s papers and
I mean to give them to her.”
“You do not give me a light task,” said the
Italian shaking his head—” “What am I to
243


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVII
say to him? You speak very easily of the
Chief—but have you ever seen him angry?
Suppose I am too friendly to oppose you,
Antonio, what excuse can I give for coming
empty-handed?”
“It is the easiest thing in the world. Tell
him you were interrupted in your search, that
the house is watched, which between ourselves
is very likely true. Somebody found poor
Dufour, remember—and I have an idea that the
authorities are not wholly satisfied with the
account of his death.”
Pasqualino whistled long and softly. We
walked on. The day had fully come in splendid
tints of orange and russet on the fringes of dark
purple cloud. Our road wandered between
thickets of alder, pine and birch, with sumach
beginning to show its scarlet in their midst.
Great hill-tops rose around us; here and there
sounded a cow-bell as the animals came out to
pasture. The air was very sweet and pure, and
the first rays of the sun warmed us to summer
again.
“We are going to some mountain village?”
I asked presently.
“It is Bon Ange Gardien,” he replied—“We
have only two miles further to go. And what
244


CHAP. XVII THE QUINCUNX CASE
are we to do when we get there. . . . . . . . !” He
finished with a shrug.
“But de Pétry does not live in the village,
of course, ”I suggested. “You can stow me
away in some house there if you will.”
My knowledge of the ‘Chief' as he called him,
seemed greatly to amuse Pasqualino; he
chuckled loud and long.
“You know the old man, don’t you?” said
he. “Well, well, I am not one to go back on a
comrade, although this—mind you, this is no
trifling matter! He is not one to be caught
without a pistol or to spare the knife. . . . . . 9 y
“I know that l” I answered grimly.
“And there is not a chance in the world for
the three, if he catches us,” Pasqualino con-
tinued, “you, and her and me.... buona motte l’’
“You’re a good fellow, Pasquale,” said I,
and gripped him by the hand.
“As to that,” he answered me, laughing his
reckless laugh, “better the Chief's vengeance
than the State’s, I say. I was never made for
a gaol, sir. Since the thing looks bound to end
one way or the other, I make my choice of the
first. 'Tis quicker—and he would do it neatly.
These policemen are rotten bad shots.”
“I believe you will not have to play target,”
245


CHAP. XVII THE QUINCUNX CASE
ago—then we raked in the cash I can tell you!
But he has lost man after man. Your brother,
now, no one ever managed a jeweller better—I
can see yours is a talented family l’’
He paused, but I was too much disturbed by
this revelation of the character borne by my
gratuitous relative, to reply.
“He was a terrible loss to us. And we had
to give up a whole line of business which had
paid admirably, when Balsamo went off too.
You knew him, perhaps. He gave us all our
little prescriptions, such as were needed to
carry on the work—his drops to put in a
fellow’s beer—no taste and not even a headache
when one woke up ! To say nothing of his
compound for opening a safe. Would you
believe it, he never wrote one of them down, so
that when he died, well you can imagine the
disgust of the Chief.”
“I rather fancy counterfeiting,” I suggested
abstractedly, busy with my own thoughts.
“Counterfeiting—a magnificent trade l’’ he
agreed enthusiastically, “but an expensive out-
lay—Ah, look sir, there’s Bon Ange Gardien!”
I turned to look where Pasqualino pointed.
The road ran in a cleft between two middling-
sized hills, and at our right side down the ravine
24?


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVII
a mountain torrent gushed. Ahead the hills
rose to mountains, and the road vanished and
re-appeared rising all the time to where a thin
church spire cut the air, with a group of steep-
roofed cottages clustered round it. Instinct-
ively we both stopped.
“He may be on the look-out,” I suggested,
but my companion shook his head.
“His place is further on,” he replied, “and
he does not often come to the village. Still you
are right—it would not do to have two seen.
Here sir, I have a plan. There is an old hut
up on the mountain beyond there—it was used
for a goat stable in the winter, but is empty now.
I will start you on the path. You shall give me
a note for Mademoiselle, and I will try to get
it to her. We will arrange a meeting, some
time when I am on guard.”
This plan seemed feasible, so down I sat by
the roadside and scribbled a note to Marguerite.
Pasqualino took it, and then hurried me along
the road to a point where I could see on the hill-
side far above the village, the brown roof of
the hut. Then he showed me a path in the
bushes, and warning me that he might be many
hours returning, he set off briskly for Bon Ange
Gardien. As for me, I wasted no time, but
248


CHAP. XVII THE QUINCUNX CASE
started at once up the wood-trail reaching the
stable after ten minutes climb. It was a little
shed, partly ruinous, one story high save at one
end where there was a loft filled with hay. The
trees clustered thick about the building, and
there was no other path save the half-obliter-
ated goat track. The interior was uninviting,
but the loft promised better, and I climbed up
there to sink into the hay with a sigh of content.
There was a sort of little window in the roof,
and I could see above the underbrush and down
the hill-side to the rough little village, where
the gilt cross on the church shone in the sun.
But after looking and listening for an hour,
and seeing nothing out of the way in the village,
and hearing naught but the chatter of the squir-
rels, I began to be overpoweringly drowsy and
heavy, so gathering the hay around, under and
over me, I stretched out and was soon deep
asleep.


CHAPTER XVIII
THE MAN WITH THE BADGE
The sun came round into the west and in due
time thrust a ray through the chink of my hay-
loft which fell on my face and awoke me. I
turned over grumbling in the straw, bestuck
with it, like Edgar, and sat up blinking at
the sun-ray. I had to guess the hour for my
watch had resented its bath in the St. Law-
rence, and I knew the length of my nap chiefly
from the overpowering hunger which beset me.
This was so strong and clamorous that I de-
cided to gain the ground at once and hunt for
berries with which to appease it until the com-
ing of Pasqualino. But when I looked out of
my little window, I saw something which
changed my intention and put my hunger at
once into the background.
I looked down the hill-side upon the village,
the gorge, the distant mountain-range all peace-
ful in the mellow stillness of this August after-
noon. The sun was sinking in a transparent
sky, the wind had vanished, sunk to a little
250


CHAP. XVIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
breeze which stirred the alders. It was de-
liciously warm and promised a golden sunset,_
just the day and the hour when a man would
climb the hill and sit under a grey pine to smoke
his pipe, and yet the sight of him filled me with
misgivings.
He was a tall, elderly man, pale-faced and
sharp-featured, and wearing a short, scanty
beard. His hat lay on the ground beside him,
and thus I saw he was bald. He wore a Nor-
folk jacket, heavy whipcord breeches, and dusty
leather leggins. Steadily he smoked, looking
out over the sunset;-and I had a sudden indefi-
nite impression that I had seen him before.
At all events, I did not feel inclined to emerge
from the goat-stable while he was there, but
possessed my soul in patience and waited for
him to finish his smoke and move on. He was
most deliberate, and I grew more and more im-
patient as I crouched there watching him turn
his head and knock the ashes out of his pipe.
By and by he took out a pocket-book, unfolded
some papers from it and studied them with at-
tention, his pipe clinched between his teeth.
Then he put them away and began systemati-
cally to examine the workings of a series of ob-
jects which he took from the pockets of his
251


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XVIII
“I’m up here in the hay,” I returned crawl-
ing out and preparing to descend.
“I have a message for you,” he said. “Mio
Dio ! But I am glad you are safe—and you are
famished, no doubt.”
“Starving!” said I as I dropped to the
ground and snatched the hunch of bread he
held out to me.
“I wish I had more for you,” said Pasqua-
lino regretfully as he saw me set my teeth in
it, “but I could not get anything else without
running risks.”
“Oh this will do till my work is over, partic-
ularly if you bring me an appointment.”
“You are to come with me now;” said he, “it
is as good a chance as you are likely to have at
any time. I am on guard, while the Chief has
gone down to Bon Ange Gardien. But he will
be back by ten o’clock so we must not lose
time.”
“And Marguerite?”
“I have contrived a way that she can speak
to you through a barred window. She cannot
get out, he is too clever for that, but perhaps
you and she can arrange something.”
“And I also have seen,” I remarked finish-
ing my bread, ‘‘something which I think you
ought to know, my friend.”
254


CHAP. XVIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
I told Pasqualino about the man with the
badge then and there, and I could hear him
whistle in reply.
“It does not look good for the Chief, nor
for any of us for that matter,” he said shaking
his head, “However, we don’t help matters by
staying here, and we have a rough walk ahead
of us. Are you ready?”
I nodded, admiring his coolness in the face
of what he must have seen was a pressing dan-
ger, and we set off forthwith from the goat-
stable, Pasqualino leading.
The building, as I have said, stood on a spur
of the mountain above the village, concealed in
the thick undergrowth which covered the slopes.
Through this undergrowth the Italian plunged,
guided by a track which I confess I, myself, was
unable to see. The night was absolutely clear
and brilliant with stars, but the woods were
sombre enough, and more than once I begged
Pasqualino to light the lantern I saw he car-
ried.
“Not here, this is easy enough, and it might
be seen,” he replied, striking through what
looked to me a pathless thicket of blackberry.
“The way grows harder presently, and then we
will need the light.”
255


CHAP. XVIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
Lending my aid to the cord, we soon pulled
in a heavier rope, and then a construction, heav-
ier still, began to unwind itself from a tree on
the opposite side of the stream. Slowly, with
creaks and jerks, we drew into place a narrow
suspension bridge formed of shingles fastened
to rope cables, and held into position by a
system of pulleys, on either bank. Pasqualino
fastened this rope firmly remarking:
“We will leave the bridge up, for we may
need it, you know !” and then, mounting a
tree-trunk to reach the proper level, he crossed
like a monkey, and called to me from the other
side. I was frank in thinking that I hoped we
might not need that bridge again. It hung,
swaying to my weight, over the very curve of
the cataract, and shrouded in the boiling clouds
of mist. The guard-rope was slippery and
damp, the shingles like glass; the spray shut
off my view, the roar of the falling water con-
fused my head, already shaky from lack of
food. I was horribly nervous and unsure, and
I thought every minute to drop helpless into
the fall beneath; but somehow I stuck on, though
my forehead was wet with perspiration when I
reached the further bank. No time for rest,
however; my guide was in a hurry. Lantern
257


CHAP. XVIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“One minute,” I called as he turned away,
and without stopping to count I thrust a roll
of greenbacks into his hand. I had a feeling
that when Pasqualino and I met again we might
not have time for such formalities.
He wrung me by the hand, and then he left
me standing before a window of which he had
raised the sash, but not the shade. Heavy iron
bars crossed it. I knocked once with my finger.
A step sounded within and the shade was quietly
drawn up.
“Is it you, Mr. Adrian?” said Marguerite’s
voice. The lamp-light within let me see the
simple interior of the camp—a square small
room, the barred windows, even the fire-place
barred also. Marguerite stood there, dressed
all in black, her face and voice wholly lacking
that sullen stolidity I remembered, but tremu-
lous and strained, her eyes full of sorrow and
terror, and her tones of gratitude and fear.
“I am sorry I have been so long coming,
Mademoiselle,” I said as I leaned exhausted
against the window.
“Poor Mr. Adrian, how tired you look!” she
cried compassionately, “Glad as I am you
have come, I fear it has been at too great a
cost—you look utterly worn-out! Let me get
you a glass of wine!”
259


CHAP. XVIII THE QUINCUNX CASE
“Oh no! no!” protested Marguerite turning
her white face toward me, “that is not the vital
question!...... Just now I-I am alarmed for
your safety, Mr. Adrian, far more than for my
own. I am not so frightened as I was. He will
not hurt me I think, only keep me here awhile.”
“Which is bad enough, God knows!”
“Not terrible—not so bad as I feared—
believe me. Oh if there was a chance of escape
I would take it—you know that, but there is
not a crack. And he keeps the keys himself
always, night and day, he does not trust Pas-
qualino.”
“And there is nobody to protest, to call
tupon l’” I cried in indignation.
“There is nobody; he is all powerful.”
I seemed to see what she meant, and for the
first time to understand what this girl’s life
had been. How terror-ridden and how helpless
must these past months have seemed to her!
“Mr. Adrian you ought not to stay here, you
must go,” she continued regaining firmness of
tone and manner. “I thank you for your kind-
ness, for your offers of help, but believe me,
you run more actual danger than I. Toward
you he will be perfectly ruthless, but he will
not kill me now, I think.”
263


CHAPTER XIX
TEIE STAIN ON NUMBER FIVE
Before I had time to speak, she pulled the
shade down and the sash. I heard her cross the
room within, and then silence fell again, with
the distant footstep mounting steadily, steadily
nearer. But I stood my ground. An idea had
come to me, irresistibly born of the conversation
and pointing only one way. If I could parley
with him, if he did not settle with me in the
first instant, we might drive a bargain. I had
three numbers of the Quincunx, with which I
might purchase Marguerite’s freedom. At
least I felt that I must try.
During the last month I had brushed elbows
more than once with sudden death; we had been
point to point, as it were, like antagonists at
fencing when I also had my chance. Now I
must stand there in the open and wait for him,
counting the seconds which drew him nearer,
as in all probability the last of my life. True,
I had my revolver, but from our relative posi-
tions he could not fail to see me first, so that
265


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIX
weapon gave me little confidence. I was very
cold, for some reason, and shivered from head
to foot as I stood, my eyes strained toward the
wood-path, almost as if I expected to see some
horrible and deadly monster issue forth. Once
I lost the foot-step—surely, he lingered on the
way?—no, there it was again and approaching
fast. How intolerably long the instants now!
My mouth was parched, and the thought in my
mind was Cecil, Cecil, Cecil!... . . . . . . . . . . .
If you had told me I should have to call to
him, I could never have done it—l He was
deep in thought and did not notice me at all, as
his fine active figure brushed with the dew of
the woods came rapidly up toward the house.
The voice with which I called him I should never
have recognized for my own.
“M. de Pétry!”
He stopped, and threw up his head; his hand
flashed to his pocket. I held out my revolver,
uncocked, muzzle downward.
“You see—it’s trucel” I remarked. He did
not lower his arm.
“For you, perhaps l’’ he said with an ugly
laugh—“Mr. Gellatly—Adrian l’’
I do not know why, but at his voice my blood
again began to circulate.
266


CHAP. XIX THE QUINCUNX CASE
the calm, erect poise, the quiet manner, and the
evidently disturbing effect which these gentle-
manlike qualities produced upon our captors.
During all of our first uninterrupted conversa-
tion, I had seen that the Colonel held in his
left hand an ordinary pocket letter-case. He
had not even troubled to put it away while
threatening me with the revolver, and at this
moment it was still in his grasp. Now however,
he glanced at it, opened it with dexterous fingers
and produced therefrom a small square piece
of parchment curiously folded, and marked with
a number. This he handed to me, with a smile
and a slight bow.
“I think that is what you wanted, Mr.
Adrian?” said he.
The reader of course can easily guess what
it was, and that I bent eagerly toward the
light to examine it. But the number was not
what I expected. It was a 5, and disfigured
moreover by an irregular brown stain which
blotched the surface of the parchment; I tapped
this with my finger.
“My namesake?” I enquired.
De Pétry gave the faintest shrug. “A foolish
fellow !” he commented in his suave voice, and
I knew at once how the first Anthony Gellatly
271


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XIX
had died. Still I could not forget what I had
asserted to the Colonel ten minutes before, and
I turned to the detective who had been watching
the transaction with curiosity.
“I am really Philip Adrian,” I assured him,
and thereupon pulled off my wig, and let the
lantern-light show full upon my face and my
light hair. The man in astonishment but still
suspicious leaned forward, and as he had hoped,
this gave de Pétry a chance.
What passed was swift and indefinite. I was
conscious chiefly of the officer gripping my arm.
An instant’s struggle, two sharp reports from
the pistol, the detective staggering back yet not
hurt; a plunge and crackle in the near-by
undergrowth, the sound of running feet in the
woods, and then of feet in pursuit; and through
it all the piercing, shrill note of a whistle blown
for aid. An intolerable, prolonged sound this,
which seemed to torture me worse than all the
rest put together.
I had made no effort to move, although my
constable clung to me as though I had. . . . . . The
woods now were full of running, and men's
voices calling, and flickering lights. . . . . . I kept
putting my hand to my head, and repeating over
and over to the officer, “I am Philip Adrian, I
272


CHAP. XX THE QUINCUNX CASE
and I, and the dead man kept that night's vigil.
In the morning after a substantial breakfast,
I felt strong enough to crawl down to the
village. We must have been an odd procession,
the officers, carrying the dead man, while the
girl aided me—. At Bon Ange Gardien we
went to the Presbytëre; the good, bewildered
priests there hurried about and got horses to
take us to the nearest railway station. The
officers were to carry me, and what remained of
de Pétry back to Quebec; but Marguerite pro-
posed, so she told me very quietly, to go to Ste.
Anne for a time. She had a friend there, she
said.
“And afterwards?” I asked, profoundly
moved with pity for her, “What is to become of
you Mademoiselle?”
“Oh afterwards—” she answered turning
aside her face, “there is always the Convent,
where I went to school. And—I have one rela-
tive living you know.”
I judged she referred to her mother, and I
made no answer. We were standing in the
little neat garden of the Presbytëre, still bright
with late flowers. The gilded cross on the low
grey building shone in the sun, and I caught
myself staring at it in a kind of daze. It all
277


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XX.
quite free to go where I would. This should
have been home at once had I been well enough,
but my nerves had gone to pieces temporarily,
and the Doctor would not let me leave the
Frontenac for the present. I had to write my
mother and Uncle Adrian, (who had been agita-
ting Canada generally over my disappearance)
of my partial success, and then I had simply to
rest for a few days. From Cecil there was not
a word.
The third day from the tragedy at Bon Ange
Gardien a letter postmarked Montreal was
handed me. It read as follows:— I translate
from the French.
“DEAR MR. ADRIAN–for I believe that is the
name of our late kind guest—I have learned
only by the newspapers of the death, stupendous
and terrifying, of my Papa bien-aimé. In the
midst of my natural prostration, what do I
find?—that the police, with too much of zeal,
are searching for me, daughter innocent and
sorrowful of that maligned character. My
sensitive delicacy shrinks at the possibility of
publicity in my grief. I pray you, dear Mr.
Adrian, in the name of hospitality, if not of
some tenderer emotion, (for we were very close
in those days, were we not?) use your influence
to stop this persecution and allow me to retain
280


CHAP. XX THE QUINCUNX CASE
my liberty, and in privacy to shed my tears.
It is Marguerite of course, ungrateful girl, who
has brought about this éclaircissement, and evi-
dently, your penchant for her is known to the
authorities!—I enclose a paper which accidently
fell into my hands last spring, and which I
gather you are anxious to procure. Papa never
suspected I had it, as I thought it prudent to
say nothing, for with dear Papa, no one ever
knew what might happen. I rely on your
chivalry, Monsieur, and beg you to receive the
assurance of my consideration the most distin-
guished.
CLAIRE.”
The enclosure had fallen to the floor. Me-
chanically I stooped to pick it up, but even when
I held and saw it with my own eyes, I could
hardly bring myself to believe that Claire had
all the time been the possessor of number Four.
It was the night of the tenth of August, when
I left the train at Ashuelot, my papers in my
pocket. You might think me exultant over my
good fortune, my success, going proudly to
|Uncle Adrian, the five numbers in my posses.
sion,-those five scraps which had led indirectly
at least, to two deaths, if not a third; which had
been stolen and restored, yielded up by fear,
extorted at the pistol-point, and sold for the
281


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XX
price of a chance for liberty! There was much
in their history which I did not even yet entirely
understand, for it was not until a fortnight
later that I received the narrative which serves
to make clear my own. At that instant, as I
dismissed the station-wagon, choosing to walk
up to the house, there was not a thought which
need have clouded my real achievement. Yet
I have never been more depressed in my life.
The night was very warm, as I slowly
climbed the hill. The Works’ long windows
glowed, the sound of their machinery clacked
and hummed. It was useless for me to pretend
any longer that I had been led by the wish to
assist Uncle Adrian to heap fortune upon for-
tune. In my present mood, so great was my
dislike and distaste for those five parts of
the Formula, that I was inclined to give over
our agreement and never touch money, for
which it seemed to me, men had so dreadfully
schemed, quarrelled, betrayed one another and
died. All that had passed in the last two
months had simply added to the feelings with
which I had left this place, so that my impulse
became stronger to take an independent course;
to see Cecil, to find if I might hope, and if not,
to throw Uncle Adrian’s agreement gladly in
282


CHAPTER XXI
THE SECOND ACCOUNT OF BALSAMO
(In a letter to Philip Adrian.)
MY DEAR MR. ADRIAN:—
The arguments which have been used to
induce me to send you this account have unques-
tionably carried with them a power of menace.
Personally I had hoped that my sincere repent-
ance and sacred calling were enough protection
from the outside world, and that I might be
allowed to finish in peace and hope a life which
has had more than its share of storm. But
such evidently is not to be the case. Yeu have
been represented to me as the friend and helper
of my daughter, and although the convent does
not recognize that tie, yet I must still do so in
my heart. Moreover, my own conversation
with you on one occasion, was enough to show
me that you possessed (how, I am still puzzling
to discover) a very full knowledge of all the
outside events of my late husband's life. That
you should be in a position to demand the cause
and reason for these is not therefore strange,
and you hold my present peace too firmly in
your grasp for me to disregard the request. I
had fancied you more generous, but let that
284


CHAP. XXI THE QUINCUNX CASE
pass. I will comply fully as possible with your
wish, stipulating only in return that I may be
allowed to pass what remains of my life undis-
turbed, in prayers for the living as for the dead.
Truly, I send this to you realizing that I put a
dreadful weapon into your hand, but be
charitable in your thoughts to a woman, who,
whatever her faults, has certainly suffered and
expiated them in the utmost bitterness.
I was born on the Island of Martinique, and
at the age of fifteen went to Paris to complete
my education, and try for a position which
would in some sort relieve my parents from the
expense of keeping me. My father, who went
with me, succumbed to the change of climate
before I had finished my seventeenth year. My
mother, who had a number of younger children,
could not leave her island home, and I was
therefore forced to enter upon life unprotected
and at a dangerous age. I was good-looking,
and I was proud; I had all the fancy for luxury
and gaiety which is natural to every young girl.
The only road open to me to attain these was
marriage so soon as possible, and this I quickly
had to recognize by meeting a man named
Joseph Balsamo some fifteen or twenty years
older than myself, who made proposals to me
almost immediately.
Balsamo had drifted to Paris in his vague
and eccentric fashion, in search of the success
which to his talents and visionary enthusiasms
285


CHAP. XXI THE QUINCUNX CASE
drugged and robbed during that time, or the
burglaries committed by the use of an explosive
powder more powerful and more certain than
dynamite. I have every reason to believe that
Balsamo furnished the means, and Vettori the
agents for these crimes, although of course I
shall never know all the details.
For a long time indeed, I lost sight of my
lover, until one fatal morning when he walked
in person into my little parlor. Imagine my
feelings when he told me that he was a member
of Mr. Adrian's house-party under his real
name of du Caylus. When he had quieted my
jealousy (for I had heard of Mr. Adrian’s
pretty daughter) he finally came to the real
point.
He had made, it appears, earlier in the year,
a bargain with my husband to share in the
probable profits of the formula, on which Bal-
samo was experimenting for his employer. It
was Vettori who urged the chemist to delay
closing the matter with his patron, and mean-
while, to try to make better terms elsewhere. He
had now reason to believe the discovery existed
but Balsamo was distrustful, and would give
him no copy. His object therefore was to try
and get it, through me, and using his power, he
soon gained my consent.
The task was not easy, for my husband was
violently suspicious of everybody, and only
really anxious that his daughter should be bene-
289


CHAP. XXI THE QUINCUNX CASE
he must have made a frantic appeal for money,
to free him from the toils of his enemy. This
appeal failed utterly, and the chemist became
desperate. He resolved to break with Vettori
in a final interview.
The hour was arranged for late that night.
Vettori or du Caylus pleaded a headache and
retired early to his room. My information of
what happened comes from him of course, but
I know him now, and I note his care that Balsa-
mo should come to him, and not he go to Balsa-
mo. In plainer words, I believe he had already
resolved upon what afterwards occurred.
A violent dialogue took place between the
two men, which ended in a shot from Vettori’s
revolver. Balsamo pitched over dead, his own
pistol exploding in the fall, to be heard also by
the dancers below.
I have shown you, Monsieur, that Wettori was
no ordinary man. His quickness, his resource
were at once put into play. He employed the
few moments while confusion reigned in the
house in preparing an explanation. His first
act was to take the papers from the dead man—
among which we afterwards found, not the
whole, but number Three of the Formula; his
second to fill the chemist’s pocket with articles
of jewelry snatched in haste from an adjoining
room. This done he opened the door, and
offered Mr. Adrian’s guests a story of
attempted burglary and assassination, which
291


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XXI
here, Monsieur, that at the first, de Pétry had
been willing to admit the chance of your igno-
rance, the possibility of mere coincidences in
this affair. These my daughter vehemently
asserted all through, and she was right, yet did
not everything point to the contrary?
The week which followed was one to Wettori
of growing anxieties. He had counted on your
mailing or receiving letters; you did neither.
You must have been remarkably adroit and
bold to baffle and confuse him as you did, for
at every point he seemed to feel that you held
vitally important knowledge in reserve. Your
absolute disregard of your own danger mad-
dened him by its suggestion of secret allies, of
forces held in reserve. Stung by the mystery,
and struggling against a growing sense of
panic, they tried unsuccessfully to threaten you.
Marguerite however, strong in her own opinion
of your ignorance, gave you warning, upon
which de Pétry locked her in her room, and
sent for me.
Threatened at first by the common danger,
my own interview with you threatened me with
a particular danger in connection with Balsa-
mo's death. The fact that you revived the
matter of the Formula made things worse
rather than better, for I suspected Balsamo's
diary of containing entries and names perilous
to us all. At de Pétry's wish I had made a trip
with Marguerite, (on the excuse to my religious
296


CHAP. XXI THE QUINCUNX CASE
superiors of a dying relative who might be good
for a bequest) a month or so before, to the cot-
tage in search of the diary and papers. I found
the cabinet moved and the bulk of the papers
missing; the one or two sheets left I destroyed.”
with my very own hands. Your avowed real
name brought the danger much closer, and I
advised de Pétry to send Marguerite away at
once. I did not report to him the whole of my
talk with you, however, for the reason that
Marguerite's state had touched my heart and
I was anxious if it could be done safely, to have
her finally released. This was my first and
only treachery to the dead man.
Here ends my personal action in the affair,
for I was obliged to return at once to the con-
vent, where I awaited developments in unimag-
inable anxiety. Marguerite tells me you ob-
tained number Two of the Formula from Cha-
vaignac and two of de Pétry's three numbers
from Pasqualino. You had suggested to de
Pétry on parting that you had given my daugh-
ter important papers, which was untrue, and I
fail to understand this error.” However, de
Pétry waited some time before attempting to
fly to his retreat in the mountains, and would
*Note by P. A. This is what I saw. Chapter 2.
*Note by P. A. The reader has gathered my sug-
gestion to be a ruse, as narrated in Chapter XIV.
297


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XXI
not say. How could I, in my position, with
my poor little mother waiting so lonely and
patient in New York, how could I think of
marriage, and speak of it, to Uncle Adrian,
about his daughter! Yet speak I must ere
long as became a man of honor.
“What do you think?” I asked Cecil, as we
turned the last page of Marianna's story.
“That you are a genius, of course!” she
replied, prompt and loyally. I put her hand
against my lips.
“Dear, I was not asking for such praise,
sweet as it is to me; I only meant, what do you
think of the moment, when I hand him this,
to speak to your father? Will it not be a good
chance?”
“Just as you like Phil,” she answered, with
a look of combined relief and alarm.
“If it were a question of liking,” I pursued
somewhat grimly, “I should never mention it
to him at all. He will probably shoot me at
sight.”
Cecil gravely shook her head. “No,” she
said Sagely, “but he may swear.”
“He does that if his breakfast is late. Has
he no reserves?”
“I have often wondered,” said she, “but
there was Balsamo, he wasn’t shot.”
300


THE QUINCUNX CASE CHAP. XXI
damp so persistently. The clock ticked.
Through the window-pane a golden tree-branch
was lifted against the blue, and a white bird
flashed across it. A white shadow flitted by
on the piazza, entered the adjoining room and
rustled about in there. I knew who it was
trying to give me courage.
Uncle Adrian rattled the stiff sheets as he
turned them, and re-read certain paragraphs,
glanced sharply in my direction like a tutor
examining a pupil, grunted and read on.
Finally, he ended and laid the story upon his
desk.
“Well,” said he.
“Well?” said I.
“I suppose you think highly of all that?”
he asked, pulling at his cigar.
“No more than is natural,” I answered, and
would have gone on, only that the white shadow,
grown impatient, flitted past the window again
and distracted my attention.
“I confess,’’ allowed Mr. Adrian grudgingly,
“there were some good points about what you
did. But doesn’t it strike you that you wasted
time, and put the whole enterprise in peril a
great deal too often for the sake of that lunatic
Balsamo's daughter?”
302


CHAP. XXI THE QUINCUNX CASE
vousness. He frowned, but my remarks of this
nature had ceased to offend him.
“Therefore,” he proceeded, “if you care to
try the Works, I'm willing to try you. At
the bottom of the ladder at first, mind, but with
a view to learning the business. As to my other
plan, as I said, Cecil’s a dutiful, obedient girl;
she appears to like you—you are not offensive-
looking, and I can see no reason why she should
refuse to marry you if she knows I wish it.”
My silence, under this blow, was absolute.
He shifted restlessly in his chair, and went on
declaring his ideas on parental authority.
“It’s best she should marry—and marry
someone I know all about. Then there’s the
name; and moreover she knows I would decide
for the best. As for love and all that nonsense,
she might just as well try it on you. Anyhow,”
he wound up with an outburst of violent con-
viction, “she’ll do as her father says, and that’s
all there is to it.”
I was still breathless, and Uncle Adrian grew
impatient.
“What’s the matter?” said he. “‘Haven’t
I made it clear?”
I could only nod. “Any objections?” he
demanded truculently.
305


Gabriel Praed’ſ Castle
A Story of an Art Fraud
By A L I C E J O N E S
Author of “35ubbles #e 36tip”
I2???0. Artistically Bound in Cloth. $1.50.
AT ALL BOOKSTORES OR SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE
([The author of “Bubbles We Buy” in her
new book tells of the experiences of a wealthy
mine owner and his beautiful daughter from
British Columbia, who upon their first visit to
Paris get into the hands of unscrupulous persons
and become involved in an art fraud of some
magnitude, from which they are finally extri-
cated by friends.
Miss Jones with her rare power of word painting
has given some typical pictures of Studio Life
among successful artists, of the Quartier Latin,
Bric-a-Brac Collectors and the Art Colonies of
Paris, as well as some charming scenes in one of
the celebrated artists' retreats of Brittany.
Two pretty love episodes thread their way
through the story, which in itself is of great in-
terest, and is founded on fact. Miss Jones's long
residence among the artists’ haunts of France
has well qualified her to write on this theme.
PUBLISHED BY
H E R B E R T B. T U R N E R & CO.
I 7 o S U M M E R S T R E E T , Bo's To N


T H E MYSTERY of
iſłłitiam
By J. WESLEY JOHNSTON
Author of “Dwellers in Gotham,” “Riddle of Life,” etc.
12mo, Artistically bound in Cloth. $1.5o
AT ALL Bookstores or SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT of PRICE
GLAn absorbing story with a mystery that
will keep you out of bed to finish it. D
&be Critics’ ºpiniong
T“This is a novel of the sort that is well suited for re-
laxation from care and toil. With the first chapter the
reader leaves himself and his own affairs behind, and
embarks on the voyage of other lives. It is a thrilling
and enthralling trip, and will hold attention until the
book is finished.”—Photo Era.
T“Persons who like rapid action in a book will find
plenty of it here.”—W. Y. Times.
T“The first essential in fiction is that the story shall be
interesting, and Mr. Johnston's book is interesting be-
yond any question. If literary merit and wholesome
tone can give a novel a big sale, Mr. Johnston's work
will soon have a place among the ‘best sellers.”
—Insurance Press.
T“A story which is bound to concentrate upon itself the
attention of the sensation loving novel-reader.”
—Boston Transcript.
PUBLISHED BY
H E R B E R T B. T. U R N E R & CO.
17 o S U M M E R S T R E E T, Bos to N


(Lüt 3glamb of Cranquil
3Btlightg
A SOUTH SEA ID rB, AND OTHERS
By CHARLES WARREN STODDARD
12mo, cloth, $1.o.o net
AT ALL Bookstores or sent PostPAID on Receipt of $1.1o
TAfter a lapse of many years, Charles Warren Stoddard, so celebrated
for his beautiful “South Sea Idyls,” which have become a classic in
American Literature, again presents the public with a collection of
idyls and stories of these summer seas full of his charming word-pic-
tures and exquisite touches which tell of dream-life in fairyland. Of
his first collection Ralph Waldo Emerson's prophecy, “I do not think
that one who can write so well will find it easy to leave off,” is true
as this his second collection is now published.
To quote from others
TUIfliſam ºean toowcIIs
T“The lightest, sweetest, wildest, freshest things that
ever were written about the life of that summer ocean.”
Tafcabio 1 beatn
T“The Idyls will always haunt me, and I am sure they
will live in the hearts of many as everything beautifully
human must live.”
tRubpart ſtipling
T“Your book is a very tropic of color and fragrance.
The man who can write South Sea Idyls can write any-
thing he cares to put his hand to.”
TJJaſt UCIbitman
T“I have just reread your sweet pages all over, and I
find them indeed soothing and nourishing after their
kind, like the atmosphere.”
Thenry UCIabswortb Longfellow
T“There is a flavor of the soil about your work I much
like.”
PUBLISHED BY
H E R B E R T B. T. U R N E R & CO .
1 7'o S U M M E R S T R E E T, Bos to N


Çbe flabor of the great, original faint
forests is in this book
PINE7T HOME
By
(5torge ºtlippm #imball
12mo. Artistically Bound in Cloth. $1.5o
At ALL BookStores or sent Postpaid on
receipt of PRICE
§
GLAn idyl, largely fact, of life in the
great primeval woods of Maine; full
of action and adventure; depicts life
and love and romance. It is the
novel of New England, especially the
novel of Maine. 4 + 4 + 4.
PUBLISHED BY
HERBERT B. TU R N E R & Co.
17 o S U M M E R S T R E E T, Bos to N


A U. N. I Q U E S T O R. r
&ſje
43ritgioumaitrº
By ALBERT R. CARMAN
Artistically bound 12mo. $1.5o
At All Bookstores or SENT PostPAID on RECEIPT or
PRICE
STORY of tourist life in Europe. It follows the re-
markable experiences of the heroine from pension to
pension—Dresden, Lucerne, the Quartier Latin, Lon-
don—and brings on the stage a succession of pensionnaires
from all corners of the world, America predominating.
The humors—the experiences, the thrills—the whole vi-
vacious atmosphere of continental life constantly flutters
its pages.
PRAISE. By THE CRITIcs
(L"The Pensionnaires” bids fair to attract widespread
attention. It is a well-told tale of people and inci-
dents well worth writing about. Boston Transcript.
(LIt is a love story of surpassing charm, revolving
around tourist life in Europe. Louisville Zimes.
CIMr. Carman has written with humor and vivacity.
His conception is blessed by novelty, which is much
for readers of the customary to thankful for.
AVºzy Poré World.
(IThe atmosphere of the book is admirable and can-
not fail to awaken a qualm of nostalgia in readers
who look back kindly on the Saxon Capital. It has
a strain of sentiment of a sane and wholesome sort
that is becoming exceedingly rare.
Commercial Advertiser.
H E R B E R T B. T U R N E R & CO.
17 o S U M M E R S T R E E T, Bo s to N