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“‘WILL YOU BE VERY QUIET AND stay RIGHT where *
You ARE If I TELL You?’” (p. 120) -


y
THE RED MOUSE
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THE RED MOUSE
:-ºº:
A MYSTERY ROMANCE
BY
William Hamilton Qsborne
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1909


Au on a 3, 3S
CopyRIGHT, 1909
By DoDD, MEAD AND CoMPANY
Published, January, 1909


To
L. G. S. O.





ILLUSTRATIONS
“‘Will you be very quiet and stay right
where you are if I tell you?’”
(p. 120) Frontispiece
“‘Did you put him in that frame?’”
Facing page 34
“Shirley” 44 44 112
“‘It’s for you—please take it’” << “ 196
**.


MEPHISTOPHELEs
Wherefore forsakest thou the lovely maiden
That in the dance so sweetly sang?
FAUST
Ah! In the midst of it there sprang
A red mouse” from her mouth—sufficient reason.
*Goethe here refers to an old superstition concerning one of
the many forms of diabolical possession.
—Bayard Taylor.


I
For years—the best years of her life, for that matter,
as she often reflected in lonely moments—Miriam Chal-
loner had been trying to prove to her own satisfaction
that her husband was no worse than the majority of
young men married to rich women, but she could never
find the arguments whereby she might arrive at the
desired conclusion. It is not to be wondered at, then,
that eventually there came a day when the information
was brought to her that even in the gay and ultra-
fashionable world in which they moved people spoke
of him as “that mad Challoner,” and were saying that
he was going a pace that was rapidly carrying him
far beyond the horizon of anything like respectability
—going to the dogs, in truth, as fast as her money
could take him there.
Now Miriam Challoner was not one of those women
who deceive themselves, if not their friends, when
they say that if ever they hear of their husbands
doing such-and-such-a-thing they know perfectly well
what they will do. It is true that, like them, she did
nothing; nevertheless, she could not be persuaded to
discuss with any one the humiliating position in which
her husband had placed her.
In a way, this attitude of hers was unfortunate, for


2 THE RED MOUSE -
it was more or less responsible for the note of melan-
choly cadence which crept into her mind. And so it
was that before very long she was dimly conscious of
an emotion quite unlike anything that she had hither-
to experienced: all the bitterness in her heart had
given way to a sickening sensation that she, as well as
as he, had been tried in the matrimonial furnace and
found wanting. Somehow, she had fallen grievously
in her own estimation'
And society’s estimation? Illusions in that direction
were hardly possible; there, too, doubtless she would
incur the loss of a certain amount of consideration.
And even the non-possession of a highly imaginative
temperament did not prevent her from fancying the
expressive shrugs, and “Oh, of course his wife is to
blame,” which, for the sake of an inference that is ob-
vious, would be voiced by more than one impeccable
dame of her acquaintance—as often as not superbly
gullible souls, whose eloquence increases in direct pro-
portion to the world’s lack of belief in the fidelity of
their liege lords.
Nor were comments of that kind the worst that she
might expect! For, as a penalty for belonging to a
set which, to a greater degree, perhaps, than any
other, recognises the possibility of an up-to-date
couple having a mutually implied understanding that
neither shall object to the discreet—and more or less


THE RED MOUSE 3
temporary—faithlessness of the other—she knew that
it would be well-nigh miraculous if some kindly dis-
posed persons did not go still further for an explana-
tion of his conduct, and point to her and her husband
as a conspicuous example of such a precious pair. But
though her whole being rebelled at the mere thought
that there could be people who would regard her in
such a light, she could not bring herself to take deci-
sive action of any kind. There was nothing that
could be said, she told herself, nothing that could be
done—since a most conscientious and pitiless self-
analysis had failed to reveal any wifely shortcoming
—except to have faith that there were some of her sex
—not many, it is true, but still a few friends—who
would continue to believe her incapable of doing any
of the things that so many others did, for whom there
was far less excuse than there would be for her.
But whatever were the opinions of the women, there
was no disposition on the part of the men to hold her
in any way responsible for his behaviour. Far from it.
And in a favourite corner of an exclusive club, when
the names of fair ladies—mostly of the stage—were
bandied about as figuring in young Challoner’s esca-
pades, old cronies of his father, between sips of their
Scotch and sodas, were wont to boil over with con-
temptuous indignation and explosively give thanks to
the gods for willing that their lovable, old-time friend


4. - THE RED MOUSE
should not live to see the confirmation of his fears.
And how well they recalled those fears!
For notwithstanding his very moderate circum-
stances, the elder Challoner had been that rarest of
mortals—a man blissfully content with his lot in life,
and, one who seldom missed an opportunity to
deplore the insatiable craze of the rich for more
riches, forever protesting that blatant commercialism,
haste and artificiality were the gods of the present
day; and no picture in their gallery of lasting im-
pressions stood out more vividly than the one in which,
surrounded by a group of young fellows, who had
“got him going,” as they phrased it, he was declaim-
ing against—what was merely his pet hobby in an-
other form—the egregious folly of poor young men
seeking riches through marriage.
“. . . . and I, young gentlemen,” he would con-
clude with great earnestness, “will always maintain
that such a union will make a man lose all incentive
to work out what the good Lord has put in him.”
Little wonder, then, that on the announcement that
a marriage had been “arranged” between Challoner’s
son and a daughter of a man whose name the world
over was significant of fiscal potency, the day bid fair
to be a memorable one at the club, his contempora-
ries preparing to make merry at the old fellow’s
expense. But in a sense his “showing up” there had


THE RED MOUSE 5
been a disappointment; one look at the face, which
showed symptoms of distress and a desire to be reas-
sured, was sufficient to cause the banter to die in their
hearts before it had reached their lips.
It soon came out that there had been a scene between
father and son. These two, for many years, had been
the only members of the family; and probably better
than any one in the world the father had known the
son’s weaknesses: hypersensitive to new influences,
vanity and inability to say no ; and he had pointed out
to him the many disadvantages—dangers to one of
his temperament—which he could see in such an al-
liance. To the father’s thinking, the boy would have
no home—only establishments, yachts, racing-stables
and motor-cars; and he had contended that there were
far more desirable things in life than the possession of
these—from which it can easily be surmised that
J. Lawrence Challoner, senior, was a man little
in sympathy with the ideas of modern fashionable
society. -
Now to appreciate the mental anguish of another
organism—even if that organism is one’s own parent
—is never an easy matter; and of all men, the modern
lover is apt to be the last to succumb to an argument
that predicts a blighted future because of an intention
to marry an heiress. And so it was only natural that
Lawrence should have regarded his father as an old


6 THE RED MOUSE
fogy, have resented his warnings and have replied
that he was competent to look after his own affairs
and that, anyhow, the consent of the girl’s parents
had been obtained and no interference was possible.
And with that the father’s manner had completely
changed: he had wished the boy the best of luck; sent
him away happy. Obviously, all this was years ago;
parents on both sides had passed away; and yet
things had turned out pretty much as the old man had
dreaded. Indeed, matters had come to this pass: how
long this indulgent wife would continue to keep her
eyes shut to her husband making ducks and drakes
of her fortune, and why she did it, were questions
which interested all who knew this couple, but which
Challoner apparently thought wholly unnecessary to
ask himself.
An automobile—Mrs. Challoner’s automobile—was
largely instrumental in bringing matters to a climax.
As trouble-makers the “machines” rank high; in fact,
there are moments when it would seem as if the arch-
fiend himself were in them; otherwise, how account
for the mysterious influence that makes people lose
command of themselves once they are in command of
them; that leads astray, as some one has said, the
great and the good as well as those of lesser clay; that
produces the extraordinary state of mind that rejoices
in riding rough-shod over the rights and feelings of


THE RED MOUSE 7.
others; while one and all claim to recognise his handi-
craft in the ingenuity which the “machines” display
in selecting the most inopportune times and least ac-
cessible places for an exhibition of their mechanical
ailments.
But be that as it may, in this particular instance the
devil was not lurking in, tampering with the improve-
ments and refinements of detail in the big, red body
of Mrs. Challoner’s Mastodon model—no, it was
not with the machine that he was concerned, but
with the man himself, befuddling whatever brains
he had left; and the devil it was and no other
that incited Challoner to leave a certain estab-
lishment, about which we shall have something
to say later on, take the wheel from the chaf-
feur and embark on a sensational, bacchic career
up the Avenue at an hour when the view of that
fashionable thoroughfare through the silken, shim-
mery curtains falling over a window in a corner house
facing the Park was too alluring not to be ir-
resistible.
And so it came about that the comments on the pass-
ing throng made by two women, indulging in after-
noon tea in Mrs. Challoner's white and gold drawing-
room, were interrupted in a manner that was as unex-
pected as it was embarrassing.
“Look, Miriam P’ Shirley Bloodgood was saying to


8 THE RED MOUSE
her hostess, apropos of a woman passing by whom
they both knew, “did you ever see anything more atro-
cious than that gown?”
The other smiled her appreciation; and again the
voluble Miss Bloodgood went on:-
“And do look at the Heath girls in those huge hats
—what frights!”
But whatever were her thoughts on the subject, Mir-
iam Challoner did not answer, for precisely at that
moment her attention was attracted by something
strangely familiar in an unusually insolent and insis-
tent honking of a motor-horn, which was causing a
wave of apprehension to sweep down the long line of
vehicles. And a moment later they saw that chauf-
feurs were rudely interrupting the purring of automo-
biles lazing over their allotted miles; that drivers were
swerving their horses into closer relations with the
curb; that hardly had these attained a position of
comparative safety than there flashed by them and
fetched up in front of Mrs. Challoner's house a big
machine, which a distinguished though dissipated
looking man had been recklessly forcing with utter
disregard of the right of way, a performance which
called forth a volley of expletives not only from cab-
bies singularly unappreciative of his dexterity in ex-
ecuting perilously close shaves, but likewise from
angry pedestrians, who had halted on hearing the


THE RED MOUSE 9
groan with which the machinery protested his sudden
braking.
For a moment that seemed minutes the atmosphere
in the drawing-room was electric, the tension almost
unbearable, for it was impossible for either of the wo-
men to doubt that the other saw what she had seen: the
condition that the man was in who had leaped from
the car and was now crossing the sidewalk apparently
oblivious to the exclamations of wonder and lament
that he had escaped authoritative vigilance.
Rising quickly, Shirley Bloodgood put out her hand.
“Good-bye—thank you so much, Miriam P’ There
was an amazement of question in the eyes that invol-
untarily sought those of her friend; but her one
thought was to escape what she wisely interpreted as
an oncoming scene between husband and wife.
But though there was a mist before her eyes, a surg-
ing in her ears, not a muscle of Miriam Challoner’s
face moved; and she permitted the girl before her to
perceive no emotion other than gentle surprise.
“Surely, my dear, you’re not going?— What?— So
soon?”
Conventional though they were, there could be no
mistaking the tone of sincerity in Mrs. Challoner's
words as she took the girl's hand in both of hers with
an affectionate movement. Indeed, for the barest frac-
tion of a second it almost succeeded in convincing


10. THE RED MOUSE
Shirley that the distressing incident of the motor had
entirely escaped her; at any rate, it augmented the
doubt whether the woman before her had even an ink-
ling of the stories in circulation concerning the doings
of her husband. Nor was such a conclusion at all il-
logical. Shirley Bloodgood could recall not a word
that Miriam Challoner had ever uttered during all
the years of her married life, nor a look that could be
construed as implying a knowledge of his dissipa-
tions; on the contrary, there had been times when the
girl had been so exasperated over the wife's outspoken
admiration for qualities in the man which Shirley
knew that he did not possess, that she had been sorely
tempted to enlighten her friend as to his escapades.
But gratifying as was the thought of the wife's pos-
sible ignorance, it by no means lessened the necessity
of a hasty departure on Shirley’s part; and somewhat
confusedly but affectionately she kissed her hostess
good-bye. -
“Oh, my dear Miriam, but I must—your tea is per-
fectly delicious though. If only I had time . . . .”
Shirley stopped abruptly; her endeavour to conceal
her anxiety to be gone was making her uncertain of
her words. -
“One’s tea, like one’s friends, my dear, should be of
the best,” Miriam returned with a sweet smile. And
apparently thinking of nothing but her somewhat in-


THE RED MOUSE 11
sipid little compliment, she laughed pleasantly, passed
her arm lovingly round the girl’s waist, and accom-
panied her to the door of the drawing-room.
Miriam’s smile and manner touched Shirley deeply.
The inclination to offer words of comfort was strong
in this tall, rangy girl, whose every movement was as
graceful as it was impulsive. How sweet, how easy it
would be, she thought, if Miriam would only give a
hint that they would be welcome. But like many
another woman, Miriam Challoner had schooled her-
self to face the world with a smile; had learned that
to lay bare one’s heart, even to one’s friends, is to
court surprise, perhaps ridicule; and that to dissimu-
late though it kills is to play well one’s part; and she
gave no sign.
On reaching the hall below, Shirley was able to see
through the open door Challoner ascending swiftly
but uncertainly the grey, stone steps. With a quick
movement she drew to one side while he sullenly pushed
by his wife’s young butler, Stevens, and began to
stumble up the soft-carpeted, wide stairway; then, un-
noticed and with a sigh of relief, she fled out into the
street.
Left rather abruptly alone, Mrs. Challoner went
back into the drawing-room, and resting her arms on
the mantel, bowed her head upon them and gave way
to the misery of her reflections. It was not the first


12 THE RED MOUSE
time, to be sure, that Lawrence had returned in this
condition, but heretofore he had been gracious enough
to have had it occur at night; and she had cherished
the belief that she was his only witness. Now, there
was an element connected with his home-coming that
was still harder to bear: the sympathy which pleaded
for recognition on the face of her friend, and which
told more plainly than words that she had seen all,
understood all. Presently, lifting her head, she crossed
the room and seated herself; then raising her hands
she let them drop despairingly along the arms of the
chair while the unbidden tears overflowed. In this
position she remained until the sound of footsteps
warned her of her husband's approach; then a mo-
ment of struggle for self-control; a brushing away
of tears, and finally, rising, she left her seat for one
behind the tea-table. And it was in this unquestioned
point of vantage, apparently cool and collected, in the
act of pouring herself out a cup of tea, that Chal-
loner's gaze first rested upon his wife as, lurching in
his walk but his eyes holding a purpose, he came into
her presence.
“Well, Miriam, here I am . . . I’ve come home, you
see!” he blurted out in a don’t-care-what-happens sort
of manner, and without waiting for an answer
slumped into a chair and added sneeringly: “You’re
not over-demonstrative, my dear!”


THE RED MOUSE 13
Mrs. Challoner winced. During the long days and
nights of suspense and wonder as to his whereabouts,
she had solaced herself with inventing plausible ex-
cuses for his absence; how useless they were, his looks,
manner, and more than anything else the intonation
of his voice now showed; she dared not trust herself to
speak lest she should give way to foolish invective.
Challoner came to the point at once.
“Miriam, I must have some money!” It was not a
request; it was a command.
Up to this time the young wife had not lifted her
eyes from the tea-cup in her hand. She was a woman
with brown eyes and very attractive brown hair, but
upon the face that still should have held the freshness
of youth deep lines were beginning to appear. Pretty
she was, in a way, though she had never been beauti-
ful; and yet there was something that spelt beauty in
the brown eyes which she now fixed upon him.
“For three days you have been away—where have
you been?” The necessity for saying something alone
was responsible for the question. Many days after-
ward in reviewing the painful scene, she was positive
that she had not inquired nor had he volunteered the
information.
“I don’t know,” he answered dully, half-truthfully.
“All I know is that I landed at Cradlebaugh’s.” And
after a moment, noting the look of mystification on


14 THE RED MOUSE
her face, he snapped out: “Cradlebaugh’s gambling
rôoms—gambling rooms, there—now you know.”
With the last words he rose excitedly, stalked over to
a table and smote it with his clenched hand.
“I tell you I must have some – ley "
Miriam Challoner would ot have been human if
again bitter words had no risen to her lips. But one
quick glance at the puffy face, the red-rimmed eyes
was sufficient to warn her of the danger of exciting
his anger while in his present condition; and instead
she merely inclined her head—an action which in-
stantly caused hope to surge into the eyes of Chal-
loner.
“I want—I must have a thousand dollars.” Here
again, the attitude was not that of a suppliant; in
the demand was more of the highwayman than of the
beggar. º
Mrs. Challoner’s dark eyes met those of the man,
held them steady; then she said firmly, decisively:-
“Lawrence, much as it hurts me to refuse you, I feel
that I must. It is for your own good.” The soft
gown that clung to her figure seemed to take more
rigid lines as she drew herself up and went on with:
“I can give you nothing more—this sort of thing has
gone quite far enough.”
For an instant Challoner was stunned. His wife had
never looked at him like that; there was something in


16 THE RED MOUSE
“Surely, Miriam, you’re not going to refuse me—
come . . . .”
“I am sorry, Lawrence, but I must.” There was a
sob in the refusal as she turned away.
And still like a spoiled child the husband would not
abandon his plea. Besides, he had detected the sob.
Once more his attitude underwent a change: he moved
toward her, holding out his arms as though to gather
her into them. It was a charm that always worked
with Miriam ; it would now, he told himself.
But Challoner was doomed to disappointment. It
was the last touch needed to complete her humiliation;
and waving him back, she cried:—
“Laurie, Laurie, anything but that!” There was a
flood of tears behind her look of pain.
“But I must . . . Cradlebaugh . . . .” he came to
a helpless pause.
Mrs. Challoner slowly repeated the name:-
“Cradlebaugh! I wish you had never seen that man
—that class of men! Your money—my money very
likely has been going to them! Well, if you want
35
money you will have to . . . The tension snapped
and she drew her hand across her eyes, then broke
down completely.
“A sign of weakening,” Challoner said to himself,
and promptly started toward her.
“No, no, go!” she cried, drawing her hands up to


THE RED MOUSE 17
.
her face as if to shut out the sight of him from her
gaze.
A moment later Challoner was seated in the motor-
car. As the chauffeur threw in the clutch some in-
stinct told Challoner to look back. He had a fleeting
impression that he had seen a woman’s face in the
doorway. “Surely that's Miriam,” he thought, and
lifted his hat; but when he looked again there was no
one there. Yet if his senses had been perfectly normal,
he would have known that it was her face that he had
seen. But the fates had no intention of letting him
know that with his departure his wife's resolution had
gone, and that she had come to the door to beseech
him to come back; for even then they were cunningly
spinning the web which was to encompass him about.


II
CRADLEBAUGH’s, Cradlebaugh’s house of a thousand
chances, rearing its four stories of brown stone,
spreading itself out liberally on the north side of one
of the side streets which is fast being given over to
fashionable clubs and restaurants, is a thoroughly up-
to-date establishment. Here, the jeunesse dore of the
city are made welcome—once the critical eye of the
sentinel behind the triple steel doors at the top of
the brown stone steps has recognised in them the es-
sential qualifications. In appointments, the house is
luxurious and gorgeous, and is so closely shuttered
that not a ray of light from outside is permitted to
penetrate it: Cradlebaugh’s day and night, night and
day, is lit within by the glow of artificial lights; the
sunlight has no chance in Cradlebaugh’s. In addi-
tion to the main hall of play, there are accommoda-
tions for parties wishing to indulge in quiet games
among themselves. Meals are served at all hours,
supper being the specialty of the house,_and notwith-
standing that no charge whatever is made for them,
the cuisine and service are beyond reproach. It can
truly be said of Cradlebaugh's, that it has all the
cheerfulness of the hearth, the quiet of the sanctuary,
mingled with the glare of irresistible recklessness.


THE RED MOUSE 19
It was to this establishment, then, that Challoner di-
rected a cabby to take him after hours of unsuccessful
attempts to borrow money from his friends—unsuc-
cessful, because they had come to know his irresponsi-
bility, and to realise that his obligations were not the
obligations of his wife. The consequence was that
man after man invented an excuse or refused him
emphatically. And finally, in desperation, he had of-
fered to sell the Mastodon. But the dealers knew who
owned the car—one of the handsomest cars in town—
and on Challoner disgustedly ordering his chauffeur
home, a dealer more daring than the others had said
to him with aggressive familiarity:-
“Get your wife's bill of sale, Challoner we’ll buy
it then, all right.”
A spark of anger immediately lit up Challoner's
eyes, resentment was deep down in his inmost soul;
but his brain had been absinthiated for days, his sen-
sibilities blunted, and indignities fell from him like
the proverbial water from a duck’s back. Nor was it
solely with his mentalities that the dissipations of the
last five years had played havoc: his face, his body,
were unnaturally thin, and his glance had become
fixed and strained. Nevertheless, over-indulgence
had not grossened him, he was still good-looking, and
there was an air about him that few men had. In
all his recklessness, whenever he wanted money he had


20 THE RED MOUSE
not forgotten that fact. It had always counted with
Miriam—until now. It counted still with Miss Letty
Love of the Frivolity!
There had been moments, it is true, when rushing
madly about town for funds, that he had felt it would
surely have been better for him if he had never gone to
Cradlebaugh's; but then like a flash would come the
thought that if he had not gone to Cradlebaugh's he
would never have known Letty Love! And by no
means had he arrived at the state where he could have
wished that . . .
With the thought of Letty Love there came another
indissolubly connected with it: Was Colonel Har-
graves slowly undermining, ousting him out of her
affections? Not without reason he argued that
Colonel Hargraves had plenty of money, and the man
with money was going to win out in the graces of the
Frivolity actress! Challoner could see it, could feel
it, and now in this crisis he could not raise a paltry
thousand or two .
Suddenly a voice from overhead broke in upon his
thoughts with:—
“Front entrance, sir?”
Challoner started. The query was pertinent, fre-
quently important, sometimes vital. But in all the
times that Challoner had driven to Cradlebaugh's,
never until now had this question been put to him.


THE RED MOUSE 21
The entrance on the street above, he was quite well
aware, was for those whose livelihood supplied suf-
ficient reason for preferring the more secret way,
while the man-about-town, such as he flattered him-
self that he still was, -the credential-bearing stranger,
even those whose reputation might suffer, found that
the arrangement of the main entrance furnished them
with ample protection. Nevertheless, far from
feazing him, Challoner felt that in some subtle way the
question fitted in with his scheme of things. For a
shadowy purpose was slowly forming in his mind—
a purpose that required thought. His answer was of
paramount importance, he must make no mistake . . .
“The rear—no,” he quickly corrected, “the front
entrance.”
Before the main street door the driver pulled up his
horse, and Challoner hurriedly walked—as one whose
nose was straight and who followed his nose—into the
whited sepulchre called Cradlebaugh’s.
No one greeted Challoner as he passed into the main
hall: it happened there was no one present at the table
that he knew. In the old days it had been the custom
of Cradlebaugh, the human spider, frankly to exhibit
himself in the middle of his net, his grim smile and dry
hand extended to each guest who came or went. But
of late years—since he had shuffled off this mortal coil
—there had been no one to make these obsequious


22 THE RED MOUSE
greetings; for, though Cradlebaugh’s still was Cradle-
baugh's, its ownership remained a mystery. And
whether it was a syndicate, an association, a reincar-
nated spirit, or a man, no one could tell. Of one
thing, however, its patrons were certain: there was
but one Cradlebaugh’s
For fully half an hour Challoner stood at the buffet,
every now and then unsteadily tilting the decanter.
And while this course of refreshment may have dulled
his wits, it certainly strengthened his courage, for
presently he said to himself:-
“I’ll try him, yes, why not?”
And a moment later, still optimistic, he called a ser-
vant and asked:—
“Where is Pemmican P”
“Faro, sir.”
Challoner ascended swiftly to the second floor, and
paused at one room whose door was open.
“How long?” he inquired, thrusting in his head, by
way of greeting to the group at the table.
Four of the men there did not glance up from their
cards; hollow-eyed, cigars between their teeth, they
were alive only to the hundredth chance that still
eluded them. The fifth man, a railroad president,
coatless, alone nodded to Challoner, and said senten-
tiously:-
“Forty hours—for me.”


THE RED MOUSE 23
Half way down the corridor Challoner met Pemmi-
can, head card-dealer of Cradlebaugh's, a man with a
pasty face, a low brow and shifty eyes—a man who
knew his business. This Pemmican seemed the all-
and-all of Cradlebaugh's, apparently general facto-
tum; but though he simulated the appearance of an
owner, in reality he was a servile servant stamped with
a dread of the pseudo-Cradlebaugh, of the man higher
up. Nevertheless, whoever controlled the destinies of
this gambling-house had chosen him wisely.
Challoner came at once to the point.
“Pemmican, I want some money—about—” and
broke off abruptly, for the other was eyeing him
coldly.
Instinctively Pemmican of the low brow knew that
the game was up with Challoner; moreover, he saw
that, although the man seemed sober, in reality he was
very drunk. He walked away quickly, dismissing him
with:-
“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s against the rules. I
59
can’t
“What rot!” interrupted Challoner.
But by this time Pemmican had reached the end of
the hall, leaving the other to gather what he could of
his mumbled excuses.
In anything but an amiable mood, Challoner resumed
his position at the buffet. Suddenly he was conscious


24 THE RED MOUSE
of a light touch on the arm. Turning slowly, he
found himself face to face again with Pemmican.
“Why don’t you try Colonel Hargraves?” whispered
the latter.
“What?” came from the clogged brain of Challoner.
“Try Hargraves,” the other went on. “He’s been
down to Gravesend for two days; and he’s back . . .”
Pemmican’s meaning was lost on Challoner, for he
merely exclaimed:—
“Well?”
Before answering, Pemmican of the low brow
shrugged his shoulders and spread out his palms,
then he said pointedly:-
“Only that he pulled out ten thousand on Flora
McQueen—that’s all!”
“What?” Challoner began to understand.
Pemmican nodded.
“Sure thing—ten thousand dollars!”
Slowly and deliberately Challoner refilled his glass to
the brim. For a moment there was silence, then Pem-
mican repeated tantalisingly:-. w
“Ten thousand dollars—not a cent less!”
Challoner thought for a moment.
“How did you come out?” he asked, much to the
other’s surprise.
Pemmican shook his head.
“I lost a cool thousand because I did not back the


THE RED MOUSE 25
mare. I played on Tigerskin. I’ve got to get that
thousand back, somehow.”
Challoner emptied his glass.
“Was Colonel Hargraves down there alone?” His
voice was thick, hoarse.
“Where?” returned Pemmican, as if he had misun-
derstood.
“At Gravesend?”
Pemmican looked long and quizzically into Chal-
loner’s eyes.
“He was . . . not,” was his simple but significant
answer, and moved away.
But Challoner followed him up, and seizing his arm,
said somewhat gruffly:-
“Look here, Pemmican, if Hargraves comes in—I
want to see him—tell him to wait for me.”
For the first time Pemmican’s eyes lost their curious
tiredness, an enigmatical smile played about the cor-
ners of his mouth.
“Yes,” he said simply, and nodding, went his way.
Left alone, Challoner found himself a prey to all the
black fiends of rage, jealousy and desire for revenge.
For a time everything was blotted out from his vision
except the face of Letty Love and the face of Colonel
Hargraves. “This small world,” he muttered to him-
self, “is much too small for me and Colonel Har-,
graves!” With that there loomed up out of the mists


26, THE RED MOUSE
of his mind the brilliantly lighted and ornate en-
trance of a certain apartment-house a short distance
away; and a few minutes later, obedient to his subcon-
scious will, his feet carried him down the stairs to a
door evidently leading to the outside. A few words of
explanacio, from Challoner to the man on duty there
were necessary before he would proceed to undo the
complicated system of bolts; and then he passed out
and was under the starry skies. Challoner was not the
first man of social prominence in the community that
could directly trace the beginning of his life as an
outcast to passing through that door!


III
HIRAM EDGAR LovE-so read a faded yellow card on
the door-panel of Suite 10 in the “Drelincourt,” an
apartment hotel in a section of the city whºen has ever
been popular with a class that has been well termed
the “fringe of society.” The name was not printed,
not engraved, but written in ancient India ink in cop-
per-plate perfection by the careful, cleanly, genteel
Englishman that Hiram Edgar Love had been—
Hiram Edgar Love, that long since had been laid to
rest in a quiet Surrey churchyard leagues distant,
though his name still did yeoman service, for it spelt
respectability; it covered a multitude of peccadilloes;
his soul went marching on 1 For was it not the shade
of Hiram Edgar Love that had rented the Love suite
in the “Drelincourt,” his shade that paid the rent, his
pipe and his slippers that lay near the fireplace for
the world to see?—Hiram Edgar Love the myth, the
constantly expected but never-coming master of the
house!
Before the entrance of this suite Challoner came to a
halt.
“I wonder if she’s alone?” he mused, as with some-
thing like the palpitating deference of a stranger he
pressed the button underneath the faded card and


28 THE RED MOUSE
**
waited to learn his fate at the hands of the one woman
in all the world for him. Nor was it by any means the
first time that he had asked himself that question; all
the way through the streets it had been in his mind
every moment, and so absorbed was he with the
thought, that he failed to see the familiar nod with
which the diminutive god of the “Drelincourt” lift
acknowledged his advent as he proceeded to carry up-
ward his human freight.
“Same, sir, I suppose?” asked the boy.
Challoner made no answer; but leaving the car at
the desired landing, he had turned to the right
and directed his steps to the extreme end of the
corridor.
It was a new experience to Challoner to wait among
the shadows of the dimly lighted hall; hitherto his
custom had been to let himself in, sans ceremony; but
the apparently successful campaign of the racing
Colonel had changed that—put him on a different
footing.
“If he's there,” he assured himself as he pressed the
button again impatiently, “I’ll know what to do, all
right . . . .”
But if Hargraves were not there! That was the con-
tingency that sent a chill over him. He could deal
with a man—but the woman! A woman who had
never cared and who, he was only too well aware,


THE RED MOUSE 29
would never even pretend to care for him unless he had
the wherewithal with which to lure her back.
“If it were not for Hargraves—” he broke off
abruptly, for the door had opened with such unex-
pected suddenness that it required not a little effort to
pull himself together, and demand of the trim, little
maid who stood there:–
“Your mistress—is she at home?”
“Miss Love is not at home, sir.”
Challoner was not so sure about that; in a trice he
was past her, going through room after room until
he had covered the entire apartment; and she had
barely recovered from the shock that his strange be-
haviour had given her than he was back again in the
small, square hall, eyeing her suspiciously.
“I want to see your mistress.”
“Miss Love is not in, sir,” she told him, just as if
he did not already know it.
“But you know where she went?” he asked mean-
ingly.
“Indeed, sir, I do not,” she replied, not at all dis-
concerted by his manner; and her eyes as they fixed
their gaze on his were as steady as the lips that said:
“She should be with her father, sir.”
Challoner raged inwardly; he thought he detected a
gleam of mockery in her eyes. Once more he plunged
through the apartment, seeking some incriminating


30 THE RED MOUSE
scrap of paper, some evidence that would betray his
divinity’s whereabouts. But after a few minutes he
was back again, standing over the girl, menacingly.
“I want you to tell me where Letty is?” he said in a
tone that told plainly that such lies were not for him;
but it had little effect on the maid: long practice in
fencing with Miss Love’s admirers had made trickery
her forte.
“You might try Atlantic City, sir,” she suggested
blandly; “it’s quite possible that they went there.”
At this, Challoner looked ugly, and seizing her
roughly by the arm, he led her to her mistress’ bou-
doir, where, pointing to a Werne-Martin cabinet that
*
stood in a corner, he exclaimed:—
“Who put him there?”
For answer the girl shrugged her shoulders. She
made no attempt to disengage herself from his grasp,
merely watched Challoner as his gaze rested angrily
on a plain gold frame in which was an unconventional
half-length photograph—Colonel Richard Hargraves,
his arms akimbo upon a table, his shoulders forward,
his smug, full, self-satisfied face thrust into the face
of the world—of Challoner.
Even on paper Hargraves's lazy eyes seemed to in-
sult and tantalise him, and an insane desire to crush,
batter and destroy this counterfeit presentment came
over him. For an instant he had a vague sensation of


THE RED MOUSE 33
Love the situation was amusing—too amusing for
words.
“Inconstant!—Naughty Lawrence!” she exclaimed,
leaving his name stranded in the air—a coquettish
way she had in speaking—and pointing her tiny
gloved finger at him: “Perhaps I interrupt?” And
now turning to the girl: “Patricia, I didn’t know you
could be so interesting . 99
The maid gasped with relief as she left the room in
obedience to a dismissing wave of her mistress’ hand.
“Well, why don’t the rest of you come in?” Chal-
loner growled, fastening his eyes on the woman.
Letty Love opened her blue eyes wide—eyes that
could look the innocence of a child or the wisdom of
the ages—and feigned not to understand. And then
as if his meaning had dawned upon her, she said with
a good-natured smile:—
“Oh—why, I’m alone!”
“It’s a good thing you are,” he told her pointedly.
At once a hardness crept into her voice, and she
asked coldly:—
“For whom?” And for a moment she delayed pull-
ing off her wraps.
“For the other man.”
“Silly boy! How ridiculous you are!” she returned
lightly, as she tossed her wraps over a chair and be-
gan to pull off her gloves.


34 THE RED MOUSE
Challoner went over to the photograph, picked it up
and wheeling round said threateningly:-
“Did you put him in that frame?”
“I did,” she answered sweetly. “I’m very domestic,
you know,” and she smiled one of her most bewilder-
ing smiles; “I always arrange these little things my-
self.”
“And what did you do with mine?”
Letty looked dubious. She touched a button, and to
the maid who entered asked with mock anxiety:—
“Patricia, what did you do with the half-tone of this
gentleman that I gave you?”
The maid regarded first one and then the other some-
what curiously.
“It’s in my room, Madam.”
“With the other notables?” And Letty Love lifted
her eyebrows. “Patricia’s room is quite a picture-
gallery,” she went on gaily. “You may investigate
it, if you like—no?” And dismissing the maid, went
over to the piano and began to strum the refrain of
a popular song.
Challoner's lips emitted:—
“You—” They closed on a gasp of rage, disap-
pointment, despair and impotent admiration. Had
he dared, he would have gone on his knees
to her then and there, taken her in his arms
and kissed her; but the woman’s indifference


... “DID You PUT HIM IN THAT FRAME?’”
--


---- --------------


THE RED MOUSE 35
appalled him, and instead he gritted his teeth, dug his
nails into the palms of his hand. Then, for the first
time, it dawned on him that she had worn for Har-
graves the gown that he, Challoner, had selected for
her—a gown white, immaculate, simple, which fol-
lowed religiously the lines of the superb figure, that
left nothing to be desired, of Letty Love, full-
throated, full-bosomed, with her jet-black hair that
gave no sign of fastening, with her blue eyes and dark
eyebrows, with her milk-white flesh, which, artificial
though it were, concealed nothing, revealed nothing
but the loveliness of the woman.
The man’s eyes shone with pride as he observed her
finished appearance; for was it not he who had
taught her to gown herself like that, showed her how
to live, lifted her into the high places?
“And this is how she repays me!” he muttered to
himself, and then aloud: “What’s the matter with you,
Letty—is it because my money has given out . . . .”
This startled the woman into earnestness, and rising
to her feet, she drew herself to her full height, and
pointing to the door declared with an injured air:-
“No man can talk to me of money in this house!”
Challoner's face was a study, but he did not move.
“Especially when it’s all gone!” he sneered, search-
ing her countenance. Never until now had he real-
ised the monumental, stupendous power of money.


36 THE RED MOUSE
Now that he had none and the car of juggernaut was
slowly crushing him, he could understand that he be-
longed in the ditch with the maimed, the lame, the
dying. There was no necessity for a reply from
Letty. The woman’s face revealed the contempt with
which she regarded him. What mattered it to her
that the man had surrendered everything that was
worth while in life, that he had sacrificed himself at
her shrine! She was one who demanded the firstlings
of the flock; he was nothing save carrion for daws to
peck at. The fruit was devoured; of what value was
the rind?
“You had better go,” she said superciliously; “there
is no need of coming any more.”
In a sort of daze Challoner was shambling toward
the door when the telephone-bell rang. Instantly it
roused all the deviltry and cunning that had oozed
from him the moment before. Seizing the receiver, he
thrust it silently against his ear.
“Hello!” began the voice at the other end.
Challoner did not answer.
“Is that you, Letty?” the voice went on.
Still Challoner did not answer. Then, as the wo—
man stepped forward, he handed the receiver to her,
at the same time placing his left hand over the mouth-
piece, and said:—
“It’s Hargraves—tell him to come up, will you?”


THE RED MOUSE 37
She shook her head.
Again the voice at the other end of the wire sounded,
but she could not answer, for the thickness of Chal-
loner’s hand lay between her and communication. The
suspense was unbearable—getting on her nerves.
There was nothing to do but to comply with his wish;
and upon her eyes suddenly yielding to his, he re-
leased the mouthpiece, standing on guard the while
she obeyed him. Then he drove her, literally drove
her into a far corner of the room.
“Now, let him come! We’ll see . . . .” he ex-
claimed, holding a revolver in his right hand; and as
he stood there watching her as a tiger does a tigress,
it was with a certain sense of gratification that he
noted written across her face the altogether new sen-
sation of fear, terror, and therefore respect for him.
And he rejoiced in the knowledge that the hand that
could no longer count out banknotes to her or sign
cheques was a hand that held life and death within its
grasp. Letty Love realised this, too, as she stood
there cowed, trembling, listening, watching the door.
Suddenly there flashed through her mind a way out of
the situation, and smiling, she said lightly:-
“Oh, pshaw, Lawrence, the heavy is not your line!
Come—suppose we have something to drink.”
And without waiting for him to answer, she crossed
the room and pressed the button there. Somewhat


38 THE RED MOUSE
sheepishly Challoner slipped the revolver back into his
pocket and dropped into a chair, while she ordered the
maid to fetch some Bengal—a cordial, a distilled de-
light that had come down to her from a period so re-
mote that the memory of man runneth not to the
contrary. In his lifetime Hiram Edgar Love had pos-
sessed gallons of it; it had come to him in the night
from the mysterious East, in the teeth of the revenue
guns. And Challoner knowing it for the thing it was,
his face flushed with the pleasure of anticipation.
Letty took her place beside a small table, and pres-
ently a silver-topped, cut-glass decanter was in her
hand, which she held over a glass, saying:—
“Will you help yourself or shall I . . . .”
Challoner nodded.
“Go ahead—fill it for me, Letty.”
Challoner drank—drank. He forgot Hargraves,
forgot everything but the face of Letty Love, a kiss
that he wanted, but that somehow he could not get,
an utterance in a thick voice, a momentary hand-to-
hand struggle, not with Hargraves, but with her,
then, somehow, she eluded him and he was left alone—
alone in the darkness that the Bengal had cast upon
him!
But in all this there was no Hargraves.
# ck * * º:
A few hours later when he awoke, he was still sitting


THE RED MOUSE 39
at the table, but he was alone. He rose hastily, even
steadily, and scoured the other rooms; there was no
one there. He looked for the Bengal; but that, too,
had disappeared. All of a sudden the jewels that were
on her dressing-table—jewels that he had given her—
caught his attention, and for the moment the tempta-
tion was strong to take them for the money that was
in them. But even his dull wits soon recognised the
folly of such a proceeding, since it was for her that
he needed the money, and somewhat reluctantly he put
them back in their case, muttering to himself as he left
the house:—
“Letty must believe in me—things are bound soon to
come my way.”
In a little while he was back again at Cradlebaugh's,
wandering about the rooms looking for Pemmican.
Finally he saw him coming out of one of the rooms
and hailed him with:—
“Hargraves showed up yet?”
The unwholesome looking factotum shook his head;
at the same time he noted that Challoner was in a dif-
ferent mood than when he had talked with him earlier
in the evening. Pemmican wondered as he turned
away; but then it was not given to him to know that
Challoner’s experience that night had served immeas-
urably to strengthen a desperate purpose. True, that
the joy that had been Challoner's—“his by rights,”


40 THE RED MOUSE
as he told himself—had been wrested away from him,
for he was satisfied that Hargraves’s absence from
Cradlebaugh’s meant that he was with Letty Love.
But little by little the agony of jealousy was becom-
ing a pleasurable sensation—a passion that obsessed
him. So that far from brooding, he felt as feels the
man of destiny: Whatever was to happen would hap-
pen. He would wait days, weeks, months, if necessary,
for Hargraves.
A day rolled round. Night again at Cradlebaugh's,
and Challoner still at his post of observation, waiting.
It was past midnight when Colonel Hargraves finally
appeared. Challoner felt his presence even before he
stepped up to the buffet; and summoning to his aid
all the suavity of manner that he possessed, for he
knew he must be careful, as the other, doubtless, would
be on his guard, he called out:-
“Colonel Hargraves!”
Hargraves turned quickly, and seeing it was Chal-
loner, a flicker of a self-congratulatory smile broke
over his large, round face, as he answered:—
“Why, hello, Challoner!”
The momentary gleam of triumph did not escape the
other, and it required a supreme effort to force back
the blood that was rushing to his temple.
“I want a word with you, Colonel!” And with a
wave of the hand: “Room A–will that suit you?”


THE RED MOUSE 41
Colonel Hargraves hesitated for a moment; he
moved a bit to one side and stared hard; but the other
bore his look of keen suspicion with perfect serenity.
The Colonel shrugged his shoulders. Finally he
said:—
“Oh, very well, Challoner—that suits me.”
To Room A they went; Pemmican followed with de-
canters. Possibly he suspected, feared, realised that
the air was charged with electricity. In any event
Pemmican was in charge of Cradlebaugh’s; it was for
Pemmican to see and to know.
There was a table in Room A, with chairs about the
table; and a stand against the wall. There were also
two large, heavy leather lounging chairs with arms.
Pemmican placed his burden upon the stand against
the wall, lingered for an instant, and then went softly
out. Neither of the men spoke until after he had
left the room and closed the door. When each had
seated himself at the table, Challoner got down to
business.
“Hargraves,” he began with sinister familiarity,
“you have ten thousand dollars in your pocket, I be-
lieve?”
Colonel Hargraves repressed a movement of impa-
tience with difficulty. He nodded, and unconsciously
took the attitude of the counterfeit presentment in the
apartment of Letty Love.


42 THE RED MOUSE
“Ten thousand dollars,” repeated Challoner with
provoking coolness, as he likewise planted both elbows
on the table, and added somewhat ominously: “And
I’m broke!”
There was a pause in which the men looked
straight into each other’s eyes; then Challoner rose,
walked over to the table, half filled two glasses,
and placing them on the table, leaned far over it,
declaring:—
“And yet, Colonel Hargraves, you and I are going
to sit in a ten thousand dollar game to-night!”
Challoner drained his glass; his example, however,
was not followed by the Colonel. Instead, he put his
arms akimbo, his fists resting on his hips, and tilting
back his head, he said with an air of contempt:—
“Indeed! What with?’”
“With your ten thousand!” It was well said. Chal-
loner's cool, passionless voice gave to the declaration
the character of infallibility.
“And you—” Hargraves muttered in a puzzled way.
“Not a dollar,” admitted Challoner.
Colonel Hargraves rose; he threw into his glance all
his knowledge of Challoner’s past.
“You must take me for a fool!” he burst out, and
started for the door.
But he had gone only a few steps when he felt Chal-
loner’s clutch; turning, he felt the power of Chal-


THE RED MOUSE 43
loner's eyes; and presently under their compelling in-
fluence he found himself once more taking his seat.
He made no attempt to analyse his sensations, but he
realised that Challoner had made a new impression. In
all the eventualities he had foreseen, he calculated on
Challoner's being a weakling, a wreck. But to his
astonishment he saw within those eyes nothing but
success. Challoner had become a man not to be dis-
regarded—a man of strength.
” went on
“My proposition is a perfectly fair one,’
Challoner. “You put up ten thousand cash 35
“And then—go on 25
Challoner lifted his arm and pointed silently in the
direction of the “Drelincourt.”
Incredulity shone in the eyes of Hargraves; his
scorn found vent in an attempt at levity.
“Rather like putting up something that doesn’t be-
long to you, eh, Challoner?”
Challoner was not feazed; it was the answer he ex-
pected.
“It looks that way, Hargraves,” and suddenly
thrusting himself forward, “but I can make it un-
commonly disagreeable for the other claimant. You
don’t know me—I’m an uncertain quantity—and wo-
men are blamed queer. If I win, I keep the ten thou-
sand—and my chances.”
“And if you don’t win?” a bit breathlessly.


44 THE RED MOUSE
“If you win,” went on Challoner, “you keep your
ten thousand, and—I’ll quit without a murmur.”
In the pause Hargraves thought hard—never in his
life had he thought harder. The more he studied
Challoner, the better he liked the proposition. The
moment was fraught with something new and signifi-
cant. In more ways than one he feared Challoner, for
he was by no means certain of his own place in the
woman’s affections. And then in his mind there was
one certainty—Hargraves knew that the game was
already his; knew that Challoner, steady though he
seemed, was unquestionably drunk. Never was vic-
tory more certain than at the present time.
“If I win,” at last he said with great earnestness,
“you will swear to leave me—you will leave us alone?”
Challoner nodded.
Hargraves seized his glass and extended it to bind
the bargain. Challoner seized his, but found it empty.
He left his seat and came back with it filled.
“It’s a go!” he said, and pressed a button.
With the same sense of responsibility upon him,
Pemmican responded; and on Challoner’s order he
went out and returned with ten new packs of cards,
tossing them on the table with their wrappers un-
broken.
“Cold hands,” announced Challoner, “five hundred a
throw.”


THE RED MOUSE 45
Hargraves pulled forth his roll of bills and placed
it on the table; then, placing a hand on the arm of
Challoner, he exclaimed vehemently, so that the other
should not forget it:-
“It’s understood now, Challoner, that if I win you’re
to leave us alone—sure?”
Pemmican left the room and closed the door behind
him. Challoner smiled across the table, and a new,
strange expression crossed his features that Har-
graves did not, could not understand.
“Sure,” repeated Challoner, placing the decanter
upon the table. Then they started in to play.
# # # * *
Twenty minutes later Pemmican rushed pell-mell in-
to Room A.
“There’s a big row on,” he said to himself; “a row
over a lady and a game of cards.”
And so it proved.
There was a row on between the men who occupied
Room A, and but for the isolation of the room it was
a row that might well have roused the house.
“You’ve lost, I tell you!” one of the men exclaimed;
the other laughed boisterously, defiantly, victoriously.
“If I’ve lost, so have you!” he answered.
What followed happened in an instant and before
Pemmican had been in Room A thirty seconds. For
suddenly one of the men there had whipped from his


46 THE RED MOUSE
coat-pocket a weapon that glinted in the white light;
as suddenly he had taken aim, and then came a flash,
a report, a cloud of smoke.
Pemmican looked on, speechless.
Presently one of the men crossed the room and sank
into a chair in a dazed sort of fashion, his head lolling
across the upholstered arm; while the other glanced
about him for an instant, looked at Pemmican, looked
at the figure lying on the chair, and then started sud-
denly toward the door.
Three minutes later Pemmican switched off the lights
and plunged the room in darkness.
“A row over a lady,” he murmured breathlessly, “a
row over a lady and a game of cards.”
At two o'clock that morning, Officer Keogh of the
night squad, patrolling a dimly lighted thorough-
fare in the rear of Cradlebaugh’s, stumbled over an
object lying in deep shadow.
“Good Lord! It’s a man!” said Keogh, stooping
down suddenly and as suddenly drawing back. He
drew himself together, bent down again, felt cau-
tiously about, wiped his hands and shuddered, and
drew back once again, as he whispered to himself:-
“A dead man—shot to death!”
He rapped wildly with his night-stick—the wild, ir-
regular tattoo that makes the slumberer rise suddenly
in bed and tremble, and then crouch between the bed-


THE RED MOUSE 47
clothes shivering—and pending the arrival of as-
sistance he stooped once more and fumbled in the
pockets of the dead man. Presently from the breast-
pocket of the coat he drew forth a yellow pigskin wal-
let, and upon its corner in glaring gold, that even in
the dim light glittered garishly, appeared the letters,
“R. H.”
In this wise the body of Colonel Richard Hargraves,
man-about-town, was found lying in the gloom at two
o’clock that morning.


IV
OFFICER KEogh, an hour later, under the white light
of the desk lamps over at the
Precinct, was tell-
ing his story to the desk-sergeant behind the rail. The
desk-sergeant listened disinterestedly until he heard
mentioned the name Cradlebaugh. At that juncture
he held up his hand, placed a warning finger on his
lips, nodded toward the drowsy doorman and toward
two of the reserve squad in the room, and looking
Keogh in the eyes, whispered:—
“Officer, speak low.”
Keogh, taken aback for the moment, dropped his
voice as he went on with his story. Once more the
sergeant stopped him.
“The most important thing is just where the body
was found. Be exact now, if possible; it’s important.”
Keogh went on to give a minute description, and
wound up by saying:—
“The man was dragged, all right, after he was dead.”
The desk-sergeant’s eyes narrowed to pin points as
he demanded:—
“In which direction?”
“To the west.”
The desk-sergeant shook his head portentously, and
observed:—


THE RED MOUSE 49
“Looks for sure like this was pulled off in Cradle-
baugh’s.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling everybody,” returned
Keogh, the pride of proper diagnosis resting cheer-
fully upon him.
The desk-sergeant shot out his forefinger and ex-
claimed:—
“The least you have to say about the matter the
better. This is not a case for you or for me, but for
the captain in the morning.”
The captain appeared unusually early in the
morning with some half-dozen papers in his hand.
Slapping the morning editions, scareheads, up-
permost in front of the sergeant, he blurted
out:-
“What’s this here?”
The sergeant glanced at the topmost sheet and
skimmed rapidly over the details.
“Don’t know where they got the facts, but it looks
like they got 'em right.”
The captain scratched his head, then for the next few
minutes he looked out of the window and watched the
passing throng; he was pondering deeply. Finally
he inquired:—
“What did you do?”
The desk-sergeant grinned.
“Not a bloomin' thing,” he answered.


50 THE RED MOUSE
The captain shot a glance of surprised approval at
his inferior.
“For once, by gum,” he conceded, “you hit the nail
upon the head. This isn’t a case for the police—not
yet.”
“Then for who?” The desk-sergeant looked
dubious.
“For Peter Broderick,” said the captain, nodding.
“What's Peter Broderick got to do with it?” inquired
the desk-sergeant, still doubtful.
The captain seized the telephone, but paused to ex-
plain:-
“Peter Broderick has got everything to do with it,
since the people put this blatherskite Murgatroyd in-
to the prosecutor’s office. You know as well as I do
that there’s been too many rumpuses in Cradlebaugh’s
—and Murgatroyd sent word from the court-house
that the place would be closed up, cleaned out, if there
was any more trouble there.”
“And Broderick?” persisted the sergeant.
“Broderick gave me orders to be tipped off hard
when anything happens to Cradlebaugh’s—no mat-
ter what. And that,” concluded the captain, “is
enough for you and me; we’ve got to obey orders—
See?”
He removed the receiver from its hook and was
about to talk to Central, but changed his mind, hung


52 THE RED MOUSE
Broderick’s word was law everywhere, and yet he wore
no badge of authority, held no office—he did not even
want one. He was higher than authority, stronger
than civic force: he was power personified. He had
attained that mystical position in the universe, known
wherever men cast ballots as Chairman of the County
Committee, which meant to owe no man a duty, but to
demand servitude and fealty from every man. It
meant more—it meant to hold the bag! It meant that
whatever Peter Broderick wanted he got.
“Well!” roared Broderick to the sergeant; “what in
thunder do you want?”
The desk-sergeant briefly set forth his credentials
and authority, and then plunged boldly into the pur-
pose of his presence.
“The captain wants to know what he’s to do about
this Hargraves murder?”
Broderick stared hard at him.
“Hargraves murder?” he repeated. “What Har-
graves?”
The sergeant told him.
“Great Scott! So he’s dead. Confound him! He
bled me like thunder at draw the last time I met him P”
The sergeant went on to give him the facts; Broder-
ick the while was thinking deeply. Finally he inter-
rupted the other with the question:-
“Look here, sergeant, what was there to prevent


THE RED MOUSE 53
Hargraves being shot down by a highwayman or a
thugº Can you tell me that?”
“Officer Keogh says 99
“Hang Officer Keogh!” yelled Broderick. “Keogh
is going to say nothing but what he's told to say.
Look here—do you know who killed Hargraves?”
“No.”
“Does anybody know?”
“Not yet.”
“So far so good. Now, then, that’s a dark street,
isn’t it? And other houses as well as Cradlebaugh’s
have an opening on that street, haven’t they? I say
that this thing wasn’t pulled off inside of Cradle-
baugh’s; it was the work of an unknown assassin—a
thug. Do you understand?” he declared emphat-
ically.
“You want the captain to work it out on that theory!
Isn’t that it?”
“I don’t want the captain to work it out on any
theory!” yelled Broderick. “Let the captain sit still
—do nothin'!—say nothin'! I’m doin’ this thing—
I’ll work out all the necessary theories' Do you
hear?”
“The captain told me to remind you that Prosecutor
Murgatroyd 39
Broderick sprang to his feet and stood glowering
over the sergeant.


54 THE RED MOUSE
“Murgatroyd! Nobody has to remind me of Mur-
gatroyd—confound him! I’m always being reminded
of him. He’s the only office-holder in this burgh that
hasn’t got the decency to know that what I say goes!
Sergeant,” he went on confidentially, “this is a blamed
important thing, and before I do anything I’m going
down-town to consult Mr. Graham Thorne. I’ll bring
him up to Cradlebaugh’s; you tell your captain to
meet us there in an hour and a half. That’s all he’s
got to do—all you’ve got to do—I’ll do the rest. Now
go p:
Twenty minutes later Broderick waddled into the
private office of Graham Thorne, Esquire, counsellor
at law.
“Thorne,” he exclaimed, lounging back comfortably
in a chair, “have you seen about this thing? Do you
know what happened there last night?”
Thorne smiled grimly and pointed to the pile of
morning papers on his desk.
“I knew about it at six o'clock this morning. I’ve been
waiting for you to turn up for the last four hours.”
There was a note of superiority in his voice, which,
strange to say, Broderick in nowise resented.
Broderick ever since he had met Thorne, had felt an
admiration for this tall, handsome, dignified young
man, with the grey just commencing to creep in his
hair. Thorne possessed all the qualities that go to


THE RED MOUSE 55
make up a clever, astute counsellor at law. Of his an-
tecedents, it is true, no one knew aught; he had merely
arrived a few short years before, opened his big law
office, stalked into the courts and out of them, into the
clubs and out of them. It cannot be denied that he
made his best impression upon laymen and not upon
the lawyers, although even the members of the Bar
conceded that Thorne had ability. That he earned a
great deal of money was quite manifest, for he spent
it with a free hand, if a trifle too ostentatiously. He
was not a politician in any sense of the word, and yet
unquestionably he had the air and the earmarks of the
man who some day might become a statesman. He hob-
nobbed with the best people, knew everybody worth
while, and everybody worth while knew him. Brod-
erick felt that if fate could regenerate him he should
like to be Thorne.
“Well,” blurted out the politician, “what are you
going to do about it?”
“What are we going to do about it?” asked the law-
yer in turn.
“I can handle the police,” Broderick affirmed.
“That goes without saying; but we’re up against
something more than the police.”
“If Tom Martin or Sam Apgar was the prosecutor
now,” wailed Broderick, “we’d have no trouble. They
93
used to come to me regularly for instructions


56 THE RED MOUSE
Thorne rose slowly, paced the entire length of his
long private office, treading noiselessly the thick,
green carpet like a cat.
“But,” he protested, “Martin isn’t prosecutor,
neither is Apgar. Murgatroyd is prosecutor,
93
and
“Confound the man!” interrupted Broderick. “He’s
so straight that he leans over backwards. It was he
who said six weeks ago that the Tweedale suicide was
the last straw; that if another fracas occurred inside
of Cradlebaugh’s it would be good-bye to Cradle-
baugh’s. And now there’s this blamed murder!”
Thorne looked Broderick in the eye for a moment
and asked:—
“Do you know that this murder happened inside of
Cradlebaugh’s?”
“No ; but I’m satisfied it did.”
“Have you talked to Pemmican?”
Broderick stared in surprise.
“No; but haven’t you?”
Thorne shook his head.
“You forget that I waited here for you. Now that
you’re here, my idea is to see Pemmican and get the
facts.”
“The captain of the Precinct will be there,”
explained Broderick. “He understands that you’re
counsel for Cradlebaugh’s—see?”
!


THE RED MOUSE 57
*
“Come on,” repeated Thorne; “we’ll go and see
Pemmican.”
Broderick remained seated. Presently he said hesi-
tatingly:-
“Just a second, counsellor—I wish you’d draw a
cheque for five for me.”
“Dollars?”
“No.”
“Hundreds?”
“No.”
“Five thousand!” Thorne whistled. “Coming it just
a bit strong, Broderick.” *
Broderick vigorously shook his head.
“Now, look here, Thorne, I’ve got no complaint to
make of you, and you’ve got no complaint to make of
me. You’ve paid me well, but you’ve had blamed good
returns for it, haven’t you? Come now!”
“Yes,” admitted Thorne. “Bu 93.
“No buts,” interrupted Broderick. “This is a
crisis.”
Thorne drew down the corners of his mouth.
“Do you think that I don’t know it’s a crisis?” He
went back to his desk, drew forth a cheque-book and
wrote a cheque. Before passing it over to Broderick,
he looked him squarely in the eye, and added:—
“Peter, I’ve always paid you by cheque and taken
your receipt.”


58 THE RED MOUSE
“Sure!” returned Broderick. “I’m no office-holder.
You could publish it in the newspapers; nobody
could find fault.”
“The point is,” continued Thorne, referring to a
memorandum, “that I’ve passed over to you a sight of
money.”
“And you got a sight of influence in return,” re-
torted Broderick.
Thorne passed over the five thousand dollar cheque,
seized Broderick by the arm, marched him out, then he
began to relieve his mind.
“Broderick, I want more influence. I’ve got a pet
scheme, a great ambition that is overweening, over-
whelming. It won’t down; it owns me body and soul.”
He paused a moment before finally coming to the
point. “I want some day to sit in the Senate of the
United States.” -
“Phew!” whistled Broderick. “Nothing stingy
about you!” -
“I shall want every iota of your influence,” Thorne
went on ; “I shall need it. And, Peter, I want to know
whether I’m going to have it. I want to know that
mow.”
Broderick stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk
and shook him by the hand.
“Thorne,” he exclaimed, “there isn’t a man I’d rather
send to the United States Senate than you! I mean it;


THE RED MOUSE 59
there’s my hand on it.” And pushing Thorne into the
waiting taxicab he commanded the driver to take them
to Cradlebaugh’s back entrance.
“Quick as you can!” he added, as they drove off.
Once in Cradlebaugh’s, the domineering influence of
Broderick again asserted itself.
“Where's Pemmican?” he inquired gruffy; and with-
out waiting for an answer: “send him along right
away!”
The liveried man who did his bidding bowed a bit
familiarly to him, but very deferentially to Thorne.
The latter he knew as a patron of the place, but one
who did not play.
Almost instantly Pemmican came. His face was
haggard, pale, his eyes heavy with sleeplessness, and
upon him generally was the air of a man who had
passed through some nightmare that with the dawn
had turned out to be hideously true. He took them at
once to the private room where the captain of police
was waiting. -
“Captain,” said Broderick, “this is my counsel. He’s
a rattler for advice when a man’s in a tight hole, and
I thought I’d just fetch him along. Captain Whally
—Counsellor Thorne.” And turning at once upon
Pemmican, Broderick proceeded to interrogate
him.
“Now just where did this thing happen?”


60 THE RED MOUSE
Pemmican looked at the captain, at Broderick and
then at Thorne before answering. Then he said:—
“Room A.”
“Then it was pulled off in here?”
“Yes.”
“And how did he get out there on the street?”
Pemmican rubbed his hands together, looking first to
Thorne and then to the captain for approval.
“I dragged him out.”
“Good work!” was Broderick’s brief comment.
“Who did this thing?” asked Thorne.
Pemmican gulped. After a second he answered:—
“Challoner.”
“Laurie Challoner? You don’t say!” ejaculated
Broderick. That was all the surprise manifested.
Challoner’s proclivities were too well known to every-
body in the room; besides, Cradlebaugh’s was always
expecting the unexpected to happen.
“Challoner,” exclaimed Thorne with a show of satis-
faction, “is a client of mine!”
Broderick’s eyes brightened.
“Great! That simplifies matters. You’ll defend
him?”
“I shall,” admitted Thorne, “if he be apprehended.”
“But we must fix it so that he won’t be,” remarked
Broderick.
“Or, if apprehended,” continued Thorne, “so that he


62 THE RED MOUSE
“He will!” interrupted the captain of police. “See
if he don’t . . . .”
“What if he does?” protested Broderick. “There
isn’t a grand jury ever been picked that would indict
Cradlebaugh’s And there you are!”
“So long as public opinion don’t get to work,” ven-
tured the captain.
Broderick started.
“You’ve hit the nail upon the head, captain,” he as-
sented, as he smote the table with his clenched fist.
“That’s why I'm worried. If public opinion gets to
95
work, why say, it wi
“Keep cool now, keep cool,” counselled Thorne. “I’ll
see Murgatroyd,” he went on ; “this is the time of all
times that he’s got to do what we tell him to do; and
if he don’t-we’ll break him on the wheel !”
Thorne smiled and jerked his head toward Pemmican.
“We even have the sole witness to this tragedy in the
hollow of our hands.”
There was a gentle tap on the door. Pemmican
opened it and held a whispered conversation with one
of the attendants of the house. Then he came back
into the room and looking at the captain, he said:—
“They say downstairs that two of the prosecutor’s
men were seen leaving the ‘Elevated a few minutes
ago, and that they were working their way over to the
West.”


THE RED MOUSE 63
“Jumpin’ Jerusalem!” exclaimed the captain, leap-
ing to his feet. “They’re coming here. That ends
me—I’m off!” He caught up his cap and disap-
peared.
Pemmican once more locked the door; then Brod-
erick resumed the conversation.
“By George, that’s so!” he said to Thorne. “Pem-
mican is the witness; we can keep him muzzled.” -
Pemmican edged forward from his position near the
wall. Advancing to the table he placed both hands
upon it and looked at the two men belligerently.
“But you won’t keep me muzzled!” he exclaimed.
Broderick gasped:
“W–what?”
Pemmican drew himself together. Hitherto his at-
titude had been one of fearful deference toward
Thorne; now he was defiant.
“You can’t keep me muzzled !” he repeated.
Broderick took a long breath and rose as though to
throttle Pemmican. Thorne waved him to his seat.
“Pemmican,” said Thorne, “you need some sleep.”
“I don’t need sleep nor coaching either,” retorted
Pemmican. “I’m going to tell the truth about this
murder.”
“Well,” said Broderick soothingly; “you’ve told it—
to us.”
Thorne fastened Pemmican with his cold, penetrating


64 THE RED MOUSE
glance of displeasure. Pemmican shivered, but was
game.
“This murder,” Pemmican maintained desperately,
“was committed by Challoner in Room A of this gam-
bling house! I don’t care if the house does pay me my
salary, I don’t care if I am in charge here, the house
can’t make me lie!” He paused for a moment and
then went on:-
“This killing followed a row over a game of cards.
I heard the row; I saw the shooting; and it’s up to
me to lay my cards down on the table. I’ll give up
what I know !”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort P’ said Thorne
threateningly.
“I’ll do nothing else!” retorted Pemmican hotly.
3.
“If Murgatroyd comes here,” suggested Broderick,
“or sends for you, you keep mum—do you under-
stand? That’s your game! We’ll take care of you
the same as we are going to take care of the captain.
He’s true blue; and you’ve got to be true blue.” And
pointing toward Thorne, he added:—
“There’s Thorne—he's your counsel, too. You do
as he says, and he’ll take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself,” returned Pemmican,
doggedly, “and I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell
the truth about this thing to Murgatroyd!”
There was another knock upon the door—a short,


THE RED MOUSE 65
sharp, curt, commanding knock. Pemmican sprang
to the door, unlocked it and threw it open.
Three men entered: One was Mixley; another
McGrath—both detectives in the employ of the prose-
cutor’s office in the court-house; and the third man was
William Murgatroyd, the newly elected prosecutor of
the pleas.


W
THE yellow light of the early June afternoon grew
softer as it sank into, and was absorbed by, the deepen-
ing dusk; but to Miriam Challoner, propped up with
red silk cushions in a strange attitude of expectancy,
these things had ceased to matter; for out of her
life a living presence had gone, leaving a void more
harsh than death. For weeks now she had patiently
waited, her ear strained at every sound, trying to as-
sociate it somehow with her husband’s return; the ser-
vants seemed to tread on tiptoe, as they went about
their duties; the house was curiously hushed as though
listening, always listening.
The room that she was in was beautifully propor-
tioned and panelled in dull red; there were numerous
divans well furnished with cushions and upholstered
in the same hue as the walls; and as her eyes wandered
over its rare pictures, bronzes and costly knick-knacks,
she was reminded of the early days of her married life,
when it had been her purpose to make this—Law-
rence’s room—as attractive and pleasing to him as
money could make it. Fate, indeed, had played havoc
with their lives; nothing was left but the memory of
the happiness that once had been hers.
“Oh, why doesn’t he come!” she cried, an agony of


THE RED MoUSE 67
despair in her voice, and began to pace the room in
nervous agitation.
At that moment a man noiselessly entered the room.
She did not hear him until, suddenly looking round,
she saw Stevens, the butler, advancing respectfully
toward her. For an instant it startled her; disap-
pointment and embarrassment struggled within her;
finally she asked somewhat fretfully:-
“What are you doing here, Stevens—I did not ring
—I 99
Stevens held the silver salver before her, on which
were several letters. Taking them apathetically from
him, she sank back limp among the cushions, her
nerves on edge as she proceeded to scan each in turn.
There were nine in all—the last of which she quickly
tore open as the sole missive fraught with possibility.
But she was doomed to disappointment; and handing
them back to him, she told him to put them on the desk.
The man complied, and then stood quietly at atten-
tion.
“And, Stevens,” she added falteringly, “send Foster
to me at once.”
Stevens turned on the instant and found Foster in
a passage-way, shuddering.
“What's the matter with you?” he whispered, at the
same time placing his arm about her.
“What are you doing?” exclaimed Foster with in-


68 THE RED MOUSE
dignation, but made no attempt to release herself
from his embrace. “Don’t you hear the newsboys?
What are they saying?” she went on, nestling closer to
him. “Listen!”
They did not have long to wait, for just then the
hoarse, raucous voices of the newsboys calling early
specials reached their ears; but such words as were
at first distinguishable seemed of no importance to
them. Then like a bolt from the blue rang out the
words:
CHALLONER
CAUGHT IN CHICAGO !
“They’ve caught him!” the maid almost shrieked,
pushing Stevens violently away from her; and start-
ing in obedience to her mistress’ commands, she added
sympathetically:-
“I hope she hasn’t heard 39
And as fortune would have it Mrs. Challoner had not
heard, but went on to inform the maid that she was
going to her room to lie down for a while, ending
with:—
“There are some things which I wish you to attend to
first, Foster.”
On reaching her room, however, Mrs. Challoner
abandoned her intention to lie down; apparently calm
and collected, she took a seat near the light and started


THE RED MOUSE 69
mentally to place her house once more in order. Item
after item she checked off from her memorandum upon
her household pad until at last, with her finger upon
one hasty entry, she looked up and said:—
“Foster, ask Stevens if the stone masons have finished
patching up the cellar wall; and then you may fetch
me those letters I left on Mr. Challoner’s desk.”
Meanwhile, the French window looking on the rear
porch in Challoner’s room slowly opened, and a man
quickly but stealthily entered, directed his steps to
the table-desk, switched on the green-shaded light
there, picked up several letters and proceeded to scan
each carefully in turn—just as Mrs. Challoner had
done a few moments previous. Suddenly the sound of
footsteps reached his ears, and with the same move-
ment that characterised his entrance he retreated to
the balcony and disappeared, leaving the French win-
dow open behind him. The night was cool, there was
a strong breeze from the east, and the chill, spring air
poured into the room.
When Foster came into the room a little while later,
she saw at once that the green-shaded light on the
table-desk had been switched on, and that the letters
that her mistress sent for were not there. Then all
of a sudden she noticed that the window was open and
there was a general air of mystery about the room.
She fled into the hall and called:—


70 THE RED MOUSE
“Stevens ! Stevens !”
Stevens, who dogged the maid’s footsteps and who
was generally to be found in her vicinity, was soon on
the scene.
“See: The window’s open P” she whispered trem-
blingly.
Stevens shook his head.
“I locked it myself,” he said, going over to it to ex-
amine the lock.
“It has been forced,” he informed her, and beckoned
to her to come and look at it.
With the gloom which the newsboys’ cry had cast
over them, the sight of the broken fastening filled
them with horror.
“Who did it?” wailed Foster.
Stevens stepped out upon the porch; there was no
one there. He glanced into the restricted space be-
low; he saw nothing, heard nothing. So he stepped
back into the room and closed the window, and looked
at Foster with significance. Finally he answered:—
“One of those stone masons must have done it. He
looked queer, acted queer; that is, to me.”
Foster caught him by the arm.
“Could he have anything to do—with the case?” she
gulped.
Stevens pointed hastily about the room at various ob-
jects of value easily appropriated.


THE RED MOUSE * 7T.
“Just like as not,” he answered. “If it was a thief,
he’d have taken that an’ that an’ that 33
“Isn’t it terrible!” gasped Foster; “and isn’t it shiv-
ery and cold!” She seized a match, crossed over to the
fireplace and lit the fire.
“What’s that?” she started suddenly.
There was an almost unheard tinkle of an altogether
unseen bell; and before its sound died away Stevens:
had stolen from the room and plunged almost head-
long down the stairs. Foster quickly followed him to
the door, where she encountered Mrs. Challoner com-
ing down the hall.
“I thought I heard the door-bell just now?” she
asked; for while oblivious to the noises of the street,
there was little that occurred indoors these days that
escaped her notice.
“Yes, ma’am,” Foster stammered; “Stevens is an–
swering it.”
One glance at the maid’s face, however, had sufficed
to convince her mistress that something had hap-
pened; and for a moment it took all the courage she
could summon to her aid to keep her from breaking
down completely.
“What is it? Speak!” she exclaimed in a tremulous
voice; and then without waiting for an answer, for the
sound of voices in the hall below reached her ears: “If
that’s somebody to see me, I don’t want to see them—


72 THE RED MOUSE
I don’t want to see anybody—I can’t see anybody—
99
I won’t . she ended almost hysterically;
and gathering her trailing skirts in her hands, she
fled to her room.
But no sooner had she reached the door than Shirley
Bloodgood followed on her heels.
“It’s I, Miriam,” she began; “and how are you,
dear?” And without further ceremony she pulled off
her gloves, tossed off her hat and planted herself in a
chair. -
“I just simply couldn’t stay away from you any
longer,” she declared. “I know you don’t want me
here, but I can’t leave you.”
Miriam Challoner sank weakly at a table and covered
her face with her hands. Alone with the servants, she
had borne up, but in the presence of the strong, sym-
pathetic girl, Mrs. Challoner’s courage vanished. Fi-
nally she leaned toward her visitor, and asked, a world
of pathos in the question:-
“Is—is there any news outside?”
Shirley glanced at the fire sputtering in the grate;
she hesitated imperceptibly, then she answered:—
“None—I-I haven’t seen the papers—no, there’s
nothing new.”
Mrs. Challoner rose, staggered across the room to
the girl and threw her arms about her.
“Shirley, Shirley, I’d have gone mad, I think, if you


THE RED MOUSE 73
hadn’t come!” she cried, and fell to sobbing; but after
a moment she straightened up again. There was a
defiant look in her face now, a tremor in the voice that
said: “I don’t care what he’s done—I want Laurie to
come back, do you understand? I want him back—I
want him . 35
Shirley Bloodgood bit her lips.
“I know, I know, Miriam—I do understand 39
“Oh, but you can’t understand,” she persisted; “you
haven’t a husband and you don’t know . . . .”
“Yes, yes, Miriam, I know,” were the only words that
rose to the girl’s lips to comfort her, for at that mo-
ment the faint sound of the insistent door-bell broke
in upon them.
Mrs. Challoner’s slight frame shook with sudden agi-
tation as she exclaimed:—
“That door-bell will drive me crazy!” And almost
instantly recovering her composure she gasped:—
“If it should be Laurie!”
The girl glanced at the smouldering fire in the
grate, where to her excited fancy in all their
hideousness rose before her the headlines she had
read in the evening papers: “Challoner Caught In
Chicago!”
“It isn’t Laurie,” Miriam went on ; “no, of course
not; but whoever it is, Shirley, you must see them for
me—unless it should be —” she faltered. “Then come


74 THE RED MOUSE
back, but don’t leave me to-night—you'll stay, won't
you?”
“Yes,” the girl assured her. “But you must prom-
ise me that you’ll rest for a little while—there—on
35
that sofa. Then we’ll have a bite together, an
Without a word Miriam Challoner went over to the
sofa, and soon gave way to the first sleep she had had
in many days.
“How are we ever going to break the news to her,”
sighed Shirley, as she noiselessly crept from the room.
Just ouside of the door she encountered Stevens, and
quickly placing her finger on her lips, she motioned
him to be silent. When they were well out of hearing
he announced in a confidential tone:-
“Mr. Murgatroyd, Miss Bloodgood.”
“Mr. Murgatroyd! William Murgatroyd? What
does he want, Stevens?” She was plainly excited.
“Sh-h-h!” warned Stevens gently; “he’s the prosecu-
tor of the pleas.”
“Oh, then it is Mr. William Murgatroyd. But what
does he want?”
Stevens shook his head, for they were now well in
hearing. The next moment Shirley Bloodgood had
entered the drawing-room and stood gazing into the
face of William Murgatroyd.
For an instant the man started back; he could not
believe his own eyes.


THE RED MOUSE 75
“Shirley Bloodgood!” The name fell incredulously
from his lips. “You here?”
Shirley held out her hand.
“And you—what are you doing here?” she asked
quickly. “I didn’t know that you were a friend of the
family?”
Tall, well-built, with a smooth-shaven face, a square
chin and a nose that stood well out into the air, Mur-
gatroyd was a man who appeared to be without en-
thusiasm; but although sharp and business-like, his
manner was easy. Turning to Shirley, he came to the
point a; Once.
“I want to see Mrs. Challoner,” he announced.
“But I’m glad you’re here, for I don’t know her very
well, and 33
“You can’t very well see her now,” Shirley
interrupted, shaking her head. “She’s fright-
fully unstrung—she’s ill. You know it’s al-
most three weeks now since Laurie first went away,
and •
“I know,” he broke in just a bit impatiently.
“What?” Shirley gasped, the truth at last dawning
upon her; “you don’t mean to say that you’re here in
—in your official capacity?”
Murgatroyd smiled grimly.
“It’s the only capacity in which I’m likely to be here,
Shirley,” he reminded her.


76 THE RED MOUSE
“But,” she protested, “I thought they left these
things to—”
“The police,” he finished; and again smiled grimly.
“They do, but there are reasons— You see,” he went
on to explain, “since I was appointed prosecutor of
the pleas, I’ve turned up a thing or two in the Police
Department, and, well, the Police Department and I
are somewhat out of tune. This case they have put
up to me and my men 99
“Surely you can’t mean to imply that you have to
do this kind of thing yourself?” The girl looked
askance.
Murgatroyd raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, it’s up to me . . . .”
Shirley shifted her position. She didn’t like Murga-
troyd in this new rôle, and yet there was something in
the grim determination of the man that pleased
her.
“I am sorry to remind you,” he went on, the full re-
sponsibility of his office upon him, “that I am here to
see Mrs. Challoner; to find out where Challoner is; to
persuade her to persuade him to come back.” Murga-
troyd chopped out the sentences as though he were
a machine.
“Then he wasn’t caught in Chicago!” Shirley ex-
claimed almost jubilantly; and then touching him on
the arm a bit familiarly, she added:—


THE RED MOUSE 77
“Billy, you don’t really believe that Laurie murdered
Colonel Hargraves?”
Murgatroyd laughed a short laugh.
“If I didn’t know you, Shirley, I should imagine you
were sparring for time . . . If I didn’t know
you I wouldn’t answer your questions. As it
is, I must answer them in the same way that I
would do anything you asked of me—short of
crime.”
“If you put it that way,” returned Shirley, drawing
away from him, her tone growing cold, “you needn’t
answer me at all.”
Murgatroyd did not heed her.
“I don’t know,” he went on evasively, “whether Chal-
loner murdered Hargraves or not.”
“You don’t know . . . .”
“No,” returned the prosecutor; “so far the evidence
is purely circumstantial.”
Shirley Bloodgood had been hanging on his words.
She drew a long breath and echoed excitedly: “Cir-
* There was a flicker of a smile on her
cumstantial—"
face as she added:—
“Then the newspapers were wrong when they said it
was a certainty P” .
Murgatroyd held up his hand and went on to ex-
plain:-
“What I tell you is confidential—you understand?”


78 THE RED MOUSE
“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently; “but tell me about
it—the real facts—that is, if you can.”
“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t, I suppose,” said
the prosecutor of the pleas. “The real facts as we have
them . . . as we have them, mind, are simple. Chal-
loner quarrelled with Colonel Hargraves 35
“What about?” asked Shirley impulsively.
Murgatroyd flushed.
“That makes no difference,” he answered with some
confusion; “the point is that they were enemies. It
was a quarrel in which the passions of each were
roused to the utmost. To make a long story short,
Colonel Hargraves won ten thousand dollars at
Gravesend—the men met in Cradlebaugh's—another
quarrel followed 39
“And then?”
“Then,” went on the prosecutor, “they parted. That
was all—save at two o'clock next morning Hargraves
was found in the street back of Cradlebaugh’s with a
bullet through his heart.”
Shirley was quivering with suppressed excitement;
nevertheless, she managed to ask:-
“What does that prove?”
“Nothing—only a man named Pemmican of Cradle-
'baugh’s witnessed both quarrels—and Challoner has
run away. Looks bad for Challoner, I should
say.”


THE RED MOUSE 79
“But,” persisted Shirley, “surely that evidence is not
conclusive . . . .”
“One moment, please,” went on the prosecutor
calmly; “Hargraves had the ten thousand dollars in
cash with him, and 99
“That is conclusive,” she commented. “Surely you
don’t think Lawrence would steal?”
Prosecutor Murgatroyd paused for an instant and
placed finger-tip against finger-tip, then he answered
slowly:-
“Frankly speaking, I do. I believe,” he went on,
speaking as though with conviction, “that Challoner
would do anything.”
Shirley shook her head.
“It’s impossible! Why, the Challoners have any
amount of money!”
Murgatroyd shrugged his shoulders.
“Challoner’s wife has, but 95
“It’s the same thing,” Shirley protested; “and she
just adores him—you do not know how much she
adores him, Billy!”
Again Murgatroyd shrugged his shoulders.
“But how about him?”
The girl shook her head and answered somewhat
sadly:-
“I know, I know, she’s blind to everything, Miriam
is . . . .”


80 THE RED MOUSE
Once more she placed her hand on Murgatroyd's arm,
unconsciously, impersonally but impulsively.
“Oh, it’s perfectly dreadful, the whole thing!”
Unwittingly, Murgatroyd changed his mood to meet
hers.
“Yes,” he said, “to have ruined himself like this!
It’s a tragedy to see a man like Challoner go
down hill. In the old days he was such a decent
chap.”
“You were a friend of his, weren’t you?”
“Yes, before he married, when he was poor and decent
like the rest of us—yes, I was a friend of his.”
Shirley Bloodgood drew her brows together.
“Indeed! You must have been a good friend to let
him take his downward course.”
For an instant this imputation seemed to rest heavily
on Murgatroyd's shoulders; but he cast it from him
quickly with a sigh, and answered:—
“A man’s best friends are like a man’s good wife;
they do not desert him, whatever happens; he deserts
them. And so it was with Challoner.”
“And so at the last he has no friends?”
“Evidently not, save a flock of vampires that feed
upon his purse and will continue to feed so long as he
has a purse.” He pulled out his watch. “But,” he
protested, “I am wasting time—I— Oh, pardon me,”
he quickly corrected, flushing with embarrassment, “I


THE RED MOUSE 8I
did not mean my time, exactly; but frankly, I must see
Mrs. Challoner.”
Shirley shook her head.
“Miriam Challoner is ill, much too ill to see any one.
She gave orders 95
“Excuse me, but Mrs. Challoner is not too ill,” per-
sisted Murgatroyd, “to walk from room to room. My
men have seen her through the windows. I wish you
would say to her, please, that I must see her.”
Seeing the futility of resisting further, Shirley made
a movement to go.
“Oh, I can’t tell her!” she cried. “I’ll ring for
Stevens.” She rang. “Stevens,” she said, as he came
into the room, “will you tell your mistress— Oh, I
can’t-I can’t,” she faltered.
Murgatroyd stepped into the breach.
“I am the prosecutor of the pleas,” he said to Ste-
vens, “tell her that, and that I’m sorry to disturb her,
but I must see her.”
The servant left the room. Shirley sank into a chair
and half covered her face with her hands.
“I don’t believe—I never will believe that Lawrence
did these things!”
There was a pause. After a moment Murgatroyd
remarked half aloud:—
“There is but one way to reform a man like
that 35


82 THE RED MOUSE
The prosecutor did not finish, for standing in the
doorway was Miriam Challoner, pale as a ghost, a
look of interrogation in her eyes. Shirley ran quickly
to her.
“Miriam, dear, I didn’t send for you!” she cried,
placing an arm around her. “It was Mr. Murga-
troyd . 35
Mrs. Challoner bowed and smiled faintly.
“I believe I have met Mr. Murgatroyd before,” she
said with a grace peculiarly her own.
Murgatroyd returned her greeting with:—
“I need not assure you, Mrs. Challoner, that this is a
very painful duty.”
Mrs. Challoner moistened her lips and held herself
together with great effort.
“Please don’t apologise,” she said gently, “I under-
stand. It may be easier for me to have some one
whom I’ve met.”
Murgatroyd bowed; and placing a chair for Mrs.
Challoner, begged her to be seated.
“If you don’t mind, Miriam,” spoke up Shirley,
“I’ll leave you now, but if you need me—call
me.”
Miriam clutched the girl by the shoulder, and cried
excitedly:-
“No, Shirley, stay where you are—I want you here
with me!”
i


THE RED MOUSE 83
Murgatroyd placed a chair for the girl beside that
of Mrs. Challoner; he took a seat opposite.
“Mrs. Challoner,” he began in a voice that was even
more gentle than at any time before, “believe me that
I’ve no desire to give you trouble unnecessarily.”
“Please don’t apologise,” Mrs. Challoner repeated
holding fast to Shirley, as though she pinned her
faith to that young woman.
“I shall begin at the beginning, Mrs. Challoner,” he
said. “I suppose, of course, that you have had the
report that your husband has been found in Chicago?”
“What! Found?” To the great surprise of the
prosecutor no emotions other than joy and relief were
visible on the woman’s face.
“Laurie has been found !” she went on. “Thank
heaven! I’m so glad—now he must come back home.”
“I had thought,” said the prosecutor, in even, busi-
ness-like tones, “that the news of his arrest would—
would have been an unpleasant shock to you . . .
I find that the shock is yet to come.”
Quick as a flash Miriam Challoner read the truth in
the man’s face.
“You don’t mean—you can’t mean that 99
Murgatroyd bowed.
“I have already told Miss Bloodgood that the re-
port was a mistake. Your husband was not arrested
in Chicago.”


84 THE RED MOUSE
At that Mrs. Challoner really broke down. She
sobbed silently on the shoulder of the girl beside her.
“Oh, Laurie, Laurie, then you’re not coming home!”
she cried. “Most three weeks, Shirley, he’s been
away!”
Murgatroyd waited patiently until she had recovered,
never once forgetting that he was the servant of the
people. His was a double duty. He must apprehend
the guilty, and so do it as to save the community
great expense. Of late murders had been expensive
luxuries. Murgatroyd knew that in this case he would
be hampered by lack of funds.
“Mrs. Challoner,” he said with simple directness, “the
whole substance of the matter is this: I believe—we
believe that Mr. Challoner has not left the East, and
that he may still be here in town—in this house even.”
He had reseated himself, but suddenly rose again.
“In this house!” Miriam returned with a faint smile.
“I wish he were, indeed I do wish he were—”
“Mrs. Challoner,” the prosecutor went on, ignoring
her words, “it is necessary that my men, now while I
am here, while you are here, should search these
premises—this house—”
Shirley Bloodgood shook herself from the grasp of
Miriam ; she stood erect, her slender form tense.
“This is an imposition; it is preposterous, Mr. Mur-
gatroyd, that you should doubt her word!”


THE RED MOUSE 85
Murgatroyd was unmoved.
“It is necessary for my men to search this house,”
he repeated; and not unwisely, for he well knew that
there is something that brings men—good, bad and
indifferent men—back to their homes.
But Shirley was adamant.
“No, I won’t allow it!” she exclaimed indignantly.
Mrs. Challoner placed a restraining hand on the girl,
for Miriam Challoner once more held a strong grip
upon herself.
“Search the house if you wish, Mr. Murgatroyd,”
she consented; “if you find my husband, no one will
be more pleased than I.”
Murgatroyd left the room and returned almost in-
stantly followed by two men—Mixley and McGrath.
It was one of these men a short while before who had
stolen in through the French window and tampered
with the letters on the desk. -
“You will search here first,” he ordered; and turning
to the women: “Would you prefer to go or stay?”
“We’ll go, of course,” Shirley flung at him as she
drew Miriam toward the door.
“Of course not, we shall stay,” said Miriam, freeing
herself from the girl.
The men passed in unceremoniously and proceeded to
search the room—places that even Miriam had for-
gotten about; they overlooked nothing, but silently,


86 THE RED MOUSE
quietly in their business-like way turned everything
topsy-turvy, replacing things, in the end, as they
found them. Presently they turned to their chief, and
said:—
“It’s all right, Prosecutor.”
“Cover the rest of the house,” again ordered Murga-
troyd.
They grinned sheepishly.
“That’s all done,” they answered.
“What?”
McGrath nodded.
“Yes, while you were talking in here,” he said, “we
showed our shields and they showed us through.” He
drew near and whispered: “We thought it best to take
'em by surprise; they hadn’t no time to fix things,
don’t you see?”
“Nothing found?” asked Murgatroyd.
Simultaneously they shook their heads, and an-
swered:—
“Nothing.”
Murgatroyd waved his hand and commanded them to
wait for him at the door, ending with:—
“I won’t be a minute.” And turning to Mrs. Chal-
loner, he said a trifle apologetically: “My men tell
me that your husband is not in the house. One thing
more, however; if you know where Mr. Challoner
is


THE RED MOUSE 87
“She doesn’t P’ snapped Shirley.
“If you know where he is,” Murgatroyd repeated,
ignoring the interruption, “if you have any means of
communicating with him 33
“She hasn't!” once more interposed the girl sharply.
“I want you to use your influence with him to make
him come back. His flight amounts to a moral con-
fession of crime. He has nothing to gain, you see,”
he went on to explain, “by staying away. He is
bound to be caught; he cannot escape!”
“I want him to come back,” stammered Mrs. Chal-
loner. “Yes, yes, he must come back and face this
charge. You—you don’t think him guilty, Mr. Mur-
gatroyd?”
Murgatroyd walked toward the door. If he had
spoken his mind he would have answered in the affir-
mative; but instead, he compromised with:—
“I don't know;” and abruptly left the house.


WI
“BRUTEs every one of them—and Billy Murgatroyd
the worst of all!” The exclamation fell from Shirley
Bloodgood’s lips.
Miriam Challoner had been resting her head for-
lornly on her arms as she sat at a table, but on hear-
ing the young woman’s bitter remark she raised her
head and smiled a wan smile.
“Mr. Murgatroyd?” The tone was one of surprise.
“Why, I thought you liked him, Shirley?”
The girl hunched her shoulders expressively.
“You have things badly twisted, Miriam—he likes
me.” And suddenly rising to her feet, she clapped
her hands impulsively. “Oh, Miriam, I almost forgot
—I’ve good news—good news for you!” Then she
ran swiftly toward Mrs. Challoner and swiftly back
again to the window. “No, they’re out of sight—al-
most . 33
“Good news? What good news?” Miriam asked in-
credulously.
Shirley placed a hand upon her lips.
“Prosecutor Murgatroyd,” she began, “told me in
confidence——”
“In confidence!” Miriam repeated; “then you had
better not 99
i
:


90 THE RED MOUSE
“How? Explain yourself!”
Then Shirley went on to tell that nobody had seen
Hargraves killed, nobody had seen the shot fired; that
they had only got some disreputable gambler or other
who claimed to have witnessed a quarrel between them.
“And, oh, yes,” she added a moment later, “the man
that killed Hargraves robbed him of ten thousand dol-
lars—and of course Lawrence Challoner wouldn’t rob
a man, much less kill one—so don’t you see, there’s
nothing in the story at all.”
“I don’t know,” answered Miriam slowly, “whether
he would or not.”
“What!” gasped the girl.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” pleaded the woman.
“There are two Lawrence Challoners—one is the man
I love—that loves me; the other is the Lawrence Chal-
loner who—well—I don’t care,” she added fiercely,
“what he’s done, I want him back.” She sobbed for
an instant. “You didn’t know, Shirley, that we had a
quarrel—I treated him badly, shamefully; he hasn’t
come back since.” ..
“You quarrelled—you, Miriam P. The girl opened
her eyes wide. “What about?”
“Money,” admitted the conscience-stricken woman—
“money. He wanted me to give him some—a per-
fectly natural request, wasn’t it?—Men have got to
have money,” she went on, repeating his words, “and


THE RED MOUSE 91
I wouldn’t give him any. It was brutal in me—I can
never forgive myself!”
A look of astonishment crossed Shirley’s face.
“You wouldn’t give him any money? And he didn’t
have any when he went away?”
Miriam wept. After a moment she answered:—
“No. My poor Laurie—think of him starving,
freezing, perhaps dying !”
Shirley Bloodgood drew a long breath.
“And Colonel Hargraves was robbed,” she mur-
mured to herself.
“I don’t think you understand,” Miriam went on,
breaking in upon her thoughts. “Of course I don’t
believe that Laurie is guilty of the things they charge
him with ; but he must come back and stand trial and
be acquitted—and I must stand by his side through it
all.” She broke down completely.
“On the evidence they have,” Shirley returned, try-
ing to comfort her, “they’l 35
“What's that?” inquired Mrs. Challoner, starting up
nervously, in alarm. “It’s that horrible bell ringing
again,” she went on breathlessly. “Don’t you hear
voices below? Listen—I thought I heard . . . .”
Shirley stole to the door and listened. Presently she
called back:-
“Don’t worry—whoever it is, Stevens is sending them
away!”


THE RED MOUSE 93
of the room, did not heed her; he cast her off with a
frantic sweep of the arm.
“Keep away—keep away from me!” he cried. “I’m
tired, dog-tired—I’ve got to sleep, sleep.”
Painful as was the scene, Shirley was keenly alive to
what his presence there might mean.
” she called, pointing to a window, “pull
“Stevens,’
that curtain down. I pulled it up after they went;
pull it down.”
Challoner now turned upon her.
“Leave the curtain alone, I tell you,” he said, “I
don’t care if it is up. I don’t care about you either
—nor you,” looking at his wife. “I don’t know you.
I must have sleep—sleep—sleep.”
Deep down in her soul Shirley knew that she should
not hear all this, and she would have fled if she had
not promised Miriam not to leave her. Suddenly she
wheeled upon Stevens as if she and not Miriam were
the mistress of the house, exclaiming peremptorily:-
“Stevens, leave the room!” -
Stevens obeyed her as he would his mistress, and left
the room post haste.
Miriam now went over to the girl.
“You’re not going to leave me!” she exclaimed,
clinging to her. “You and Laurie are the only
friends I have—you must stay here with Laurie and
me.”


94 THE RED MOUSE
Shirley saw the agony in her face and patted her
affectionately as she promised:—
“There, there, Miriam, dear, of course I shall stay.”
And Miriam, at once reassured, darted back to her hus-
band, and cried:—
“Laurie, dear,” kissing him and pushing the hair
back from his forehead, “so tired—so tired.”
But Challoner, a wolf now and not a man, jerked
away from her, and answered:—
“I came home, didn't I? Well, then, I must have
sleep, sleep, I tell you, sleep.” And tottering over to
a dainty silken covered sofa, he threw himself upon it
with a deep sigh, saying as though to himself: “Sleep
—I must have sleep.”
Spellbound, Miriam watched him for a moment, then
following him to the sofa, she went down on her knees
and drew him to her in a close embrace.
“Everything’s all right now that you’ve come back,”
she told him in soothing tones. “And, dear, you’ll for-
give me for quarrelling with you—I’m so sorry, yes,
I am, Laurie,” kissing him on the lips, the face, the
forehead. “Say you’ll forgive me, Laurie, dear?”
His answer was a snore. Challoner lay supinely
where he had thrown himself, sleeping as does the
beast that has crept back to his lair after days of
hunting by the man pack.
“Miriam,” the whispered name came from Shirley,


THE RED MOUSE 95
“you and I, dear, must now think of things. We must
not forget that Murgatroyd and his men have only
just left. We must not let him lie here; it was lucky
they searched the house when they did . . . .”
Miriam waved the other back.
“No,” she objected strenuously, “he must sleep; we
must let him alone.”
“No, no, Miriam,” persisted Shirley, putting great
emphasis on the words, “we ought to tell him what
kind of evidence is against him. He ought to
know that. If we didn’t warn him in time, he’d
never forgive us—he'd never forgive you. He’s a
man . . . .”
“Perhaps you’re right, Shirley—you seem to be al-
ways right. Yes, I suppose he ought to know.”
Gently Miriam shook him, rocked him to and fro upon
the sofa, as some fond mother might wake a drowsy,
growing boy on a lazy summer morn.
“Lawrence,” she cried softly in his ear, “wake up!
Wake up, dear, wake up!”
For an instant Challoner stirred. Presently there
came in guttural tones:–
“Yes, yes, that’s all right . . . .” But he slept,
and kept on sleeping.
“I can hardly realise that Laurie is back,” murmured
Miriam, happily. Unconscious of the other’s words,
she remained kneeling at the side of the dainty sofa


96 THE RED MOUSE
with its far from dainty burden, her arm still about
the neck of the man who slept upon it.
“Yes, yes,” returned the girl, “but don’t you think
we had better warn him? He must not be found 99.
The other laughed joyously, trying lovingly to
smooth out his tangled hair. After a moment she an-
swered absently:-
“They’ll find him now, I suppose; but I don’t care—
I’ve got him back.” She turned and kissed him once
again. “My Laurie,” she murmured in his ear. Some-
how she thought he heard and was glad to hear.
The girl stooped down and caught her by the
shoulder.
“But, Miriam,” she expostulated, “we must take no
chances—we ought to wake him.”
Miriam looked up at the girl helplessly.
“You must not stop, Miriam,”
39
insisted Shirley, “we
must wake him
At that instant as they stood clustered about the
sleeping thing, the bell once more broke out in feeble
clamour. They clung to each other in abject
fear.
“The bell!” chorused the women, and stood frozen,
silent. They "heard Stevens toiling up the stairs;
waited; watched the door; finally they saw him enter.
Neither of the women spoke, but gazed at him ques-
tioningly. -


THE RED MOUSE 97
Stevens met their gaze with frightened eyes. At last
he found his voice.
“It’s the prosecutor’s men again, Madam. They’ve
come to-"
“Stevens,” interrupted Shirley, “surely you didn’t
tell them that 33
“Not one word, Miss Bloodgood. But they said they
33
saw him
Shirley groaned and pointed to the sofa ; Mrs. Chal-
loner rose to her feet and stood before it as if to hide
the man upon it.
“You left them outside, Stevens?” Miriam was calm
and apparently in full control of herself now.
“One of them—the other forced his way in and sent
after the prosecutor.”
There was a tap at the door, and the maid, quivering
with fear, excitement and indignation, entered, burst-
ing forth with:— -
“There’s a man coming upstairs, Madam—but
I stopped him. He said he’d wait out there
on the landing to see you—said he knew Mr. Chal-
loner was in the house and he was going to arrest
him.”
Challoner continued to sleep noisily.
“Oh, dear, there’s nothing to be done, I suppose, but
to let the man in.” Mrs. Challoner was speaking to
Shirley now; and then without waiting for a reply she


THE RED MOUSE 99
Stevens unlocked the door, and Mixley entered the
room, McGrath following soon after.
“There’s no helpfor it, ma'am,” they spoke as oneman.
At the sight of them Miriam rushed back to her hus-
band and shook him slightly, speaking his name softly.
Then she turned plaintively to the men:-
“If you would only let him sleep—just a little while
longer,” she said falteringly.
“You must leave him to us, ma'am,” spoke up Mix-
ley; and pointing to the far corner of the room,
added: “Will you take that chair, there, please?
Don’t be afraid, ladies,” he went on, glancing at Shir-
ley; we won’t hurt the gentleman, see if we do.”
And suddenly, together, themenbodily lifted Challoner
from the sofa and as suddenly dropped him back again.
At this use of physical force Miriam covered her face
with her hands and cried:—
“Don’t do that—please don’t . . . .”
They desisted, but for quite another reason.
“There’s a hump here that we’d best attend to,” said
Mixley to the other detective, meaningly, running his
hand over the outline of Challoner's clothing. “He
may not be so sound asleep as he seems to be.”
At this juncture Shirley motioned to Stevens to leave
the room; the next instant revealed a revolver which
they took from Challoner’s hip-pocket.
“Is the thing loaded?” queried McGrath. Together


100 THE RED MOUSE
they examined it; then simultaneously they glanced
in the direction of the women.
“Ma’am—ladies,” said Mixley, crossing the room,
“we’re fair people, and Prosecutor Murgatroyd is fair.
You seen us take this here firearm from Mr. Chal-
loner just now, didn’t you?”
Miriam and Shirley nodded in acknowledgment.
Challoner dropped back into his former position and
continued to snore.
Mixley came closer to them and requested that they
take a good look at it.
“Don’t give it to me,” cried Shirley, eluding the out-
stretched hand and its contents.
“Give it to me,” said Miriam, unhesitatingly.
McGrath crowded up.
“You see that there’s five chambers loaded, don’t you,
Mrs. Challoner?”
Mrs. Challoner turned the revolver upside down and
looked at it helplessly. -
“Five chambers loaded?” she asked innocently, unsus-
pectingly.
“Here,” broke in Mixley, “let me show you.” And
he counted slowly: “One, two, three, four, five—all
full, see?”
“Yes, five chambers,” Mrs. Challoner agreed.
There was a pause in which Mixley looked mean-
ingly at McGrath; then he said:—


THE RED MOUSE 101
“And one chamber empty?”
“Oh, yes,” she acknowledged almost eagerly, as he
placed his finger on it, “there’s surely one chamber
empty—I see it now.”
McGrath hesitated, but Mixley went on:—
“Will you smell it please—just the end of it—the
muzzle. What do you smell?”
Mrs. Challoner smiled faintly.
“A Fourth of July smell,” she ventured; “gunpow-
der, of course.”
“Burnt powder, exactly, ma'am,” they said, and
smiled, too. But McGrath had still another card to
play.
“Look at this here figure on this here gun, will you,
ma’am? Here—there it is. I want you to tell me
what it is.”
“What is it, Shirley?” asked Miriam, bringing it
closer to the light.
Shirley shook her head.
“I’d rather not.”
“Please,” asked Mrs. Challoner.
Shirley peered at it. Finally she declared:—
“It’s “.38,” touching the gun lightly; “the figures
are “.38.””
Mixley fell back admiringly.
“There now—no one can say we ain’t been fair. You
saw us take it from him; you examined it; and you


102 THE RED MOUSE
told us what you saw. That's fair. You’re fair and
we’re fair—see?”
“Yes. But what of it?” asked Shirley and Miriam in
one breath.
McGrath opened his eyes in mock wonder.
“Why bless me, didn’t you know? This here Colonel
Hargraves was shot by a bullet that came out of a
thirty-eight calibre revolver. That’s all. We wanted
to be fair.”
Shirley rubbed vigorously the hand with which she
had touched the gun.
“Fair!” she cried bitterly. “And Mr. Murgatroyd
sanctions such methods—will use us for evidence—
make a case by us?”
But even then Miriam did not understand. She was
watching Mixley, who had returned to Challoner;
watching Mixley and McGrath, who were lifting Chal-
loner up and dropping him—watching them draw him
up to a standing posture and then throw him back
again on the sofa, calling the while:—
“Wake up! Wake up!”
“I’ve got to sleep,” was all they could get out of
Challoner.
At last, however, a lift and a drop a trifle more vigor-
ous than the preceding ones caused Challoner to open
his eyes and look about him. Then he closed them
again.


THE RED MOUSE 103
“Are you James Lawrence Challoner?” asked Mixley
loudly, peremptorily.
“I am,” Challoner answered; “now leave me alone.”
And now again the bell; and a moment later Murga-
troyd, the prosecutor, stood in the doorway.
The heat of much haste was on his brow; he looked
neither at Mrs. Challoner nor at Shirley; it was
toward Challoner and his men that he directed his
gaze.
“Has he talked?” Murgatroyd asked, standing over
Challoner.
“No,” answered the men, “he ain’t awake yet.”
“Lift him to his feet,” ordered the prosecutor.
The men did so.
And then it was that the women heard him say in a
tone that cut into their souls:– -
“Challoner, wake up! This is Murgatroyd, prose-
cutor of the pleas.” It was a summons ; Challoner
obeyed it. He opened his eyes, closed them, yawned
stupidly, and then, awake, stood squarely on his feet
without any help.
“Hello, Murgatroyd!” he said.
“Challoner,” said Murgatroyd severely, “remember
that I am not here as your friend—I am the prose-
cutor, do you hear?”
“I understand,” said Challoner.
“Very well then,” went on Murgatroyd, “you know


I04 THE RED MOUSE
why I am here. You are charged—I charge you now,
Challoner, with the murder of Colonel Richard Har-
graves. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly,” was Challoner's reply. “You want to
take me into custody? All right—only let me sleep
when I get there, will you? I 99
“Wait a minute, Challoner,” persisted Murgatroyd.
“It’s my duty to inform you that anything you say
will be used against you. You must not forget that
I am the prosecutor.”
Miriam came forward quickly.
“Oh, Laurie, dear, don’t say anything, just yet,” she
cried in alarm.
Shirley seconded her warning, saying quickly:-
“Don’t say a word to Mr. Murgatroyd until you
have seen a lawyer.”
Challoner, still sullen, looked over his shoulder at his
wife.
“Who’s saying all this? Only a lot of women—what
do they know?” And turning back to Murgatroyd:
“See here, Murgatroyd, let’s get this straight, shall
we?” And he looked him full in the eye. “You’re
the prosecutor—and anything I say will be used
against me. Is that right? Well, this little matter is
just as simple as A, B, C.” And suddenly drawing
himself up to his full height, he went on in a loud,
clear voice:–


THE RED MOUSE I05
“I waited for Richard Hargraves with 99
“I warned you,” cried Murgatroyd, stretching forth
a hand.
Challoner scornfully refused to listen.
66
... and when I found him—” he glanced about
him defiantly and gave an imitation of a man taking
aim and shooting. “There, now, you know the facts.”
Murgatroyd turned to his two men.
“It’s a case of wilful, deliberate, premeditated mur-
der—murder in the first degree. Take him away!”
Shirley was on her feet in an instant.
“Oh, Mr. Challoner,” she cried, springing forward,
“why did you tell him?” -
“Come on P’ Challoner called out gruffly to the men.
“Take me away!” He did not even glance at his wife,
who clung to the girl, and sobbed on her breast.
The prosecutor nodded to his subordinates, and im-
mediately they seized Challoner by the arm and
started toward the door.
“No, no,”
cried Miriam, tearing herself from Shir-
ley’s hold, “don’t take him away!” And again and
again with all the force left in her: “No! No! No −
Oh, Laurie! 59
The doors closed behind the men. Then Miriam
sank down upon the soiled sofa where he had lain, and
sobbed as though her heart would break.


VII
ON the morning after Challoner’s arrest the prosecu-
tor of the pleas was sitting at his desk in his private
office in the court-house when Mixley and McGrath en-
tered.
“You’ve done as I instructed? You’ve got Challoner
outside?” the prosecutor asked.
The men replied in the affirmative.
“Bring him in,” commanded Murgatroyd.
In a few minutes they returned with the prisoner.
Challoner looked better than he had the night before.
In a thoroughly impersonal way, curtly but not un-
pleasantly, Murgatroyd addressed him.
“Good-morning! How do you feel?”
The prisoner, still half man, growled:—
“Better. I got some sleep, but I’m still tired as
thunder.”
“I sent for you this morning,”
went on the prose-
cutor, “because of what you said last night. I am
not sure that you meant all you said—indeed whether
you remember it?”
This interrogation evidently struck Challoner as
amusingly superfluous, for he laughed aloud; but the
laughter had a note of aching bravado.
“Of course, I remember it,” he said presently, and


108 THE RED MOUSE
“I haven’t examined Pemmican—my men have,
though,” he said. “I’ve got him under lock and key;
he’s in the house of detention; and he’ll have to stay
there until 33
Challoner moistened his lips.
“Until my trial, I suppose,” he interposed. “Poor
devil! That’s hard lines P’
The prosecutor ignored the comment, but he re-
minded the prisoner again that he must be careful not
to say anything that could be used against him, con-
cluding with:—
“You came here from the jail quite willingly this
morning?”
“Don’t you think we can cut all that sort of thing
out, Mr. Prosecutor?” a little scornfully.
Before answering, Murgatroyd shot a glance at his
men as if to sharpen their attention.
“Very well, then,” he said finally, “if you’re quite
willing I should like to know the exact details. As I
understand it, both Hargraves and you were fatally
infatuated with an actress at the Frivolity—quar-
relled over her—is that right?”
Challoner reddened. For an instant a wild look came
into his eyes.
“Surely there is no necessity of bringing any other
names into this,” he answered hotly; and then little by
little calming down he recounted graphically all the


THE RED MOUSE 109
incidents leading to and of that memorable night, say-
ing in conclusion:-
“. . . . And then Room A at Cradlebaugh’s
33
an
A most unusual performance on the part of the
prosecutor cut him short. All the time Challoner had
been laying bare the facts as he remembered them,
Murgatroyd had been toying silently with a pigskin
wallet on which appeared in gold the initials: “R. H.”;
and just when his prisoner was on the point of ending
his story, he tossed it over to him.
Challoner caught it “on the fly.”
“Do you recognise that?” Murgatroyd demanded.
The prosecutor desired, if possible, to add robbery to
the motive in the case.
Challoner never winked an eyelash.
“Know it? he replied glibly, “I should think I did!
It was Hargraves’s. When I saw it last there was ten
thousand dollars in it.” And turning it almost inside
out, he asked in an offhand manner:-
“Where’s the money gone?”
Murgatroyd’s eyes searched the face of the man be-
fore him as if he would read his very soul.
“You took it,” he asserted coldly.
Challoner passed his hand across his face, striving to
clear away his muddled recollections.
“I took it? Decidedly not!” he exclaimed indig-


110 THE RED MOUSE
nantly. But the man’s dipsomaniacal doubts and
fears tinged the tone of his voice and lessened the im-
pressiveness of his denial, though he added: “Why,
your witness, Pemmican, can tell you that—he saw
the whole thing.”
Mixley and McGrath had something to say now. In
chorus they wanted particularly to know whether
Challoner was positive that Pemmican saw “the whole
thing.” This joint interrogation seemed to have an
irritating effect on the prisoner; and when Murga-
troyd silenced them by inquiring of Challoner whether
it was not a fact that he had tried to borrow money
all over town, the “Yes” he elicited was muttered an-
grily.
“But I didn’t touch that,” Challoner resumed, the
beads of perspiration standing out on his brow. “In
any event, it is not one of the main facts in my mem-
ory. If I did take the money, what in the world have
I done with it—tell me that? But look here, Murga-
troyd, let’s get down to business and have this over
with. I’m tired of the whole affair. I told you that
I waited for Hargraves for two nights. We had a
game in Room A–there was a compact—Hargraves
won out! Hang him, he always won out! We had a
row then and there . . . I pulled that gun and fired
at him point blank!”
“And then?”


THE RED MOUSE 111
“I killed him; and I would do it over again, I assure
you. I don’t remember any more—but Pemmican
was there—you’ve got his story—he knows all about
it.”
“His story,” observed Murgatroyd, laying a fore-
finger on the edge of the desk,” amounts to just what
you said last night—that drunk and sober, you
watched your chance, and when you got it, you made
good—or bad, whichever way you please.”
“You’ve got it,” returned Challoner, “now take me
back.”
There was a loud rap on the door. Mixley answered
it, and left the room, holding a conversation in some-
what strenuous tones on the other side. He returned
in an instant.
“It’s Counsellor Thorne,” he announced to the prose-
cutor. “He wants to see you.”
Murgatroyd shook his head impatiently. He and
Thorne did not pull well together.
“Tell him to wait,” he said brusquely.
“He won’t wait,” persisted Mixley. “He in-
sists . .”
“You tell him that he's got to wait,” returned Mur-
gatroyd.
But Thorne did not wait. No sooner had Mixley left
the room than Thorne entered and strode up to the
prosecutor's desk. Mixley followed him.


112 THE RED MOUSE
Resting one hand on the table Thorne waved the
other toward Challoner.
“Murgatroyd,” he cried fiercely, with an injured
air, “what’s this? You call yourself a reputable mem-
ber of the bar; you call yourself a reform prosecutor
of the pleas; this is a most unfair advantage.”
Murgatroyd sighed wearily.
“What now, Thorne, what now?”
“Most unfair,” repeated the other counsellor-at-law.
“You’ve got my client here—my client!”
Murgatroyd looked at Mixley and then at McGrath.
“Your client! Where is your client?”
“There he is,” pointing, “James Lawrence Chal-
loner!”
Murgatroyd rose and said suavely:--
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Thorne. Are you retained?
I didn’t know. Challoner said nothing of it. Why
didn’t you tell me, Mr. Challoner?”
“I didn’t know it,” Challoner told him shortly. “But
it’s all right—I supppose Mrs. Challoner retained
him.”
“Yes, she did,” Thorne informed him.
“Well, I’m sorry, Thorne,” said Murgatroyd. “If I
had known you were in the case—”
“Sorry!” echoed Thorne. “This is outrageous! I
went up to the jail this morning and my client was not
there.” He waved his arm as if addressing a jury.


THE RED MOUSE 113
“And when they told me that you—you had the ef-
frontery to have him brought down here—for the
third degree— This is a matter for the Morning
Mail.” "
Murgatroyd lolled back in his chair and lit a fresh
cigar. Presently he said:—
“Thorne, my duty is to the people as well as to your
client; so far I’ve done my duty to both. Go to the
Morning Mail if you want to.”
“And leave my client here alone!” said Thorne, dog-
gedly. He shook his head to let Challoner see what
a determined man he was.
Murgatroyd leaned back over his desk and for a
moment busied himself with his papers. Then he an-
nounced:—
“Mr. Thorne, your client is going back to jail at
once;” and added jokingly: “If you wish to ride with
him in the van, you may do so.” And with that he
ordered Challoner taken away.
Before going, Challoner stretched out his hand and
said half genially:-
“I’ve no fault to find with you, Mr. Prosecutor; it
had to come to this.”
“But I won’t forget this—not for a moment, Prose-
cutor Murgatroyd,” said Thorne grandiloquently, as
he stalked out of the door, followed by the prisoner
and his guards.


II.4 THE RED MOUSE
After the men had left Murgatroyd paced the floor
for a while in deep meditation. Something in the
prisoner's attitude had moved him, puzzled him.
“There’s a discrepancy somewhere,” he told himself;
“and yet where the deuce is it?—Challoner killed this
man as sure as fate. The motive, the opportunity,
were there . . . And then there's his confession
. But—” He pushed a button; and when
McGrath answered the call he was ordered to have
Pemmican sent down from the house of detention, his
order ending with: “I wish to see him at once.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer then placed a card upon the
prosecutor’s desk and added: “That’s a party who
wants to see you, sir.”
Murgatroyd picked up the card negligently and
glanced at it out of the corner of his eye. Instantly
a dull flush mounted to his face, and rising to his feet,
he said:—
“Tell the lady to come in, please.”


VIII
THERE was a flush on the face of Shirley Bloodgood
as she entered the prosecutor’s office, which was fully
as deep as that on the face of the man eagerly
awaiting her. Jauntily she held out a gloved hand
and said with a breeziness that was perhaps a trifle
forced:—
“You must excuse me, Mr. Prosecutor; I’m quite
alone—” and she drew attention to her unconventional
act by placing her finger on her lips, which were
pursed into a big O— “I have no chaperone.”
“Won’t I answer?” suggested the prosecutor lightly,
as he took her hand; and placing a chair close to his
desk, “Sit here, please.”
“The fact that I’m alone,” went on Shirley, taking
the seat indicated, but moving it a little farther away
from him, “should prove conclusively that I’m not
afraid to beard the lion in his den.”
, “Did it require so very—much courage?” he asked
with mock seriousness.
Shirley made a little moue.
“After last night, seems to me you’re a bear.”
Murgatroyd seated himself; it was thoroughly char-
acteristic that he should waste little time on a pre-
liminary skirmish with any one.


116 THE RED MOUSE
“Then it is about this Challoner affair that you have
come to see me?” he asked tactlessly. “I warn you,
Shirley—don't! Hands off! 29
At once Shirley assumed an aggressive, business-like
attitude; close to his desk she drew her chair, and then
leaning on both elbows looked Murgatroyd squarely
in the face and said with great earnestness:–
“Billy Murgatroyd, you’ve got to help these people
out !”
Murgatroyd flushed and answered with a smile:—
“If such a thing were possible, Shirley, you’re the
one person to make me do it.”
His compliment found her unresponsive; she was too
preoccupied with her own thoughts.
“You must do it,” she persisted, and looked at him
appealingly. “Of course the man could not have been
himself.”
“Probably not,” he said coldly. “But of one thing
you may be sure, Challoner had a purpose in all this.”
Shirley frowned; the man changed the tone of his
voice with a versatility that she declared to herself
was little short of scandalous; he went on:-
“That purpose was to kill Hargraves. Last night
you heard his confession to that effect; this morning
he substantiated it in detail.”
Shirley wrapped one hand over the other and sat
looking at Murgatroyd with white drawn face.


THE RED MOUSE 117
“I suppose you realise that this thing is going to kill
Miriam Challoner?”
The man shook his head vigorously.
“Bosh! If grief could kill the woman, living with
Challoner would have accomplished that long ago.”
“How unfeeling! How like a man! You under-
stand women so well!” she declared, looking up at him
with a mocking smile; and then went on to plead:
“You must do something—you must get him free!
Surely it remains for his friend to do this much for
him! You will—won’t you?” There was a suspicion
of moisture in the girl’s eyes.
Shaking his head, Murgatroyd rose and began
to pace the floor, not because he wanted to think,
but merely to give the girl time to regain her
composure. At last he stopped directly in front of
her.
“Shirley”—it was surprising how gentle his voice
could be at times—“I want you to realise the circum-
stances of this case, which you seem to have forgotten.
In the presence of several people, including yourself,
this man has deliberately confessed to a premeditated
murder; a man in my custody is a witness to the facts;
at least five men know of the motive—his quarrel with
Colonel Hargraves. No,” he concluded severely, “if
Challoner were my brother or my father, more than
that, if you were in Challoner’s place to-day, I should


118 THE RED MOUSE
have to try you—convict you. There would be no
escape.”
“But the condition that made him do this thing was
abnormal,” she persisted; “bad companions and bad
habits had warped his mind.”
“Like other men of his kind,” returned Murgatroyd,
“Challoner’s decent at times—conducts himself like a
man; but generally speaking, he’s irretrievably
bad.”
“But can’t you delay the trial—get him off in some
way—some time? There are ways—the thing is done
every day, and you know it.”
Murgatroyd smiled grimly.
“My dear girl, if I would do this thing, I couldn’t.
I shall go a step farther. If I could do it, I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t look you in the face, guilty as I should be
of gross malfeasance in my office.” He waved his
hand in finality. “Not another word on the subject,
please.”
“You’re immovable! You’re cruel!” she cried, rising
to her feet. “I ought not to have come! However, I
have done what I could for a friend,” she flung back
at him, looking him straight in the eye, and started
toward the door.
Murgatroyd blocked her way.
“No,” he said good-humouredly, not the least dis-
concerted by her parting shot, “it’s my turn now.


THE RED MOUSE 119
You have attempted to corrupt me, swerve me from
my duty and 29
“And wasted your time, I suppose, as you were good
enough to remind me on a previous occasion,” she re-
turned, looking up saucily at him under her lashes.
Murgatroyd was quick to detect her change of mood
and took his courage in both hands, saying:—
“Won’t you for the moment forget the Challoners,
Shirley? Be kind—you give me little opportunity
to see you alone these days. Think only of yourself
and me—”
“If you’re going to make love to me in that awfully
serious way of yours or, for that matter, in any other
way, I’ll go.”
“Aren’t you going to marry me, Shirley?” he de-
manded with characteristic directness.
“Same old story,” laughed the girl.
“Yes, this is the sixth time now that I’ve asked you.
Again, will you marry me?” -
“Don’t be silly! This is hardly the place, Billy...”
“I quite agree with you. But one has to make the
most of opportunity. As I said before, the occasions
are all too rare when I find myself alone with you.
And unless you want me to keep asking you, speak the
word now, Shirley—make me happy. You may as
well say it first as last, for I’m determined to win you
—I’m going to have you!” he wound up energetically.


THE RED MOUSE I21
“Shirley p"
The girl quickly waved him back.
“It’s because I love you or believe that I do that I
shall never marry you. I mean it,” she hastened to
add, for the faintest shade of doubt had appeared on
his face.
“But why?” he faltered, turning his eyes inquisi-
tively on her.
Shirley sighed unconsciously.
“It is time that I made myself plain, understood to
you. Not because you’re entitled to an explanation,
but because, well, because I like you just a bit 92
Again Murgatroyd took a step forward; but with
laughter still lingering in her eyes, the girl made a
pretty little movement of her wrist and motioned
toward his chair. Instantly he stopped, catching his
breath in sheer admiration of her beauty. He was
dimly conscious of putting his hands behind his back;
it seemed the only means of preventing them from
touching her. But now as he gazed upon her, he saw
that there was something behind those laughing eyes.
A serious look was on her face. She seemed suddenly
to have changed. The thousand and one little man-
nerisms that were so large a part of the girl’s attrac-
tiveness were all there, but the voice was no longer
the mirthful voice of the Shirley that he knew and
loved. She spoke as though in a trance:–


122 THE RED MOUSE
“Can you understand me when I say that I have got
to have something more than love? I am too practical,
Billy, to fool myself—or you! Perhaps I’m cursed
with the instincts of my kind—of the American girl.
Oh, let me tell you how it is P’ she exclaimed impul-
sively. “All my life I’ve been surrounded by men who
were failures. My grandfather was a failure; my fa-
ther was a failure; and my brothers are failures.
They have tainted my happiness—don't misunder-
stand me—I love them, but I can’t look up to them.”
Murgatroyd nodded appreciatively. He believed
that he should feel the same way about these men.
“But—you don’t want money?” he protested.
“You’re too much the right sort of an American girl
for that.”
“No, not exactly money; but the man who appeals to
me is one who can surmount all obstacles,” she answered
with grave tenderness; “who has success running in
his veins.” Not a shade of her former gravity now
showed on the speaker’s face; it lighted as if a flame
of enthusiasm had escaped from the temple of her
soul. She paused for a moment and lifted her head,
and in the transporting gaze that seemed to pass be-
yond him and was lost into space, for the first time the
man read and understood the girl’s nature.
“Have you ever lain awake at night, Billy, ever
curled up on a window-seat in the daytime and


THE RED MOUSE 123
planned your future?” She did not wait for an an-
swer, but kept on: “I have; and in these dreams of
mine I would always take my place by the side of my
great knight errant, helping him to become greater
—the damsel riding on the pillion of my lord’s war-
horse as he goes to war. At times he has been a diplo-
matist, a jurist, a law-maker; and I have always lent
him strength. When I marry, Billy, my husband's
work will be my work; his struggles, my struggles;
but the man must have greatness running through his
veins.”
Murgatroyd smiled sheepishly. He had his full pro-
portion of conceit, and he did not quite relish this.
“Then I haven’t figured often in the limelight of
your dreams?”
“If only you had, Billy, but you haven’t, much as
I have tried my best to fit my knight’s armour on you
and place you on his war-horse. Now can’t you see
what it would mean if we tried the experiment of mar-
riage? Marriage would not make me happy; it would
92
be misery
“Misery?” he snatched the word from her lips.
“Yes, misery for you,” she finished. “Can the girl
who must have money make a poor man happy, much
as she may love him? Can the butterfly make a book-
worm happy, much as she may love him? A woman
with social ambitions loves a man with none; can she


I24 THE RED MOUSE
make him happy? No! And while I am none of these,
yet, somehow, I’ve got to fulfil my destiny; and I’m
not going to chafe, anger and everlastingly offend the
man who doesn’t belong—doesn’t fit in with my ideas?”
“But I do fit in, as you phrase it,” Murgatroyd
maintained. “Haven’t I ambition? And am I not a
fighter?—You’d think so if you knew the devil of a
fight I am having right now with my own organ-
isation—with Cradlebaugh’s; and I’m going to
Win |”
Shirley smiled faintly at his almost boyish earnest-
ness, but she shook her head.
“You are too much of a reformer, too much of a
crank—no, I’m sorry to tell you so, but in my inmost
soul I believe you will fail. You’re built that way!
I don’t know why, but men of influence have weighed
you in the balance and found you wanting. William
Murgatroyd, politically you’re dead—that’s what
they tell me. There’s no future for you; you have
ruthlessly antagonised every valuable interest need-
lessly. That’s not success!”
Murgatroyd's face paled; his hand trembled as he
raised it in protest.
“But the people—the people believe in me?”
Shirley smiled again in spite of herself.
“You haven’t an ounce of diplomacy in your whole
body!” -


THE RED MOUSE 125.
“Not if you call obeying orders from Peter Brod-
erick, diplomacy.”
Still the girl was merciless.
“You hit from the shoulder wildly; it lands on and
hurts your opponent, but it kills you. You’re only
honest, Billy, nothing else.”
Murgatroyd swung about nervously and glanced
out of the window as he cried:—
“Only honest! Doesn’t that count with you—doesn’t
it signify?”
“It’s easy enough to be honest, but it is great to
make your honesty save and not destroy you. To get
these men behind you instead of opposed to you; to
make your organisation do what you want it to do;
to rise upon its shoulders because you make it lift you
up— Ah! .
“But, Shirley,” interposed Murgatroyd, “can’t you
35
see that the man who stands up for a principle cannot
fail?”
“What have you done so far?” she kept on per-
sistently. “You’re prosecutor of the pleas, your first,
last and only office. Am I right?”
“I’m afraid you are,” he answered dully. “In a way
what you say is the truth. Politically I shall die—”
Murgatroyd shuddered as he spoke—“unless I
can force this issue to a finish while my office
lasts.”


126 THE RED MOUSE
“And then?” Her manner in putting the question
nettled him.
“Well, then I suppose I shall live and die poor. But
at least I shall die honest,” he added.
Shirley shifted her mode of attack.
“Look at Mr. Thorne !”
“Ah, it is Thorne, then.”
“A while ago I told you it was not Mr. Thorne.”
She paused a moment and then, as if speaking to her-
self, said: “But some day I shall meet the man I’m
looking for—some day 22
“When you do, Shirley Bloodgood,” he was quick to
remind her, “it’s an even chance that he won’t care for
93
you.
Shirley lost no time in retorting:—
“It’s a chance I’m going to take! I can love,” she went
on wistfully, “yes,” and then blushing, added very
tenderly: “I am laying my soul bare to you, William
Murgatroyd, because I believe somehow that you have
a right to see it. Again I repeat: Look at Mr.
Thorne!—a prospective United States senator!”
“You admire him?”
“He succeeds.”
“Do you know why it may be possible for him to get
the nomination for senator? Have you any idea,
young woman, what it costs in this State to be chosen
senator?”


THE RED MOUSE 127
“Does it cost anything?” was her naïve rejoinder.
“Just about three-quarters of a million to swing the
thing! Thorne has money and backing and 99
“And you have neither,” she finished for him.
“Precisely.”
“Why not emulate Mr. Thorne and get both? To
be a United States senator is one of the few great
real successes possible of achievement in this coun-
try.”
“His methods are not mine,” pleaded the prosecutor,
falling back upon his platform.
“Exactly. He secures support; you, opposition.”
“Would you have me adopt his methods?”
“I would have you secure his results,” she declared
firmly.
There was a hungry look in the man’s eyes as he
spoke:-
“And if I do? . . . .”
“Oh, if you only would ſ” her young voice rang out
clearly, hopefully.
“And I’ll find you waiting for me?”
“At the top of the hill, Billy!” She held out her
hand. “Think over what I’ve said— Good-bye!”


* IX
AFTER seeing Miss Bloodgood to her carriage Murga-
troyd's thoughts were in a maze of bewildering com-
plexity. As a matter of fact, his peace of mind was
wholly gone; and it was with a far different feeling
than any he had heretofore experienced that he sought
his down-town club for luncheon. It chanced to be at
a time when stocks were buoyant, and in consequence
the atmosphere of the dining-room was charged with
cheerfulness. But Murgatroyd was in no mood to
join any of the various groups lunching together; on
the contrary, he took particular pains to seat himself
at a small table apart from the others, where he gave
himself up at once to a mental rehearsal of the scene
in his office a half hour ago.
Success at any cost! Yes, that was the way she had
put it. Well, and why not? Was not that the mod-
ern idea—the spirit of the age? And should he hold
a mere slip of a girl responsible for putting into words
what every woman thinks? Ridiculous! . . . And
the United States Senate was her conception of great-
ness! Ah, that was for Thorne! The organisation,
the brewers, the railroads, would send him there—buy
him the job! Yes, her friend Thorne would be a suc-
cess, achieve greatness; while he, William Murga-


THE RED MOUSE 129
troyd, would be likely at the expiration of his present
term of office to find himself dead politically, become
a cipher professionally as well.
Presently the waiter brought his luncheon. None of
the dishes suited him; the servant was taken to task;
the head-waiter was summoned; the dishes were
changed, and still they did not taste right. Finally
muttering to himself comments derogatory to the
club’s cuisine, Murgatroyd pushed away his plate, lit
a cigar and hastened out of the building.
Lost in an abyss of depression he sank wearily into
the seat at his desk. It was thus that McGrath found
him when he entered to announce that he had brought
down Pemmican.
Murgatroyd stared at him dully.
“Pemmican?” he repeated. “Who the deuce is Pem-
mican?”
“Thunderation!” burst from the lips of McGrath.
“Why, your star witness in the Challoner case!”
This brought Murgatroyd to earth.
“Well, don’t bring him in,” he said impatiently;
“I’ll ring when I want you.”
McGrath was dumbfounded. In fact, his astonish-
ment at his superior's evident disinclination to pro-
ceed immediately with the examination of Pemmican
was such that it came very near to making him forget
that there was another reason for his presence there.


I30 THE RED MOUSE
“Another lady to see you, counsellor,” said McGrath
half-apologetically. “It’s Mrs. Challoner this time.”
Murgatroyd looked up quickly.
“Mrs. Challoner! Why didn’t you say so before?
Show her in at once!” And as that person came
through the door Murgatroyd rose and went forward
to n.cet her, saying:—
“How do you do, Mrs. Challoner? If you had let
me know that you wished to see me, I should have been
glad to call on you. What can I do for you?”
For a moment Mrs. Challoner did not answer, but
looked suspiciously about to see whether any one else
was present.
“Mr. Murgatroyd, I do not wish it to be known that
I have come here,” she began, as she dropped into a
chair. She looked haggard, pale and worn. Her man-
ner, the tone of her voice, at once indicated to the
prosecutor that she was labouring under some sup-
pressed excitement. It was a situation not at all to
his liking, and he watched her narrowly while she
proceeded:—
“I have come to see what can be done for my hus-
band.”
“Miss Bloodgood was here a short time ago on the
same errand,” he observed, to put her at ease.
“Miss Bloodgood!” Amazement leaped into the
young wife’s tired, brown eyes. “She did not tell me


THE RED MOUSE 131
she was coming—but that’s just like her—she never
tells half the good things she does. She’s a friend—
indeed, Shirley’s a good friend.”
There was an embarrassing pause in which both were
silent. Apparently she was nerving herself to go on.
Presently courage came, and she said:—
“Will you tell me, please, what my husband's chances
are?”
“Every man is supposed to be innocent until he is
proven guilty . . . But first as last, I may as well
inform you, Mrs. Challoner, that I can do nothing, ab-
solutely nothing for you. Your husband must stand
trial P”
“Yes, yes, I know. But you don’t quite understand.
The man was not himself. Surely you must know
that! Let him live, Mr. Murgatroyd; he’s worth sav-
ing. Give him time—a chance. He'll be good—I
shall make him good. I have tried, and I shall con-
tinue to try all the harder . . . .”
Murgatroyd sat motionless. His profile was toward
Mrs. Challoner. It was a clean-cut profile, and upon
its contour there was no sign of yielding. After a
while he looked up and said:—
“I am very sorry for you, Mrs. Challoner, and I dis-
like intensely to hurt your feelings. But do you re-
alise that your husband . . . shot this man in a
quarrel over 95


132 THE RED MOUSE
Mrs. Challoner quickly cut him short.
“That woman! What do I care for that! You
don’t know what my husband is to me! I love him no
matter what he has done. Besides, it was all my fault.
Let me tell you how it was. Laurie wanted money—
93.
his money was gone—he had spent it all, and
Murgatroyd held up his hand.
“I cannot let you speak this way. You are simply
supplying me with evidence against him.”
“And I refused him,” continued the woman, too
excited to hear what the prosecutor was saying.
“I hardened my heart against him—drove him
from home, and then—this dreadful thing hap-
pened.”
“It would be dastardly in me to listen further. You
are making your husband's guilt more evident with
every word. When Hargraves was found he had been
robbed of ten thousand dollars ” And with that Mur-
gatroyd rose as if to indicate that the interview was
at an end. “There is nothing I can do, Madam,” he
declared flatly; and then added: “There never was but
one way to cure a man like Challoner; it’s too late
now.”
Minutes passed . . . Murgatroyd watched her in-
tently; but she did not move: she sat rigid as if pre-
paring herself for some ordeal yet to come. All of
a sudden her attitude changed. Mistrustfully she


THE RED MOUSE 133
peered about her once more, then leaning far over
toward Murgatroyd, she whispered:—
“We are alone?”
The lawyer regarded her with pardonable curiosity
before he answered:— -
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Mrs. Challoner wrung her hands; she seemed uncer-
tain how to proceed. In the end she said:—
“I am going to do a terrible thing. It frightens me
almost to death. I don’t know how to begin, but my
love for Laurie is my excuse for what I have to say.
I hope you won’t misunderstand me. Supposing Shir-
ley was in Laurie's place—if she were accused of crime,
what wouldn’t you do for her?”
“The cases are hardly parallel,” he answered in-
differently.
“They are precisely parallel,” she maintained. “You
love Shirley as I love Laurie—I know you do. Don’t
say no—women have a way of knowing those things.”
Her eyes sought his for confirmation. “Am I not
right?”
“I would do anything to win her,” he spoke up
quickly; evidently she took the rest for granted, for
she continued to persevere:–
“I know that you have great ambitions; and with
such a girl at your side there is no reason why you
should not become a great man.”


134 THE RED MOUSE
This sudden interest on her part in matters concern-
ing his future, for the moment rattled him. Neverthe-
less, he was conscious of a decided sensation of relief
that the conversation had taken its present course;
and her words: “With such a girl at your side” found
a welcome in his heart. On her part, Mrs. Challoner
was becoming more and more composed. And now in
a voice that seemed to him ringing with conviction, she
went on :-
“You will have up-hill work, I know. Your party
is against you &nd all “hat sort of thing; but if only
for Shirley's sake, I want you—you must succeed!”
For some reason which he did not attempt to explain
Murgatroyd found himself actually confessing to this
woman that he thought he deserved to win out.
95
“It’s only money that you lack, I know,” she ven-
tured now. “With money they couldn’t keep you
down. With money of your own—”
she stopped
abruptly; the tension was getting too much for her.
Presently she cried out: “Oh, Mr. Murgatroyd,
don’t you see what I mean, and won’t you help
me?”
But he failed to understand her meaning, and was
obliged to ask her to explain herself. He was staring
hard at her now.
And then at last it came out.
“Only this, Mr. Murgatroyd,” she said, meeting his


136. THE RED MOUSE
“In just a minute . . . .”
With a hard look on his face Murgatroyd watched
her pull a little book from a bag, watched her take out
the stub of a pencil, waited while she busied herself in
adding figures, waited until at the end of a short cal-
culation she looked up at him and made known the
result.
“In all, I have about eight hundred and sixty thou-
sand dollars left.”
“What?” exclaimed the prosecutor, unable to con-
ceal his astonishment. For since he had begun his in-
vestigations it had come to him that Mrs. Challoner's
affairs were in a bad way. A moment later he said:
“And that eight hundred thousand dollars or so
35
1S
“All in negotiable securities,” she promptly assured
him, “payable to bearer. I get six and seven per cent.
on some of them—the old ones.”
“Where are these securities?”
“In the Fidelity Safe Deposit vaults.”
“In addition to these,” went on Murgatroyd, “you
have your house on the Avenue?” -
“Yes. There’s a small equity in it.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“It is subject to mortgage, then?”
“Of course,” she answered glibly. “I get six per
cent. on most of my securities, and have to pay only


THE RED MOUSE , 137
four and a half on my mortgage. It would have been
foolish to pay it off.”
Murgatroyd smiled a cold smile.
“You’re quite a business woman, Mrs. Challoner.”
“I have to be,” she acknowledged with a smile that
was intensely pathetic.
“And that’s all you have?” he asked a moment later.
“Absolutely.”
“Your house,” mused Murgatroyd, half to himself,
“will take care of Thorne’s fee.”
“How much will that be?”
Murgatroyd jerked his head nervously.
“Thorne?—Oh, he’ll take all he can get!” There was
a short silence which Murgatroyd suddenly broke.
“Mrs. Challoner, your attempt to bribe is no longer
an attempt. You have succeeded. I shall set your
husband free!”
Mrs. Challoner smiled while the tears trickled down
her cheeks.
“I shall get you the hundred thousand dollars right
away,” she said, as if it were a mere bagatelle.
“Just one moment, please,”
continued Murgatroyd,
waving her back into her seat, for she had risen. “I
shall set your husband free for eight hundred and
siaty thousand dollars!”
Miriam Challoner leaned back in her chair. She
seemed to hesitate.


THE RED MOUSE 139
Mrs. Challoner passed out of the door, which Murga-
troyd had softly and noiselessly unlocked.
* * # # #
The man who presently was brought out of the
barred anteroom and taken before the prosecutor
might have been anything from a floor-walker of a big
department store to a manager of a renowned raths-
keller. It was evident from the manner in which he
bore himself while under the constant surveillance of
the minions of the law, that he was perfectly at home
in the presence of strangers, and that unusual situa-
tions did not feaze him. In the matter of general
adornment of the person, however, Pemmican of the
low brow was an exception to his class: no diamond
blazed from his shirt-front or fingers; moreover, he
was dressed in the most sombre of blacks, and under his
soft felt hat of the same colour the hair was brushed
forward with scrupulous care. The long, thin,
smooth-shaven face, the little, deep-set eyes, the ab-
normally low brow, which was accentuated by this odd
arrangement of his hair, the pasty complexion, all
gave one the impression of dignified sleekness. In
other words, one could easily have pictured the man as
performing in a most impressive manner the last of-
fices needed by man here below. To sum up, the at-
titude of the man now waiting for the prosecutor to
address him—Pemmican of the low brow always


140 THE RED MOUSE
knew his place—produced the effect of distressed
meekness.
“Pemmican,” said Murgatroyd, all geniality and
good-fellowship now, “how are they treating you?”
And then, with a chuckle: “You look peaked, my man!”
It was second nature to Pemmican to swallow his in-
dignation and simulate cheerfulness, but he answered
peevishly:-
“No wonder I’m all to the bad. But why am I kept
locked up in this house of detention?”
McGrath grinned and spoke for the prosecutor.
“Witnesses is wary game and scarce; it ain’t always
the open season, so we got to keep ’em in cold storage,
See?”
Pemmican ignored this remark, but turned to the
prosecutor, and there was a whine in the voice that
said:—
“You made my bail so infernally large that my
friends would not put it up for me.”
“I did it purposely,” Murgatroyd declared, still
smiling. “This is an important case; you are the only
witness; and I’ve got to keep you where your friends
cannot reach you—” here a faint flush spread over the
prosecutor’s countenance—“cannot corrupt you, Pem-
mican.”
Suddenly Murgatroyd rose from his revolving chair.
He nodded a dismissal to McGrath; and then going


THE RED MOUSE 141
over to a table in the centre of the room, he drew to
him a sheet of foolscap from a pile lying there, and
said:—
“Come over here, Pemmican P” There was an article
of some kind in the hand that rested on the table.
“Just sketch me here—on this paper—a little plan
showing the position of the men in Room A that
night.”
“Sure,” volunteered Pemmican, taking the proffered
pencil; “now, here was Colonel Hargraves, here
55
WaS
He stopped abruptly. For he had seen that the
article in Murgatroyd's hand was a wallet marked
“R. H.”
“Go on!” said Murgatroyd.
“And here was—” Pemmican stopped again.
“What are you looking at?” Murgatroyd asked.
“Oh, that? he said casually, and passed the wallet to
Pemmican.
Pemmican started and backed away.
“I don’t want it. It ain’t mine. I don’t know what it
is—what is it, anyhow?” he gulped. “No, coun-
sellor,” he added; “and besides, I wasn’t looking at
it.”
Murgatroyd patted the wallet.
“It was Colonel Hargraves’s pocketbook,” he said.
“I thought you recognised it.”


142 THE RED MOUSE
“Never saw it before, counsellor,” he repeated sul--
kily; “never saw it before.”
“You must have seen it,” persisted Murgatroyd;
“it’s pretty well worn, and he must have carried it a
long time. He was one of your patrons. The fact
is, Pemmican,” he went on, “this wallet was the occa-
sion of my sending for you just now. I am informed
that when Hargraves last carried it the wallet was
full of bills; and when he was found in the street it
was quite empty. It is a mere detail, but I should like
to know whether Challoner robbed this man as well as
killed him.”
Pemmican slowly shook his head.
“Can’t help you out,” he answered, “for I never saw
the wallet. I don’t know . . . .”
Murgatroyd went off on another tack.
“Very well, then; but there's another thing that you
may clear up . . . By the way, Pemmican, perhaps
you don’t know that Challoner has confessed?”
Pemmican’s physiognomy lost its doleful appear-
ance. And he cried joyfully:-
“Confessed? Gee, that’s good—great! Confessed?
Well, say, counsellor, it just had to come to that!”
“Yes,” conceded Murgatroyd; “but there’s another
thing which bothers me, though I don’t know that it
complicates matters exactly. It’s a mere detail again.
Challoner says he shot his man in Room A in Cradle-


144 THE RED MOUSE
pend on me; I’ll tell the truth—the whole truth and
nothing but the truth, so help me—” His gaze re-
turned again to the pigskin wallet on the desk. “But
say, I never saw that thing before.”
Murgatroyd picked it up and spoke in a still lower
tone now.
“Pemmican, suppose I were to fill this with, well, say
ten thousand dollars and give it to you; how would
you testify in this case, eh?”
“But,” protested Pemmican, “I never saw ten thou-
sand dollars in it— No . 55
“No,” repeated Murgatroyd; “but if you should right
now have it filled with ten thousand dollars, how would
you testify for me?”
Pemmican stolidly shook his head and answered:
“To the truth, counsellor—I’m an honest man.”
Murgatroyd still persisted.
“How much would you take, Pemmican,” he went on,
“to swear that Challoner did not commit this crime?”
Pemmican started back in alarm, and once more
shook his head.
“Counsellor, I’m an honest man,” he answered dog-
gedly.
Murgatroyd gave it up as a bad job.
“You’re honest, all right, Pemmican,” he said. “You
can go back now; but I’ll have you down again before
the trial, and together we’ll go over the testimony


THE RED MOUSE 145
carefully.” He placed his hand upon the other’s arm.
“You see, I’m most particular about this case.” The
next moment Mixley and McGrath entered and took
Pemmican away.
* # *. * #
Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Challoner arrived. She
was accompanied by Stevens, the butler, carrying a
large parcel, which he deposited on the prosecutor’s
table as directed. He was then dismissed; and when
the door had closed on him, the man and the woman
stood for a few minutes listening in silence to his re-
treating footsteps. Then in low, rapid tones Mrs.
Challoner assured the prosecutor that she had accom-
plished her purpose without arousing the suspicions of
any one—not even the servant. Murgatroyd noise-
lessly locked the door, and putting his hand upon the
parcel on the table, looked at her interrogatively.
“Yes—the securities—they’re all there,” she hast-
ened to assure him.
“Shall I 55 *
Mrs. Challoner's hand waved her permission. The
big, heavy parcel had been clumsily tied up with brown
paper. This, Murgatroyd tore off, and there stood
revealed two long, sheet-iron boxes, old and somewhat
battered. They were heavily sealed, and across each
on a pasted piece of paper appeared in big letters the
name “Miriam Challoner.”


146 THE RED MOUSE -
“I brought them just as they were,” she went on to
explain. “You may break the seals, scratch off my
name, and then they will be yours to do with as you
please.”
“For the present,” Murgatroyd told himself, as his
eyes fell on the vault door, “that will be their resting
place.” And turning to her, he said aloud:—
“The deal is closed. You understand the terms?
Everything is left to me—I am to free your husband
—I am to keep your money?”
“Yes,” she breathed, as if some heavy burden had
rolled from her young shoulders.
And now for the first time Murgatroyd looked Mir-
iam Challoner full in the face, and said solemnly:-
“One thing more: absolutely no one must know of
this. Not Challoner, nor Thorne, and above all, not
Miss Bloodgood. Everything depends on your silence
—your silence is the essence of this contract. You
agree?”
Mrs. Challoner bowed.
“I do.” And she might have been taking an oath
from the way she said it.
“Remember you will say nothing to Miss Blood-
good . . . .”
“Shirley will never know of it.”
“Most decidedly not Shirley.” But the prosecutor
remarked this to himself when once more he was alone.


X
THE trial of James Lawrence Challoner had pro-
gressed with uncommon haste, the fourth day finding
all the witnesses heard and the case ready to sum up
to the jury. The court-room was crowded: the news-
papers were there; the people were there; public
opinion was there. Brief and to the point had been
the State’s case—made up out of Pemmican’s evidence
and the confession of the prisoner. But in the prose-
cutor’s presentment of his evidence there had been an
undercurrent as unusual as it was unexpected: every
question that he hurled at Pemmican had a hidden
meaning; every interrogation point had a sting hid-
den in its tail. Not that he made any attempt to
switch the issue or to side-track the facts, but it was
clearly apparent that from start to finish he was mak-
ing a supreme effort to include within his facts, to
embrace within the issue and to place on trial, together
with the prisoner, one other culprit in this celebrated
case—Cradlebaugh’s.
However, if such were the prosecutor’s chief purpose,
it failed. Thorne, the counsel for the defence—who
represented more than one client in this case—met him
at every turn, parried his every thrust.
“Objection sustained,” the Court had ruled wearily


148 THE RED MOUSE
many times during the trial, “the prosecutor will pro-
ceed.” -
And upon such occasions Graham Thorne, from the
counsel’s table in the front, had flashed a triumphant
glance at Peter Broderick; and Peter Broderick, in
turn, from his seat in the rear of the court-room,
would return the gaze with a smile, the brilliancy of
which was outshone only by the big diamond that
blazed from where it rested comfortably on his highly
coloured shirt-front. To these two—not in the least
interested in the outcome of the trial, so far as Chal-
loner was concerned—the case was highly satisfactory.
There was no crevice in the mystery of Cradlebaugh’s
in which Murgatroyd could insert the thin edge of a
wedge; its foundation still remained unshaken after
the impact of his battering ram; the Challoner case
was to be the Challoner case, and nothing more.
. “That’s all, Mr. Pemmican,” were the words
with which the prosecutor had concluded the examina-
tion of his principal witness.
On Pemmican of the low brow leaving the witness
stand, he had glanced expectantly toward the counsel
for the defence. Throughout the trial there was in
his manner a peculiar deference toward Thorne which
had been there from the first day. Under Murga-
troyd's sharp interrogation he had seemed quite at
ease; but his attitude toward Thorne had always ap-


THE RED MOUSE - 149
peared to be that of a man whose hand was constantly
kept raised to ward off blows. However, notwith-
standing that he had been recalled at least five times,
Pemmican, on the whole, apparently was well satisfied
with his performance. Unquestionably he had been
loyal and wary, and had confined his testimony as to
motive to the woman in the case—a row over a lady—
keeping that portentous game of cards well into the
background—out of sight.
“Surely you’re not going to detain me any longer?”
whispered Pemmican to the officers who had placed
themselves on either side of him. “What! You're …
not going to let me go?”
“Not on your life!” remarked one of them genially;
and showing to the prisoner a slip of paper which he
drew from his pocket: “There’s a warrant for your
arrest.”
Pemmican for a moment looked bewildered and mur-
mured incredulously:-
46 ... my arrest?”
“Sure,” replied the officer. “The chief's begun his
raid on Cradlebaugh's, and you’re one of the main
guys . . . .” -
Pemmican wiped his forehead and stammered sulk-
ily:-
“And—and the prosecutor’s goin’ to lock me up af-
ter all I’ve done for him?”


150 THE RED MOUSE
“That’s what!” replied the officer, and a moment
later added complacently: “Unless you can get bail.”
“Confound 'em!” exclaimed Pemmican. “They
won’t go my bail!”
The detective placed his ear quite close to Pemmican.
“Who won’t go your bail?” he queried interestedly.
Pemmican smiled.
“They,” he returned, not for an instant off his
guard.
“If Prosecutor Murgatroyd only knew who they
are,” went on the detective, “if he knew who backed
you up, there’d be some interesting goings on 'round
here.”
“He won’t find out from me,” replied Pemmican, dog-
gedly. “I play a straight game with the men who
hand out my bread and butter. You can lay your bets
on that P*
“Sh-h-h-! The prosecutor’s talkin’ over there,”
whispered the detective, raising his hand, and he
hustled the prisoner out of the room, as Murgatroyd,
rising once more, bowed toward the bench and an-
nounced:—
“The State rests, if the Court please.”
And then Thorne at his end of the table also rose to
his feet and declared:—
“The defence rests.”
Presently he began to address the Jury. During the


THE RED MOUSE 151
trial his line of defence had been insanity—the de-
fence of the defenceless, the forlorn hope of the hope-
less. The Bench had frowned at it; the Jury had
shaken its head as one man: insanity to juries in the
metropolis had become as a red rag to a bull. But
the crowd in the court-room had leaned forward with
huge expectation,-waiting for the hidden places to
be revealed with much the same anticipation and in-
terest one experiences in waiting for the dénoue-
ment of a stage drama.
Before turning to the jury, however, for his last ef-
fort, Thorne stooped down for an instant and whis-
pered to Mrs. Challoner:-
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Challoner, that we couldn’t do
better with our facts. It seems to me to be the
weakest defence I have ever seen put up in any
case. Indeed, it seems to me we have no defence at
all.”
But somewhat to his astonishment this remark was re-
ceived by Miriam Challoner with that same degree of
confidence that had characterised her attitude all
through the trial. On her face was a certain unex-
plainable something which not only he had noted but
which the people had noted, the men at the press-table
had noted, and commented upon freely in their copy—
a glow that had never faded from the eyes of the wo-
man, a flush upon her cheek that had never paled, and


152 THE RED MOUSE
which said more plainly than words that she was cer-
tain of the acquittal of her husband.
“Devilish fine actress!” Thorne thought to himself,
for such optimism in a case like this was wholly be-
yond his comprehension; and it was with a certain feel-
ing of admiration that he heard her whisper with a re-
assuring smile:—
“You’re making a glorious fight, Mr. Thorne; you’re
bound to succeed.”
And indeed, such was her marvellous hopefulness,
that it succeeded in enheartening him, and was re-
flected in his illustrations to the jury when dwelling
at some length on the many fine points in the character
of the accused. He was particularly happy in im-
pressing upon his hearers that Challoner was a man
with a most peculiar temperament and mental bias;
that if Challoner had taken the life of Colonel Har-
graves, it was only after the man’s soul and mind had
eaten poison from the hands of his enemy—Colonel
Hargraves.
Of the life and character of that gentleman, he had
little to add to what was already known, and was seem-
ingly content to dismiss him with:—
“The least said of him the better, now that he is
gone.”
Thorne paused.
Suddenly he assumed a dramatic pose, and now turn-


THE RED MOUSE I53
ing toward a beautiful and fashionably gowned
young woman with a bar of sunlight streaming down
her face, who occupied a seat underneath the third
high window in the court-room, he riveted his gaze on
her, all eyes following in that direction. ~.
“There,” he said, his voice sinking to a whisper, but
a whisper that could be heard all over the court-room,
“is the woman in the case—the real culprit! A temp-
tress! A vampire! A Circe! A woman who has made
a mess of the lives of two men, and only God knows
how many others! A woman who played the game
to her own selfish ends! . . . And here you have
the result!”
For a full minute Letty Love unblushingly re-
turned the lawyer’s probing glances; plainly she re-
joiced in the stares which she felt were focussed upon
her, for no one knew better than she that her beauty
was infecting all present, and it was not until she had
drunk her fill of the cup of publicity that she turned
her head away and looked out upon the sunlit street.
From where he sat Challoner, too, was able for a
brief moment to see the face of the woman who was re-
sponsible for his misfortunes. That same second, how-
ever, brought his wife also into his line of vision, mak-
ing it possible for him to contrast the two counte-
nances; and he was surprised to find himself not only
admiring the wealth of colouring and glow upon Mir-


I54 THE RED MOUSE
iam’s face, but actually loathing himself for ever hav-
ing admired the ugly lines which he now saw on the
sunlit face of Letty Love; and his whole nature re-
volted against her.
“If only I had left her to Colonel Hargraves,” he
muttered to himself; and immersed in similar bitter
reflections, he lost all but his counsel’s concluding
words:–
“. . . . and all that I want, all that I ask of you,
gentlemen of the jury, is that you give us what we
have not had so far—a fair, square deal!”
Thorne sat down, satisfied that he had made an im-
pression. At all events, he had done the best he could
—under the circumstances. Out of his material he had
hewn the inevitable result—debauchery; out of this
debauchery he fashioned the conclusion—insanity; out
of a victim he had made a murderer; out of a mur-
derer he had made a hero whose irresponsible emo-
tions cried out to a jury of his peers for justice,
even for retribution against the murdered man. Base
metal though it were, it seemed pure gold to his listen-
ers. Even the jurors drew long breaths and looked
each other questioningly in the eye; the crowd mur-
mured its sympathy; and Thorne, glancing at the
little coterie behind the prisoner, was pleased to see
that even in the eyes of Shirley Bloodgood he had
raised a new hope for Challoner.


THE RED MOUSE 155
In the interim that followed Shirley and Miriam
leaned over and shook hands with Thorne.
“We can’t lose,” whispered Miriam ; and again there
returned to her face that mysterious expression of
confidence which was decidedly inexplicable to her law-
yer. And so it was that a little while later he turned
to Shirley and said:—
“Does she understand that we must lose?”
Miss Bloodgood shook her head.
“Oh, no! No one can tell her that.” And bestowing
on him a rare smile, she added: “And now, Mr.
Thorne, after what you have said no one can tell me
that either.”
Well pleased with her flattery, Thorne returned the
smile, but he warned her that when those twelve men
got into the jury room they would get down to facts.
And it so happened that the twelve men got down to
the facts before they even started for the jury room,
for already the prosecutor had begun his speech and
was stripping the case of everything save the truth.
“This, gentlemen,” he now told the jury, quietly, “is
not an unusual case; it’s an every-day story growing
out of jealousy and hatred; one bad man shot another
bad man—that’s all.”
At this the temperature of the crowd dropped from
the fever-heat of frenzied sympathy down to the
freezing-point of common-sense. Challoner stirred


156 THE RED MOUSE
uneasily; Shirley Bloodgood shivered; only Miriam
Challoner sat with the same placid look on her face.
Murgatroyd now left his jury, walked to the table
where the prisoner sat, and without taking his eyes
from the face of the accused, he continued:—
“. . . . This man Challoner is a wilful, deliberate
murderer! This is not his first offence—he began to
murder years ago . . . .”
At this point the prosecutor went back to the time
when Challoner married a beautiful young girl, em-
phasising the fact that he had married this mere slip
of a girl for her money.
“Her money! And he has never earned a dollar
since!” he told his listeners with great scorn. “And
his life! What has he made of it? Ah! You men
know the things that are done in this city between mid-
night and morning, and the up-hill fight that is being
made to clean it of corruption and vice! Well, this
degenerate, this profligate, did these things of the un-
der-world. They appealed to him; he was no mere
youth to be led astray!”
Challoner winced; not that he quailed before the
menacing posture that the prosecutor had assumed,
but because of a guilty consciousness that the accus-
ing lips meant every word that they uttered. The audi-
ence shifted uneasily in their seats; Shirley Blood-
good held her breath as she placed a protecting arm


158 THE RED MOUSE
“And let me warn you, gentlemen of the jury,” he
continued ominously, “that the honour, the integrity
of this metropolis hangs in the balance. If you ac-
quit this defendant and set him free, the people of this
State, the people of the country, will say henceforth
that all that a murderer need have to secure an acquit-
tal—his freedom, is money, money, money.”
As the prosecutor seated himself, there was a gasp
of relief from the people in the court-room. Brod-
erick ventured inside of the railed space set aside for
counsel and shook hands with Thorne.
“Counsellor,” he said, “you certainly handled that
trial like a veteran. You saw your duty and you did
it.”
Thorne nodded his thanks, and answered:—
“I held Murgatroyd down to the woman in the case,
all right. He had to stick to that one motive. This
verdict will let everybody out 35
“But Challoner,” added Broderick.
“Everybody but Challoner,” agreed Thorne; “and
the incident will be closed.”
Broderick, with a certain self-satisfied air, went
On :-
“When you were talking, I put up ten dollars with a
chap back there in the court-room that Challoner 'd
go free.”
“Not in a thousand years!” declared Thorne, flatly.


THE RED MOUSE 159
“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Broderick, and added
with a twinkle in his eye: “I hate to lose that ten.
Still if I do lose it, it’ll be tougher for Challoner and
her—” he jerked his head toward Mrs. Challoner at
the other end of the table—“than it will be for me.
Oh, well, such is life! The world is full of the wives
of criminals, and they all marry again and have chil-
dren and live happily ever after.”
Once more, he glanced in the direction of Miriam
Challoner, and presently commented in a low voice:–
“There’s a plucky little woman, Thorne; nothin’ can
feaze her. I’ve been watchin’ her; and she’s just as
sure of that jury as I am of my own assembly district
after it has gone through my trousers pockets the
night before election.” And clapping Thorne on the
shoulder familiarly, he took his departure, saying:—
“I’ll be back to hear the verdict.”
# # º # *
It was nearly two o'clock. The Court had
charged the jury; the jury had filed out; they were
still locked up in the jury-room. The crowd had left
the court-room, Challoner had been taken down-stairs,
Pemmican had been housed in jail under the gambling
warrants; only Thorne, Miriam and Shirley remained.
“Wasn’t that a terrible arraignment of Prosecutor
Murgatroyd!” exclaimed Shirley. “When he faced
Laurie and told him what he thought of him—it was


THE RED MOUSE 161
waddled in, the barred door in the far corner opened,
and Challoner, as though in a daze, walked down
the aisle, an officer in front and one behind him.
The clerk glanced about him to see that all was
in readiness, and then nodding to an officer, he
said:—
“Bring 'em in P’
A minute that seemed minutes elapsed, and then the
jury filed in—a jury whose faces, whose demeanour
told nothing, gave no sign. Then there was an inter-
val of silence, and in that interval a cutting pang
seized upon the soul of every human present—the
agony of suspense, the travail that precedes the birth
of a verdict.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” said the clerk rapidly,
“have you agreed upon your verdict?”
“We have,” came in chorus.
“Who do you say shall answer for you?”
The eleven men pointed toward their foreman.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” said the clerk, “look
upon the prisoner; prisoner, look upon the jury.
Gentlemen of the jury, how do you say you find—
guilty or not guilty?” -
The foreman glanced upon the piece of paper which
he held in his left hand and gripped the rail before
him with his right.
“Guilty,” he replied.


162 THE RED MOUSE
“What’s that?” exclaimed Graham Thorne in af-
fected astonishment.
“What?” came from Miriam Challoner shrilly; and
the next moment all the colour had left her face; she
was pale as death.
” repeated the foreman in a
“Guilty, your Honour,
louder tone.
“Guilty of what?” queried the Court impatiently.
“Of murder in the first degree,” answered the jury
as one man.
“Gentlemen of the jury, your verdict is guilty of
murder in the first degree, and so say all of you?”
reeled off the clerk, looking at his minutes.
They nodded.
“You are discharged, gentlemen, with the thanks of
the Court,” announced the Court with approval. “Be-
here to-morrow morning at ten o’clock.”
Meanwhile Challoner sat sullen, desperate, his chin
resting on his hand, glaring into space. Around him
was confusion, expostulation. The spectators were
pressing forward toward the rail to get another look
at the accused, while the jury was passing out. All
of a sudden the sound of buzzing whispers died down
and was followed in a moment by an intenser silence.
There was a stir among those in the front seats, and
the judge, looking up, was surprised to see that it was
caused by the defendant’s wife, who had moved from


THE RED MOUSE 163
her place and was making her way to the prosecutor’s
desk, determination standing out on her countenance.
Immediately all eyes were fixed on her, as she placed
her hand upon Murgatroyd's arm, and looking him
full in the face, exclaimed hysterically:-
“They found him guilty—guilty, do you under-
stand? What have you got to say?”
Murgatroyd looked at her, but he did not answer.
Her grasp became a clutch as she repeated:—
“What have you got to say to me? Speak!”
Murgatroyd was imperturbable.
Miriam, aghast at his coolness, stared at him; then
she began again:-
“You—you—”
Her voice failed her, and relaxing
her grasp, she clung to the table for support. Shirley
ran to her, held her, saying gently:-
“Miriam, dear, you are beside yourself—come, come
away!”
But Miriam braced herself and resolutely shook her-
self free from her friend.
“No,” she replied evenly, “I am not going!” and
her voice rose as she went on: “Don’t let anybody go!
What I have to say I want all of you to hear!” And
tottering over toward the bench as the spectators
pressed tumultuously forward, Peter Broderick among
the rest, she exclaimed:—
“Your Honour ! Your Honour!”


164 THE RED MOUSE
“What is it, Madam?” asked the justice. And con-
sidering that the Court believed that it had to deal
with a case of hysteria, the voice was surprisingly lit-
tle tinged with irritability; but then the learned judge
felt that he must make some concession to a woman of
Mrs. Challoner's high social standing; and therefore
he added politely: “You must be brief.”
“I shall be brief,” answered Mrs. Challoner, sending
an accusing glance toward the prosecutor. “I desire
to make a charge against Mr. Murgatroyd, the prose-
cutor of the pleas!” She was well contained, but her
tone was harsh, cutting.
The Court glanced sympathetically at her, and then
smiled gently, indulgently in the direction of the
prosecutor.
“I accuse him of bribery!” she went on. “He
promised to set my husband free!”
Shirley Bloodgood clutched her once more, pleading
with her to stop.
“Miriam, what are you saying? You must stop
this . . . .”
“Bribery?” asked the justice, somewhat startled.
“Bribery?”
For an instant there was a subdued uproar. Graham
Thorne pressed forward toward the Court; Broderick
from the crowd behind pushed his way into the en-
closure; reporters thrust their pads and pencils into
*


THE RED MOUSE 165
the scene; spectators stirred, became noisy; but Mur-
gatroyd never moved.
“Let Mrs. Challoner go on,” demanded Thorne.
The Court rapped loudly with his gavel; the crowd
slumped into silence.
“Clear this court-room!” ordered the justice, stand-
ing up until his command was obeyed.
The process took five minutes. At the end of that
period none was left within the room except the officers
and those within the rail, which included Broderick.
No court-officer who valued his position dared to dis-
turb Broderick.
“Now close the doors!” ordered the justice.
That took an instant more. At last, the Court
said:—
“Now, Mrs. Challoner . . . .”
Miriam’s Challoner’s eyes flashed fire.
“I want everybody here,” she cried, “to know and un-
derstand what this man has done! He arrested my
husband,” she went on, her face still turned toward
Murgatroyd, her eyes holding his glance; “I begged
of him to set him free—he refused. He told me he
could do nothing for me—could do nothing but his
duty. I couldn’t move him; he wouldn’t budge an
inch until finally I offered him money.”
She paused. Peter Broderick moved a few steps
nearer, gnawing his finger-nails; Thorne watched


166 THE RED MOUSE
Murgatroyd closely; but Murgatroyd was unmoved.
He returned Miriam’s glance with interest; he gave no
sign.
“. . . . until I offered money,” she repeated. “I
offered him one hundred thousand dollars; he refused
to take it.”
“Naturally,” interposed the Court.
“He refused to take it,” went on Miriam, irritated by
the interruption, “because he knew there was more. He
demanded eight hundred and sixty thousand dollars—
all I had, to set my husband free! He took it and
agreed to set him free. And now,” she concluded, ad-
vancing toward Murgatroyd as though with a threat
upon her tongue, “see how he has kept his word!”
“It can’t be true,” Shirley Bloodgood was heard to
say, half aloud.
Broderick crept up close to Thorne and nudged him.
The latter interpreted correctly the action.
“Let Mrs. Challoner go on,” suggested Thorne; and
the Court ordered Mrs. Challoner to proceed.
“That’s all,” said Miriam, quite close to the prose-
cutor now, “except what I have to say to Mr. Murga-
troyd.”
And now as she stood before him, her eyes glistening,
her breast heaving, remembering only that sh s 8.S a
woman robbed of her mate, she cried:—
“I am going to make you suffer for this as you made


168 THE RED MoUSE
But the Court merely beckoned to Thorne and sug-
gested that he take charge of his client; that the strain
had been too much for her. And much as Thorne
wanted to believe her story, he felt as the Court felt:
that the tale was little short of preposterous.
“But—it’s true,” Miriam persisted to her counsel,
“incredible as it may seem.”
Thorne eyed her steadily for a few moments. At
last, he said:—
“At any rate, it may have some effect upon the ver-
dict.” And then addressing himself to the bench, he
exclaimed: “Your Honour, Mrs. Challoner assures me
that this charge is absolutely true.” And finally turn-
ing to Murgatroyd: “I should like to hear from
Prosecutor Murgatroyd as to the truth or falsity of
this?”
As the two men faced each other, Shirley once more
touched Miriam’s arm, and said affectionately:-
“Miriam, do you realise all that you are saying?—
Look into my eyes, dear, and tell me candidly is it
true? . . . .”
“Before God, I swear it.” And a moment later she
added: “And he never kept his word.”
“Well, Mr. Prosecutor, what have you got to say?”
asked the Court, a trifle apologetically.
During the pause that immediately ensued, Miriam
Challoner wondered what Murgatroyd would say;


THE RED MOUSE 169
what he could say; what was left for him to say. The
prosecutor stood in the centre of an open space, and
looking first at Miriam, then at Thorne, and finally
at the Court, he answered gravely:—
“Your Honour, I have heard the charge. I don’t see
that it behooves me to answer it at this time, nor in-
deed,” bowing toward the Court, “before this tribunal.
If it be a charge made in earnest—as it seems to be
—then the only question that can possibly interest this
Court, is whether I have done my duty toward the
people of the State. The charge assumes the propor-
tions of a bribe to free a guilty man. My answer is,
I have convicted Challoner. If there was a bribe, it
was a bribe that didn’t work.”
The Court stared with the rest. Peter Broderick
gazed at Murgatroyd in open-mouthed admiration;
even Miriam felt baffled unaccountably.
“Mr. Thorne,” said the Court, “if this charge be
made in good faith, and even assuming it to be liter-
ally true, isn’t the prosecutor right? It cannot be
that this charge is true; but if Mrs. Challoner claims
it to be true, if you believe it to be true, her remedy,
then, is to go to the Grand Jury and indict, to the
legislature and impeach.” He paused judicially, and
added: “The fullest refutation, after all, is that the
prosecutor did convict.”
Thorne considered for an instant.
º


170 THE RED MOUSE
“I agree entirely with your Honour,” he assented,
bowing.
“The incident is closed,” went on the Court, rising.
“You have your remedy— Good afternoon!” And he
left the court-room.
And still Murgatroyd stood his ground while the
others stood aloof. Presently two officers seized Chal-
loner and disappeared with him through the barred
door. Graham Thorne then approached the prose-
cutor and exclaimed:—
“Prosecutor, we have wondered all along just what
your price might be. Now we know.”
“The last dollar that a woman has,” sneered Peter
Broderick.
And still Murgatroyd gave no sign. It was only
when Shirley Bloodgood approached him and he heard
the tremor in her voice that the man trembled imper-
ceptibly.
“Mr. Murgatroyd,” she declared, “I am forced to be-
lieve all that Miriam has said. Oh, Billy, Billy, it is
inconceivable that you are the man that I have re-
spected all these years! You have lost the one thing
I admired most in you.” Her voice broke, and turn-
ing to Miriam, she cried: “Come, Miriam, dear, we’re
going home.”
Mrs. Challoner touched Thorne upon the arm, and
said with a final look at Murgatroyd:—


THE RED MOUSE 171
“I want you to take every legal measure to indict, to
impeach this man, and I want you to begin at once.”
After all had gone, Murgatroyd remained for some
time where they had left him, imperturbable, inscru-
table, gazing doggedly into space.


THE RED MOUSE 173
Miriam Challoner checked a wild desire to laugh
hysterically.
“But you broke it first!”
Murgatroyd smiled.
“How P”
The woman looked steadily at him.
“By this conviction!”
“What was our compact?” he asked sternly.
Miriam’s courage was returning; it was with an in-
dignant tone that she replied:—
“That you should set my husband free!”
Murgatroyd tapped the table with his hand.
“And have I failed as yet?”
“Yes,” she answered fiercely. “You have convicted
him.”
Murgatroyd drew his head slightly to one side;
pursed up his lips; drew his brows together; and nar-
rowed his eyes before he spoke:-
“Did you assume for an instant, Mrs. Challoner, that
I was such a bungler as to release your husband at the
first trial—for all the world to know—to suspect?
When I said to you that I would set your husband
free, did I say—when?”
Of the scene that followed Miriam Challoner never
retained a very clear impression. She remembered that
at first, as if in a trance, she kept repeating his last
word, while by degrees its meaning stole in upon her;


174 THE RED MOUSE
then of a sensation of being about to faint through
mere excess of joy. Suddenly the thought of her
temerity flashed through her brain—the enormity of
the thing she had done; and she would have gone on
her knees at his feet had he not caught her in time.
Quickly recovering, she looked up at him. Somehow
his face seemed to hold little resentment now—too lit-
tle, in fact, to suit her surprising desire to humble her-
self in his sight.
“After all, she’s rather a fool of a woman,” his ex-
pression had plainly said to her overwrought senses,
“and I will spare her.” And yet she craved so to hear
words of pardon from his lips, that she broke out al-
most breathlessly:-
“You will forgive me—you must . . . I have
done you an unutterable injury, I know.” She
stopped, and then with a sudden lapse to her old air
of fear: “Oh, but what will happen now—what will
happen to Laurie? I have failed you; you have the
right to . . . .”
Once more cold and indifferent, Murgatroyd looked
out of the window, though he interrupted her last
words by saying frigidly:—
“When I make agreements, Mrs. Challoner, I keep
them. You may be sure that I shall keep this
one.”
Still awed in a measure by his masterful personality,


THE RED MOUSE 175
but with joy in her heart, Miriam Challoner started
to leave the office.
With a gesture Murgatroyd checked her
quickly.
“Mrs. Challoner,” he said with reproof still linger-
ing in his voice, “there is no necessity henceforth for
personal interviews. In the future if you have any-
thing to say to me, kindly let it come through your
counsel, Mr. Thorne. It is much better so—much
safer. I prefer to deal with him only.”
Miriam bowed acquiescence.
Directly on leaving him Miriam Challoner went to
Thorne's office. It was in accordance with her promise
to aid him in formulating the charges which he was
preparing against the prosecutor on her behalf.
These charges were for the legislature and the
Grand Jury: on the one hand, impeachment; on the
other, indictment. Now whether the accusation had
been true or false mattered little to Thorne. On the
whole, perhaps, he was inclined to disbelief; but Brod-
erick, his colleague in the organisation, was by no
means of that opinion. In any event, since it came
from such an authoritative source—the lips of Mrs.
Challoner—it was a charge that possessed merit, in-
asmuch as it would injure Murgatroyd—and Thorne
was not slow to recognise that. In consequence, then,
there was, unmistakably, a note of gratification in the


176 THE RED MOUSE
words with which he greeted Mrs. Challoner that af-
ternoon in his office.
“Here it is—in the form of an affidavit—just
what you told me, Mrs. Challoner. Please read
it.”
Trembling slightly while searching her mind for
some clever way in which she might express her change
of plan, Miriam Challoner slowly read the document.
Nothing was left out, nothing exaggerated, and with-
out a word she returned it.
“Will you sign here, please?”
There was no time to arrange any idea she may have
had for new tactics: it was Thorne’s voice that was
insisting; it was Thorne who was holding a pen for
her and indicating the correct place for her signature.
And with a violent effort, Mrs. Challoner braced her-
self for the first lie in her life.
“It’s not true. I cannot sign it.”
Thorne started back. Instantly he was spluttering
his annoyance at what he considered merely a woman’s
whim.
“Not true! Why only a short time ago you declared
it was true.”
“So it was—but only in a way,” she said laboriously.
Her face burned and paled. “I tried to bribe him,
but 99
“Bribe him How? . . . .”


THE RED MOUSE 177
“With the money—the money I had left,” she re-
plied cautiously.
“What have you left?” he ventured.
Curiously enough, Mrs. Challoner found herself tak-
ing a certain amount of satisfaction in telling her
lawyer what now was unquestionably true.
“My home—only.”
“But that’s mortgaged, I understand?” There was
more than idle curiosity in the speaker's eyes.
“Yes. But there’s an equity of about twenty or
twenty-five thousand,” she explained.
“And you tried to bribe Murgatroyd with twenty
thousand dollars?”
There was no answer; and interpreting her silence as
assent, he went on persistently:-
“And he refused?”
Miriam was very white now.
“He did.”
“I should think so,” returned Thorne. “Two hun-
dred and fifty would be more like Murgatroyd’s price
—if he can be bought.”
“No, he cannot be bought,” Miriam ventured with
perhaps a trifle more confidence in her tone than Mr.
Thorne liked; and then she added, in a changed voice:
“I want you, please, to retract this story. I want to
take it all back. I was unstrung, I 35
“I will retract nothing,” he cut in rudely. “Not a


178 THE RED MOUSE
thing. Leave it as it is. If you begin to retract
you’ll get yourself in trouble. If Murgatroyd de-
sires to make a move, let him . . . .”
And with a promise to that effect, a hurried acknowl-
edgment with an inclination of the head that she ac-
cepted his words as ending her interview, she left the
office, leaving him far from certain that Peter Brod-
erick’s appraisement of Murgatroyd's character was
not a correct one.
That night when the papers came out, people read
them in anger and dismay; by the next morning they
merely laughed; likewise the Court.
“If he were bribed,” said public comment, “it was a
bribe that didn’t work.”
And Murgatroyd, submitting to interview after in-
terview, reiterated over and over again to the re-
porters:–
“I point with pride, gentlemen, to the conviction of
Lawrence Challoner. That’s all I have to say.”
The fiasco had helped Murgatroyd infinitely more
than it had hurt him, Thorne felt in his inmost soul.
For once the masses refused to believe what on its face
appeared to be true.
* º: * * º
One evening a few weeks later, while Murgatroyd
was dressing to dine at his club, as was his custom
nearly every night, his servant handed him a note


180 THE RED MOUSE
Murgatroyd,” she began, but her lips trembled so that
she stopped abruptly after adding: “I want to talk
with you.”
An instinct told Murgatroyd that it would be a
grievous mistake not to accept without a protesting
word the note of aloofness, the desire to avoid any
suggestion of former intimacy that was in her tone.
Rightly he told himself that the slightest advances on
his part would result in adding to her distress; that
however much he would like to break down the barrier
that had arisen between them, he must bide his time
and trust to her emotional nature to accomplish that.
And he was not mistaken, for presently an impulse to
speak her mind at any cost took possession of her, and
she burst forth:-
“Billy, why did you take this money? Why? . . . .”
Carried away by the tender accents with which she
pronounced his name, Murgatroyd essayed to speak,
but she interrupted him.
“Don’t”—covering her ears with her hands—“don’t
tell me! I know you did it—because I—I-oh, why
did you listen to me! I thought I knew what I was
talking about,” she went on, while he sought control
of himself by looking away from her; “but I knew
nothing of conditions; of men. I thought that a man
—that you could accomplish anything you really
wanted to do. But you were right. There are impos-


THE RED MOUSE I81
sibilities. I understand now—now that it’s too late.
I have had my lesson. Only a few months ago you were
honest, and now you are corrupt, and I alone am re-
sponsible!”
By the time she had finished speaking Murgatroyd
had become as imperturbable as he had been at the
trial, and there was only a hint of tenderness in the
reassuring words that he now uttered.
“You must not blame yourself—” he was neither ad-
mitting nor denying the impeachment—“for anything
I may have done.”
“But I do, I do,” she cried bitterly. “And you must
blame me. I always thought Adam was a coward to
cast the blame on Eve. But now my sympathies are
with him—the woman was to blame then—I am to
blame now. I gave you of the apple, and you— Oh,
there would have been no apple—nothing but Eden if
I had only listened to you and you had closed your
ears to me.”
“Eden,” he said wistfully. “Yes, but hardly the
Eden you cared for.”
Abruptly her mood changed. She lost all semblance
of calm, and her voice rang with a scorn that, before
she ceased, seemed to include him as well as herself.
“What do I care for success or failure! I could cut
my tongue out for telling you that my father was a
failure. A failure! Why, I know that not only was


182 THE RED MOUSE
he not a failure, but that he was really great! A man
in the highest sense of the word—and that’s all I want
you to be. I don’t care an iota that you should be a
senator—I don’t want you to be a senator. I have
sent for you to-night to tell you so—to stop for good
and all the thing I set in motion.” She was silent for
an instant; and then suddenly with a quick return to
gentleness, and with appeal in her eyes, she murmured:
“I want you to come back—come back.”
In turn he murmured words that sounded to her like
“to you.”
Shirley shook her head as though that were a thing
out of the question.
“No, to your honest self,” she said earnestly but
kindly. “To the Billy Murgatroyd that was.”
For a moment they looked steadily into each other’s
eyes. From the time of Miriam’s exposure of him in
the court-room there had never been any admission,
any concession on Murgatroyd's part. Nor was there
any now; but unknown to himself, there was an air
of appeal, not wholly free from anxiety even, for her
face was again showing signs of hardness as he
spoke:–
“I can hardly do that. I cannot stop. And if I
should—where is the inducement? You have no apple
to offer me; you are beyond my reach.”
And as if to disprove his own words, an impulse of


184 THE RED MOUSE
“What you did, you did for yourself and not for me.
You were weak from the start. Any man who would
surrender his honesty even for a woman is not a man.
I see now that I ought not to have sent for you. I
take back everything I have said.” She paused, and
then concluded with a little shake of the head:—
“I wouldn’t marry you now if you were the last man
on earth!”
Both rose to their feet. Habit, perhaps, rather than
any regret for her words, induced her to dismiss him
with a tender expression on her face. And Murga-
troyd bowed low over the hand she offered him, pressed
it and without a word of protest went out of the room.
With his departure went out the last glimmer of hope
that he would ever return to his better self. Nothing
could stop him now. As for Shirley? The moment
the door closed on him she sank with a moan into a
chair.
# # * # #
Thorne took an appeal from the verdict of convic-
tion. He had been careful to take exception to each
bit of questionable evidence.
“I think,” he assured Mrs. Challoner, “that I have
found more than one hook to hang a hat on. It looks
to me like a reversal.”
“I am sure it will be,” she replied.
Her assurance was the same assurance that had sus-


THE RED MOUSE 185
tained her in the trial. There was still that mysterious
something that Thorne could not understand. She
seemed the incarnation of hope.
“What do you think, chief?” asked McGrath of
Murgatroyd, one day after the appeal had been
argued.
Murgatroyd shrugged his shoulders.
“That verdict will stick,” was his only comment.
“By the way,” said McGrath, “Pemmican keeps
mum up there in jail; but he's getting restless as thun-
der. He wants to know how soon you’re going to try
him on this gambling charge.”
Murgatroyd smiled.
“In due course,” he returned, “but you can tell Pem-
mican unofficially that the quickest way for him to
get on trial—or in fact the quickest way for him to
get off without trial—to get out of jail, is to let me
know the name of the man higher up. I’m looking for
John Doe, and I expect to keep Pemmican under lock
and key until I get him. You understand?”
“He sure does kick,” laughed McGrath.
Shirley and Miriam and even Challoner watched the
course of events with great interest. Miriam’s mouth
was sealed upon the question of the bribe, but Chal-
loner absorbed what he had heard in the court-room,
and hazy though it had been, he noted that Miriam’s
manner was still hopeful, in fact, certain. Shirley,


THE RED MOUSE 187
“How did he kill himself?”
“Cyanide! Smuggled in somehow, nobody knows.”
Murgatroyd read the yellow sheets again.
“Great Caesar!” he exclaimed.
Mixley, still lingering, now asked:—
“Any news from the Court of Errors and Ap-
peals?”
Murgatroyd nodded.
“Here’s their opinion—just handed down.”
“Reversal?”
Murgatroyd shook his head.
“No. Affirmed. By the way, Mixley,” he added,
“take this carbon copy over to Thorne, will you?
He’ll want to see it.”
“Shall I tell him?” faltered Mixley.
“Tell him nothing,” Murgatroyd replied. “Offi-
cially I know nothing of this other thing. I’ll in-
vestigate it first, then I can talk to him.”
That very day, Thorne, disappointed as he was, sent
a copy of the opinion up to Mrs. Challoner, without
comment. Later over the phone he told her:-
“There is no hope.”
But Miriam Challoner was not downcast. She had
doubted once; but now she held to her faith in Murga-
troyd; she knew that Murgatroyd would keep his
word. Shirley, though, shook her head. She felt that
Challoner was doomed. But when Thorne told her,


I88 THE RED MOUSE
she begged him not to tell Challoner until it was ab-
solutely necessary.
And also on that same day Murgatroyd jumped in-
to a cab and rode off on a tour of private inspection.
Entering a large building he asked:—
“I want to see Jennings, if you please.”
The next day he sent for Thorne.
“Before making things public, Thorne,” he said, “I
wanted you to read that.”
Thorne read with bulging eyes the yellow sheets that
were thrust before him. Over and over again he read
them; then he leaned over and touched Murgatroyd
on the arm, saying:—
“Don’t make it public.”
“Why not?”
“There are political reasons—many of them,”
pleaded Thorne.
“But it’s bound to leak out 33
“Never mind. I don’t want it made public.” Thorne
seemed terribly uneasy.
But again Murgatroyd persisted:—
“What of Mrs. Challoner?”
“I’ll take care of Mrs. Challoner,” responded Thorne.
“Just leave the whole thing to me. I’ll see that every-
thing is done.”
“I’ll go with you before the Court at any time you
please,” said Murgatroyd.


THE RED MOUSE 189
And that very day they did go before the Court. The
Court opened its eyes and heard what they had to say.
“Well, well!” exclaimed the Court.
A little while afterward Broderick and Thorne sat
closeted. Every crisis found them with their heads
together. -
“Broderick,” said the lawyer, “this is going to hurt
Cradlebaugh’s more than ever. The Challoner case
has jumped from the frying pan into the fire.” His
grip tightened on Broderick. “This thing has got to
be hushed up.”
“If it’s got to be, it can be,” declared the politician.
“But there’s the Court order?”
Broderick grinned as he said:—
“There’s men has got to file it—men that know how
to file papers so blamed far in the pigeon-holes that
even a newspaper man can’t crawl in after 'em.
They’ll do just as I say.”
“Somebody’s bound to find it out.”
“Not if I stretch out this hand,” answered Broderick.
“That there hand has covered a multitude of sins.” He
squinted at Thorne. “But there’s just one person I’m
afraid of in this thing.”
Thorne's nod seemed to say:
“Murgatroyd.”
Broderick shook his head.
“No, not a bit of it. You take my word for it, Mur-


190 THE RED MOUSE
gatroyd will never open his mouth again on the sub-
ject of the Challoner case. He took that cash—he
can’t fool me!”
Thorne sighed:—
“You think we’re safe with him?”
Broderick dismissed the subject of the prosecutor
with a wave of the hand.
“Mrs. Challoner is the fly in the ointment.”
Thorne, in turn, quite as vigorously dissented:—
“You’re wrong there. I’ll handle Mrs. Challoner. If
she ever asks questions, I’ll answer her with the right
kind of answers. Don’t worry, Broderick,” and look-
ing at his watch, added: “You’d better be about it
and do your little part.”
“I’ll do mine as soon as you do yours.”
“What’s mine now?”
Broderick held out his hand, and said:—
“A little cheque, counsellor.”
And again on that very day the doors of the big
building that Murgatroyd had visited opened wide.
From them there stepped forth a man—no, four men
—four men laden heavily. With these four men was
a fifth, but he was unseen. Between them, in the full
light of day, the four men carried a long, oak box,
carried it quietly but swiftly, and swung it suddenly
into a battered-looking hearse.
“That’s the end of him!” they said among themselves.



XII
SoMEwhERE on the East Side, beyond Gramercy Park
and Irving Place, with their beautiful old houses; be-
yond Stuyvesant Square, once equally famous for the
princely hospitality of its residents; still further on
in that section which lies toward the river, where the
women and children as well as the men toil unceasingly
for the bare necessities of life, where evidences of pov-
erty and suffering are all about, and which is com-
monly termed “the slums”; somewhere there, we say,
in one of the smaller tenement buildings, some months
later, Miriam Challoner, one time wealthy and fashion-
able woman of society, took refuge.
Within this new-found home—a nest consisting of
two rooms—everything was scrupulously meat; but
except for a small gilt chair that caught the rays of
the sunlight, and that seemed fully as incongruous to
its surroundings as was the woman herself, there was
nothing in its furnishings to remind one of former
prosperity. In a far corner of the adjoining room
was a stove on which a frugal meal was cooking, send-
ing its odour throughout the small apartment—a meal
that in former days she would not have thought pos-
sible even for her servants. At the window of this
room, which was bedroom and living-room com-


THE RED MOUSE 193
“Well? What is it?”
There was no answer. A moment more, and she was
at the door confronting a man and a woman, both
gaily caparisoned. They stood hand in hand, sheep-
ishly, smilingly, the woman looking more like some
guilty child, who was being brought to task by an
over-indulgent parent. For a brief second, that
seemed interminably long to Mrs. Challoner waiting
for them to speak, they stood thus; and it was not un-
til they called her name that she recognised them.
“Mrs. Challoner—we thought—” they stammered
in chorus.
“Why, it’s Stevens,” Mrs. Challoner broke in, at last,
“and you too, Foster!” and the colour instantly went
flying from her lips to her cheeks.
“Yes, ma'am,” again came in chorus from Stevens
and Foster, late butler and lady’s maid to Mrs. Chal-
loner, and still hand in hand.
“Oh, Mrs. Challoner,” then spoke up Foster, “what
do you think? We’ve gone and got married!”
“Married? Foster! Stevens! Why, yes, of course, you
do look like bride and groom,” said Mrs. Challoner,
her heart for the moment sinking at all this happi-
ness; and then: “Come in, and do tell me all about it.”
“Mrs. Challoner,” quickly put in Stevens, as they
came into the room, “she pestered me 'till I had to
marry her—there was no getting rid of her.”


• 35
PLEASE TAKE IT
“‘IT’s For You





THE RED MOUSE 197
wife turned her steps toward the kitchen, than he
quickly leaned over to Mrs. Challoner, and thrusting
something in her hand, he said in an undertone:–
“She’s treasurer, ma’am, and I have to account for
every penny; but this she knows nothing about. It’s
for you—please take it.”
In an instant Mrs. Challoner was on her feet, and
putting the money back in his hand, she exclaimed:—
“Why, Stevens, I can’t take this! Really, I have
money . . . .”
For a moment Stevens’s eyes wandered about the
poorly furnished room, betraying his thoughts to the
contrary. This was not lost on Mrs. Challoner, who
immediately went on to explain:-
“Yes, Stevens, and I earn it, too.” And she pointed
to the typewriter with a certain pride.
“I beg your pardon, ma'am,” said her former but-
ler contritely, returning the money quickly to his
pocket. “Only, don’t let her know . . . .”
When Foster came back into the room, they were
standing over the typewriter, Mrs. Challoner explain-
ing its mechanism.
“Oh, what a fine thing it is to have an education!”
exclaimed the young wife, looking sharply at her hus-
band; but her penetrating glance was too much for
Stevens, and turning quickly on his heel, he proceeded
to rearrange the chairs.


198 THE RED MOUSE
“Hey, there!” suddenly called out Foster. “Why
aren’t you more of a gentleman—where’s your man-
ners? Run along there, like a good fellow, and put
some water in the tea-kettle!” Stevens lost no time in
obeying; then drawing close to Mrs. Challoner, Fos-
ter whispered:—
“This is for you, ma'am, but don’t let Stevens know,
for he's as tight as a drum-head.”
“But,” protested Mrs. Challoner, looking at the
other in astonishment.
“Please, I saved it just for you,” insisted Foster,
with a look of disappointment on her face.
“Really, Foster, I don’t need it,” declared Mrs. Chal-
loner stoutly but kindly. “I can’t take it. Some day,
perhaps, I may need money, and then I’ll send for
you.” And then quietly changing the subject: “How
fresh you look, Foster! And what a man you’ve mar-
ried! There is no need to ask if you are happy,
99
for
“Well,” said Stevens, approaching them, “we must be
going now, for Bernhardt will be waiting for us.”
“It was good of you to see us, ma’am,” said Foster,
putting out her hand, just as she had seen the ladies
do in the old days at the big Challoner house on the
Avenue.
93
“So you married for love,” said Miriam Challoner,
as they started to go.


THE RED MOUSE 199
“Well, he did,” conceded Foster.
“She did, ma'am,” corrected Stevens; and presently
they were sailing down the street like a pair of lovers
“walking out” on a Sunday afternoon.
“One hundred dollars a month !” sighed Miriam, re-
seating herself at the typewriter. “And they were
going to give me twenty-five dollars—the faithful
dears l’”
Once more engrossed in her work, she did not hear
the door-bell, which had been ringing persistently. At
the end of a page she paused and bent her head low
over her work.
“. . . . for love,” she mused, half-aloud.
Meanwhile, her caller, determined to be admitted, had
stolen softly into the room, though it was not until
she stood beside her that she attracted Miriam’s at-
tention. For a moment Miriam glared hard at her;
she could not believe her own eyes; then, suddenly
rising to her feet, she cried half-joyfully, half-regret-
fully:- -
“Why, it's Shirley Bloodgood! Oh, why did
you come! You must not stay, you must not
see . . . .”
“Why did you hide from me?” quickly returned
Shirley. “I have searched for you for months, and it
was only yesterday that I learned from Stevens where
you were, who, by the way, had orders not to reveal


200 THE RED MOUSE
your whereabouts. You might as well have moved a
thousand miles away, as everybody thinks you have.”
Miriam sighed weakly.
“It takes money to move a thousand miles away,”
she protested feebly.
“You are like a needle in a hay stack over here,” con-
tinued Shirley.
“But why did you come?” Miriam kept on protest-
ing. “Why, Shirley . . .”
Shirley stretched forth her arms, saying:—
“And you didn’t want to see me!”
“Yes, yes,” cried Miriam, suddenly catching Shirley
and clinging to her affectionately. “Yes, I have
wanted you to come so much, but I hoped you never
would see this!” And she spread out her arms as
though to exhibit the room. -
“What a poor opinion you have of me! Why, Mir-
iam, if I wanted to see handsome apartments, I need
not have taken all this trouble to find you. No, in-
deed, I value your friendship too highly to desert you
on account of this.”
And now the two women fell to talking about things
past and present. After a while, it was Shirley who
delicately broached the subject of Laurie.
“And Laurie—how is he?” she asked.
Miriam's eyes kindled for an instant, but its fire soon
died out.


THE RED MOUSE 201
“Poor boy,” she answered, “he’s under such a strain.
It’s a wonder he doesn’t break down. He’s so good
and kind through it all, too. He’s a fine fellow, now,”
she went on with great enthusiasm.
“Let me see,” said Shirley, reminiscently, “his convic-
tion was reversed on appeal, wasn’t it?”
“Why, no; don’t you remember that it was affirmed
—affirmed . . . .”
“I do remember now. And it was that day or the
next one that you ran away from me, you bad girl,
and I’ve never seen you since. Affirmed—affirmed,”
she mused; and then suddenly leaned forward and in-
quired eagerly:-
“Then how did he get off?”
Miriam shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know,” she said, “nobody knows; not even
Laurie knows that. One day after the affirmance, the
jail doors were opened, and he was free—that’s all—
and he came back to me.”
“Surely Murgatroyd knows,” said Shirley.
“Oh, yes, of course he knows; but we have
never asked any questions. Why should we? I
shall never forget Murgatroyd though—I remem-
ber him in my prayers. He was honest; he kept his
3.
word 3.
Shirley smiled a grim smile.
“Murgatroyd, the man with a price! Well, I sup-


202 THE RED MOUSE
pose it’s just as well that there are people in this world
who can be bought now and then.”
“I have never forgiven myself,” sighed Miriam.
Shirley looked up at her questioningly.
“You? What for, pray?” º
“For blurting out in the court-room what I did when
the jury found Laurie guilty. Why, it was abomi-
nable! it was treachery! I had promised, don’t you
See?”
“That was clever in Murgatroyd,” admitted Shir-
ley. “He would have been a fool to acquit Laurie on
that trial. Oh, yes,” she added, with a sneer, “he’s
clever, all right!”
Mrs. Challoner straightened up.
“Fortunately my outbreak did no great harm; no-
body believed me.”
“Except myself,” observed Shirley, “and Murga-
troyd!” -
“Even Laurie didn’t believe me,
“until—well, I don’t know whether he's quite sure
about it to-day. We never discuss the subject, any-
” went on Miriam,
way. It’s barely possible,” she said, flushing, “that he
thinks we spent the money long ago.”
There was a pause that was a trifle embarrassing to
both women. Miriam was the first to speak.
“Murgatroyd is making a name for himself, isn’t
he P”


THE RED MOUSE 203
Shirley threw up her hands in indignation.
“Who wouldn’t, with that stolen money to back
him!” she exclaimed fiercely.
Miriam shook her head.
“He’s doing good work with it. He's breaking up
the organisation—the inside ring. I’m sure that the
effect of his work is felt even over here.” And then
she added vehemently: “But his best work will be over
when he has succeeded in breaking Cradlebaugh’s.
When he does that 35
“After he downs Cradlebaugh's,” interrupted Shir-
ley, “if he ever does, I hope he’ll down himself. That’s
my wish for Billy Murgatroyd!”
“Murgatroyd is honest,” protested Miriam.
Shirley smiled a hard smile.
“You mistake his motive, Miriam. He’s ambitious
—frightfully ambitious. Why even now he’s plan-
ning to go to the Senate,” declared Shirley; but she
did not add that it was she who had put the idea into
his head. “Think of Billy Murgatroyd’s being Sen-
ator! He'll ask a billion the next time he’s bought, in-
stead of a million P’ she wound up, scornfully.
“You forget,” quietly but forcibly reminded Mir-
iam, “that I stand up for Murgatroyd.”
“Poor Miriam,” sighed Shirley to herself, “she al-
ways was easily fooled.” A moment later, she ex-
claimed: “A typewriter!”


THE RED MOUSE 205
*
was immediately forthcoming, for Miriam went over
and caught him in her embrace.
“Poor Laurie, tired, aren’t you, dear?” she said
fondly; and then turning toward the girl: “Here’s an
old friend of ours—Shirley Bloodgood
“So I see,” he growled; and without more ado he
122
turned to Miriam and demanded gruffly:—
“Well, where’s your money? I’ve got to have some
money right away.”
Miriam fumbled for an instant at her waist. She did
this more for appearance' sake than anything else, for
she well knew that she had none to give him. Every
day she had given him about everything she made.
“Yes, Laurie,” she faltered, “yes, of course.” And
turning to Shirley, added by way of apology for him:
“Such an ordeal as Laurie has been through—such a
strain.” -
Shirley was in a panic. What she had seen was
enough to make her heart-sick.
“Oh,” she suddenly exclaimed, “I have forgotten all
about father! I left him alone—I simply must go
now. You don’t know how glad . . . .” And turn-
ing to Challoner, she held out her hand to him. But
ignoring her completely, he again said to his wife:–
“Miriam, where is that money?”
“Laurie is such a business man now, Shirley,” said
Miriam, smiling bravely at the girſ.


208 THE RED MOUSE
Miriam staggered back; her eyes opened wide in hu-
miliated astonishment.
“Oh! Laurie!” she cried, not with physical pain, al-
though there upon her face, now red, now white, was
a broad, blotched mark—the bruise that the brute
had left there.
He made a movement to go; but again she was in
time to prevent him; for quick as a flash she had darted
to the chiffonier, opened the top drawer and drawn
forth a weapon.
“Stop!” she cried in a hard voice. “Don’t you dare
to leave this room with that money!”
Challoner blinked at her stupidly.
“What are you going to do?” he demanded.
Miriam laughed hysterically.
“What am I going to do? I know what you’re go-
ing to do! You’re going to bring that fifty dollars
back here to me!”
“Indeed? Well I’m not * reiterated Challoner.
Miriam tapped the pistol in her hand.
“Do you see this?”
He grunted fearlessly.
“Well, what of it?”
“Give me that money,” she insisted, approaching
him. As yet she had not levelled the weapon; and
Challoner, seeing his opportunity, started once
more.


210 THE RED MOUSE
But I have never forgotten that night I spent
in the torture chamber! It was a white night for
me.”
Again she paused, and her voice deepened as she
said:—
“Lawrence Challoner, the time will come when
you will wail and whine and wonder why I don’t come
to you—why it is not my footsteps that you hear!
But you will wait for me through a long, long night,
and I shall never come . . . r
“Oh, it does me good when I recall the day that
Prosecutor Murgatroyd told those twelve men the kind
of a man you were,” she declared scornfully. “It does
me good, too, to recall how you writhed under the lash
and quivered when he cut you to the quick. But now
I’m going to do more to you than you ever did to me
—more than Murgatroyd did to you . 33
She stopped, and then went on mercilessly:-
“I’m going to tear your soul out—yes, you’ve got a
soul, or I would never have gone down into the depths
with you! But now I’m through serving you without
receiving so much as a smile,” she continued fiercely,
her body swaying, but her aim still true. “I don’t
ask for my rights or my just dues; a smile and a
kind word now and then is all I ask. My pride
is not all gone; I’d like to be proud of you just once.
I lie about you to my friends—to my dearest friends


212 THE RED MOUSE
pulled out a fifty dollar bill, saying in a new strange
tone:–
“Shirley, I took this fifty dollar bill from the drawer
over there—you’d better take it—it belongs to you.”
The girl took it wonderingly.
“I’ll take care of her,” Challoner went on, gently
taking the form of his young wife from Shirley and
holding her in his arms.
It was thus that Shirley Bloodgood left them; and
as the door closed on her, Challoner leaned over Mir-
iam and stroked her face and kissed her affectionately
while the tears rolled down his cheeks. That same
night she was taken to a hospital with a raging fever.


XIII
THE following morning, James Lawrence Challoner
did that which he had never done since his marriage:
he started out to look for a job. Something, which
he could not explain, was forcing him to try to get
work; but had he been given to self-analysis, he would
have known that it was Miriam’s wrath in her ad-
versity that had kindled into flame the flickering, dy-
ing spark of his manhood.
Until now, Challoner had assumed that work was to
he had by any man for the mere asking of it; but he
was surprised, startled, shocked, to find that it was
not; that is to say, the clerkships and such work as he
thought would be to his liking; and each night he re-
turned to his cheerless, lonely room in the tenement,
sore, leg-weary, after a long unsuccessful quest.
Work? Little by little he was learning that there was
no work “lying round loose” for the James Lawrence
Challoners of this world! And yet he persevered.
“I must find something to do,” he kept saying over
and over again to himself. -
And then one day at the end of two weeks he found
Himself at the end of a long line of Italian labourers
who were seeking employment.


214 THE RED MOUSE
When the foreman came to Challoner, he called out
in surprise:-
“What do you want?”
“Work!” replied the man inside the shell of Chal-
loner.
“With the ‘ginneys’?” -
“With the “ginneys,’” assented Challoner.
The foreman stared.
“All right,” he said, after thinking a bit, “let’s have
your name.”
For a brief second Challoner hesitated; there was a
new light in his eyes when he said:—
“Challoner—J. L.”
And all that day he worked—worked with his hands,
and with his feet—worked with the gang tamping
concrete. It is a simple enough process when one
stands aside and looks at it; but after two hours of it,
Challoner thought he would drop in his tracks.
It so happened that his work was on a new depart-
ment store going up in town. Concrete suddenly had
come into prominence as a building material. Chal-
loner and the gang stood inside a wooden mould some
two or three feet wide and as long as the wall which
they were building; another gang poured in about
them a mixture of sand, cement, and stone. Sand, ce-
ment, and stone meant nothing to Challoner, except
that when those three things were mixed with water


THE RED MOUSE 215
and dumped down into his trench, he had to lift up his
tamper and pound, pound, pound the mixture into
solidity, in order to fill the crevices, and to make the
wall hard and smooth. Meanwhile, his feet were
soaked; his boots were caked with cement; his hands
were blistered frightfully; and his face was burned
by the sun. Nevertheless, Challoner sweated, toiled on.
For days after this first day of labour he was stiff,
lame, and sore all over. In his soul he wanted to die;
but he lived on. And then, much to his amazement, he
found that the harder he worked, the better he felt:
the poison of his dissolute living was working toward
the surface.
At last the day came when the doctors allowed him to
visit Miriam in the hospital.
“I’ve got a job, dear,” he whispered to her. That
was all he told her then ; but those five words were a
history to Miriam.
Another day when again visiting her at the hospital,
he told her how they mixed the stuff, how they made
the wooden moulds, and about the crowds that gath-
ered around them, for the process was a new one.
“People don’t believe in it, don’t think it will stand,”
he said, watching her closely.
On her face came the interested look that he so de-
sired, and she asked:—
“Will it, Laurie?”


216 THE RED MOUSE
“Like a rock,” he assured her.
But Challoner was ignorant of the danger then, for
he had not reckoned with the human element in the
character of construction. All he knew was that he
worked from morning until night at the cheapest of all
cheap, unskilled labour.
After a little while Miriam put out a thin hand and
let it rest in his, saying:—
“How much do they give you, dear?”
Not without a suggestion of pride in his voice, the
man answered:—
“A dollar and a half a day.”
A dollar and a half a day! Surely a mere pittance;
and yet the woman’s face was radiant with joy.
It was not long before Challoner found that his arms
and back and shoulders were perceptibly enlarging.
At first it was merely at his physical strength that he
rejoiced; but this, in turn, soon made way for a
greater joy: he realised that his soul was surging back
into his body; he had driven it out, but it would not
stay away.
From time to time, Challoner noted that the tamping
was developing him too much on one side. With the
long broom handle, the weight down at the end, his
downward stroke had been a right-handed one. So
now he tried using force from the left side. And with
that Challoner made a discovery !


THE RED MOUSE 217
After many experiments it had been gradually borne
in upon him that light but incessant and vigorous
tamping in one spot was more effective than the heavy,
battering strokes employed by the Italians. The stuff
was smooth and slippery when it first came in, and,
consequently, all that was necessary was something to
induce the stones to slip gently into solidity.
“If the tampers were only light enough,” he argued
to himself, “a fellow could almost use two of them,
one in each hand.”
And so he tried it with the two tampers that were on
the work; but they proved to be too heavy. Then,
one night, he made a pair of lighter ones and experi-
mented with them. It was too much of a strain;
he could not handle them satisfactorily. Somehow,
the work needed the concentrated effort of two
8. I’m S.
All one night he sat up trying to figure it out. “And
yet,” he assured himself repeatedly, “I’m on the right
track.” And so it proved. For at four o’clock in the
morning the idea came.
“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “A
pump handle!”
A week later, Challoner rigged up a simple con-
trivance depending upon strong leverage—one that
would do the work of a man much more easily.
“It will do the work of two,” he told himself.


218 THE RED MOUSE
But when Challoner had taken it to the works, the
authorities refused him permission to use it.
“This here is a real job. We haven’t time to
monkey with things like that!” they told him with a
Sneer.
But Challoner was not to be turned aside so easily;
and still he persisted:—
“It will do the work of two.” -
Now it must not be supposed that Challoner was of a
particularly inventive nature; not a bit of it. Simply,
he was a man of average intelligence, working at a
dollar and a half a day. His intelligence, however,
was superior to that of the men about him. Moreover,
his brain was independently busy, while his hands
worked.
So now he rigged himself up a small trial mould,
bought some sand and cement and rock, and demon-
strated the superiority of his pump-handle contrivance
with its strong leverage, its regularity and its strong,
steady beat, beat, beat, with two light tampers upon
adjacent spots. When they knocked off the mould,
these same authorities found that Challoner was right:
this bit of concrete wall was as solid as if it had been
cut out of smooth azoic rock. So they called out:-
“All right, Challoner—try it on!”
Challoner tried it on the big wall. It worked like a
charm.
-


THE RED MOUSE 219
At the pay-window, at the end of the week Challoner
said:—
“I want two dollars and a half—two dollars and a
half a day, now.”
“What for?” came from the voice inside.
Challoner replied firmly:—
“Because I’ve done the work of more than two men.”
The next day he was paid at the rate of two dollars a
day.
Now he was allowed to have one of the corners all to
himself for his contrivance. The week after that they
laid off two men: Challoner now was doing the work
of three men. In fact, from that time he and his ma-
chine were made the pace-makers for the entire line of
workmen.
The boss was jubilant.
“Gee! I guess we’ll get this job done on time after
all!” he was heard to say. “I thought for a while the
old man was in for a few fines sure.”
Nobody else tried Challoner's device; nobody else
knew how to use it. In a way, that was a satisfaction
to him. It was a toy, something that he had created
to lighten his labours. On the other hand, he found
that in his eagerness he laboured three times as hard
as before; besides, he was even better at the work than
the Italians who knew it, had become accustomed to it,
and who were better fitted for it. And yet, there was


220 THE RED MOUSE
nothing wonderful in this contrivance of his. But
Challoner was convinced that if, sometime, he could in-
duce the boss to put it into constant operation, it
would save that gentleman a great deal of money.
Nor did it ever enter Challoner’s head to have it
patented. Its principle was that of the lever, and,
of course, even if he had tried, he could not have ob-
tained a patent. In no way was there a dollar in
it.
“But,” he told himself, “if ever I go into this con-
crete business, I shall insist upon its use. As a busi-
ness,” he went on, “what can be more profitable than
concrete? It produces a wall as solid as a rock and
as indestructible as brick. Bricklayers receive five and
six dollars a day, and brick costs money. But this
sand, cement, stone and unskilled labour . . . .”
Challomer could see millions in it!
Meanwhile, he was useful at two and a half dollars
a day. As we have seen, they had made him a pace-
maker; now, they determined to put his brain to work
for them: it became his duty to direct the mixing-
gang at his end of the new store.
“Don’t forget, now, watch out,” said the superin-
tendent, taking him aside. “So many barrels of ce-
ment, so many barrels of sand, and so much stone.
Now say it as I told you.”
And Challoner repeated for him: so many barrels of


THE RED MOUSE 22I
cement, so many barrels of sand, and so much stone.
But when he was again alone, he said half aloud:—
“So, that’s all there is to the concrete business!”
Challoner little knew.
The very first day that he watched the mixing proc-
ess, he discovered that the mixer had put in too much
rock and too much sand—and too little cement.
“Look here!” cried Challoner, “you’ve made a mis-
take! Two more barrels of cement go in there—do
you understand?”
But the mixer merely grinned.
“Two more barrels of cement, I told you,” persisted
Challoner. The head-superintendent had given him
his instructions, and Challoner meant to see that they
were properly carried out.
Another grin from the mixer was all the satisfaction
that he received. Instantly, Challoner leaped up on
the platform and stood over the mixer. At that, the
man waved his arm; his signal brought not the head-
superintendent, but the general foreman of the work,
who demanded gruffly:—
“What’s the trouble here?”
Challoner explained in a few words.
“You blamed idiot!” burst out the raging foreman.
“You leave the man alone! Do you think that he
don’t know how to mix concrete? Leave him alone,
122
I say!


222 THE RED MOUSE
But Challoner, now, was not a man to be so easily
turned from his orders; and again he insisted:—
“Two more barrels of cement, I told you!”
And he kept on insisting so strenuously, that a little
knot of labourers gathered around them to await the
result. Finally, the foreman saw that the head-super-
intendent was coming toward them from far down the
street.
“All right, then,” he conceded reluctantly, “make it
two more barrels of cement.”
But that same afternoon, the foreman singled Chal-
loner out and paid him. Then he lunged out, and
striking Challoner on the shoulder lightly, he ex-
claimed:—
“There, you infernal jackass! You’re discharged!”
“Discharged!” The exclamation fell from his lips
before Challoner could check it; and notwithstanding
his great disappointment, he made no further com-
ment, but turned on his heel and left. The next day,
however, he brought his case before the head-superin-
tendent, who said:—
“If Perkins discharged you, I can’t help it. I won’t
interfere.” -
“But what was I discharged for?”
“Oh, come now!” cried the superintendent; “you
must know that you were discharged for stealing
cement P


THE RED MOUSE 223
Stunned for a moment, Challoner said not a word.
Then slowly he began to understand. Graft! Yes,
that was the solution of the matter. Cement was
worth money in any market; and in the concrete busi-
ness, nobody could tell,—until it was too late, just
how many barrels went into the mixture. With bricks
—there was no doubt about bricks. A brick was good
or bad; you could tell that by a trowel. But concrete
was bound to be a problem henceforth to the end of
time.
So it turned out that Challoner was discharged for
doing the thing the foreman was guilty of doing. At
the time he had little thought of resentment. It is true
that he might have “peached” on the foreman, com-
plained to the head-superintendent, and got them to
test the walls with a testing-hammer. But it was too
late, besides, he knew now that the head-superintendent
was tarred with the same stick. -
After this incident, Challoner cultivated a habit of
strolling into the offices of the various dealers in the
city.
“What are the proper concrete proportions?” was .
his request in all of them.
Charts were taken out and consulted. There was no
difference of opinion: all agreed that the head-super-
intendent’s figures were out of the way, and by one
barrel of cement.


224 THE RED MOUSE
Graft! There was no doubt about it in his mind; and
he proceeded to figure out just where the trouble lay.
On that department-store job there were several
mixers. On every mixing the head-superintendent made
one barrel of cement. There were several foremen. On
every individual mixing, the foremen, severally, made
two barrels of cement. In every mixing three barrels
of cement were left out.
“But what about the wall?” Challoner asked himself
when once more alone.
And so it came about that he found that in this busi-
ness, of all businesses, there was a chance for an honest
man. After a little while, he found another job—
still at two dollars a day. It was beginning once more
at the bottom, and working up, yet he did it. But
the instant he had worked up, he was again confronted
with a similar situation. It was a question of “shut
up or get out !” Gradually, it is true, the burden of
the song of these men shifted slightly, and became,
“Come in with us, or keep silent.”
A few more experiences of this sort, and it was given
to Challoner to perceive that he had knowledge of
these things in advance of the general public. People
looked upon concrete as something marvellous. The
agitation among the construction men, the news-
paper accounts about its cheapness, together with
the wonderful results obtained by its use in


THE RED MOUSE 225
other cities, all combined to dazzle owners about to
build.
From day to day, Challoner could see the demand for
concrete increasing. He saw, too, that the price of
brick was falling off, because concrete had awakened
a new interest in the minds of the people, had aroused
their enthusiasm. Plainly, Challoner was excited. He
could see, could talk of nothing else. While Miriam
was in the hospital he had begun to talk concrete with
her; when she was convalescing and had returned to
their rooms, they had three now, figuratively
speaking, they had cement for breakfast and for sup-
per. But it was his business now, and his whole mind
was concentrated upon it.
And in all this there was a singular and valuable
fact: Challoner was the only man in town, literally
the only man, because of the circumstances of the
case,_outside of the contractors, who knew the busi-
ness, and yet who had intelligence enough to under-
stand the danger in concrete. Naturally, the contrac-
tors did not tell owners about graft. They did not
warn their customers; they took chances; and need-
less to say, the owners themselves did not know.
Challoner was quick to seize his opportunity; besides,
he was conscious that a duty rested upon him. Day
and night he scanned the papers, and when he found
a concrete contract recorded, he looked up the owner,


228 THE RED MOUSE
“Come, come,” they said, “what’s your game?
What’s your price? Name it and shut up. How many
barrels of cement a day? Come, come now 33
Challoner still shook his head.
“Hang it!” they exclaimed; “he’s too noisy.”
Then they reasoned with him; but it did no good.
“It’s a case of using force,” they told each other.
“To-morrow night 35
But to-morrow night never came for Challoner. The
game of graft had sickened him.
“I have got to tell somebody about this,” he assured
himself. And then an inspiration came to him. “I
know, I’ll go to Murgatroyd!”
“Murgatroyd!” He shuddered as he repeated the
name, for the prosecutor had been connected with the
thing that had become to Challoner and his wife a
subject forbidden and unmentioned.
But, nevertheless, he went to Murgatroyd.


XIV
It is, of course, not given us to know what dreams
of fame were in Murgatroyd's heart when he deter-
mined to throw down the gage at the feet of Cradle-
baugh’s ; but, at all events, it took the best kind of
courage and mettle; and certainly from the hour that
he had sent for Pemmican and placed him on the rack
in a vain attempt to get evidence, not to speak of the
time when Mrs. Challoner exposed him in the
court-room, he had never ceased his investigations
of the secrets of the big gambling-house. But no
sooner had he come to the conclusion that he had pene-
trated the mystery than he found himself in the cen-
tre of a vast maelstrom of his own creation: Cradle-
baugh’s was but a patch in a wilderness of riot and
corruption, an incident in a series of big events; and
Murgatroyd discovered that he was battling not only
with a single institution, but with a huge political
principle—he was at war with a big city.
Another man might have been discouraged, for mil-
lionaires, large property owners, reputable tax-pay-
ers, statesmen of the highest order, and even his best
friends came to him and begged him to call off his
crusade; but he only shook his head. As he pro-
ceeded, he made the discovery that a political organ-


230 THE RED MOUSE
isation is not an organisation—it is a man; that crime
is personified; and that corruption is concrete. And
as the battle waged, he found himself constantly seek-
ing his old stamping-ground—Cradlebaugh’s. That,
somehow, seemed to be the keystone of the edifice that
he assaulted.
Then, one day, agitated, breathless but triumphant,
Mixley and McGrath burst into the prosecutor's
office.
“Chief,” spoke out Mixley joyously, “we followed
your instructions to the letter.” And beckoning to
his partner, “McGrath and me has got the goods!”
McGrath pulled from his pocket a bulky document
made up of depositions, and said:—
“This here is the report, sir.”
While Murgatroyd read the document, his subor-
dinates stood watching him with anxious eyes. Long
before he had concluded they saw in his face the ex-
pression that they had waited for.
“By George, you don’t mean it!” exclaimed Mur-
gatroyd, suddenly rising to his feet and smiting his
desk with terrific force.
“You can bet your bottom dollar that we do!” re-
turned Mixley.
Murgatroyd clenched his teeth with inward satisfac-
tion. Presently he said:—
“I’ve waited for this for many months.”


THE RED MOUSE 231
After re-reading the report he ordered his men to
go to Broderick and Thorne with the request that
they come to him immediately.
An hour later Graham Thorne made his appearance,
Broderick waddling in after him. Murgatroyd
passed over a box of cigars.
Broderick lighted, and after puffing contentedly for
a time, commented:—
“Good cigars, these. Strikes me that they’re your
first contribution to the campaign fund, eh?” And
helping himself to three more out of the box, he
tucked them away in his pocket with a wink at Mur-
gatroyd, and asked:—
“Any Challoner money in these?”
Murgatroyd smiled grimly.
“You seem ready enough to burn it, anyhow,” he
answered. And puffing also on his cigar he said, “I
wanted to have a little confidential talk with you gen-
tlemen.”
Broderick nudged Thorne and remarked:—
“Perhaps the prosecutor’s goin’ to divvy with us,
Thorne P”
Murgatroyd smiled and laughed; but somehow the
smile and laugh did not include Thorne.
“I’m not going to divvy up, as you call it, just yet
—not just yet,” he replied, pointedly.
Broderick shut his eyes and digested the glance and


232 THE RED MOUSE
the reply. Both seemed to satisfy him, for he nodded
genially.
Rising now, and sitting lazily across one corner
of his desk, Murgatroyd turned his attention to
Thorne.
“I wanted to have a talk,” he said casually, “with
the man who owns Cradlebaugh’s.”
Thorne looked about the room, then he inquired in-
nocently:-
“He doesn’t seem to have arrived as yet—where is
he P”
Murgatroyd blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceil-
ing, and answered:—
“Oh, yes he has-his name is Graham Thorne.”
Murgatroyd could see the pallor of Thorne’s face
turn to a deeper white; he could feel that the ruddi-
ness upon the countenance of Broderick had deepened
into scarlet.
There was a pause. After a moment, Thorne rose
and said indignantly:-
“Say that again!”
99
“With pleasure,” returned Murgatroyd, “I say that
you are the hitherto unknown owner of the most no-
torious gambling-house within the State.”
There was another pause in which Thorne looked
at Broderick and Broderick looked at Thorne.
“This is preposterous!” exclaimed Thorne.


THE RED MOUSE 233
Murgatroyd made no answer. Then he proceeded
with assertions.
“And with the earnings of that gambling-house,”
he said evenly, “you have stopped the mouths, closed
the eyes and ears, and paralysed the hands of the
authorities. With the earnings of that gambling-
house, you have bought the influence of Chairman
Peter Broderick, who lives upon those earnings—
grows fat upon them.”
Broderick’s eyes bulged; he, too, rose and started
toward the prosecutor.
“Say,” he yelled, “I’ll open up my anatomy to you!
Pick out any ounce o’ fat and tell me Cradlebaugh’s
put it there! Come on—my fat is my own—I earned
it by the sweat of my brow!”
With perfect coolness, Murgatroyd continued:—
“Thorne, ever since you sprang into prominence
here, you have posed in this community as a self-made
man—boasted of carving your success by industry,
integrity and brains. And yet—" pointing a finger
of accusation toward him—“you have bought every
item of your reputation, every iota of your respecta-
bility!” He stopped for an instant, and then: “Every
inch of your political progress, you’ve bought with
this tainted money, and with the same kind of money
you’d buy the United States Senatorship—if you
could.”


234 THE RED MOUSE
“Lies—all deliberate lies P’ Thorne ejaculated.
“Worse than slanderin’ my fat!” added Peter Brod-
erick.
Before Murgatroyd could speak again, Thorne took
another tack.
“What evidence have you, I should like to know?”
he said; “you can’t prove these things, Murgatroyd.”
“That,” returned Murgatroyd, “is for me to worry
about—not you. I’m going on, and when I’m
through, you can stake your last dollar that I’ll know
all about this rotten system that you call your or-
ganisation—from the most insignificant ward poli-
tician up to Peter Broderick!”
The accusing forefinger shifted from Thorne to the
County Chairman; under it the avoirdupois of that
gentleman seemed to shrivel and grow less. In
all his career no man had ever honoured Broderick
with this kind of talk, and he wasn’t used to it. All
at once, he felt that his courage was slipping from
him.
“I’ve got to see a man—” he began, looking ner-
vously at his watch; then hunching his shoulders, he
stole softly and almost on tiptoe to the door.
“Broderick!” sung out the prosecutor sharply.
Broderick stopped, but did not look back.
“Broderick P’ thundered Murgatroyd, “I want you
in this office to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock—


236 THE RED MOUSE
“So that’s how the land lies, is it? Well, let me tell
you something that possibly you already know. All
my life I have had the things I wanted—all my de-
sires have been fulfilled. I wanted money—I got it.
I wanted power, social and political—I got it. I
have never stopped; I have always progressed. You
have already said that I would be Senator of the
United States—if I could. I tell you that I shall!
Again, you have hinted at a woman who is worth
while. . . . Well, I’m going on and on and on, in
95
spite of you
“You are going on to your finish,” returned Mur-
gatroyd. “I have only just begun with you. Before
I go further, it may be just as well for you to relin-
quish the last two of your desires. I don’t demand
it—I advise it.”
Thorne glanced uncertainly at the prosecutor, who
had spoken with complete assurance. Thorne recog-
nised the danger. Murgatroyd had been getting in-
dictments lately, and for every indictment, a convic-
tion. Thorne did not know what proof Murgatroyd
had in his possession, and he knew of no way that he
could find out. Besides, the people liked Murgatroyd.
Thorne believed in compromise, therefore he extended
his hand. -
“Look here, Murgatroyd,” he said, “you know
neither of us can afford to have things like these


THE RED MOUSE 237
talked about. Don’t let us sling mud–let’s fight in
the open. A fair fight and no favour—let’s be de-
cent.”
“Why don’t you get your ammunition in the open,
then?” asked the prosecutor.
Thorne flared up.
“Why didn’t you?”
Murgatroyd smiled and said:—
“You’ll find my ammunition in the open, Thorne, the
next time the legislature meets to choose a Senator!”
Thorne's insolence had returned as he demanded:—
“Do you mean to tell me that your name will be pre-
sented in the caucus?”
“That’s precisely what I mean.”
“Of course you’ll try to buy votes with the Challoner
money you have.”
“I’ll get the votes—never fear.”
“Try it, then—I’ll match you dollar for dollar.”
“Not with dollars coined from Cradlebaugh's, nor
from corruptions,” declared Murgatroyd.
Thorne's eyes narrowed.
“Murgatroyd,” said he, “you reckon without your
host—no matter who owns Cradlebaugh’s—or runs it.
The organisation has its finger on every Grand Jury,
every petit jury, every judge. You can’t accomplish
the impossible until you’ve beaten Peter Broderick
and the organisation, and until you do this you can’t


240 THE RED MOUSE
out three quarters of a million! Not much! And out
of one deal, too! Why, look at me?” he went on
glibly, “I’ve been in a lot of deals; but that gets me!
Three quarters of a million and more on just one
deal! Confound it, man, do you know the most I ever
made out of any one deal?”
Murgatroyd lit a cigar, leaned back in his chair and
inquired in an offhand manner:-
“How much?”
Broderick shook his finger at him.
“Foxy, foxy boy! Do you think I’d give up to you
so easy 2 This particular deal I’m tellin' you about,
is away back outside the statute of limitations. You
couldn’t get me on it if you would. It was the Ter-
williger tract—I was chairman of the common coun-
cil, finance committee, you remember? Bought the
tract for twenty-five hundred and sold it to the city
for two hundred and eighty thousand. That’s me!”
“Good work!” said Murgatroyd, with genuine ad-
miration. “I didn’t know that you were in on that.”
“In on it?” snorted Broderick. “I was the whole
show ! That’s where I’m coy, my dear boy; it takes
Broderick to do these things; but it takes a bigger
man than Broderick to find 'em out.”
Murgatroyd shook his head.
“They found me out, all right,” he said.
Broderick waved his hand, and answered:—


THE RED MOUSE 241
“Not a bit of it! It’s all blown over, and if it hasn’t,
it will. All they’ll remember, after a while, is that
you’ve got a wad of money. They’ll forget how you
got it, and they won’t care.” He puffed away and
purred contentedly.
“You’re a giant,” he went on, “an intellectual giant
to bag six figures.” Then he waved his hand about the
room and said: “You take this old court-house, for
instance; I was on the buildin’ committee, but to save
my life—hold on a minute—” he pulled himself up
with a round turn, “that was outside the statute, of
course it was. Well, to save my life I couldn’t pull
more ºn a hundred and twenty-three thousand out of
it. I came near gettin’ caught, too,” he admitted,
laughing.
“But you weren’t,” commented Murgatroyd.
“No, sir!” said Broderick. “I don’t do jobs that
way. You could have gone through the thing with
a microscope, and you wouldn’t have found hair nor
hide of Broderick.”
Murgatroyd lazily closed his eyes, and murmured:—
“Tell me about the new hospital—that little concrete
job.”
Broderick leaned forward, his face growing crimson
as he did so, and peered into the face of Murga-
troyd.
“What are you gettin' at?”


242 THE RED MOUSE
Murgatroyd opened a drawer within his desk and
took out a bulky batch of papers.
“Broderick,” he said severely, “do you know that
I’ve got you implicated in more than thirty different
violations of the law right here in town?”
“Me?” Broderick looked incredulous.
“Yes, you!” answered Murgatroyd, evenly.
Broderick held out his hand, and asked with a show
of interest:-
“What are they, anyway?”
“See for yourself,” returned Murgatroyd; and lean-
ing back in his chair comfortably, he gave himself up
to watching the changes in the countenance of the
other, who proceeded to scan the batch of papers with
marked interest. And, although Broderick made no
comments, he did a lot of thinking. Finally eyeing
Murgatroyd with suspicion, he asked:—
“Without prejudice to anybody’s rights, I’d like to
know how you got all this?”
“It’s easy when you know how,”
returned Murga-
troyd, smiling; “and I’ve learned how.”
Broderick’s face broke into a confused, distorted
smile.
“Now, without making any damaging admissions,”
he conceded, “do you know it would be blamed un-
comfortable for me if I were dealing with any other
prosecutor than you?”


244 THE RED MOUSE
“You laugh too soon,” remarked Murgatroyd.
“Is there more comin’?” questioned Broderick, with
a howl. “You know the valvular workin’s of my
heart ain't over strong. You’re crazy, man!” he
added; “the whole organisation is against you!”
“The whole organisation,” repeated Murgatroyd,
“except you.”
“You blamed idiot!” roared Broderick. “The or—
ganisation’s against you because I am.”
“I’ve got to be the next Senator,” persisted Mur-
gatroyd; “and you’ve got to put me there.”
“I can’t put you there.”
Murgatroyd cast an appealing glance at the other.
“But—you want to, don’t you?”
“Indeed I do not!” returned Broderick, indignantly.
Murgatroyd rose to his feet, saying, as though
speaking to a spoiled child:—
“I don’t like to see that spirit; it looks as though
you were opposed to me.”
“Have I ever been anythin’ else?” returned Brod-
erick. “Will I ever be anythin’ else?”
Murgatroyd continued to reprove him.
“I prefer to see a man do with a good grace that
which he has to do.”
“And who has got to do?” queried Broderick, also
rising. -
“I have just told you,” went on Murgatroyd, look-


THE RED MOUSE 245
ing him full in the face, “that you’ve got to put me
in the Senate.”
Instantly Broderick became doggedly belligerent.
“I’ll spend my last dollar to keep you out of it—I’ll
work against you till I drop in my tracks!”
Murgatroyd seized a small thick book and leafed it
OWer.
“You’ll do both,” he remarked, “and when you drop
in your tracks, Broderick, it will be with hard labour.
Sit down, and take that pencil and piece of paper—I
want you to do some figuring.”
Broderick, wondering, seated himself; Murgatroyd
peered over the little book.
“Seven and seven are fourteen,” he mused, “and six
99
are twenty, and eleven
“What have you got there?” Broderick asked with
mild interest.
“The Penal Code,” answered Murgatroyd, lightly.
“Look under B. for Bribe,” suggested Broderick,
with an accusing glance.
Murgatroyd shook his head.
“I’m just figuring up the number of years you’d
have to serve—”
“But I’m not goin’ to the Senate,” protested the
politician.
“No, but I am,” retorted the prosecutor. “Four
times six are twenty-four; besides the amount of fines


248 THE RED MOUSE
Broderick swelled with anger.
“I’m going to call your bluff, Murgatroyd!” he
yelled. “You can’t work me! And you don’t dare
touch me, either! Why, there ain’t a man in this
whole State who dares to lay a hand on me! By
George, I call your bluff!”
Murgatroyd sat at his desk and pressed a button;
the door opened and two men entered.
“Mixley, McGrath,” said Murgatroyd, picking up
some rectangular slips of paper from his desk and
passing them over to them, “Chairman Peter Broder-
ick is going to leave this room inside of thirty sec-
onds 95
“You bet I am!” Broderick interposed.
“There are ten warrants for his arrest,” went on the
prosecutor; “take him into custody the instant he
leaves this room.”
“’Right, Chief" the men replied in chorus, and,
facing about, left the room.
“Now, Broderick,” said Murgatroyd, “you called
my bluff—you may go.”
The politician strode to the door angrily, bluster-
ing, but with his hand on the knob, he paused. A
new situation was confronting him—a thing im-
minent, concrete. To cross the threshhold meant a
blow; Broderick crept back to Murgatroyd.
“Do you mean this, Murgatroyd?” he queried.


250 THE RED MOUSE
Murgatroyd nodded.
“Warmly, energetically, enthusiasticall 39
“Oh, all that,” interrupted Broderick.
“Mixley,” said the chief, “you can hold those war-
rants—until after the next Senatorial election.”
Broderick gasped; Mixley’s nod as he left the room
spoke volumes.
“Broderick,” said Murgatroyd, looking him in the
eye, “you mean business—you’re going to back me
straight?”
“Not because I want to, but because I’ve got to,”
returned the politician. “It seems I must . . .”
He paused and returned Murgatroyd's glance sig-
nificantly. After a moment, he said:—
“Well, fork over, then . . .”
Murgatroyd smiled.
“How much? . . .”
“Thorne will spend and has spent a lot of money,”
answered Broderick; “and you’ve got to—”
“How much will it take?” asked Murgatroyd.
“How much have you got left?” responded Brod-
erick.


XV
ONE afternoon, many, many months after the inter-
view just described, a few keen observers among the
passengers on an incoming Southwestern Express—
pulling with final, smooth, exhaustive effort into its
eastern terminal—noted with considerable amusement
that the pulses of one of their number had quickened
to such a degree, that evidently their owner found it
quite impossible to resist the temptation to leave her
seat and politely push foward to the vestibule of the
car, where she waited until the train came to a full
stop. And so it happened that Shirley Bloodgood led
the first flight of men who were hurrying up the long
lanes of the station toward a roped-off space where
groups of people waited expectantly for relatives and
friends. Not that Shirley looked forward to seeing
a familiar face among them; on the contrary she was
fully aware, since she had neglected to telegraph to
any one the time of her arrival,—that there was not
one chance in a thousand of any of her acquaintances
being there; it was merely that she had fallen under
the spell of that subtle spirit of unrest and haste,
which all travellers, however phlegmatic, recognise the
moment they breathe the air of the metropolis. One
quick, scrutinising glance, it is true, the girl threw


252 THE RED MOUSE
around and about her, as she passed through the
crowd, but there was no disappointment on her face
as now, looking neither to the right nor to the left,
she brushed past what seemed to her a hundred cab-
bies each intent on making her their legitimate human
prey.
Once clear of the exit she turned to the porter who
was carrying her bag, tipped him, and directing his
attention to an urchin in the centre of a howling
mob of youthful street Arabs ready to pounce upon
her bag the instant the porter dropped it, she cried:—
“Give it to him—him P
It was a chubby, little, Russian Jew with red cheeks
and glistening eyes whom she selected, and, with a
howl of disappointment, the other ragamuffins opened
up a lane to let the victor get his spoils, stood while
Shirley and her escort marched off, and then swooped
down upon another victim.
“Come with me,” said Shirley to the boy; and suit-
ing her pace to his running stride, she turned her face
toward the west.
As Shirley walked rapidly along, the even pavement
felt resilient to her well-shod feet. The keen air
brought new vigour into her face, into her body, and
in it—partial stranger as she was—she detected that
which the metropolitan never scents: the salt vapour
of the sea. Thousands of men and women passed her,


254 THE RED MoUSE
sidewalk, facing the crowd that passed her on the
left, she knew and felt that here was the place of the
real struggle, the battle-ground, the fiery furnace that
men were tested in. Out in Arizona, it had been man
to man; but here in New York, it was one man against
a million. And yet, woman-like, she thought that
were she unsexed, she could meet this struggle with
tireless energy, could strike where men had failed,
could crowd her way up, inch by inch, to the top. And
thus communing with herself, Shirley walked on and
on, feeling that she could walk on forever through
this rush of home-going-folk—people who had done
something that day with their hands—people who
had unconsciously pushed the earth another twenty-
four hours upon his journey.
All of a sudden there came a strong tug at her skirts
followed by a youthful voice that called:—
“Say, lady,”—setting down Shirley's bag in mild
protest—“youse don’t belong so far away! Ain’t we
got too far?”
After an instant of confusion, Shirley conceded the
fact with a frank laugh.
“What am I thinking of P’ she cried, “I want to go
to the Bellerophon.”
“This way then, lady,” returned her small guide;
and picking up her bag he turned southwards.
At sight of the unpretentious hostelry, which re-


THE RED MoUSE 255
joiced in the distinction of possessing such a resound-
ing name, Shirley was conscious of a variety of emo-
tions. For a time, in the old days, it had been the
fashion to patronise the Bellerophon, and Murgatroyd
had been the first to take her there. On more than one
occasion she had lunched with him and he had always
been most enthusiastic over the respectful service, the
wonderful cuisine and the quiet of the place. It was
infinitely nicer, he had said, to have their luncheon
there than to go to any of the huge, noisy caravan-
saries like the skyscraping, five-acre, concrete Mono-
lith on the avenue. And she had agreed with him.
Another time, he had explained to her that he was a
one-club man; a man with few friends; and that,
when tired out after a long, hard day’s work, he
greatly preferred a corner, all to himself, in the Bel-
lerophon to dining with half-formed acquaintances at
the club. In this, likewise, she had sympathised thor-
oughly with his point of view. And so, not unnat-
urally, it came about that Shirley had had little dif-
ficulty, on her long journey east, in convincing herself
that it was merely her liking for the Bellerophon, and
not at all anything more subtle that had caused her
to decide upon this quaint, old hotel for her lonely
stay in the metropolis. Besides, Miriam and she had
often been there together, and for that matter, had
grown to regard it as their own especial discovery.


256 THE RED MOUSE
But, now, when she had crossed the portal, when the
boy had dropped her bag at the feet of the Belle-
rophon porter, charging her quite double, as the
price of her unpardonable absentmindedness, a flood
of memories swept over her, and her face flushed and
she laughed in an irritated sort of way on realising
that all the time she had been thinking solely of Mur-
gatroyd.
Murgatroyd! Would the man’s name never be out of
her thoughts! For a time, out west, it is true, she had
been so engrossed in the cares and griefs of her al-
most hermit-like existence, that she had been able to
look back upon the old scenes as chapters in some
pathetic story book; but now, the odd, little prints on
the walls all about her, the slender old gentlemen—
aristocrats—who strolled to and fro, everything
about the place recalled vividly the man who, not so
very long ago, had been a part and parcel of her ex-
istence.
They showed her to her room—a wonderfully
old-fashioned room without a particle of brass
or glitter in it. Even the bedstead was of wood
—a good, solid invitation to home-like rest and
slumber.
“Get me an evening paper, please,” she said to the
bell-boy.
“Which one?” he asked.


258 THE RED MOUSE
certain undefinable magnetism and attractiveness
which she possessed—a charm of manner which few
could resist. And Shirley had passed on, and had
given no sign.
But now in the silence of her room, her loneliness ap-
palled her. The insistent memories closed in around
her. And suddenly she knew that she wanted to live
as other women lived—with a man of her own choos-
ing. But where could she find the man in whom she
could put her faith?
After a while, Shirley picked up one of the papers
lying on the table. At the first glance she started and
laughed guiltily. There at the head of the third
column, a word, a name had caught her eye: Murga-
troyd! Paper after paper she now scanned, and all
mentioned his name: some on the first page, others on
the second; and with it invariably was coupled another
name: Thorne! Finally, she rejected all but one, the
Pillar, the most conservative evening paper in the
city, and concentrated her attention upon it. At a
glance, Shirley could see that with all its conservatism,
the Pillar was holding up its hands in reverential
hero-worship. In a two-column article it reviewed
Murgatroyd’s record from its invariably impartial
viewpoint. “Murgatroyd had been clean,” it said,
“his reputation was unsullied.” It even referred to
the Challoner incident as a pitiful piece of falsehood


THE RED MOUSE 259
which had strengthened Murgatroyd in his position.
Shirley laid down the paper with a cry:-
“Oh, what a hypocrite he is!”
So Murgatroyd was still playing a game! The root
of his record was dishonesty! Shirley was thoroughly
sincere in her indignation. And yet after a little
while she began to wonder whether his conscience
troubled him—whether it had cost him anything? Oh,
if only she could be sure of that! For she well knew,
and a little sigh of shame escaped her, that if only he
had abandoned all pose, shown himself in true colours,
even become a machine politician, she could have for-
given him everything. Not a little distressed, there-
fore, she read on and on, marvelling at the Pillar's
devotion, but soon it became apparent to her that its
editor was picturing Murgatroyd more in the light of
a losing martyr than as a successful saint. For the
article pointed out the strength of the railroads, of
Wall Street, of the brewers, of the machine, and pre-
dicted mournfully that Murgatroyd was bound to
fall before all his powerful enemies, concluding with:
“More the pity, more the pity.”
Presently she read the other papers; all contained
more or less adverse criticism of him. One thing, how-
ever, stood out: fanatic though some of them called
him, they were unanimous as to his honesty of purpose
—a man who could not be bought, who could not be


THE RED MOUSE 261
life and body; it gave her an appetite. Being quite
a material personage, she enjoyed her dinner thor-
oughly. Things tasted deliciously to her, and yet
her thoughts wandered.
“If only Billy had been different . . . .” she kept
saying to herself.
Suddenly the palms were parted, and a fat man ap-
proached her table. On seeing it occupied, he
mumbled his surprise and backed out again. But
while pushing his way through the palms he extended
a short arm and said:—
“That table over there, then.”
The remark was made to a companion, whom as yet
Shirley could not see. An answer, however, came in
a man’s voice; both men seemed disappointed: evi-
dently, this corner was a favourite with others
as well as herself. And the fat man—his face was
strangely familiar. Who might he be? Shirley was
sure . .
Broderick. That was the man: the funny, vulgar
politician who had been pointed out to her at the Chal-
loner trial. Shirley wondered what a man of his
stamp was doing in the quietude of the Bellerophon.
Somehow, he did not seem to belong there; she laughed
silently to herself as through the palms she watched
him settle himself laboriously at a table in another
corner. The seat he had taken faced away from her,


262 THE RED MOUSE
and she noted how broad, how terribly broad was his
back.
“But a power in politics—the real thing!” she cried
half-aloud. It was not surprising, she told herself,
that men of refinement hesitated a long time before
going into politics, if this were a type of the men
they had to compete with. Her thoughts running on
in this strain, she determined out of curiosity to get
a glimpse of Broderick’s companion. It was not dif-
ficult to get a good look at him, as the man sat facing
her.
At the first glance, Shirley had a faint suspicion that
likewise she knew that face; then she looked again and
for a moment she was startled. “No, it can’t be pos-
sible that—” At that instant the stranger looked up
and dispelled her doubts. She was face to face with
the man who had filled her thoughts for the last two
hours.
“And so that is Billy Murgatroyd!” she murmured’
to herself. He was the same Murgatroyd she had
known, but different from the man she had pictured.
And she would have gone on indefinitely criticising
his looks, but she was suddenly interrupted by
the sound of voices. It was Broderick talking,
his big voice filling the room. Shirley listened at-
tentively.
“Blamed good place to get away from the gang,”


* - THE RED MOUSE 263
he was saying; and there was a satisfied look on his
face as he glanced about the room.
While Broderick ordered the dinner, Murgatroyd
leaned forward and made some remark. Instantly
something in the tone of his voice, or it may have
been his manner, told the girl that the relations be-
tween the two men were, in a degree, confidential. The
back of Broderick assumed the attitude of a political
adviser. Shirley observed that he gesticulated a great
deal and often wiped his brow with a handkerchief
which, even at a distance, she could see was over-em-
broidered, but in none of his movements so far was
there the slightest suggestion of hostility.
“And this is the use that Murgatroyd has made of
poor Miriam’s money!” she cried to herself. “He’s
bribing the enemy!”
Shirley bowed her head in shame.
Presently she lifted it again, for before their dinner
had arrived and while Broderick talked on, Murga-
troyd rose and walked for a brief while up and down
behind the table; and, unseen herself, she scrutinised
him closely.
The first thing that her woman’s eye noted was that
Murg royd was not in evening clothes; he wore a
business suit, not altogether new, which to her think-
ing, needed pressing; it looked as if he had lived in it
from daybreak to daybreak. He was no stouter


266 THE RED MOUSE
that she should set herself up to determine whether
his lesson was deservedly bitter or not; and what
should be his punishment. “Money so gotten will
never do him any good,” Miriam had said after the
scene in the court-room; and how true her words had
proved! Why, the papers, even though they believed
in his honesty, had as much as said that he was going
down to defeat. And then, in turn, her feeling of
compassion was succeeded by one of gladness. She
was not a little surprised to find herself fervently
wishing that Broderick had robbed him of every dol-
lar; but, later on, her cheeks burned furiously when
an honest introspection disclosed to her the real mo–
tive of this desire. For, after all, what if Murga-
troyd would come to her and say:-
“I have sinned, and I have lost; be merciful to me,
a miserable sinner.”
What if some day he should come to her free of all
hypocrisy, stripped of all save truth, a beaten man,
what then? Well, she felt unutterably lonely, she
wanted to be loved, and after all, he had helped her
friend by setting her husband free.


268 THE RED MOUSE
I really came to know my father. I thought I had
known him long before, but I made a mistake. I never
knew him until these last three years in Arizona—I
found out almost too late.”
“I always liked your father, Shirley, and I think he
always liked me,” was Miriam’s remark.
“Yes, he did. But did you ever stop to think,” went
on Shirley hastily, “why, my father never wronged
anybody! My father was good—my father was
honest! Oh, I could scourge myself,” she declared
sadly, “for the things I used to think about father.
I even told Murgatroyd, once, that though I
loved my father, I could never admire him, respect
him.”
Miriam raised her eyebrows and protested mildly:-
“You never told me that, Shirley.”
“No” exclaimed the girl; “my friends don’t know
the worst side of me! My father a failure! Fortu-
nately in these three years I have come to look upon
things differently—have come to know that he was
a success, simply because he was real. Money! What
is money? My father was a man!”
Miriam rose suddenly and went over to her and
kissed her.
“I’m glad, Shirley,” she said with feeling, “that you
found it out. I knew it always.”
All this time, Shirley had been watching with grow-


THE RED MOUSE 269
ing curiosity, the fancy work on which Miriam sewed
so industriously. At last, she ventured:—
“Miriam, I’m a regular old maid. I haven’t
been one hour in your house, and already I'm burn-
ing up with curiosity to know just what you’re
making.”
Miriam glanced a moment out of the window, then
she answered somewhat evasively:-
“Why, it's just a bit of embroidery . . . .”
But Shirley was not yet satisfied, and went on to
protest:-
“But what is it? Miriam, I must know . . . .”
Miriam Challoner hesitated for an instant, then hold-
ing up in the air a tiny infant’s dress, she said
softly:-
“Well, if you must know, why, you must.”
There was a long pause. At last, Shirley exclaimed:—
“Isn't it dainty Who is it for, Miriam?”
Miriam raised her head and looked squarely into the
eyes of her friend; the next moment Shirley had her
arms about Miriam, and drawing her close to her, she
cried joyfully:—
“You precious thing! I’m so glad, oh, so glad!
But why didn’t you say so before?”
Miriam smiled softly.
“I’m just a bit old-fashioned, I’m afraid,” she mur-
mured. “Nowadays, it's the thing to make such an-


272 THE RED MOUSE
“Well, for some unexplainable reason, I’m glad of
that,” assented Miriam.
“Tell me about Murgatroyd,” said Shirley suddenly,
reseating herself. “I haven’t seen him 25
“There isn’t much to tell,” answered Miriam. “As
a reformer, he’s been a success. He’s serving his sec-
ond term as prosecutor, you know. It seems he wanted
to finish his work there.”
Shirley tossed her head.
“Who couldn’t, with all that money!”
“He and Thorne,” went on Miriam, “are rivals for
the United States Senatorship. Things are growing
warm, too, I hear; but it’s only a question of a day or
two now . . . .”
Shirley laughed, but her voice was hard when she
spoke:-
“He told me once that it cost over half a million
dollars in this state to be chosen Senator. Well, he’s
got the money, anyway 93.
Miriam raised her eyebrows.
“He told you that?”
“Yes—before he got the money.”
Mrs. Challoner deprecated.
“Shirley, aren’t you hard on Murgatroyd? He's a
man of character in the city,” and she poised her
needle in the air and glanced at the girl in a quizzical
way. “I think,” she went on slowly, “that I under-


274 THE RED MOUSE
there, leaving his eyes stranded upon hers. The same
thought came simultaneously to them both.
Miriam's happiness at their spontaneous greeting
was good to see.
“If I dared, I’d kiss you,” Laurie went on, laughing
good-naturedly; but he compromised on his wife, who
had been holding, all this time, the bit of fancy work
on which she sewed. Suddenly she glanced down at it.
“Oh,” she said, conscience stricken, and running
across the room, hurriedly thrust it into a closet.
Challoner watched her in surprise; and when she re-
turned, he put his arm about her and kissed her once
again.
“So much happiness,” commented Shirley, with a
pretty little pout, “and poor me . . . .”
Challoner laughed.
“Oh, we’ll have to look after you, Shirley ! I’ve got
a dozen likely chaps down at the works—Americans,
too. Real men, every one of them—men who work
with their hands.”
“The works?” Shirley looked in astonishment, first
at one, and then the other. “Oh, the selfish jades
we’ve been—Miriam and I have talked about every
man in creation but you! Aren’t you ashamed, Mir-
iam? I am!” She drew up her chair, and settling her-
self back comfortably into it, turned to Challoner and
went on excitedly:- “Now tell me about yourself.”


THE RED MOUSE 275
“We’ve saved five hundred dollars,” began Miriam,
answering for him. “An 99
“Five hundred dollars!” interrupted Shirley, enter-
ing completely into the spirit of things. “How did
you ever do it?”
Miriam turned to Challoner, and said with a smile:—
“Laurie, do you remember the day when we had
saved our first ten dollars?”
“Shall I ever forget it,” returned her husband, de-
voutly; and turning to Shirley: “The fact is, some-
how or other I’ve made good—and done it in five
years, too! But you don’t know what it means to me,
to us . . . When Miriam went to the hospital that
day, I started in—one dollar and a half a da 99.
“Yes?” said Shirley eagerly. “What kind of work?”
“Tell her about your invention, Laurie,” suggested
his young wife with pride.
Not waiting for a second invitation, Challoner im-
mediately launched forth on his favourite topic, Shir-
ley listening with great interest. But toward the close,
he said something about concrete and frauds which
instantly caused her to interrupt him.
“Frauds? What frauds?”
“Why, where have you been that you haven’t seen the
papers?” he inquired. “The papers the world over,
almost, have had something to say about this political
exposé. I was at work on the hospital job at the time,


276 THE RED MOUSE
and it was I who made the discovery that everybody
connected with the job was stealing cement: bosses,
superintendents, inspectors, politicians, why, even I
was invited into the ring. There was money in it,” he
continued, “money for me—hundreds, thousands . . .”
He paused, and then wound up with: “But, what
good would that do me when the hospital fell down?”
“Think what would have happened,” interposed Mir-
iam, “if it had been full of patients. It was good they
found it out in time! It has to be rebuilt.”
“But I wouldn’t stand for the steal,” Challoner went
on, in his legitimate pride. “Maybe you know the
rest?” He looked up questioningly; and convinced
that she did not, he proceeded: “I went to Murga-
troyd; he did the rest. I helped him, of course, by
testifying, and all that sort of thing; in other words,
I had to make good my accusations. But perhaps
Murgatroyd didn’t smite those chaps hip and thigh
You know what it meant, don’t you? It well-nigh
smashed the ring ! Anyhow, it has cripplied the or—
ganisation, and Murgatroyd did it!”
“Good for Murgatroyd!” ejaculated Shirley; and
then added quickly with a blush: “Good for you!”
“Laurie's in business for himself,” Miriam presently
informed her.
“No” exclaimed Shirley. “Concrete?”
“Yes,” answered Challoner enthusiastically. “I’ve


THE RED MOUSE 277
got a bit of a reputation for honesty, now. People
that want an honest job done come to me. Of course,
for a time, the hospital scandal killed concrete to some
extent 'round here; but there’s going to be a quick
recover. The trouble is not with concrete, but with
men . . . .” Challoner sighed longingly. “I could
swing that hospital job,” he said wistfully, “if only I
could get the bonds and the cash with which to start
me. But I suppose I have got to stick to the small
work for a while. However, I’m getting there, Shir-
ley, and I’m proud of it, too. You'll begin to think
I’m suffering from exaggerated Ego,” he finished
with a smile.
“Well,” said Miriam in justification, “any man who
saves five hundred dollars in so short a time has a
right to blow his own horn.”
“I believe in giving praise where it is due,” protested
her husband. “It was you, my dear, who saved it.”
“I?” returned Miriam, who never seemed happier
than when sacrificing herself.
“Yes, by not buying hats like Shirley's, for in-
stance,” he answered, although he glanced at the girl
in admiration.
Miriam sighed with joy. It was good to be appre-
ciated—good to have some one to talk with who could
appreciate their struggle.
“I won’t deny,” presently she said with a smile, “that


278 THE RED MOUSE
it was rather trying at times; but it was a work of
love, and we’ve succeeded.”
Shirley sprang to her feet.
“Lawrence Challoner, I’m going to kiss you—you’re
the kind of a man I’m looking for!” And on the im-
pulse of the moment she went over to him and made
good her word. “I’m proud of you,” she went on.
“You’re the real thing—you’re a success!”
Challoner laughed as now he drew his wife closer to
him.
“They are like a pair of doves,” said Shirley to her-
self; and then aloud, as she started for the door: “Mir-
iam, I’m going to fix up a bit for dinner. I
hope we’re going to have a dozen courses, for I’m
starved.”
When the door had closed behind her, Miriam rose
and started for the kitchen.
“Miriam, girl,” said Challoner, gently, “never mind
about the dinner now—that can wait.”
“I haven’t much to do, anyway,” answered his wife.
“What have you been hiding from me for the past
few weeks, Miriam?” presently asked Challoner.
She looked quickly up at him and repeated:—
“Hiding 33 -
He pointed toward the closet.
“What have you been putting away there every night
for the last few weeks? What is in that closet now?”


THE RED MOUSE 281
moment to pull himself together, and then suddenly
went on: “But now I have got to think about it, if
I’m going to be a father.” He sighed reminiscently.
“Poor Hargraves, I can see him now, Miriam, as he
put up his arm. . . .”
“Don’t, Laurie!” she pleaded. “Don’t! The for-
bidden subject—forget it, dear!” -
“I can’t forget it!” he returned. “It’s all before
9
me now.” He glared into space, as a man might who
witnessed before his very eyes some conflict. “I can
see it now, just as it happened 99
He stopped suddenly, fiercely, caught her roughly
by the arm, and cried in a loud voice:–
“Miriam, Miriam, thank Heaven I have thought
about it! Listen, dear—I can see it now—just as it
happened.” He stopped and looked down at her.
“Can you stand it, dear?”
“What is it?” asked his young wife, trembling with
the horror of it all. -
Challoner gripped her arm with painful force.
“I did not kill Richard Hargraves!” he cried in sud-
den joy. “No, I did not kill him!”
Miriam caught her husband about the neck and tried
to soothe him.
“Laurie,” she said gently, “you’re beside yourself.”
“No,” he answered calmly enough, though evidently
labouring under great excitement, “no, I know! I


THE RED MOUSE 283
“I know, I tell you,” he answered, and hastened to
add:—“Yes, and there’s another man that knows—
Pemmican, that’s the chap!”
He stopped again and looked down at the small
dress, which through all his excitement he had held
tenderly in the crook of his arm.
“I’m going to be a father,” he went on, “and it’s
well that I didn’t kill Hargraves. But I have got to
prove it—the world must know that I didn’t kill him.
I must prove it—Pemmican will prove it for me—
he was there.”
Miriam shook her head.
“You remember his testimony at the trial, Laurie;
besides,” she added softly, taking an old newspaper
clipping from a small drawer of her desk, “Pemmican
is dead.”
“Dead!” His voice rang out in astonishment.
“Dead! I didn't know it. Why didn't you tell me?” .
For answer she placed her finger on her lips.
“Why, he died in the county jail, not long
after I was tried P’ exclaimed Challoner, who was
now reading the newspaper clipping. “Poor chap,
the confinement killed him, I imagine. Well, I never
killed Hargraves, and I’m going to prove it, some-
how.” He leaned over and kissed a tiny bit of ruffle.
“I’m going to prove it for you and the little
one.”


284 THE RED MOUSE
“Laurie,” insisted Miriam, quivering, “are you
sure?”
“I was never surer of anything in my life than this,”
replied Challoner. “I tell you, it has all come back
to me like a flash. It was you, little one,” he said,
bending once more over something imaginary in his
arm, “that brought it back to me.”
Miriam had watched him closely.
“Yes, yes,” she conceded, “it is true, I can see it—
I know.” And sobbing, dropped her head upon his
shoulder.
“I’ve got to prove it,” he repeated over and over
again, patting her head affectionately.
“But—Murgatroyd—why, if you were inno-
cent . . .”
“Well?”
“He ought to know it.”
“What do I care about Murgatroyd! What do I
care about anybody but you and the little one that is
suddenly cried Miriam.
coming—coming to you and to me!”
“Laurie,” breathed Miriam softly, “I’m happy, oh,
so happy! I knew—I felt, somehow, that things
would come out right. I don’t care whether you ever
prove this—so long as we know. Happy?” she re-
peated as she nestled closer to him. “I should think
so, with five hundred dollars in the bank and a small
business, and after a while . . .”


XVII
IN the prosecutor’s office, to which they had ac-
cess at all hours of the day, were Mixley and Mc-
Grath, the latter occupying a strategic position, in
that he held in his hand the latest edition of the
Morning Mail.
“How's the joint ballot?” called Mixley from across
the room.
“Oh, it's hot, I tell you—both houses up all night!”
returned the other from over his paper. “The hands
of the clock moved back about ten times, and still go-
ing it. Still in session.”
Again Mixley called:—
“Let’s see the extra !”
McGrath tossed it over to him. Across its face, in
huge letters, appeared the single significant word:
“DEADLOCK’”
“Oh, but it’s Murgatroyd that gives them the fight!”
exclaimed Mixley, with enthusiasm.
McGrath smiled.
“Sure,” he answered. “He’s holdin’’em, but that’s
all he’s doin’. But what of that? He's got nothin’
to hold 'em on. Why, everybody knows that he hasn’t
any money. It’s my opinion,” declared McGrath,
“that the job goes to Thorne!”


THE RED MOUSE 287
Mixley read the first page of the Morning Mail with
care. After a while he read:—
“I guess you’re right. Thorne will be the next
Senator, all right. Hang the luck!”
“How can it be helped?” reasoned McGrath. “Look
at them brewers putting up maybe a quarter of a
million to help Thorne out! I say, what do you think
the votes of the “wise’ assemblymen were quoted at—
on the market last night?”
“I don’t know. I wish I was an assemblyman at
that,” sighed Mixley.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars apiece, and a rising
market growing stronger every minute,” answered
McGrath. “And them brewers 'll pay it, too. One
fellow wanted fifty thousand—an’ he’ll get it—see if
he don’t.” -
“I wish I was an assemblyman,” repeated Mixley
wistfully.
“If you were, and there was Thorne and twenty-five
thousand on one side for you, and Murgatroyd with-
out a dollar on the other, who would you vote for?
Come, now, answer!”
Mixley waved his hand.
“You’d vote for Murgatroyd,” yelled McGrath,
“you know you would—you couldn’t help yourself.”
Mixley sighed again.
“But I ain’t an assemblyman,” he answered; and in


288 THE RED MOUSE
the next breath he added: “There's somebody at that
there door.”
McGrath crossed to the door and opened it; and
Challoner, Mrs. Challoner and Shirley Bloodgood
entered.
McGrath, who remembered them well, and who knew
Challoner especially well since the hospital investiga-
tion, bowed low, and announced that the prosecutor
was out.
Shirley stepped forward and said determinedly:-
“But we must see him.”
“He’s expected any moment,” said Mixley from
across the room.
“We’ll wait,” chorused the three visitors.
McGrath bowed again and went back to his seat near
the window.
Presently Miriam turned to Shirley, and said re-
gretfully:—
“You ought not to have come, Shirley. Perhaps
you had better not stay.” -
Shirley looked narrowly at Challoner and at his wife.
After a moment she inquired:—
“Don’t you want me to stay?”
“Yes, yes, of course we do,” Miriam assured her,
“but you don’t want to stay, do you?”
“Indeed I do,” was the girl’s quick answer.
“What good will it do,” sighed Miriam ; but, never-


THE RED MOUSE 291.
Challoner rose at once, and said nervously:-
“Billy, I 35
At the sound of his name, Murgatroyd turned. He
had not seen them sitting there, and now bowed im-
personally to all three.
“Want to see me?” he inquired suavely.
“Yes,” faltered Challoner; and with a quick glance
in the direction of the prosecutor’s men, he added:
“and alone, please.”
Murgatroyd turned to his men and queried:—
“Anything new?”
Mixley pointed to the Morning Mail and to an
unopened telegram upon the desk.
“That, from the assembly,” he returned.
Murgatroyd shook his head, saying:—
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean in the Tannenbaum
case.”
McGrath gasped.
“Gee!” he exclaimed, “we was so excited about this
here that we clean forgot about it.”
Murgatroyd took from his drawer a bundle of
papers and handed it to Mixley, saying:—
“Look up that excise violation—right away. And,
McGrath,” he continued, “there are three witnesses
in the Tannenbaum case that we’ve got to have. It’s
up to you to get them. If you can’t find them by
two o'clock, let me know. You may go.”


292 THE RED MOUSE
And now seating himself at his desk Murgatroyd
turned to Challoner with:—
“Well, Challoner, what can I do for you?”
Challoner advanced quickly toward the desk.
“Prosecutor Murgatroyd,” he began, gulping, “it’s
up to you to clear me of that Hargraves affair. I’m
not the murderer of Hargraves!”
Miriam and Shirley had risen, but they did not
move; they hung upon the prosecutor’s answer.
Murgatroyd leaned back in his chair, and returned
calmly:—
“I know it.”
“You know it?” gasped the three visitors; and the
next moment the women were grouped around the
prosecutor’s desk.
Murgatroyd proceeded to open his mail.
“Yes,” he mused, “I have known it for almost five
years—you must have known it, too.”
“Not until a few hours ago,” Challoner quickly in-
formed him.
“You don’t say so,” was Murgatroyd's answer; and
presently he added: “though perhaps it is not so very
surprising.”
Challoner's eyes narrowed; his pulse was beating
fast. Suddenly he said:—
“But somebody killed Hargraves—who did it?”
The prosecutor looked at the man incredulously.


THE RED MOUSE 293
“Do you mean to tell me, that though you know now
that you didn't kill Hargraves—that you don't know
who did kill him?”
“I’m here to find out,” was Challoner’s determined
answer.
“Why thunderation P’ ejaculated Murgatroyd; and
looking the other squarely in the eyes, went on: “I
knew that everybody didn’t know, but I thought you
knew long ago that it was Pemmican of Cradlebaugh’s
who did it.”
“Pemmican,” repeated Challoner, as if to himself,
“was the only man who knew, and he’s dead.”
“Yes,” assented Murgatroyd, “he killed himself in
jail. He confessed just before the Court of Appeals
filed its opinion of affirmance in your case. It was a
game on his part, that murder. He had stolen ten
thousand dollars from the management of Cradle-
baugh’s, and had been threatened with prosecution
for it. It was necessary for him to replace the money.
The opportunity came and he seized it. He knew that
there was bad blood between you and Hargraves;
knew that there was a motive on your part; knew that
you shot and missed; knew that Hargraves had a lot
of money on his person, and he set out to get it. It
was safe—he got it, and Hargraves, too—shot him
dead with another gun, -after you missed him,
and paid back the money to Cradlebaugh’s.”


296 THE RED MOUSE
Challoner has tried to convince me that this bribe was
not a crime, inasmuch as you had kept faith with her;
but she knows as well as you do what my opinion
is on the subject. I told you in the court-room
what I thought, and again on another occasion
—I have not changed. No, you are not honest,”
she concluded mercilessly; “you’ve stolen, you’re
8. 35
She balked at the word; the next moment there
came a loud knock upon the door.
“Come in P’ called Murgatroyd.
“Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Prosecutor,” said Mix-
ley, on entering, “but Mr. Thorne is outside—”
Murgatroyd shook his head.
“Tell Mr. Thorne I'm busy.”
But no sooner had Mixley left the room than he was
back again.
“Counsellor Thorne says that he must see you—he
won’t wait.”
The prosecutor ordered his man to keep him out, end-
ing with:—
“I can’t see him!”
On Mixley's retreating, Shirley once more stepped
forward, and her lips were parted to speak when sud-
denly the door was thrust open violently and Thorne
stalked in. Behind him came Mixley, trying to hold
him back; but the other jerked himself free, and on


THE RED MOUSE 297
reaching the prosecutor’s desk, he held out his hand,
and called out loudly:
“SENATOR MURGATROYD !”
“W-what!” exclaimed Murgatroyd, rising.
“I want to shake hands with you. Then I’m the first
to announce it? Good!”
And he proceeded to tell Murgatroyd that the latter
had just been chosen on joint ballot, majority in both
houses, for the Senatorship, ending with:—
“Allow me—allow me to congratulate you!”
His voice rang true, even though he did not mean it;
and Murgatroyd shook his hand, saying:-
“I thought it would be you, Thorne; you put up a
good fight.”
“We did, you mean,” protested Thorne. “My
crowd did, as usual. But you, Murgatroyd, deserve
your honours—it was one man against the field, one
man against illimitable backing. Senator,” he de-
clared, bowing, “I take off my hat to you! You have
done what has never been done before, and you’ve done
it without a dollar! You’re the first man in the State,”
he went on frankly, “to be chosen by the people,
literally by the people, and without a dollar behind
you.”
Still Murgatroyd shook his head, and repeated:—
“Thorne, it looked like you.”
“No; and we’ve learned something by all this,”


298 THE RED MOUSE
-
Thorne went on; “we’re beginning to find out that the
people worship honesty above all things.-Oh, yes,
I'm honest,” he continued hastily; “I understand that.
But you—your honesty is the real thing—and the
people know it, too.”
Turning to her friends, Shirley muttered satiri-
cally:-
“Honest P*
Now McGrath, as usual, had followed close on the
footsteps of Mixley; and standing in the door, he
yelled:— w
“Three cheers for Senator Murgatroyd!”
And Mixley and Thorne,—born and bred to
political meetings, gave them with a will; while
Shirley and the Challoners sat in the corner in deep
silence.
Murgatroyd looked at his men in surprise.
“Where have you been all this time?” he queried.
“Outside,” they answered sheepishly, “waiting for
the news.” ~
Murgatroyd strode down upon them and thundered
out:-
“You get that evidence and have it here by two
o’clock.” *
The men piled out in confusion. A moment later,
Thorne took up his hat, and holding out his hand,
repeated:—


THE RED MOUSE 299
“Accept my congratulations once more, Senator!”
He turned to go, and then for the first time he saw
the three people huddled together in the corner of the
room. “Well,” he suddenly exclaimed, “I thought
we were alone. I didn’t know . . . .”
Challoner stepped out in front of him, and blurted
out:-
“Mr. Thorne, I wish to know if it is true 33
Thorne, still not seeing who it was, nodded.
“Yes,” he said in reply, “the prosecutor has been
chosen—I’m down and out.”
“You don’t understand,” returned Challoner; “is it
true, true—”
“True?” repeated Thorne.
“True that you have known all these years that I
was innocent of murder?” And Challoner squared his
shoulders and lifted his head while he waited for his
reply.
“Yes, of course it’s true,” answered Thorne, seeing,
at last, whom he faced.
“You never told me,” fiercely returned Challoner.
Thorne apparently was dumbfounded.
“Never told you? Why I must have told you,” he
stammered feebly.
“You never—” Challoner's voice suddenly broke.
“And I thought all these years—and because I
thought 99


300 THE RED MOUSE
He paused abruptly. Then Thorne, turning to
Murgatroyd, boldly equivocated:
“It’s preposterous! Of course I told him . . . .”
Murgatroyd smiled grimly, and added gently to him-
self:-
“Never . . . "till now.”
Thorne now waved Challoner aside, saying:—
“You must be mistaken, Mr. Challoner; I certainly
told you—” And picking up his hat, once more turned
his attention to the prosecutor.
“Well, Senator, good-day!” At the door, he called
back: “You’ve made a clean and honest fight—you de-
serve success! Good-day !”
But no sooner had the words passed his lips, than
Shirley, almost beside herself, again broke forth:-
“A clean, honest fight! Oh!”
Murgatroyd resumed his seat, smiling.
“Yes,” he said, as if wholly unconscious of the girl’s
irony, “it is hard work to be chosen Senator without
half a millon or so behind you.”
Up to this time, Shirley had held her indignation
within bounds; but at this remark, she lost all con-
trol over herself.
“Why you—you're a thief!” she cried.
Instantly, Mrs. Challoner stepped forward, and
raising a reproving hand, she said with great deter-
mination:—


302 THE RED MOUSE
seated, he took a chair opposite to hers and asked
severely:—
“Mrs. Challoner, what do you mean by this? Do you
recall the compact made nearly six years ago?”
“Yes, yes,” she answered, in a manner that showed
plainly her desire to conciliate him.
“Your husband went free,” Murgatroyd continued,
“and when we made our compact, we did not know
whether he was innocent or not, whether it was within
the power of the law to hold him or to free him. But
I kept my part of the compact in good faith—inno-
cent or guilty, he finally went free.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she returned eagerly.
“Your part of the compact was silence,—you prom-
ised to keep silent, and yet, twice in this building
you have broken your word, and Heaven knows how
many times outside,” he concluded solemnly.
“Yes, yes,” she answered contritely, “I know. Don't
think for a moment that I have any fault to find with
you, Mr. Murgatroyd. None, whatever. I have al-
ways upheld you, always believed in you, I believe in
you now . . .”
“That’s more than Shirley does,” and Murgatroyd
smiled grimly, “for I heard her say that she would
like to lynch me—she would, if you would let her,” he
added lightly.
“But she doesn’t understand, Mr. Murgatroyd. She


THE RED MOUSE 303
is frightfully impulsive; you must not take her so
seriously. Besides, what can a mere girl know of the
troubles of ” She paused for a brief moment; and
continuing, said in a changed tone: “But I’m glad,
very glad that my money could help to put the right
man in the right place, glad that my money has done
so much good at last. Yes, I was wrong to
speak 35
All the while she had been talking, Murgatroyd eyed
her strangely.
“What do you want of me?” he broke in sud-
denly. -
“Yes, yes, I must get to the point,” she answered
timidly, and then looked up at him as if searching for
some expression on his face which would help her to
go on; but she saw there only impatience, and it was
with some trepidation that she proceeded: “Of course
you know how splendidly Lawrence has done these
last five years—what a man he has made of himself?
Why certainly you know, because he helped you with
that concrete affair, and—” She paused to see the
effect of her words; but again they had been received
with apparent indifference. Nevertheless, she said
proudly: “Lawrence has gone in business for himself.
Yes,” she added quickly, nervously tapping the desk
before her with her fingers, “and Lawrence can get
that hospital job. He wants it—wants it badly, for


304 THE RED MOUSE
he knows he would do it right. Mr. Murgatroyd, it
would be the making of his business 39
She paused, while her mind struggled helplessly to
find the fitting words with which to frame the difficult
request that was to come.
“Lawrence needs a bondsman to get that job—a
man with one hundred thousand dollars to go on his
bond. And you know it is very hard, particularly
hard for him to find a man who is worth that much to
go on his bond—a bond that he’ll do the work, and
do it right. Oh, Mr. Murgatroyd, would it be asking
too much of you to-”
Murgatroyd rose and gazed at her steadily.
“And you are asking me to go on a hundred-thou-
sand-dollar bond for your husband?”
The tone of his voice told Miriam what she had to
expect, and her heart grew chill, but she braced her-
self to go on:-
“Yes,” she answered; and her voice was very gentle
and very winning as she proceeded: “And if he could
get a little money, just a little to buy materials. We
have saved five hundred dollars, but that will not go
far. Oh, he has worked so hard, and I don’t want
him to get discouraged! He wouldn’t ask these things
for himself— No, indeed! You'll go on his bond,
won’t you?” she asked with a wan smile. “And loan
him a few thousand dollars to start the job?”


THE RED MOUSE 307
Miriam Challoner’s intimation that good news would
be forthcoming was indeed rather vague; nevertheless,
unconsciously, both were affected by her mood, and
came into the room, smiling. Perhaps it affected
Murgatroyd, too, for it was with his most
genial manner that the hitherto imperturbable
prosecutor, from where he sat on the edge of the
table, his arms folded, singled out Shirley, and
said:—
“Ready for the lynching, Miss Bloodgood?”
A look of surprise crossed Shirley’s features, but
she scorned to answer. -
Murgatroyd was now standing, his back still to the
table.
“Would you mind locking that door,” he called to
Challoner; and turning to the ladies: “Mrs. Chal-
loner, take that chair, please,” pointing to one near-
est to him, “and, Miss Bloodgood, that,” indicating
one next to Miriam’s.
Meantime, Challoner had returned, and was waiting,
hesitatingly, near the door.
“Aren’t you going to join the family circle,
Laurie?” the prosecutor said lightly.
Challoner then came forward, and placed his chair
between the two women.
Murgatroyd's manner suddenly became chilly, stern,
in short, once more he was the prosecutor of the pleas.


308 THE RED MOUSE
Addressing Challoner, whom he looked well in the eye,
he began:-
“Mrs. Challoner has asked me to go on a hundred
thousand dollar construction-bond for you; also, to
loan you considerable money.”
There was a dramatic pause. And except for a
questioning glance from Challoner and Shirley, which
found a ready answer in the eyes of Miriam, his listen-
ers did not move nor speak.
“There it is,” announced Murgatroyd, in the same
business-like tone; and stepping aside from the table,
revealed two old, battered, dust-covered, sheet-iron
boxes. -
“Those boxes!” exclaimed Mrs. Challoner, who was
visibly excited. “What is in them?” she asked in be-
wilderment.
“I don’t know,” returned Murgatroyd calmly.
There was no question in the minds of the prosecu-
tor’s visitors but that these boxes were the same that
Miriam had brought to him so long ago, filled
with negotiable securities, to the extent, as Mir-
iam was not likely to forget, of eight hundred
and sixty thousand dollars; but, as to their present
contents, all, naturally, were at a loss to conjec-
ture. So, no one spoke, but continued to wait ex-
pectantly for Murgatroyd to make the next move.
Apparently, however, that was far from his in-


THE RED MOUSE 309
tention, and after a moment Shirley broke out
with:—
“Do you mean to say that you don’t know what is in
them?”
“Miss Bloodgood, there's only one person in this
room who knows that,” he replied quietly. Then
turning to Mrs. Challoner, he went on in the same
tone:–
“Do you see these seals?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Unbroken, are they not?”
“Yes,” again she assented faintly.
“Well, then, you know what is inside of them; I do
not.”
“I?—” faltered Miriam. “Wh 35
Then followed a moment of racking suspense for
all, except, perhaps, Murgatroyd.
“Mrs. Challoner,” he resumed, “you told me once
that there were eight hundred and sixty thousand dol-
lars in negotiable securities in these boxes. If what
you then said was true, there they are, coupons and
all.”
“But, Mr. Murgatroyd,” protested Mrs. Challoner,
“you said that you did not have any money . . .”
Murgatroyd smiled.
“I spoke the truth. But you . . .” And now,
to Challoner's great surprise, Murgatroyd fixed his


310 THE RED MoUSE
eyes on him, and said in a voice that impressed them
all the more, inasmuch as it was filled with a kindly
confidence rather than with distrust:-
“There's eight hundred and sixty thousand dollars
in those boxes, Challoner, belonging to your wife.
Can you stand having it back again?”
Challoner looked puzzled; for as Miriam had told
Shirley, he had had no reason to believe that his wife's
fortune had not all been spent by them. Slowly he
began to understand, but he was too overcome to
speak. Presently he found his voice and said:—
“Can I stand 25
“Yes,” interrupted Murgatroyd, “you know what
money did for you before—what it led to-" He
broke off abruptly, and turning to Shirley he added:
“I told you once, Miss Bloodgood, that there was but
one way to cure a bad millionaire, but one way to
reform him, and that was to take away his millions.
Well, I took away his P’
All eyes now rested on Challoner, who, oblivious to
his surroundings, seemed lost in thought, and who
can tell what dreams may come to one suddenly
lifted from the depths of poverty back again to
affluence. But in any event, looking the prosecutor
straight in the face he said in an easy, determined
voice:-
“Billy Murgatroyd, a little while ago you asked


THE RED MOUSE 313
“Yes, I took money to acquit Challoner, and then I
convicted him. Why? Because the instinct within
me to do my duty was too strong to allow me to do
otherwise. All the evidence was against him; he had
confessed; I had to convict him.”
“And the money—” ventured Shirley.
“Like a dipsomaniac, a reformed dipsomaniac, LI
put that money as he might have his bottle, on the
shelf—corked. There it was—I could have it any time
I wanted it.” His face became more serious as he
proceeded: “Then I kept on being a thief, for there
was a new and overpowering motive that got the best
of me. Like the reformed dipsomaniac I was deter-
mined to see what I could do without it. It became
a passion with me. I knew that every move I made
meant the expenditure of money. A hundred times,
yes, a thousand times I have had my fingers on those
seals about to break them, and then have crawled
away—once more to do without the money. Some-
how, I knew, that my time must come. Besides, there
was that overwhelming ambition,-prompted by a
woman.”
Shirley hung her head.
“Yes,” he went on fiercely, “a woman who must have
her due; it was up to me to be something more than
merely honest. Anybody could be honest, she told me,
but not everybody could be great!”


316 THE RED MOUSE
Murgatroyd's contention that, at least in part, he was
actuated by a praiseworthy desire to save his wife and
him from the results of his dissipations. To a man,
such as Challoner now was, it can easily be imagined,
therefore, that he would regard that alone as suffi-
cient reason to overlook everything else, and so ris-
ing, he grabbed impulsively Murgatroyd's hand,
saying:— -
“Not another word, old man! It's all right!”
Murgatroyd was visibly affected.
“Thank you,” he said simply; and then added:
“Only one thing more remains to be done. Mrs. Chal-
loner, I must ask you to break these seals.”
Miriam demurred.
“Oh, no, Mr. Murgatroyd!” she said. “Surely you
must know that I believe you!”
But Murgatroyd insisted; and obeying him finally,
Miriam broke the seals, and presently she showed to
them the securities, undisturbed, just as Murgatroyd
had taken them, dollar for dollar, bond and bond.
Suddenly Murgatroyd felt a touch on the arm.
“And I believe you, Billy,” said Shirley contritely.
An enigmatical smile passed across the prosecutor's
face.
“Do you, indeed?” he said dryly; and added:
“That’s, perhaps, more than I had any right to ex-
pect.”


THE RED MOUSE 317
A slight pucker showed on Miss Bloodgood’s beauti-
ful brow, but she replied, quite unruffled:—
“Why, of course, I do. After all, you were honest,
weren’t you?” And not waiting for his answer, added
ingenuously: “You were not a thief P*
Instantly the expression on Murgatroyd's face be-
came a very serious one.
“Yes, I was,” he protested, “I was a thief.” And
with that he turned to Challoner and said in a voice of
great feeling: “Challoner, this money is your wife's.
Take it. And great God, man,” he groaned, “don’t,
don’t forget what it did to you—what it made you,
years ago.”
Mrs. Challoner shivered at the prosecutor’s earnest-
ness; but Challoner, hesitating for a moment only, ad-
vanced and said:—
“We’ll take it. I’m not a bit afraid now, Murga-
troyd—for I know.” And then holding out his hand,
he continued kindly: “Billy, if you hadn’t taken it—
where would I have been to-day?”
“Free—free as you are now,” said the other man in
a low, strained tone.
“Yes,” assented Challoner, “out of prison,
but 99
Mrs. Challoner quickly rose and put an end to the
conversation going on between the men.
“Come, Laurie,” she said abruptly; and holding out


318 THE RED MOUSE
her hand, “good-bye, Mr. Murgatroyd! I’m afraid
we have taken up altogether too much of your time.”
Murgatroyd shook hands with the Challoners; but
on Shirley making her adieus, he said:—
“May I have a moment with you, Miss Bloodgood?
Won’t you wait, please?”
Mrs. Challoner answered for the girl:—
“Shirley, don’t be in any hurry. Laurie and I will
wait for you in the ante-room—” And as they
passed out Challoner called: “Wait until you see that
concrete hospital, Murgatroyd!”
For moments that seemed hours Shirley and Murga-
troyd stood facing each other, neither having the
courage to speak, the girl filled with shame at the
great wrong she had done to the man she loved; while
he, feeling as if the burden that had rested upon his
soul had at last rolled away, was drawing deep breaths
—breathing like a man who has suddenly come out of
darkness into the daylight. Shirley was the first to
break the silence; and now looking up at Murgatroyd,
with a little shake of the head she asked:—
“Billy, do you care to know what I think of you?”
“Perhaps, if I had cared less, I 35
But not for a moment would Shirley listen now to his
censuring himself further, and quickly she cut him
off.
“I think it was a far finer thing to take the money


320 THE RED MOUSE
thing was that always made me keep my hands off
those iron boxes?”
Shirley lifted her eyes to his in quick understanding.
“It was my love for the woman who wanted me to be
great,” he went on in a voice so shaken with emotion,
that she scarcely recognised it as belonging to
him. “That was the motive that beat down all
others.”
“And will you forgive the foolish lips that told you
to go wrong?”
For answer he held out his arms to her and she came
to them. Then he stooped down, and catching her
face between his hands, raised it slowly, and kissed the
lips tenderly, murmuring lovingly:-
“Her soul would not let me go wrong.” -
After a moment Shirley slowly drew herself out of
his arms and placing a hand on each of his shoulders,
asked laughingly, looking deep into his eyes:—
“And we’ll go to Washington?”
“Yes, dear,” he smiled back. “We’re going to
Washington—to freeze and starve together on that
back street— Yes, my revenge is now complete.”
Before he could kiss her a second time, Shirley darted
to the door, opened it and called:—
“Miriam, Laurie, come here—come back!”
One look at the face of the girl that she had left in
the office was sufficient to tell Miriam that she had