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ASHES TO ASHES





AS HES
; TO 5
AS HES
– BY —
ISABEL OSTRANDER
Author of “THE ISLAND OF INTRIGUE”,
“SUSPENSE” “THE CLUE IN THE AIR” etc.
"… Jºzº * * * * * *
NEW YORK
ROBERT M. McBRIDE & CO.
1919


Copyright, 1919
by
ROBERT M. McBRIDE &f COMPANY
HARWARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
BY EXCHANGE
JAN 20 1928
Printed in the United States of America.
Published, 1919


cHAPTER
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
CONTENTS
THE LIE
THE TRAP.
THE BLOw.
THE LONG NIGHT.
WHEN MORNING DAWNED.
THE VERDICT .
THE LETTER
THE TRUTH
THE ESCAPE
A CHANCE MEETING
LUCK .
MIRAGE
THE BLACK BAG
IN HIS HANDs.
ASHEs to ASHES .
THE SEcond VIGIL.
MISSING - - - - -
THE GIRL IN THE WATCH CASE
Found
MARKED - - -
THE UNCONSIDERED TRIFLE
AT THE CLUB . -
THE ScourGE OF MEMORY .
IF GEORGE KNEw .
THE FINAL TEST .
THE KEY .
IN THE LIBRARY
JUST A MoMENT PLEASE
PAGE
I3
24
40
53
65
76
88
IOO
III
I24
I37
I49
I61
I75
187
196
2II
224
236
250
263
276
289
290
3OO
3I9
323
V





ASHES TO ASHES
CHAPTER I
THE LIE
66 ELL, that's the situation.” Wendle Foulkes’
W V keen old eyes narrowed as they gazed into the
turbulent ones of his client across the wide
desk. “This last batch of securities is absolutely all that
you have left of your inheritence from your father. Leave
them alone where they are and you are sure of three thou-
sand a year for yourself and for Leila after you.”
Norman Storm struck the desk impatiently, and his lean,
aristocratic face darkened.
“Three thousand a year! It wouldn't cover the running
expenses of the car and our country club bills alone!” he
exclaimed. “I tell you, Foulkes, this investment is a sure
thing; it will pay over thirty per cent in dividends in less
than four years. I have straight inside information on it—”
“So you had on all the other impulsive, ill-judged ventures
that have wiped out your capital, Norman.” The attorney
sighed wearily. “I don’t want to rub it in, but do you real-
ize that you have squandered nearly four hundred thousand
dollars in the past ten years on wildcat schemes and specu-
lations? You’ve come to the end now ; think it over. Your
salary with the Mammoth Trust Company is fifteen thou-
sand a year—on eighteen you and your wife ought to be liv-
ing fairly comfortably. I grant you that three thousand
I


2 ASHES TO ASHES
income per anum isn't much to leave Leila in the event of
your death, but it is better than the risk of utter insolvency,
and she's been spending her own money pretty fast lately.”
“It is hers, to do with as she pleases!” Storm retorted
sulkily and then flushed as the school-boyishness of his own
attitude was borne in upon his consciousness. “You can-
not make big money unless you take a chance. I’ve been
unlucky, that's all. My father made all his in Wall Street,
and his father before him 5x
“In solid investments, not speculations; and they were on
the inside themselves. They had the capital to take a gam-
bler's chance and the acumen to play the game.” Foulkes
rose and laid his hand paternally upon the younger man's
shoulder. “Forgive me, my boy, but you haven't the tem-
perament, the knowledge of when to stop and the strength
to do it. Of course, this money is yours unreservedly; you
may have it if you want to risk this last venture, but it will
take some time for me to convert the securities into cash.
Remember, you have reached the bottom of the basket; I
only want you to stop and consider, and not to jeopardize the
last few thousand you have in the world.”
Outside in the bright May sunshine once more, Storm
shouldered his way through the noon-tide throng on the
busy pavement with scant ceremony, his resentment hot
against the man he had just left. Confound old Foulkes!
Why didn't he keep his smug counsels for those who came
sniveling to him for them? As if he, an official of a huge
and noted corporation, were a mere lad once more, to be
lectured for over-spending his allowance!
The fact that the position he held with the trust company
entailed no financial responsibility and was practically an
honorary one, granted him solely because of his father's
former connection with that institution, was a point which


THE LIE 3
did not present itself to his mind. He was occupied in clos-
ing his mental eyes to the truth of the lawyer's arraignment,
bolstering his defiance with excuses for the repeated fiascos
of his past ventures, and the secret knowledge that Foulkes
had read him aright only added fuel to the flames.
Still inwardly seething, he crossed Broadway and plunged
into another narrow, crowded cross-street lined by towering
office buildings whose walls rose like cliffs on either side.
From the tallest of these, an imposing structure of white
stone which reared a shaft high above its neighbors, a wo-
man emerged and mingled with the hurrying host before him.
She was not a toiler of the financial district; that was evi-
dent from the costly simplicity of the smart little toque upon
her shining golden hair and the correct lines of her severely
tailored costume. She was undeniably pretty with the deli-
cate, tender irregularity of feature which just escapes actual
beauty; yet it was not that which caused Norman Storm to
halt and drove from him all thought of the late interview.
It was his wife. Leila | What possible errand could have
brought her to the city and to this portion of it? Surely an
unexpected one, for she had not told him of any such in-
tention; indeed, to his knowledge she had never before in-
vaded the precincts of finance, and he could conceive of no
possible reason for her presence there.
As he paused, momentarily petrified with astonishment,
a stout little man upon the opposite curb also caught sight
of the young woman's hurrying figure, and he, too, stopped
in surprise, a smile lighting his plain, commonplace features.
Then, as though drawn by a magnet, his pale, rather faded
blue eyes traveled straight to where Norman Storm stood,
the surprise deepened, and with a half-audible exclamation
he started across the street toward him; but a long double
line of drays and motor trucks barred his way.


4. ASHES TO ASHES
Meanwhile Leila had vanished utterly in the crowd, and
Storm realizing the futility of an attempt to overtake her,
dismissed the matter from his thoughts with a shrug. She
would tell him of her errand, of course, on his return home;
and a conference of importance awaited his immediate pres–
ence at the office of the trust company.
The conference developed complications which delayed
him until long after the closing hour, forcing him to forego
an engagement with Millard for a round of golf at the coun-
try club. He likewise missed his accustomed train bearing
the club car out to Greenlea and was compelled to herd in
with commuters bound for the less exclusive suburban com—
munities on the line.
Storm was not a snob, but the atmosphere of petty
clerking and its attendant interests grated upon his tired,
highly strung sensibilities; the unsatisfactory interview of
the morning with Foulkes returned to exasperate him fur-
ther and he was in no very genial frame of mind when he
alighted at the station.
But Barker was on hand promptly with the smart little
car which consumed such an incredible amount of gasolene,
and the air of the soft spring twilight was infinitely grateful
after the smoke and stuffiness of the train. As they drove
swiftly past the rolling lawns of one spacious landscape gar-
den after another, each burgeoning with its colorful promise
of the blossoming year, his taut nerves relaxed, and he
settled back in contented ease. What if he had been unlucky
in past speculations, if old Foulkes did consider him an
unstable weakling? Leila believed in him, and she was his,
all his
The glimmer of white upon the veranda half-hidden in
the trees resolved itself into a slender, fairy-like figure, and
as he alighted from the car and mounted the steps she caught


THE LIE 5
his hands in the eager, childish way which was one of her
chief charms.
“Oh, Norman, how late you are 1 Poor dear, did they
keep him at that wretched old office and make him miss his
golf?” She lifted her face for his evening kiss, and her soft,
blue eyes glowed with a deep, warm light. “George is here;
I mean, he 'phoned from the Millards’. He's coming over
for dinner.”
“That’s the reason for the début of the new white gown,
eh?” Storm laughed. “By Jove, I believe I ought to be jeal-
ous of old Georgel When a man's wife and his best
friend 23.
“Don’t!” There was a quick note almost of distress in
Leila's tones. “I don't like to hear you joke that way about
him, dear. He seems so lonely, standing just outside of
life, somehow. He hasn't anything of this l’’
She waved her little hands in a comprehensive gesture as
if to take in the whole atmosphere of the home, and her hus-
band laughed carelessly once more.
“It’s his own fault, then. Don't waste any sympathy on
him on that score, Leila. George is a confirmed old bache-
lor; he would run a mile from a suggestion of domesticity.”
At the door he turned. “Oh, I say dear »y
But Leila was already down the steps and had started
across the lawn, at the farther side of which Storm dis-
cerned a short stout commonplace figure approaching; and
turning once more he hastened to his room to change.
George Holworthy, two years his senior, had been a class-
mate of Storm's at the university twenty years before, and
the companionship—rather a habit of association than a
friendship—which had grown up between the undisciplined,
high-spirited boy and his duller, more phlegmatic comrade
had proved a lasting one despite the wide dissimilarity in


6 ASHES TO ASHES
their natures. Storm was too fastidious, Holworthy too
seriously inclined, for dissipation to have attracted either
of them, but while the former had drifted, plunging reck-
lessly from one speculation to another, the latter had plod-
ded slowly, steadily ahead until at forty-two he had amassed
a comfortable fortune and attained a position of established
recognition among his business associates. .
An hour later, as they sat drinking their after-dinner
coffee on the veranda, Leila's words returned to his mind,
and Storm found himself eying his guest in half-disparaging
appraisal. Good, stupid old Georgel How stodgy and mid-
dle-aged he was getting to be! His hair was noticeably
thin on top and peppered with gray and he looked like any-
thing but an assured, successful man of affairs as he
lounged, round-shouldered, in his chair, his mild eyes blink-
ing nearsightedly at Leila, who sat on the veranda steps
cradling one chiffon clad knee between her clasped hands.
George looked every day of fifty. Now, if he would only
patronize a smart tailor, join a gymnasium and work some
of that adipose tissue off, he wouldn't be half bad-looking.
Unconsciously Norman Storm squared his shoulders and
drew his slim, lithe form erect in his chair. Then his mus-
cles tightened convulsively and he sat with every nerve
tense, for a snatch of the disjointed conversation had pene-
trated his abstraction and its import stunned him.
“You weren't in town to-day, then?” The question,
seemingly a repetition of some statement of Leila's, came
stammeringly from Holworthy's lips.
“Oh, dear, no!” Her laugh tinkled out upon the soft
air. “I haven't been in perfect ages! It doesn't attract me
now that spring is here.”
Not in town But he had seen her himself Sheer sur-
prise held Storm silent for a moment.


THE LIE 7
When he spoke his voice sounded strange to his own ears.
“Where were you all day, Leilaf What did you do with
yourself?”
“I—I lunched out at the Ferndale Inn with Julie Brew-
ster.” Her tone was low, and she did not turn her head
toward him as she replied, adding hurriedly: “George, when
are you going to give up those stuffy rooms of yours in
town and take a bungalow out here? You can keep bache-
lor hall just as well; lots of nice men are doing it . . . .”
Through the desultory talk which followed, Storm sat
as if in a trance. If the blue tailored frock and hat with its
saucy quill had not been familiar to him in every line, he
could still not have mistaken that glimpse of her profile,
the carriage of her head, the coil of shining, spun-gold hair.
Ferndale Inn was twenty miles away, a good sixty from
town, and inaccessible save by motor; she could not possib-
ly have reached there in time for luncheon, for it was after
twelve when she had passed him on that crowded, downtown
street. She had told a deliberate falsehood; but why?
“I think if you don't mind, George, I’ll say good night.”
Leila rose at last, her white gown shimmering in the dark-
ness. “I feel a bit tired and headachey ->
“Not faint, Leila P" Holworthy spoke in quick solici-
tude.
“One of my old attacks you mean?” She laughed lightly.
“Indeed, no! I haven't had one in ever so long. It is noth-
ing that a good, early sleep won't put right. I suppose it
is no use to ask you to stay overnight, George?”
He shook his head.
“Must be at the office early to-morrow. I'll catch the
ten-forty train to town. Good night, Leila. Sleep well.”
“Good night.” She touched her husband's cheek softly
with her finger-tips as she passed him, and he felt that they


8 ASHES TO ASHES
were icy cold. “Put on your coat if you go to the station
with George, dear; these early Spring nights are deceptive.”
Deceptive! And she, who had never lied to him before
in the ten years of their married life, was going to her rest
with a falsehood between them | Storm felt as if someone
had struck him suddenly, unfairly between the eyes. The
fact in itself was a staggering one, but a score of questions
beat upon his brain. Why, if she wished to conceal her
errand to town, had she not been content merely to deny
her presence there? Why drag in the Ferndale Inn and
Julie Brewster?
As if his thoughts had in some way communicated them-
selves to his companion, the latter asked suddenly:
“What sort of a place is this Ferndale Inn, Norman?”
“Oh, the usual thing. Imitation Arcadia at exorbitant
prices. Why?”
“Oh, I’ve heard things.” The tip of Holworthy's cigar
described a glowing arc as he gestured vaguely. “I guess
it is quiet enough; Leila wouldn't see anything wrong there
in a million years unless she happened to run into some
of her own set in an indiscreet hour. I’m informed that
it is quite a rendezvous for those who are misunderstood
at their own firesides.”
“George, you're getting to be a scandal-monger!” Storm
laughed shortly, his thoughts still centered on his problem.
“The Inn is under new management this season, and any-
way you needn't take a crack at our set out here. They're
up-to-date, a bit unconventional, perhaps, but never step
out of bounds. The trouble with you, old man, is that you're
old-fashioned and narrow; you don't get about enough >>
“I get about enough to hear things!” Holworthy retorted
with unusual acerbity. “Your crowd here at Greenlea is
no different from any other small community of normal


THE LIE 9
people thrown together intimately under the abnormal con-
ditions created by too much money and not enough to do.
I don't mean you two, but look around you. This Julie
Brewster of whom Leila spoke just now; she is Dick Brew-
ster's wife, isn't she I don't discuss women as a rule, but
she's going it rather strong with young Mattison. Dick's
not a fool; he'll either blow up some day or find somebody's
else wife to listen to his tale of woe and hand out the sym-
pathy. That is merely a case in point.”
“And just before your arrival, Leila was bemoaning the
fact that you'd missed domestic happiness!”
“Was she? Well, there are different kinds of happiness
in this world, you know; perhaps I’ve found mine in just
looking on.” He rose. “I’ll get on down to the station
now, old man. No, don’t rout out Barker; I'd rather walk.”
“I’ll stroll down with you, then.” Storm paused to light
a cigarette, then followed his guest down the veranda steps.
He shrank from facing Leila again that night; he would
wait until the morning, and perhaps later she would explain.
Perhaps the explanation of her prevarication lay in the fact
of George's presence; whatever her errand, she might not
have cared to discuss it before him. As this solution pre-
sented itself to his mind Storm grasped at it eagerly. That
was it, of course! What a fool he had been to worry, to
doubt her l He could have laughed aloud in sheer relief.
“This is a great little place you have out here, Norman.”
Holworthy halted at the gate to glance back at the house
outlined in the moonlight. “I don't wonder you're proud
of it. The grounds are perfect, too; that little corner there,
where the hill dips down and the trout stream runs through,
couldn't have been laid out better if you had planned it.”
“It wouldn't be a little corner if that old rascal Jaffray
would sell me that stretch of land which cuts into mine,


IO ASHES TO ASHES
confound him!” Storm plunged with renewed zest into a
topic ever rankling with him. “I’ve tried everything to
force his hand, but the scoundrel hangs on to it through
nothing in the world but blasted perversity | I tell you,
George, it spoils the whole place for me sometimes, and I
feel like selling out!”
“Leave all this after the years you and Leila have put in
beautifying it because you can't have an extra bit that be-
longs to someone else?” Holworthy shook his head. “Don’t
be a fool, Norman If you can only get another head gar-
dener as good as MacWhirter was 33
“I’ll have MacWhirter himself back in a month,” Storm
interrupted. “Didn't Leila tell you? She saw him yester-
day at the Base Hospital. He has lost a leg, but he'll stump
around as well as ever on an artificial one, and if he had
to be wheeled about in a chair Leila wouldn't hear of not
having him back. She is the most loyal little soul in the
world.”
“Of course she isl” Holworthy assented hastily. “You’re
the luckiest man living, Norman, and she is the best of
women l’”
He paused abruptly, and when he spoke again there was
an odd, constrained note in his usually placid tones.
“How about the South American investment? I wish
you wouldn't go into it—”
“So, evidently, does Foulkes l’” Storm retorted. “I had
it out with him to-day, and the old pettifogger talked as
though I were the original Jonah; told me to my face that
I had no head for business—”
“Well, he's right on that,” remarked the other, with the
candor of long association. “This South American thing
isn't sound; I’ve looked into it, and I know. The big fellows
would have taken hold of it long ago if it had been worth


THE LIE II
while. You certainly cannot afford to take a chance where
they won't.”
The discussion which ensued lasted until the station
was reached and Holworthy, with a final wave of his hand,
disappeared into the smoker of the train which was just
pulling out.
Storm had had rather the better of the argument, as
usual, for the other's slower mind was not sufficiently agile
to grasp his brilliant but shallow points and turn them
against him, and he started homeward in high good humor.
How peaceful and still everything lay under the pale shim-
mering haze of moonlight! Leila would be fast asleep by
now. What a child she was at heart, in spite of her twenty-
eight years! How she had hesitated, even over that little
white lie that she had been to Ferndale Inn with Julie Brew-
ster, and how stupid he had been to force it by question-
ing her before Georgel
The house as he approached it lay cloaked in darkness
amid the shadow of the trees save only the subdued ray of
light which shone out from the hall door, which in the
custom of Greenlea he had left ajar. His footsteps made
no sound on the soft, springing turf of the lawn, but when
he reached the veranda the sharp, insistent shrill of the
telephone came to his ears.
As he started forward it ceased abruptly, and to his
amazement he heard Leila's voice in a murmur of hushed
inquiry. The murmur was prolonged, and after a moment
he slipped into the hall and stood motionless, unconscious
of his act, listening with every nerve strained to the words
which issued from the library.
“It is a frightful risk, dear! . . . I know, I’ve had to fib
about it already to him . . . No, of course he doesn't, but
what if others . . . . Yes, but he has only gone to the


I2 ASHES TO ASHES
station with George Holworthy; he'll be back any minute,
and then what can I say? . . . . Of course I will, I pro-
mised, but you must be mad! . . . Yes, in ten minutes.”
Storm heard the receiver click and had only time to shrink
back into the embrasure of the window when Leila emerged
from the library, still clad in her dinner gown, and passing
him swiftly, seized a long, dark cloak from the rack and
sped noiselessly out of the door.
Storm's breath caught harshly in his throat, and he took
an impetuous step or two after her. Then he halted, and
with head erect and clenched hands he turned and mounted
the stairs.


CHAPTER II
THE TRAP
66 IDN'T you sleep well, dear? You look dread-
D fully tired.” Leila's eyes fluttered upward to
meet her husband's across the breakfast table
and then lowered as she added hesitatingly: “I—I didn't
hear you come in last night.”
“No?” Storm gazed at her in studied deliberation as
he responded. “I did not wish to disturb you.”
She looked as fresh and sparkling as the morning, and
the sudden wild-rose color which flooded her cheeks beneath
his scrutiny heightened the charm of the picture she made;
yet it sent a surge of hot resentment to his heart. Her
solicitude was not for him, but in fear lest he had discovered
her absence on that nocturnal errand 1
He wondered at himself, at his stoic outward calm as
he accepted his cup of coffee from her hands. Every fiber
of him cried out to seize her hand and wring the truth from
her lips, but the pride which had held him back from follow-
ing her on the previous night still dominated him after sleep-
less hours of nerve-racking doubt. He would make sure
of the truth without whining for explanations or dogging
her footsteps.
Leila glanced at him furtively more than once as he forced
himself to eat, then left her own breakfast almost untasted
and turned with a sigh to the little pile of letters beside her
plate. As she scanned them Storm saw her expression
I3


I4 ASHES TO ASHES
change, and she thrust one of the envelopes hastily beneath
the rest; but not before his eyes had caught two words of
the superscription upon the upper left hand corner.
“Leicester Building.” That was the name of the sky-
scraper from which he had seen her emerge on the previous
day! His hands clenched and he thrust back his chair with
a harsh, grating noise as he rose.
“I must go. I am late,” he muttered thickly.
“But Norman, dear, Barker hasn't brought the car
around yet.” Leila, too, rose from her chair and with a
quick movement thrust the tell-tale letter into her belt.
“No matter, I’ll walk.” He turned to the door with a
blind instinct of flight before he betrayed himself. If his
suspicions were after all capable of an explanation other
than the one his jealous fury presented he would not play
the fool. But he must know !
“Will you be home early this afternoon?” Leila bent
to rearrange the daffodils in a low glass bowl as she spoke,
and her face was averted from him. “Early enough for
your golf, I mean?”
“No, I shan’t be out here until late. Don't wait dinner
for me.” A swift thought came to him, and he added de- .
liberately: “There is to be a special meeting at the club in
town; I'll try to catch the midnight train, but in the event
that I decide to stay over, I’ll 'phone, of course.”
She followed him out upon the veranda for his custom-
ary farewell kiss, but to his relief he spied a familiar run-
about halting at the gate and escaped from her with a wave
of his hand.
“There's Millard I’ll ride down with him. Good-bye.”
Millard was a golf enthusiast, and his detailed descrip-
tion of the previous day's game lasted throughout the inter-
val at the station, but it fell upon deaf ears.


THE TRAP I5
Storm's thoughts were in a turmoil. At one moment he
felt that he could no longer endure the strain of the attitude
he had assumed; that he must stop the train, rush back to
his wife and demand from her the truth. At the next, his
pride once more came uppermost; his pride, and the under-
lying doubt that his worst suspicions were actually founded
on fact, which made him fear to render himself ridiculous
in her eyes. It was true that she had lied about her presence
in the city on the previous day, but she had gone openly to
an office building at broad noon and left it alone. She had
received a letter from someone in that building which she
tried to keep from his observation, but her expression when
she picked it up, although furtive, had not been guilty;
rather, it had been full of pleased expectancy, as quickly
masked. That visit, that letter might be simply explained,
but the telephone call which he had overheard, the errand
that had caused her, his wife, to steal from her house at
midnight like a thief—l
There could be no other construction than the obvious
one ! - He recalled her cool, unruffled assurance at the break-
fast table, her charming air of solicitude at his own haggard
appearance, and his blood boiled with rage. Did she think
to deceive him, to keep him indefinitely in the state of fatu-
ous complacency in which he had pitied other husbands?
Was he to be spoken of, for instance, as George Holworthy
had spoken of Dick Brewster the night before?
With the thought Storm glanced about him at his neigh-
bors in the club car. If what he suspected were true, did
any of them know already? Were any of them pitying him
with that careless, half-contemptuous pity reserved for the
deceived? He detected no sign of it, but the idea was like a
knife turned in a wound, and he hurried from them as soon
as the train drew in to the city station.


I6 ASHES TO ASHES
There he found himself mechanically making his way
toward the Leicester Building, with no very clear impression
of what he meant to do on arrival. Among its myriad
offices, representing scores of varied financial and commer-
cial activities, he could scarcely hope to obtain a clue to the
purpose of his wife's visit; and yet the place drew him
like a magnet.
Within the entrance he halted before the huge directory
board with its rows of names alphabetically arranged;
halted, and then stood as though transfixed. Midway down
the first column a single name had leaped out to him, and its
staring letters of white upon the black background seemed
to dance mockingly before his vision.
... “Brewster, Richard E. Insurance Broker.”
Dick Brewster! The husband of that light-headed, ir-
responsible little Julie, the very man to whom his thoughts
had turned in the train not a half-hour sincel The man of
whom George Holworthy had spoken—and what was it
that George had said?
“She's going it rather strong with young Mattison. Dick's
not a fool; he'll either blow up some day or find somebody's
else wife to sympathize ” Was that the solution? Could
old George, obtuse as he was, have divined the truth and
been trying in his stupid, blundering fashion, to warn him?
Could it actually be that the woman who bore his name,
who belonged to him, his property, had dared to flout his
possession of her, to supplant him with another, to make
of him a byword, a thing of pitying contempt?
How long he stood there before the directory he never
afterward knew. He came dimly to realize at last that in
the passing crowd which brushed by him more than one
turned to stare curiously at him; and, turning, he stumbled
blindly toward the elevator. Alighting at Brewster's floor,


THE TRAP 17
he made his way to the number which had been indicated
opposite the name upon the board below, and, wrenching
open the door, he strode into the office.
A languid stenographer looked up from behind her type-
writer.
“Mr. Brewster won't be in town to-day. Do you want
to leave any message?”
“No. I’ll call again,” Storm muttered. “Not—not in
town to-day, you say?”
“He ‘phoned just now from his country place; he'll be
in to-morrow. Did you have an appointment with him?”
Storm shook his head, and, ignoring the card and pencil
which the girl laid suggestively before him, he turned to
the door.
“I’ll call up to-morrow.”
The elevator whirled him down to the street level once
more, and as he made his way from the building his senses
gradually cleared.
What an escape! That was his first thought. Had Brew-
ster been there, in his uncontrollable rage he must have be-
trayed himself, given the other an opportunity to gloat over
him! His fastidious soul writhed from the thought of a
vulgar, sordid scene; yet the one thing in all his domineer-
ing life which he had been unable to master was his own
temper, and he knew and secretly feared it. After all, sup-
pose his wife had called at Brewster's office, that it was
Brewster who had telephoned to her, Brewster whom she
had gone at midnight to meet? Suppose the worst were
true, these were all the facts he held with which to con-
front them; they could explain them away with some shallow
lie and laugh in his very face! He must master himself,
must bide his time until they should have played into his
hands.


I8 ASHES TO ASHES
He strode on abruptly, heedless of the direction, shoulder-
ing from his path those who crowded in against him, un-
conscious of aught save the struggle which was taking place
within him.
That it should have been Dick Brewster, of all men I
Brewster, with his dapper little mustache and weak, effe-
minate face | Yet he was goodlooking, damn him, and
attractive to women; younger, too, almost as young as
Leila herself. Was that what George had meant when he
spoke of people being thrown together intimately with too
much money and not enough to do? Had he been trying
to excuse them on the score of propinquity? When Storm
in his own easy, complacent sophistry had twitted the
other with being old-fashioned, George had asserted, with
what seemed now to have added significance, that he went
about enough to “hear things”. So this was what he had
been driving at -
And Leila herself? At thought of her Storm felt his rage
rising again in an overwhelming wave. Her tenderness, the
years of their happiness, their love, were blotted out in the
swift fury which consumed him at this affront to his pride,
his dominance. Her beauty, her charm in which he had
reveled almost as a personal attribute to himself, seemed all
at once hideous, baleful to him. As her smiling face rose
up before his memory he could have struck it down with
his bare hands. If this despicable thing were true l
He fought back the thought, succeeded at last in forcing
a measure of calmness and dragged himself to his own
office, where the interminable hours wore to a close. Then
he went to a club; not that which he usually frequented when
in town where the small-talk of his friends would madden
him, but to an older, more sedate affair, a remnant of an
earlier aristocracy to a membership in which his birth had


THE TRAP I9
automatically elected him. There he ordered a solitary
meal and afterward sat in the somber, silent library with
his eyes fixed upon the solemn clock. He had said that he
would take the midnight train . . . .
Leila, after an equally solitary dinner had ensconced her-
self in her own dainty library at home that she might be
near the telephone, should he call as he had tentatively
suggested doing. No summons came, however, and it was
after ten o’clock when a step sounded upon the veranda, and
she sprang up, thrusting between the leaves of her book
the letter over which she had been exulting; a letter which
bore the superscription of the Leicester Building.
It was not her husband who stood before her when she
opened the door. She paused, and then from the gloom of
the veranda a voice spoke reassuringly:
“It is I, Mrs. Storm; Dick Brewster. I hope you and
Norman will pardon the lateness of this call, but I must
see you, if you will grant me a few minutes.” His quiet,
pleasantly modulated voice seemed oddly shaken, and a
quick constraint fell also upon Leila's manner, but she held
the door wide.
“Come in, of course, Mr. Brewster. My husband is not
at home yet, and I am waiting up for him. You—you
wanted to see him?”
“No. That is, I wished especially to see you.”
He followed her into the library and took the chair she
indicated, while she seated herself in her own once more
and regarded him with an air of grave, troubled inquiry. His
face was pale, and beneath the glow of the lamp she saw
that it was working as though with some strong emotion,
although he strove to remain calm.
“Mrs. Storm, I want to ask you a personal question, and
I hope you will not be offended. I should not have intruded


2O ASHES TO ASHES
at this hour, I should not have come to you at all, if your re-
ply had not been vital to me. Will you tell me where you
were yesterday?”
Leila laughed lightly but with an unmistakable note of
confusion.
“That is a very simple question, Mr. Brewster. I was
with Julie. We motored out to the Ferndale Inn 22
“Alone, Mrs. Storm?”
“Alone, of course. We went with Julie's new roadster.”
She paused, and then the words came in a little rush. “We
didn't start out with any—any definite object, but it was
such a beautiful day and it grew late, almost noon before
we knew it, and we found ourselves further from home than
we had realized, so we 'phoned back—at least, I did—”
“Where did you 'phone from?”
“From the Inn, when we decided to stop there for lunch.
But really, Mr. Brewster, I cannot quite understand—”
“I will explain in a moment. Tell me, was anyone there
at the Inn whom you knew?”
Leila hesitated, biting her lips.
“The—the Featherstones 32
“Did you see them, Mrs. Storm?”
“No, I—I had gone to the dressing-room to rearrange
my hair, and when I rejoined Julie she told me they had
just left.”
“I see.” Brewster nodded slowly. “Will you answer one
more question, please? How did you reach home?”
“Why, the way we came, of course, in Julie's car.” Leila's
voice trembled slightly and her eyes wavered.
“You did not, Mrs. Storm.” His tone was gently defer-
ential, but there was a note of finality in it which she could
not combat.
“Not all the way,” she amended hurriedly. “Julie dropped


THE TRAP 2I
me at the house of some friends of mine over on Harper's
Ridge, and they brought me home later.”
He shook his head.
‘You did not leave the Ferndale Inn with Julie.”
“Mr. Brewster!” Leila rose. “I have listened to you
and I have answered your questions very patiently, but now
I must ask you to excuse me. You have no right to question
me, my conduct is no concern of yours—”
“Except where it touches upon my wife’s.” Her guest,
too, had risen, and although he spoke quietly his voice
quivered. “Your story is substantially the same as hers, but
you both ignored one detail—that the Featherstones might
have caught a glimpse of her companion and that others
might have seen them both leave the Inn. Please believe,
Mrs. Storm, that I am not attempting to censure you. Your
loyalty to my wife, your effort to shield her is very praise-
worthy from the standpoint of friendship, but there is some-
thing holier than that which has been violated.”
“Oh, not that!” Leila cried. “Julie hasn't done anything
really wrong! You must believe that, Mr. Brewster! Oh,
I warned her not to go, that it was foolishly indiscreet!”
“Yet she went.” Brewster's lips twisted in a wry smile.
“I only came here to learn the truth beyond possibility of a
mistake. I won't detain you any longer.”
He bowed and turned to the door, but Leila sprang for-
ward and caught his arm.
“Oh, what are you going to do?”
Brewster drew himself up, and his slight, dapper figure
assumed a sudden dignity it had not borne before.
“I am going to turn her out of my house! To send her
to this puppy, Mattison, whom she loves l’”
“She doesn't! Mr. Brewster, you must listen to me, you
shall! You are on the point of making a terrible mistake,


THE TRAP 23
right about neglect; I never thought of that, I was only
working for her If I could only believe that there was still
a chance ! But I have heard and seen too much, things
have gone too far—”
“They haven’t. You must believe me!” Leila followed
him a step or two and then halted. “Julie has been foolish,
but no more. You admit that you still love her; then go
home and tell her so. Tell her every day, over and over,
until she believes you again, and realizes that her happiness
lies with you.”
Brewster turned once more, his head held high, and the
tears glistened unashamed in his eyes.
“I will, Mrs. Storm' You can never know what you
have done for me, for us both ! I came here to-night the
most miserable of men, but you have shown me the way
to happiness again.”
Leila gave him both her hands with a glad little cry.
“Oh, I knew that you would understand, that you would
seeſ I have done nothing, it is you yourself xx
“You have made me the happiest man in the world ! I
shall always remember my hour here to-night with you, and
if ever doubt comes to me again, if my faith wavers, I shall
think of what you have given me!”
He bent reverently and kissed her hands, and she bowed
her head, the happy tears glistening in her own eyes.
Neither of them were aware of the soft opening and
closing of the front door, neither saw the figure which
halted for a moment in the doorway behind them, in time to
catch the last speech which fell from Brewster's lips and
witness the salutation which concluded it; neither of them
heard the muffled, almost noiseless footsteps as the figure
withdrew as silently as it had come and disappeared in the
further recesses of the house.


CHAPTER III
THE BLOW
the door softly before, with shaking fingers, he sought
the chain of the low light upon his desk. Then, drop-
ping into a chair beside it, he raised clenched fists to his
head as though to beat out the hideous confirmation which
drummed at his brain.
It was true! His wife had betrayed him. That soft,
pliant, docile thing of pink and white flesh which in his
fatuous idolatry he had believed imbued with the soul of
loyalty had slipped airily from his grasp, given herself, her
love to another l—Love! What did she know of love or
loyalty? This creature whom he had honored had dragged,
was dragging his name in the dust, setting him aside as an
unimportant factor, a mere dispenser of bounty to be cajoled
and tolerated for his generosity, his protection, while she
indulged her desires for fresh admiration, new conquests
Curiously enough, his enmity was not active against the
man he believed to be his rival. Brewster, for the moment,
was a secondary consideration in his eyes; had it not been
he it would have been another. The woman was to blame!
How blind she must think him! How easily she had
fallen into the first simple trap he had laid for her feet! How
in her fancied security, she must be laughing at him! The
little acts of wifely forethought and service, evidences of
which surrounded him even there in his sanctum, were but
I'. his little den at the rear of the house Storm closed
24


THE BLOW 25
as particles of sand thrown in his eyes! His humidor
freshly filled, his golf sticks of last year cleaned and laid
out across the table that he might choose which ones to take
to the country club for the opening of the new season l—
Faugh! Did she hope by such puerile trivialities as these to
prolong his unquestioning faith in her.
Against his will, the past came thronging to his mind
in ever-changing scenes which he strove in vain to shut
out. That summer at Bar Harbor, the moonlit nights, the
little, golden-haired maid just out of school. . . . How fast
and furious his wooing had been 1 The dim, rustling,
crowded church, the Easter lilies which banked the altar—
God! he could smell their cloying fragrance now !—that
radiant, fairy-like white figure moving slowly toward him
down the aisle .
Storm groaned, and involuntarily covered his eyes as
other pictures formed before his mental vision. Their
honeymoon at the Hot Springs, that brilliant first season
in town, and then her sudden illness and the dark weeks
during which he had feared that she would be taken from
him and he had crouched in impotent supplication before
the door he might not enter. Than that exultant moment
when he learned that his prayers had been answered, that
she would live; poor fool, what thanks he had given
Her convalescence had seemed to draw them more closely,
tenderly together even than before; and pitilessly, mock-
ingly his thoughts ranged through the quiet, happy years
which had followed in the planning and beautifying of
their home; this home which she had desecrated
Brewster's words rang in his ears. “You have made me
the happiest man in the world ! I shall always remember
my hour here to-night with you—” And then that adoring
salutation, that impassioned kissing of her hands!


26 ASHES TO ASHES
+
Checking the harsh laugh which rose to his lips and
unable longer to contain himself, Storm sprang up and
paced the floor. Brewster's happiness would be of short
duration; his hour was over! Softly, under his breath,
Storm began to curse them both with horrible, meaningless
curses; blood surged to his temples, pounded in his ears.
A lurid red mist rose before his eyes, blinding him so that
he staggered, stumbling against the furniture in his path.
He, Norman Storm, had been flouted, betrayed; and by that
smiling, lying, corrupt creature there beneath his roof whom
he had trusted, idolized
All at once through the roaring in his ears he heard his
name called in wondering accents and turned. The door
had opened, and Leila stood before him; a pale and tremb-
ling Leila, with wide, apprehensive eyes.
“Norman I When did you come in P Why do you look
at me so strangely? What has happened?”
The mist cleared before him, the leaping blood was stilled
as though a cold hand had tightened about his temples, and
in a voice of dangerous calm he replied: “A great deal has
happened. For one thing, I have found you out, my dear!”
“‘Found me out?’” she repeated advancing toward him
in sheer wonderment. “Norman, what do you mean?”
“I returned home somewhat earlier than you expected,
did I not?” He smiled, but the light in his eyes grew
steely. “A trite, time-worn trick of the deceived husband,
I admit, but it served 1 You thought yourself secure, didn't
you? Or perhaps you gave no thought whatever to my
possible intrusion; you fancied you had sufficiently pulled
the wool over my eyes to blind me indefinitely?”
“Deceived husband I’’ Her voice had sunk to a whisper
of incredulous horror. “You cannot know what you are
saying, Norman. You must be mad!”


-, * * * THE BLOW 27
“On the contrary, I have never known a saner moment.
My madness lay in trusting you as I have all these years,
loving you with an idolatry which could conceive of no
wrong.”
“But I–I have done no wron
“Don’t lie now !” he cried harshly. “Can't you realize
that it will avail you nothing, that it did not deceive me even
yesterday? And to-night I come home and find your lover
here beneath my roof thanking you for the happiest hour
of his life I’”
“My !” Leila shuddered and drew herself up abruptly.
“Norman, you go too far ! The construction you have
placed on Mr. Brewster's visit here to-night would be ridi-
culous, ludicrous under the circumstances if it were not so
hideous, so unspeakably vile! I will leave you until you
come to your senses.”
She turned, but he sprang before her and locking the door
dropped the key into his pocket.
“You will stay here! I'm through with evasions. We're
going to have this out between us here now. You went to
the Ferndale Inn with Julie Brewster yesterday, didn't you?”
Leila eyed him steadily for a moment, then her eyelids
drooped and she moistened her lips nervously.
“I have told you 32
“A lie! You were not at the Ferndale Inn yesterday, you
were in New York, in the Leicester Building, in that rat
Brewster’s office!”
“Brewster's office!” she repeated. Then comprehension
dawned, and she smiled sadly with infinite reproach. “Nor-
man, you will regret that accusation bitterly when you learn
the truth.”
“I know it now.” His tones shook, but a strange, tense
calm had settled upon his seething brain, and even as he


28 ASHES TO ASHES
voiced his accusations a monstrous resolve was forming
within him. “You received a letter from there this morning
which you tried to hide from me. Couldn't your poor, piti-
ful, complacent mind conceive that a mere child would have
seen through your evasions and shallow subterfuges?”
“Stop! Stop!” She retreated from him with her hands
over her ears as if to shut out the sound of his voice. “I
tell you, you are mad! I can explain 22
“It’s too late for that.” His tone had steadied, and a hint
of his dawning, implacable purpose glinted in his eyes. “You
called him “mad’ last night, too, over the telephone, yet you
called him “dear’ also, and when he held you to your promise
you stole out of my house to meet him in the darkness, like
a thief. You did not know that I stood listening, close
enough to have touched you as you passed l’”
“This is infamous!” Leila turned upon the hearth rug
and faced him, her head proudly erect to meet the menace
in his eyes. “You were eavesdropping, spying upon me in
your insane, unfounded jealousy and suspicion' Why did
you not follow me as well? Then you would have learned
the truth for yourself l’”
“It was not necessary. It was sheer accident that I came
upon you at the telephone, but I did not have to dog your
footsteps to learn the truth. My judgment was better than
yours; I knew that you would walk into the first trap I set
for you, that you would give yourself into my hands. And
you have l’”
“You will unlock that door and permit me to go now, if
you please.” The quiet dignity of her tone was filled with
cold contempt. “You are beside yourself; I will not listen
a moment longer to your wild accusations, your insults! I
have offered to explain, but you said it was too late. Take
care that you do not make it forever too latel”


THE BLOW 29
Storm read disdain in the defiance of her eyes, mockery
in the faint curl of her lips, and his swift resolve crystall-
ized. =
“It is you who have made it too latel Take that damnable
smile from your lips, do you hear?” As he advanced toward
her his outflung hand touched something smooth and hard,
and closed upon it. “I tell you I've caught you, I've found
you out! You've had your hour, you and the man for whom
you deceived me! I'll settle with him later, but now you'll
pay!—Damn you, stop smiling!”
Blindly in the sudden unleashing of his rage he struck,
and the small, colorless face with its tantalizing, disdainful
curl of the lips vanished as though the red swirling mist
which rose again before him had closed over it and blotted
it out.
No sound reached him at first but the drumming of the
pulse in his ears and his hoarse, sobbing breath as he stood
swaying, tearing with one free hand at the collar which
seemed tightening about his throat. Then gradually for
the second time the lurid haze lifted, and as the space before
him cleared a great trembling seized him.
“Stop smiling! Stop smiling! Stop smiling!”
What queer, grating whisper was that which repeated
the words endlessly over and over in unison with the throb-
bing in his brain? Dimly he became aware that it issued
from his own lips and moved his hands up from his throat
to still the sound.
His other hand still grasped the smooth, hard object upon
which it had closed in that moment of vengeance, and now
he gazed down stupidly upon it. It was a driver, one of that
collection of golf clubs from the table, and upon its glittering,
rounded, hardwood knob was a smudge of red . . . .
His wavering gaze traveled on and downward. Then it


THE BLOW 31
ace to his own life, and the immediate future in all its hor-
rors ranged before his mental vision. The discovery, the
arrest, the stark headlines in the papers Wall Street, the
Trust Company, the clubs, all his world ringing with it!
Then the legal battle, long drawn out, the sentence, the
weeks of tortured waiting in an ignominious cell and at last
the end, hideous, inevitable I
How life-like she looked, lying there, lying there with no
hint of the tell-tale wound visible! She might almost have
fainted and slipped from that huge armchair behind her
with her head against the fender . .
Why could she not have fallen so to-night? The thought
seared across his brain like a flash of lightning, and Storm
drew his breath in sharply. He was safe, so far ! No one
knew of what had taken place in that room; no one knew
yet that he had even returned to the house. Brewster had
not seen him, and Brewster was the only living person who
could suspect a motive for the crime.
A motive? But what was he thinking? There would be
no question of motive, for there would be no suggestion of
crime. Since childhood Leila had been a victim of petit mal,
that mild form of catalepsy which, while it baffles cure, yet
is in itself not harmful; a moment of faintness, of uncon-
sciousness followed by slight weakness, that was all. Every-
one knew of these attacks of hers; George Holworthy had
referred to that tendency only last night when she had com-
plained of feeling not quite herself. The chance that she
might injure herself in falling when the fainting spell came
was the sole danger attached to her old malady. That
danger was what must seem to have overtaken her to-night!
Storm rose weakly, his eyes averted from the thing lying
there upon the floor, and strove with all his mental force
to collect himself. She had come here to his den and seated


32 ASHES TO ASHES
herself in that chair to await his return. Faintness had
overcome her, and she had fallen forward, striking her
temple there on the heavy brass knob on the corner of the
fender. That was the solution, that was what the world
must think, must believe without question.
And he? What must be his part in this drama which he
was staging? Not an active one; caution whispered to him
to keep as much in the background as would be consistent.
He must remember to eliminate this hour wholly from his
calculations; this hour and the events which had led up to
it. He knew nothing of her visit to the Leicester Building
in town; of the telephone summons, her secret nocturnal
meeting with Brewster, the letter she had tried to conceal
or the fellow’s visit there that evening. Only by erasing
from his future train of thought all such memories could
he hope to succeed in conducting himself down to the
smallest detail as though all had been as usual between
them.
In the ordinary course of events, on returning as late
as this and finding the house dark—for the single low light
in the den far at the rear of the house would not be calcu-
lated to attract his attention—he would have concluded that
Leila had long since gone to bed, and would himself retire
without disturbing her. In the early morning the housemaid
would discover what lay in the den and raise the alarm.
He would then have only to play the rôle of the dazed,
grief-stricken husband, and none—not even Brewster—
would suspect. There would be the formality of a medical
examination, the funeral, the conventional condolences, and
soon their little world would forget.
What was that! Was there a stir, a vibration from some-
where in the house above? A cold sweat broke out at every
pore, and fear gripped him, but he flung it off and tiptoed


... - - -- " " " THE BLOW 33
to the door, turning the knob and striving to open it. Then
he remembered, and taking the key from his pocket unlocked
the door and pulled it toward him inch by inch. Except for
the pin-point of light from the lamp on the newel post at the
foot of the staircase, the house was in absolute darkness, and
his straining ears detected no repetition of that sound, if
sound there had been.
Closing the door at length, Storm set himself resolutely
to the task which remained before him. At his feet lay the
driver where he had dropped it when the full realization
of his act swept over him. There had been a smudge upon
it God! had it marked the rug?
Before he touched it, however, he went to the window,
assured himself that no aperture between its heavy curtains
would permit a ray of stronger light to be visible from with-
in, and then switched on the wall brackets, flooding the room
with a dazzling radiance.
Next he examined the driver itself. The blow had been
delivered with the rounded knob, and to the sinister clot
of red upon it there adhered a single golden hair which
glinted accusingly in the light. Storm plucked it off with
trembling fingers and approaching the hearth coiled it over
the knob on the corner of the fender, close to that shining,
inert head.
Then with his handkerchief he wiped the driver carefully,
polishing it until even to his super-critical eye it appeared
immaculate once more, and replaced it among the others
on the table.
Shudderingly, he glanced down at the square of linen
crushed in his hand, and as his fingers slowly opened a
hideous crimson stain appeared. It seemed to his horrified
gaze to be growing, spreading, and he felt an almost irresis-
tible impulse to cast it wildly from him. Her blood | Her


34 ASHES TO ASHES
life-blood, still warm and red and all but pulsing as it had
come from her veins!
To his distorted imagination it seemed to be still a part
of her, and alive, clinging to his hand in futile, mute appeal.
It must be obliterated, must cease to bel That inert body
could not accuse him; the driver lay in spotless seeming
innocence among its fellows; even that single golden hair
which might have proved his undoing had been made to
serve as a link in the circumstantial chain he was forging;
but this most damning evidence of all remained He must
rid himself of it at once, must destroy it utterlyl But how P
The stout linen would not tear easily, and even though
he ripped it apart the torn strips would still bear their re-
vealing stains; if he took it to his room and washed it there
would be no place where he could hang it to dry without
Agnes finding it, and she would think such a proceeding
strange. Moreover every instinct within him shrank from
the thought of pocketing the gruesome thing and clamored
for its destruction.
Dared he burn it? What if the betraying odor lingered
in the room? To start a blaze in the fireplace which had
been swept clean for the coming summer was not to be
thought of, yet burning was the only means left to him.
His roving glance fell upon the desk. There lay the
sealing wax, tray and spirit lamp with which it had been his
pride to stamp the Storm coat of arms upon his letters. In
an instant he had touched a match to the tiny wick, and a
flame, narrow and curling like a bluish, tinseled ribbon,
sprang into being.
He waited until it had steadied, and then at arm's length
he dipped a corner of the handkerchief into the flame and
held it there. God, how it smoked! The linen charred
slowly at the edges as the blue tongue of fire licked it hun-


THE BLOW 35
grily, and a pungent odor permeated his nostrils, but no
answering flame appeared. Would it never catch?
At last a tiny dart of red shot out and ran around the
border, and Storm snuffed out the wick and held the hand-
kerchief over the little bronze tray. Slowly, creepingly the
tiny flame ate into the linen, and flakes of fine light ash
drifted down into the receptacle beneath. The sinister
stains still stood out glaringly in the curling smoke, and
as though possessed of a very demon the flame eluded them,
skirting about them in sheer mockery. Would even the
elements defy him in his plan?
Then the crimson turned to brown, and a darker curl of
smoke arose, while a strange, acrid odor mingled with the
dry smell of burning linen. Her blood was being consumed
there before him, just as her body would later be consumed
by the earth in which it would lie! A thought of the ancient
human sacrifice came to him, and he trembled anew. This
blood-stained rag, this symbol of her living body, was being
offered on the altar of his self-preservation -
The flakes were dropping now like sifting, gray-white
down, and the handkerchief was a mere wisp. Slowly the
brown stains crumbled and disappeared and the smoke
lightened, but that dreadful, sinister odor still lingered.
Thread by thread the linen was consumed, but Storm held
the last shred until the diminished flame seared his fingers,
then dropped it into the tray and stood watching it with
somber eyes until the lingering flame died and only the little
heap of ashes remained.
Gone ! That hideous, accusing stain had been swept into
nothingness, obliterated by the breath of clean fire. Only
that unclean odor still prevailed, and the contents of the tray
must be disposed of. If the room were subjected to a min-
ute examination and the ashes analyzed, all that he had done


36 ASHES TO ASHES
\,
would go for naught. If he could scatter them, sow them
to the winds
Storm listened. The night breeze was rising, blowing
briskly, strongly about the house. Without, the flower
garden and broad lawns with a border of hedge and cluster-
ing trees screened him from his neighbors. With a quick
gesture he switched off the lights and tiptoed to the win-
dow, thrusting back the curtains and opening it wide. The
fresh, sweet, blossom-laden air rushed in upon him, and he
breathed it in great gulps before he turned and felt his way
to the desk.
Picking up the little bronze tray he turned to the window
and stood for a moment gazing out. Under the pale glow
of the rising moon, Leila's flowers which she had tended
with such loving care lay sleeping tranquilly, their small
myriad faces glistening beneath a spangled veil of dew. She
had brought them into being, and now her ashes, these
ashes which held a part of her, were to fertilize and give
them renewed lifel
He thrust the thought from him in a paroxysm of phy-
sical revulsion, and as a gust of wind swept about the house
he cast the contents of the tray far into the air. It seemed
to him that he could see the ashes, swirling like a faint,
driven mist before him, settling lingeringly among the flow-
ers, and he stared half-fearfully as though anticipating that
a phantom would rise from them; but the sudden gust of
wind died, and the garden slept on, unconcerned.
The tray, swept clean of the last flake, shimmered faintly
in his hand, and he replaced it on the desk. Then, seizing
the window curtains, he waved them about until even his
overstimulated senses could detect no lingering whiff of
smoke. Closing the windows at last, he drew the curtains
as carefully as before and switched on the lights.


THE BLOW 37
The first thing that met his blinking gaze was the burnt
match with which he had lighted the spirit lamp, and he
thrust it into his pocket as he bent to examine the desktop.
No single flake of ash remained to bear witness against him,
and with a sigh he turned to the work yet before him.
He had marked the exact spot upon the rug where the
impromptu weapon had rested; but here, too, a prolonged
scrutiny revealed no slightest trace, and he arose from his
knees with a sigh of relief.
After all, he was not preparing for a rigid police inquiry;
only the most casual inspection would be given the room,
with the cause of death so self-evidently manifested, yet
the slightest overlooked clue would bring crashing down
upon him the whole circumstantial structure he was so
painstakingly erecting.
Was that armchair in the exact position from which the
body would have fallen P
He studied it, moved it an inch or two, and then turned
his attention to the body itself. The wound was upon the
right temple, and, shuddering, he raised the head and rested
it upon the corner of the fender. It settled back upon the rug
once more as he released it, but he saw to his satisfaction
that the knob of brass was no longer bright; a smear of
crimson marred its surface, and a loosened strand of her
hair trailed over the fender into the hearth.
As Storm stepped backward to regard his handiwork
something metallic grated against his heel. A gold hairpin'
He picked it up meditatively. Had Leila really fallen for-
ward that pin, jarred from her head by the force of the im-
pact, would have shot across the fender; he reached over
and dropped it upon the hearth.
No flaw remained now in the scene he had arranged, and
with its consummation a traitorous wave of horror rose


THE BLOW 39
the whispering night winds and the peace and hush of a
sleeping world.
It was over ! He had done his utmost to forestall any
possible doubt or suspicion, had nullified every clue, had
set the scene for the farce which would start with the rising
curtain of dawn and felt confident that he was prepared
at all points to meet the issue.
But what of the hours that lay between, the long night
before him P


THE LONG NIGHT 4I
himself beneath his breath. Was his light not often going
as late as this, or later, and had he ever before paused to
think or care whether it disturbed the servants or not? To-
night must be as all other nights! Why could he not bear
that in mind?
Nevertheless, he crossed to the window once more and
closed the shutters; that concession, at least, was not an un-
usual precaution, for an early night moth or two, lured by
the prematurely warm weather, had already made its appear-
ance. Then he turned on the light resolutely and started to
undress. The suit he was wearing was of dark blue serge
with a white pin-head stripe, and as he divested himself of
it a new thought sprang up to his mind. Suppose it, too,
bore traces ? That head with its shattered, gaping
wound had rested against his knee. . . .
Seizing the garments he moved close to the bed-stand,
and beneath the powerful rays of the lamp he examined
every thread with straining eyes. No stain was visible;
even his shirt cuffs by a miracle had escaped contact, and
with a sigh of relief he plunged his hands in the various
pockets to remove his keys and small change.
The first object his fingers touched was the burnt match
with which he had ignited the spirit lamp, and impatiently
he filliped it out of the window.
Everything was there in his pockets which he normally
carried except his handkerchief. That was gone, reduced to
ashes and flung to the winds of the night; but it would not
have been had his homecoming been as he must pretend
even to himself.
Storm frowned. He would in all likelihood never wear
that suit again; even if it were not for the fact that mourn-
ing garb alone must be his for many months to come, he
could still never look upon it again, remembering . . . .


42 ASHES TO ASHES
He thrust that thought violently aside and continued
with his reasoning. Agnes always went through the
pockets of the clothes he had worn during the week for
stray handkerchiefs when she was collecting the laundry.
Would she note that he had used one less than usual?
It was not so much the fear of that, however, as the men-
tal urge to play up to his part, to make all things seem as
though that hour in the den had never been, that prompted
Storm to go to his dresser and take a fresh handkerchief
from the drawer. Without effeminacy, his fastidious
taste inclined toward a dash of delicate scent, and several
varieties stood before him.
Testatively he lifted a bottle of rose toilet water, but the
first whiff of fragrance made him replace it with a shudder.
It brought back too vividly the remembrance of that garden
below where the opening buds were even now scattered
with filmy ashes. The lilac water he also thrust aside—
Leila had met him at the gate only a week before with her
arms filled with white lilac, and as she stood there, her
head looming fair and golden above them, he had thought
her very like a picture of the Annunciation . . -
Finally he sprayed a few drops of eau de Cologne on
the handkerchief and stuffed it in the pocket of his coat
lying across the chair. Then, clad in his pajamas, he glanced
at the clock on the mantel.
Half-past twelve! It would be half-past six in the ordin-
ary course of events when Agnes would descend to dust
the first floor and set the breakfast table. Six hours to
wait! Three hundred and sixty slow, dragging minutes!
How could he ever live through them? How did the con-
demned spend the last hours before the end? He had read,
marveling, that some hardy criminals slept unconcernedly,
Some raved, some prayed . . . .


THE LONG NIGHT 43
God, why did such hideous thoughts intrude themselves
now? He would never stand in their shoes, no breath of
suspicion would ever approach him; he had laid his plans
too well, had fortified himself against any contingency
which might arise. The scene had been perfectly staged
with not a detail missing to break the continuity of the ver-
sion of what had occurred which must impress itself upon
those who would view it.
Crossing the room, he seated himself on the side of the
bed and lighted a cigarette. He could keep the light going
a little longer without occasioning remark should one of the
maids wake up, for he had often read until past one. He
must not overdo it, though; he must not overdo anything.
That would be the one great danger; he must hold himself
impervious against self-betrayal.
He smoked cigarette after cigarette until a single stroke
tinkled from the little clock, and, rousing himself from his
reverie, Storm reached over and extinguished the lamp.
The darkness seemed sinister, overwhelming, but as his eyes
gradually accustomed themselves to it he saw pale, silvery
moonbeams creeping in between the slats of the shutters,
lying in shimmering bars across the floor and lightening the
gloom with a faint, almost spiritual effulgence. The stillness
of the night, too, was all at once broken by a myriad sounds
which had not penetrated his consciousness before: strange
creaks and groans in the walls as though something invisible
were abroad, sibilant whispers in the chimney and the liquid,
monotonous tap of water dripping from the faucet in the
bathroom. Outside, the wind blew gustily, and somewhere
about the house a loose shutter banged with a dismal, hollow
sound.
What a hideous thing night was There was something
about it which loosened a fellow's thoughts, freed them from


44 ASHES TO ASHES
his stern control and let them wander where they would,
unrestrained. Only one other such vigil had Storm kept:
that of the crisis in Leila's desperate illness after their
marriage. Every hour of it was branded on his brain,
every detail arose again to attack his senses: the pungent,
penetrating odor of carbolic, that strange, high voice which
babbled and was still, the white-clad nurse, gravely non-
commital, shutting the door behind which he might not pass,
the taste of his own blood as he caught his lip between his
teeth to keep back the groan of utter despair.
The night then had seemed interminable, but in the end
had come the glorious promise that she would live! Now
the dawn would bring only tidings of death, but he would
not call her back again if he could; would not undo what he
had done even if it lay in his power. His Leila had never
existed; the pedestal was empty, that was all!
Gad, if only he could smokel His nerves shrieked for the
solace of nicotine, but he dared not light another cigarette.
The smoke curling up from his opened window to that of
one of the maids upstairs would tell her, should she also be
awake, that her master was keeping vigil there in the dark-
ness alone. She would think nothing of it now, perhaps, but
later when the discovery was made she might wonder. He
must manage, somehow, to get through the night without
even the slight comfort that he craved
With a whirring of soft wings, some tiny creature of
the night came and beat upon the shutter, and Storm started
violently. The bars of moonlight had traveled a barely
perceptible inch or two across the floor, and from the dis-
tance there came the crowning note of desolation: the long-
drawn, mournful howling of a dog.
Storm shivered. An old superstition which his Irish
nurse had instilled into his mind in the nursery days swept


THE LONG NIGHT 45
over him. A dog's howl was the sign of death! How could
the beast know? In all that sleeping countryside, there was
one who shared his vigil, one who raised his voice in warning
and lament!
Storm rose and, tiptoeing to the window, opened the
shutters wide and fastened them noiselessly back against the
house wall while he strained his eyes in the direction from
which the dismal baying of the dog rose once more. Was it
nearer now? Could it be that the beast, led by some instinct
more subtle and unerring than man could fathom, had picked
up the scent—the scent of the drifting ashes? Bridget had
told him that a dog could sense the presence of death though
it were miles away and would come to cry the news of it.
What if the creature were to appear suddenly there between
the trees and leap across the lawn to crouch beneath the
curtained window of the den downstairs and howl its dread
message?
The next minute Storm's tense attitude relaxed. What
a fool he was to be stirred by the idle superstition of an old-
wives' tale ! His nerves must be going back on him, what
with that accursed howling and the shifting shadows of the
moonlight which were worse than utter darkness could be.
Would it never end ?
As if in answer the mellow chime of the clock sounded
upon his ears. It must be three o'clock at least, possibly
four ! He waited breathlessly. A second note pealed
forth softly to die away in a vibrating echo, and then silence.
Only two o'clock! Nearly five hours more! God, could
he endure it and keep his sanity? Doyle's gruesome story
of Lady Sannox came to his mind. Would he be found in
the morning as the great physician had been after the night
of horror, a gibbering idiot trying to thrust both feet into one
leg of his trousers and babbling meaninglessly? Lady San-


46 ASHES TO ASHES
*
nox had been unfaithful, too, but it was the lover, not the
husband, who paid "
He forced the hideous picture from his thoughts and
turned for one final glance at the garden below. How still
everything was The howling of the dog had ceased, and the
wind had died down to a mere rustling, whispering breeze.
The moonlight, too, was paling, and beneath its waning
radiance the garden still slumbered undisturbed as it had
when he cast the ashes forth upon the air. From these
ashes would spring the phoenix, not of love, but of murder;
of hatred, vengeance and the lust to kill! What had he not
loosed upon the world !
He covered his eyes as if to shut out the scene of false
peace, of menacing, brooding calm before the crimson dawn;
and staggering back to the bed, he sank down upon it once
more. The touch of the smooth, cool linen beneath his fe-
vered hand steadied him and brought a moment of tranquil-
ity to his reeling senses, but he could not stretch himself
out upon it. The space beside him where Leila had so often
lain was blank and empty, yet oddly her presence seemed
near. He could almost hear her light tap upon the connect-
ing door, almost see it open and her slender, white-clad form
appear with the two heavy ropes of golden hair falling over
her shoulders. She would come to him swiftly, tenderly,
and he would take her in his arms and hold her close . . . .
But no tapping came upon the door, no form appeared,
his arms were empty Great God, why could he not forget!
The clock struck three, the moonlight faded and vanished,
swallowed up in the darkest hour which comes before the
dawn, and still Storm crouched there at the bed's foot sunk
in a reverie of retrospection.
In just such another springtime as this they had gone
upon their honeymoon. The awe and ecstasy of those


THE LONG NIGHT 47
days like a half-forgotten fragrance stole again over his
spirit and thrilled him anew. How wonderful she had been,
how wondrously sweet her shy confidences, her little out-
bursts of tenderness, her bewitching, bewildering changes of
mood l How he reveled in each new phase of her nature
as it revealed itself to him; how he had worshipped her,
gloried in the possession of her In the golden years that
followed, the first ecstasy had not faded; it had but stabil-
ized, deepened into a steady glow of unquestioning devo-
tion, and the honeymoon had never really ended until this
hour!
Impotently he struck his forehead with his clenched fist.
Why must he go on thinking, thinking! The past was
dead, buried beyond hope of resurrection | Why must it
come trooping back to rob him of his strength and lull him
to forgetfulness of the immediate future and the crisis
which impended? The night had been years long! Would it
never come to an end ? Would this hideous darkness en-
velop him forever?
Four o'clock! Thank God, he had missed an hour ! Only
two more now, or three at the most, and then the cry of
alarm would come winging up from below and the curtain
would rise !
A chill dampness as of the grave itself stole in at the
window, and Storm shivered although he was bathed in
sweat. His pulse slowed and weakness descended upon
him, while a swift, unnerving fear laid its clammy hands
upon his throat.
He fought it off desperately. This was the dreaded hour
before the dawn, the hour of lowered vitality when life's
guard is down and death stalks in upon those awaiting it,
those whose time has come and who slip out into the un-
known quietly, peacefully. But for those who are hurled


48 ASHES TO ASHES
into it suddenly, hideously, by shot or stab or crashing
blow !
He dropped his wretched head upon his hands. This
was madness | He must not succumb to it, he must marshal
his resources, steady his brain, gather strength for the com-
ing of day!
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the darkness was changing
from black to gray. The eastern sky was unbroken, but a
mist which could rather be felt than seen was rising from
the darker shadows, and the wind had been succeeded by a
dead calm. A hushed expectancy seemed to brood over the
world, and Storm waited, too, dreading yet longing for the
end of this prolonged suspense.
The clock ticked with maddening precision, and he tried
to count the minutes, to keep his traitorous thoughts from
wandering into dangerous, forbidden channels. His weak-
ness had fallen from him, his pulse quickened and a mount-
ing excitement drove from him all thought of fear. He
would be ready when the time came to meet the issue. But
would the time ever come?
There were faint gray streaks in the sky now, the shadows
had sharpened and suddenly, piercingly, a cock crew. Storm
welcomed the strident sound with uplifted head and squared
shoulders. The dawn was coming at last!
He turned, crossed his arms on the foot of the bed
and, resting his chin upon them, stared out through the
open window at the lightening sky.
Five liquid, mellow notes sounded from the mantel, and
he smiled grimly. One hour more and he could begin to
listen for the maid's step upon the stair! His nerves were
tingling in anticipation, and without urging his thoughts
leaped ahead. He must be ready when the cry came, but
not too obviously prepared. Surprise must come before


THE LONG NIGHT 49
alarm, consternation before a show of grief. The maid her-
she must lead him to her discovery. His face and manner
must reveal no slightest inkling of his knowledge of the
truth.
Both of the servants were undeniably stupid. He had
anathematized them many a time for their crass density
and ignorance, but now he blessed it. They would suspect
nothing, would seize upon any explanation of the tragedy
which was subtly planted in their shallow brains and make
it their own.
Of the outsiders, Carr must be called in first. He was
a country practitioner of the old-fashioned sort who had
been established there when Greenlea was known as Whig-
ham's Corners, and croup and gout with their intermediate
ills had been the range of his experience. He, too, could be
counted upon to see only what was placed before him, and
the details of the aftermath could safely be left in his hands.
A score of vague, anticipatory visions passed through
Storm's brain. How shocked the crowd out here would be ;
and old George ' He was probably fast asleep now, filling
the air with contented snores. What would he say and do
when the early edition of the evening papers brought the
tidings to him? Storm thanked heaven that neither he nor
Leila had relatives to come flocking with tears and questions
and advice. He would be free at least from prying eyes
beneath his own roof after the official medical inquiry had
been concluded.
Gray turned to rose in the eastern sky, the mist lifted,
and the world showed delicately green beneath it. The lone
cock's crowing had been augmented by a chorus, and the
birds stirred and twittered in the trees. All life was wak-
ing to greet the new day, but Leila . . .
What time was it? Storm rose weakly and tottered to


5O ASHES TO ASHES
the mantel. The clock's face was plainly visible in the half-
light, and he drew his breath sharply. Five minutes to six!
The pink glow deepened to crimson, and the sun in a
blaze of glory peeped over the low-lying hills, but Storm did
not see the spectacle for which he had waited through in-
terminable tortured hours. He had caught a glimpse of his
reflection in the mirror and stood gazing in incredulous dis-
may at the face which gazed back at him. Could it be his
own with that sickly, bluish pallor, unshaven jaw, and
haunted, sunken eyes which stared from dark-rimmed
sockets?
Great heavens, if he appeared like that before even the
servants his guilt would be patent to all the world!—But
would it? The maids would surely be too agitated to note
him in the shock of the discovery; and later, when the doctor
came, horror and natural grief would account for the change
in his appearance. His night of vigil had provided him with
that which would perhaps be an asset rather than a danger.
What was that? He whirled about and stood listening.
The floors and ceilings were thick, and no ordinary sound
could penetrate from above; but had he not heard a step
upon the stair? He waited in an intensity of strained atten-
tion, for several moments. The silence within the house re-
mained unbroken.
With a sigh he glanced back at the clock. It must have
struck the hour while he stood glaring at the apparition
the mirror had revealed, for now the hands pointed to a
quarter after six. Could it be that perverse fate would or-
dain that the maids should over-sleep this day of all days
and prolong his agony?
Then his glance fell upon the bed. Its pillows were
smooth and untouched, its covers creased but not tumbled
about. The veriest child could see that it had not been


THE LONG NIGHT 51
slept in, the most casual glance would reveal the secret of
his night-long vigill
In three strides he had reached it and thrown back the
covers, pommeling the pillows and crumpling the sheets.
What a narrow escape! He paused, breathless, when his
task was completed and gazed fearfully about him for other
overlooked evidence.
His light had been burning until one o'clock. Hastily
he picked up a book at random from those on the table and
opening it laid it face downward upon the bed-stand. The
stubs and ashes of the cigarettes he had smoked would occa-
sion no remark; and the most painstakingly minute scrutiny
failed to reveal any other incongruity in the room.
While he paused anew a sound came to his ears about
which there could be no doubt; cautious but naturally heavy
footsteps were descending the stairs from above. His heart
leaped, and the blood raced in his veins, but he stood motion-
less as the steps passed his door and descended again.
It would come now, the cry for which he had waited He
held his breath until his ear-drums seemed bursting, and
the minutes lengthened, but still the summons did not come.
What could the girl be doing? Would she set all the other
rooms to rights before approaching the den, or did she mean
to shirk it altogether? Surely that streak of artificial light
burning in the daytime must catch her eye as she passed
along the hall! Was she gossiping with the milkman, idling
on the porch? The suspense was unbearable!
He had borne with it through the long watches of the
night, but now he could contain himself no longer. Every
nerve was strained to the breaking point, and his nails bit
into the flesh of his clenched hands. Was this agony to be
stretched out interminably?
And then it came at last! A piercing, prolonged scream
*


52 ASHES TO ASHES
rang suddenly through the quiet house, to break and rise
again, echoing back from the very walls.
Storm dropped his head in his hands, and an answering
cry of unconscious blasphemy trembled on his lips.
“Thank God!”


CHAPTER V
WHEN MORNING DAWNED
utter abandon to relief, it came again; a wild shriek
mounting from below in a high feminine voice
and dying away in a quivering wail!
The long awaited discovery had come; now he must play
his part. One false move! But he put that resolutely
from his thoughts as he flung his dressing gown about him
and started for the door.
“What is it? What has happened?” He was leaning
over the stair-rail now, and his voice, although subdued,
held just the proper note of sharp inquiry. Even as he
spoke he heard a heavy foot along the hall above and was
conscious of the cook's head peering down affrightedly.
“Oh, Mr. Storm, sir! Mr. Storm l’”
Agnes, the housemaid, sped along the lower hall and col-
lapsed at the foot of the stairs.
“Well, what is it?” Storm demanded peremptorily, but
still in that subdued tone. “Burglars here in the night?
Don't you know better than to scream like that? You'll
frighten Mrs. Storm—”
He paused, and the girl's shocked wail arose once more.
“Mrs. Storm 1 She's down here, sir, in the den. Oh,
come quick!”
“Down—!”
The word died in Storm’s throat, and still conscious of
W HILE Storm hesitated, relaxed in that moment of
53


54 ASHES TO ASHES
the cook's eyes he turned, dashed open the door of his
wife's empty room, uttered a loud ejaculation and then
plunged down the stairs.
“I thought she was asleep in her room!” he exclaimed.
“Where P”
“In the den, sir!” Agnes scrambled to her feet and stood
clinging to the newel post as Storm passed her and rushed
down the hall. “Oh, may God have mercy—!”
He heard a startled cry from above and lumbering feet
hastily descended the stairs as he burst into the den and then
stopped short. Leila's body was lying face upward now upon
the rug, her waxen features clamped in the rigidity of
marble, a hideous brown clot enmeshing the soft gold of
her hair and smeared across her forehead.
The cry of horror which burst from Storm's lips was
not all simulation, for anticipated as it was, the sight brought
a sickening qualm to him. He had conquered it the next
moment, however, and crossing to the body knelt and forced
himself to touch it, to raise it until it rested against his knee
just as he had done the moment the blow was struck. It was
cold and stiff, the neck rigid, the eyes half open and unwink-
ing in their stare.
As the trembling servants appeared in the doorway he
laid the body gently back upon the rug and, rising, dashed
his hand across his eyes. He remembered that gesture;
he had often seen a favorite tragedian use it upon the stage.
“She is dead!” Horror, grief unutterable rang in his
tones, and the maids began to sob hysterically.
Without seeming to note their presence Storm staggered
past them to the telephone in the library.
“Greenlea 42 . . . . Dr. Carr, please . . . . Doctor, this
is Storm, Norman Storm. For God's sake get over here
as quickly as you can' . . . . No, I can't go into details,


WHEN MORNING DAWNED 55
but it's a matter of life and death! . . . . All right, hurry,
man l’” -
For a moment he sat there hunched over the silent
instrument while the sweat poured in rivulets down his
face. So far, so good. His shaking nerves were aiding him
in the rôle he was playing, but he must not let them get the
upper hand.
The early morning sun streamed in at the long French
windows which opened on the veranda, and the twitter and
chirp of birds came to him from the lawn outside, mingling
with the muffled wail from the rear. He must go back.
God! If only it were all over !
Agnes had collapsed again in a little heap in the den door-
way, but Ellen, the cook, knelt by the body, crooning piti-
fully over it as Storm reentered. She made a grotesque
figure clad only in the blanket which she had thrown over
her voluminous nightgown, her iron-gray hair screwed back
in a tight knob and tears streaming down her round, honest
face.
“Oh, sir!” She looked up, her eyes tragic with horror.
“Who in the world did it, sir?”
Storm started. A suspicion of murder already, and
from the source which he had least anticipated If stupid,
unimaginative Ellen had leaped to such a conclusion could
he hope after all that the truth would not reveal itself to
Dr. Carr and the authorities? He moistened his lips with
his tongue and stammered:
“She-she must have fallen—one of those fainting spells.
It looks as though she had struck her head on the fender,
there.” He added quickly, “When I came home late I
supposed Mrs. Storm was asleep in her room and did not
disturb her. How did she come to be here?”
“Must have been waiting up for you, sir.” Agnes lifted
# 3k-


WHEN MORNING DAWNED 57
effort at consolation, though the tears still coursed unchecked
down her cheeks. “Couldn't we move her, sir? 'Tis terrible
to leave her lying here, poor lady—”
“Not until the doctor comes.” Storm's tones were hoarse
and muffled. “Please go away, both of you. I want to
be alone. Mind you say not a word of what has happened to
the milkman or anyone else who may come to the door until
the doctor has taken charge. We should have all the neigh-
bors about our ears.”
“We won't breathe a word.” Agnes scrambled to her
feet. “You’ll ring, sir, if you want anything? A cup of
coffee, now P”
“Nothing !” Storm waved aside the suggestion with a
shudder of disgust. “I only wish to be alone.”
When the maids had withdrawn and their sobs were
cut off by the closing of the pantry door, Storm's hands
dropped to his knees. They had accepted his suggestion of
the cause of death without question, but would it be safe
for him to volunteer that theory as a foregone conclusion
to the keener mind of the doctor? He knew the strength
of first impressions; were the circumstantial proofs of acci-
dental death obvious enough to preclude all suspicion of foul
play? The evidence which had seemed so impregnable
to him when he first conceived it crumbled before the wave
of torturing doubt that assailed him. He did not find it as
easy as he had planned to put behind him forever his sec-
ret knowledge of the truth. What would his thought pro-
cesses have been had he indeed believed his wife to be sleep-
ing safe in her room and come down to find her lying dead
here?
The whirr of a light-running motor outside galvanized
Storm into action, and he sprang up from his chair and
hurried down the hall, flinging the front door wide just as


58 ASHES TO ASHES
the doctor mounted the veranda steps. A fine, grizzled
stubble adorned the latter's usually clean-shaven jaw, and
his light ulster was buttoned close up about his neck as
though to conceal deficiencies in his hastily donned attire.
“What is it, old man?” he began genially, and then at
sight of the other's face he paused abruptly.
“Come.”
Without another word Storm turned and led the way to
the den, and the physician followed in silence. At the door
the former, with a gesture, stepped aside, and Dr. Carr's
glance fell upon the body.
Stifling an exclamation he advanced and made a brief,
deft examination. Then, shaken from his professional
calm, he rose.
“There—is nothing I can do,” he announced jerkily. “She
has been dead for several hours—seven or eight, at least.
Good God, Storm, what does this mean?”
The gaze of the physician was filled with blank amaze-
ment and horror, but to the other man it seemed sternly
accusing, and he stammered brokenly:
“I don't know ! She must have been here all night like
this, while I thought her safe in bed and asleep! It is
horrible! Horrible !”
He hid his face in his hands to shut out those keen eyes
bent upon him, and Dr.Carr advanced and forced him
gently down into a chair.
“Here, man, don't give way now ! Pull yourself to-
gether! Do you mean that you only just discovered P”
“A minute before I telephoned to you. It was the house-
maid who found Leila like this when she came down to dust
around, and her screams awakened me.” Storm paused.
A detailed explanation would look too much like an attempt
at an alibi; he must wait for the other to drag the facts


WHEN MORNING DAWNED 59
from him. “Oh, why didn't I speak, why didn't I look in
her room when I came home last night! But I was afraid
of disturbing her—”
He paused, and Dr. Carr asked quickly:
“You returned late and thought she had retired?”
“Yes. It was after eleven—I took the ten o'clock train
from town—and when I got here the house was all dark
and silent, and Leila's bedroom and dressing-room doors
were closed.” Storm's hands dropped to the arms of his
chair, and he stared straight ahead of him as he added deli-
berately: “I went to bed as quietly as I could so as not to
waken her, for she hadn't been well; she was threatened
with one of these fainting attacks the night before last. I
should never have left her | But you know how it has been,
Doctor; you never could tell when they were coming on, and
she had never done any real harm to herself before **
“‘Fainting attacks?’” the doctor repeated sharply. He
wheeled and approached the body once more and Storm
watched him with bated breath. “The right temple bone
has been crushed in, as if with some heavy, blunt instru-
ment l”
“That knob on the corner of the fender ” Storm felt
his way carefully. “It—it's all covered with blood! She
must have fallen—”
The doctor glanced at it and then turned swiftly to him.
“Look here, Storm, have you questioned the servants?
What do they know of this?”
“Nothing. I've been too nearly crazed to question them
coherently, but from what I gathered they went to bed early
and left her sitting out on the veranda, and the housemaid
said something about Leila having told her that she would
wait up for me. Think of it, Doctor! She must have come
in here »


60 ASHES TO ASHES
“Hold on a minute. Was the body lying just like this, face
upturned, when you saw it first?”
Storm nodded. *
“Yes. I rushed to her and started to lift her up, but
when I saw that—that she was dead—”
He bowed his head on his breast as if unable to continue,
but he saw the physician measure with a swift eye the dis-
tance from the chair to the body, and then stoop to examine
the fender again. Storm's knuckles whitened as he gripped
the chair-arms in an agony of suspense. Would his implied
suggestion bear fruit? Had he too palpably ignored the
other's intimation that a blow had been struck? Would it
have been more natural for him to have presupposed viol-
ence, murder, as the physician obviously had done? It was
too late now for him to question the wisdom of his course;
he could brace himself for the next step in the ghastly farce.
“Has anyone touched the body?” Dr. Carr spoke with
professional brusqueness.
“Yes; when I came back here after telephoning to you
both the servants were in the room, and Ellen was bending
over my poor wife—I can't speak of it, Doctor; I can't
realize it! I feel as if I should go mad! Leila xx
“I know, old man, but we've got to get at the bottom
of this thing. Try to collect yourself and think back. You
said you were awakened by the housemaid's screams when
she discovered the body. Do you know if she touched it
before you got down here?”
Storm shook his head.
“I never asked.” He kept his eyes lowered carefully
to hide a glint of triumph. When Carr discovered that
Agnes had found the body lying face down, the case he
had manufactured would be complete. “I wish you—you'd!
talk to them, Doctor. I—I can't, just now. I'm all in r


WHEN MORNING DAWNED 6I
“I will. Don't think about them.” Dr. Carr glanced
at the low light on the desk which still glowed brazenly in
the gloom of the curtained room. “Who turned on that
light instead of drawing aside the curtains?”
“It must have been on all night. Agnes said that was
the first thing she noticed when she got to the door here;
that the light was still going. Then she saw the body—”
he halted again and added in studied ingenuousness: “I
might have observed it when I came home last night, I sup-
pose, but it is scarcely perceptible from the front hall, and
finding it all dark there except for the lamp on the newel
post which Leila always leaves lighted for me, I went
straight upstairs. It never occurred to me that she would be
waiting up for me, and in here, although she has done so
occasionally. I was pretty tired. My God, Doctor, if I had
seen the light and come in here, I might have been able to
save her! There might have been something I could do—l”
“No, Storm, no one could have done anything for her.
Death was instantaneous. You heard nothing after you
went upstairs? No sound of a fall, or disturbance of any
kind?”
“Nothing.” Storm started from his chair. “It couldn't
have happened after I retired Surely, if Leila had been
alive when I entered the house she would have heard me !
The servants sleep like logs, but I waken at the slightest
sound. I would have known !”
“That's so. Of course, you would, old man.” Dr. Carr's
tone was soothingly compassionate. “You’d better go up-
stairs now and put on some clothes; you haven't even slip-
pers on your feet. I’ll have a word with the servants while
you're gone 23. -
“But Leila!” Storm forced his shrinking eyes to turn
yearningly toward the still form. “I can't bear to leave her


WHEN MORNING DAWNED 63
chief and mopped his forehead. “Get into some clothes
now. I'll be right with you.”
“I would rather stay here with Leila, alone with her
Storm murmured mendaciously. “I won't touch her, Doc-
tor; let me stay!”
“No.” The physician transferred the key to the outside
of the door and locked it decisively as he spoke. “It
wouldn't do you any good, Storm. You've got to brace up.
You have put this affair in my hands now, and I order you
to pull yourself together. Get upstairs and take a cold
shower and then I'll give you a sedative.”
With a last glance at the closed door, Storm stumbled to
the stairs and mounted, lurching against the banisters as
though overcome by weakness; but in reality his brain was
Seething with the thought of the danger yet ahead.
He closed the door of his room softly behind him, and
then paused. What if Carr's sympathetic, friendly manner
had been assumed to cloak a suspicion of the truth? The
physician had seemed to accept his theory, but he had not
committed himself. Suppose he were following, tiptoeing
up the stairs now to peer in at the keyhole !
The thought was madness, yet Storm turned instinctively.
The key of his door had been mislaid long ago and never
replaced, but a heavy lounging robe hung from a peg on
the center panel. Catching a fold of it he drew it back over
the door-knob so that it trailed before the lock like a curtain,
thick and impenetrable. His bathroom had no entrance lead-
ing to the hall, and the only other door—that opening on
Leila's dressing-room was protected by a cretonne portière.
He realized that he had no need for secrecy, there was
nothing to be done now which all the world might not safely
see—and yet an insane desire came to him to conceal him-
self from all eyes. He must have a moment of respite from
>>
Q- -


64 ASHES TO ASHES
the rôle he was playing, a moment of peace and calmness
to gird himself anew for what the immediate future might
hold.
Did Carr accept the situation at its face value? The man
whom in the night he had half-scornfully dismissed from
his mind as a simple country practitioner now appeared in
a vastly different light. For the moment he held in his hands
Storm's immunity from suspicion, and the latter's disquie-
tude increased.
There was his step upon the stair! What would his face
reveal?
With a quick revulsion of feeling, Storm sprang to the
door and opened it.
The smile with which the benign physician greeted him
removed all lingering doubt.
“Not taken your shower? Come, Storm, this won’t do!
I’ve 'phoned, and the coroner's assistant is on his way over
from the county seat.” He held out a small glass, and the
other took it mechanically. “Drink this and pull yourself
together, for there are some trying hours ahead.”


CHAPTER VI
THE VERDICT
announced twenty minutes later as the other joined
him in the library. “I don't mind admitting that
my thoughts—my sensations, rather—when first I saw the
body were identical with what yours had been, but there's
only one possible conclusion. Mrs. Storm must have been
seated in that big chair by the hearth when she felt suddenly
faint; and in trying to rise, she must have fallen forward,
striking her forehead with crushing force against that solid
brass knob on the fender. Agnes tells me that she found
her mistress lying face downward against it, and thinking
she had merely fainted, turned the body over. It was only
when she saw the wound that she screamed. Of one thing
you may be sure; Mrs. Storm didn't suffer. She never knew
what struck her. Death came instantly.”
Storm sank into a chair, his twitching face turned from the
light. If Carr only knew I
“I must try to think that!” he murmured. “Did you get
George Holworthy on the 'phone, Doctor?”
“Yes. He is on his way out here by now. Agnes gave
me some coffee, and I told her to bring a tray for you.-No
protests!” as Storm made a gesture of repugnance. “You
are under my orders, remember, and you've got to keep
going.”
Storm drank the coffee obediently enough when it came,
“Y” were right, unquestionably, Storm,” Dr. Carr
65


66 ASHES TO ASHES
conscious of a craving for its stimulus. The first and most
hazardous milestone was passed; Dr. Carr had fallen for
his game, had been completely hoodwinked by the circum-
stantial evidence he had arranged. He had won an uncon-
scious yet powerful ally, and the way seemed clear before
him, but the glow of elation was past.
While the physician droned on in a soothing monotone,
seeking for words of consolation to assuage the grief of his
patient and neighbor, the humming of a high-powered car
reached their ears as it turned in at the gate and ploughed
up the driveway, and Storm sank back.
“That is the coroner's man now.” Dr. Carr strode to
the window. “Oh, he has sent young Daly, and the chief
medical examiner is with him. That will simplify matters
tremendously. I know them both, and I’ll see that they
don't bother you any more than is absolutely necessary.”
Agnes ushered in a tall, lanky young man and his stouter,
elderly companion who nodded in brisk, professional gravity.
“This is Mr. Daly and Dr. Bellowes, Mr. Storm.” Carr
presented them smoothly. “Sorry to have brought you so
far on a mere matter of form, gentlemen. I am prepared to
issue a certificate of accidental death, but I should like to
have you examine the body. This way, please; nothing has
been touched.” -
Storm rose as the physician turned to lead the others to
the den, but the young man called Daly waved him back.
“Your presence won't be necessary, Mr. Storm.” His
tone was deferential, but there was a note of authority in
it that brooked no opposition. “I will have to ask you a few
questions later, but we won't trouble you now.”
Storm bowed and waited until their footsteps diminished
down the hall, and the door of the den closed definitely
behind them. Then, with nervously clenching hands, he


THE VERDICT 67
turned to the window. What a fool he was to harass him-
self with idle fears! Had not everything gone like clock-
work, exactly as he had anticipated? He had been complete
master of the situation so far, and he would be until the
end. He must not, could not fail!
Old George would come soon, now. That had been a
master stroke, that summoning of him! Besides being the
natural, logical thing to have done under the circumstances,
it provided a staunch, reliable buffer between himself and
curious, sensation-seeking eyes. George's dense stupidity and
blind affection would be in itself a safeguard, and he anti-
cipated no difficulty in dissembling before him. What if
George had suspected or even known of Leila's affair with
Brewster? He would never dream that Storm himself had
discovered it, much less that he had killed her.
What were the officials doing in there so long? Storm
paced the floor restlessly. Surely the case was obvious
enough; he couldn't have overlooked anything, after all!
Why didn't they have done with it and get out of his house?
He wanted time to think, a breathing space in which to pre-
pare himself for the onslaught of neighbors and reporters
when the truth came out.
As if timed to his thought, a familiar runabout which
was passing halted at the gate just as it had on the previous
day, and Millard, after gazing for a moment in blank amaze-
ment at the official car drawn up at the veranda steps, de-
scended and came hurriedly up the path.
Storm saw him from the window and muttered in exas-
peration. To be annoyed now by that he-gossip was un-
thinkable ! He'd soon send him about his business l
He caught himself up suddenly. This was the moment
for him to court sympathy, not brusquely repel it and
awaken an antagonism which might beget dark rumor and


68 ASHES TO ASHES
suspicion. He hurried to the door, and when Millard puffed
fussily up the steps of the veranda he found his host await-
ing him with outstretched hands.
“Millard It was good of you to stop. I hoped you
would when I saw you passing.”
“What's wrong, old chap? That's the Chief Medical
Examiner's car, isn't it? I was afraid ” He broke off
as the other raised his eyes. “Heavens, Storm, what is
it?” -
“My wife I’’ Storm bowed his head, and added brokenly:
“She's dead, Millard I Died suddenly, sometime during the
night.”
“Mrs. Storm 1" Millard fell back a step, his apoplectic
face paling. “What ? How? God, this is frightful!
What caused it?” -
“Dr. Carr says it was one of her fainting spells. She
must have fallen and struck her head. I—we only found
her this morning.”
“Terrible! I—I don't know what to say, old chap!” Mil-
lard stammered. His small, beady eyes strayed eagerly
past his host into the darkened hallway, and he advanced,
but Storm's figure barred the entrance. “I’m simply aghast!
Poor, dear little woman | I can’t believe it! You have all
my sympathy, dear fellow, but words can't seem to express
it just now. How—how did it happen—?”
“We don't know yet.” Storm gripped the agitated little
man’s arm for a moment as if for support. “I can’t talk
of it! Carr will tell you all about it later, but I don't think
he wants the news to get about until the formalities have
been concluded with the coroner's men. I can depend on
you P”
“You know that, old chap!” Millard interrupted him
warmly. “I say, isn't there anything that I can do? The


THE VERDICT 69
car's right here, you know, and I’m glad to be of ser-
vice—”
“Why, yes.” Storm eyed him gratefully. “I’ve sent for
George Holworthy, but he hasn't been told what has hap-
pened. He ought to be here on the next train, and it is due
any minute. Would you mind running down to the station
and bringing him back here, and—and break the news to him
for me?”
“Certainly, dear fellow !” Millard clapped his hand to
the other's shoulder. “I’ll go at once, Storm. There doesn't
seem to be anything a chap can say at a time like this, but
I'm right here if you want me! Remember that, and try to
—to bear it, some way. I’ll be back in no time!”
He bustled off down the veranda steps and toward his
waiting car, and Storm closed the door with a grim smile.
He was well aware that Millard—who was known faceti-
ously about the Country Club as the “town crier”—would
spread the news of the tragic “accident” far and wide, and
he had carefully planted in the other's mind the impression
that Dr. Carr was responsible for the theory of accident.
He had always maintained a certain reserve with Millard,
and realized that his confidence now had immeasurably
flattered the little man, cementing a friendship which would
prove valuable if by any chance ugly whispers arose.
Then, too, he had avoided the task of breaking the news
to old George. Difficult as it had been to play his rôle before
the tearful servants, the cautious physician and the county
officials, he shrank far more from the ordeal of facing his
friend with the story he had fabricated. It would be easy,
of course; almost too easy. It was a battle of wits, a fair
fight with others, but with slow-witted, loyal old George
. . . . He had turned back to the library when a voice
speaking his name aroused him swiftly from his reverie.


7o ASHES TO ASHES
“Mr. Storm, I’d like to see you for a moment.” It was
Daly. “Don’t be alarmed, please. Dr. Bellowes is quite
satisfied that Mrs. Storm's death was accidental, but the
circumstances are so unusual that as a mere matter of form
I want a statement from you to file in my report. Will you
tell me, please, what occurred from the time of your arrival
home last evening until you summoned Dr. Carr at seven
o'clock this morning?”
Haltingly, as if still dazed with the shock, but with every
nerve tinglingly on guard, Storm repeated his story exactly
as he had told it to Dr. Carr, and Daly listened attentively,
punctuating it with quick nods of satisfaction, as though
he were mentally checking off each detail.
At its conclusion he made no comment, but instead asked
a question which brought a start of renewed apprehension
to the other man.
“Do you know, Mr. Storm, if your wife had any enemies?
Is there anyone who will profit by her death or who had
any reason for wishing her out of the way?”
“Good heavens, no!” Storm could feel the blood ebbing
from his face, and his voice had grown suddenly husky.
“You don’t mean P”
“I don't mean anything,” Mr. Daly retorted calmly. “I
told you this was a mere matter of form, Mr. Storm. Do
you know of any enmity which your wife might have in-
curred P”
“None. Everyone who knew her loved her; she hadn't
an enemy in the world,” Storm stammered. “No one could
profit by her death, and as to—to wishing her out of the
way 3-y
“That is all right, sir. I don't want to distress you, but
these facts must be clearly established.” Mr. Daly paused.


THE VERDICT 71
“How long have you been married, and what was Mrs.
Storm's maiden name?”
“Leila Talmage. We were married ten years ago.” Storm
controlled his wildly leaping pulses and forced himself to
reply calmly, weariedly, as though the subject caused him
infinite pain. “She was an orphan, the ward of a friend of
our family, and has no living relatives of whom I ever
heard.”
“Did she have any money of her own?” the other pur-
sued.
“Very little. Ten or twelve thousand, I believe.” Storm
moistened his lips and drew himself up slightly. “My
attorney, Wendle Foulkes, took charge of it for her at her
request, but I have never made any inquiries concerning
her expenditure of it. It was hers, to do with as she
pleased.”
“Then you don't know the value of her estate now?”
“No.”
“Nor whether she left a will?”
“I do not, Mr. Daly. My attorney can answer all such
questions far better than I.” Storm drew his hand once
more across his eyes. Why did the fellow stare so infer-
nally at him? “I must refer you to him. He will have to be
notified, of course; I hadn't thought of that. My mind—
I cannot collect myself It is horrible that there should be
even a thought of foul play in connection with my poor wife;
it is almost a profanation l Her life was an open book, she
was the soul of honor and goodness and charity ->
His voice broke realistically, and his inquisitor rose.
“I don't doubt you, but you will understand that we have
to take every possibility into consideration in a case of this
sort. The Chief will want to see you when he's through
in there, but won't detain you long.”


72 ASHES TO ASHES
His searching gaze lowered at last, and he turned and
left the room.
Storm listened to his retreating footsteps in a maze of
conflicting emotion. Had that inquisition been merely the
formality that the young official claimed, or had they
stumbled on the truth? If Daly's efforts had been directed
toward establishing a possible motive, Storm congratulated
himself that he had more than held his ground. He had
succeeded in placing on record a statement of absolute faith
and trust in his wife, and surely his bearing as a grief-
stricken husband had been seemingly sincere beyond ques-
tion | If they suspected, though; if they unearthed that
damnable affair of hers with Brewster, discovered that he
had been in that house on the previous night and could
prove that Storm himself returned before the other's de-
parture . . . .
The impudent chug-chug of a runabout broke in upon his
troubled thought, and he turned to the hall just as the house-
maid appeared on the stairs. -
“Agnes, I'm going to my room. Mr. Millard has just
brought Mr. Holworthy up from the station, I think. Send
Mr. Holworthy up to me, but tell Mr. Millard I'll call him
on the 'phone later. I can’t see him now.”
“Yes, sir.” Agnes sniffed and lowered her red-lidded
eyes. “The other gentlemen—?”
“They're still here. Let me know, please, when they
want me.”
She stepped aside and he passed her, mounting to his
room. It was in order, and with rare tact the girl had left
the door leading to Leila's apartments closed; yet as plainly
as though it were open Storm could see before him every in-
timate detail: the little silver articles on the dressing table,
the quaint old four-poster bed which had been his mother's,


THE VERDICT 73
the absurdly low chairs piled with cushions, Leila's favorite
books scattered about
A sudden dizziness seized him; the same sickening qualm
which had assailed him that morning when he entered the
den swept over him in an overwhelming flood. He had been
keyed up since with the need of self-preservation, but now
a swift reaction came, and he flung himself into a chair, his
head buried in his arms outflung across the table. He had
killed her, and she deserved it; she had been faithless! It
was done and over with, and yet !
Her presence seemed nearer him, the years of their love
and life together rose before him, and something very like
a dry, harsh sob burst from his throat.
“Norman I God, it isn’t true! It can’t bel”
The broken cry from the doorway fell like a dash of icy
water on his rising emotion, and instantly on guard once
more, Storm raised his head.
George Holworthy stood there, his homely face working
grotesquely, tears starting unashamed from his faded blue
eyes.
“I never dreamed—I was afraid when I got Carr's mess-
age that she was ill, but that a thing like this should have
come—l”
“Georgel” Storm rose and their hands clasped. “I sent
for you as soon as I could ! I can't talk about it, I can't
realize it! It is like some horrible nightmarel You won't
leave me? You'll stay here and see me through?”
“I’m here, ain't I?” George gulped fiercely. “I suppose
you've been badgered enough, and I won't add to it, but for
God’s sake tell me a little ! Remember, I loved her, too!”
“I know you did, and she had a very real affection for
you.” Storm averted his head, for the sight of the other's
genuine sorrow was unnerving.


74 ASHES TO ASHES
“All I could get out of Millard was that you found her
dead this morning, and that Carr said it was her old trouble,
that catalepsy—petit mal, they call it, don't they? I never
thought it could prove fatal!”
“It didn't. But she fell, striking her head—!” Storm
paused eloquently. “When you see her, George, you'll un-
derstand. It’s too awful, I can't—”
“But where is she? What have they done with her?”
George glanced toward the closed door, and Storm shook
his head.
“In the den. Agnes found her there and screamed >>
But Agnes herself appeared in the doorway, cutting his
sentence short.
“If you please, Mr. Storm, the gentlemen downstairs
would like to speak to you.”
“I’ll be down.” By a supreme effort he braced himself
to meet the verdict. “You’ll come too, George?”
George nodded and blew his nose resoundingly.
“I’m with you,” he said simply, and together they de-
scended the stairs.
Dr. Bellowes met them at the library door.
“We have concluded our examination,” he announced.
“As my colleague, Doctor Carr, had already surmised, Mrs.
Storm's death was due to a fracture of the right temporal
caused by a fall while suffering an attack of petit mal.”
Storm closed his eyes, and for an instant the earth seemed
to rock beneath his feet.
It was over and he had won! He had fooled them
all !
“I feared it, Doctor,” he remarked quietly, and congratu-
lated himself at the calmness of his tone. “I should not
have left her alone last night after the warning we had of
a possible attack the day before—but I must try not to think


THE VERDICT 75
of that now. Can't I offer you something before you start
on your ride back? A cup of coffee perhaps?”
Dr. Bellowes shook his head, but his eyes traveled to the
humidor on the table, and Storm followed his glance.
“A cigar, then?” He opened the humidor and passed it
around. “The matches are just in there—”
He lighted one, watching his hand curiously meanwhile.
How steady it was l Not a tremor to reveal the excitement
mounting within him. He had pulled off the greatest, grim-
mest scheme in the world, and yet not the flicker of an eye-
lash betrayed him!
Dr. Bellowes blew out a cloud of smoke.
“Yes, Mr. Storm,” he resumed, “it was unquestionably
an accident; a most unusual and unfortunate one. Un-
officially, I should like to tender to you my most sincere
sympathy.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Storm bowed and stood quite still as George showed them
Out.
If anyone had told him that such a plan could have been
conceived and carried out successfully without a single
hitch, he would have laughed him to scorn. He would not
have believed anyone capable of such combined ingenuity
and self-control, least of all himself
The position of the body, the smear upon the brass knob
of the fender, the blood-stained driver cleaned, the hand-
kerchief and its ashes eliminated, the hair pin, the single
golden hair, the light left burning—he mentally reviewed
each clue in the case, recalled each step of the investigation,
and realized that there had been no flaw.
It had been a supreme battle of wits, his against all the
rest, and he had beaten them l He had won 1


CHAPTER VII
THE LETTER
drawn-out period of torture for Storm.
Upon the departure of Dr. Carr and the officials,
George Holworthy had to be told in detail the story of the
night's tragic event, and its reiteration drew heavily upon
the store of self-control which was left to his companion
after the ordeal through which he had passed; but Storm
narrated it carefully, with a critical consciousness of every
effect.
“I don’t know what is the matter with me!” he cried
dramatically in conclusion. “I can't break down, I can't
seem to feel, Georgel I saw her as she lay there, I tell my-
self that this ghastly, unbelievable thing is true, and yet it
has no meaning for me! I catch myself listening for her
step, waiting to hear her voice! Am I going mad?”
“It’s the shock,” George said quietly. “The stark horror
of the thing has stunned you, Norman. You can't feel it
yet, you are numb, I suppose.”
He looked curiously shrunken and withered and years
older as he sat hunched in his chair, his faded, red-rimmed
eyes blinking fast. Storm felt a sense of impatience, almost
of repugnance as he regarded him. His evident sorrow
was a subtle reproach before which the other writhed. Could
he endure his presence in the days which must decently
elapse before the funeral? George would be useful, how-
D: his sense of victory the day was a long-
76


THE LETTER 77
ever, in the interim, and when it was all over he could shut
himself away from everyone.
“That’s why I sent for you,” he observed. “I can't seem
to get a grip on things, and I thought you would take charge
for me and keep off the mob of sympathizers >>
“I will. I'll attend to everything, old man. There's bound
to be a certain amount of publicity, you know, but I’ll see
the reporters myself, and fend off the neighbors. Carr will
send in the undertaker, and I’ll 'phone Foulkes. Is there
anyone else you want me to notify?”
George did indeed prove invaluable, for Millard had
spread the tidings and soon the house was besieged by hor-
ror-stricken friends of the dead woman. They came from
all walks of life, from the humblest country-folk about to
the most arrogant of the aristocratic colony, in mute testi-
mony to the breadth of her kindliness and the affection she
had inspired. From earliest afternoon, too, reporters began
filtering in on every train, but George held them off with
surprising tact and diplomacy, and by nightfall a semblance
of peace had fallen upon the bereft household.
The den was restored to its normal state, the door locked,
and in the dainty drawing-room across the hall from the
library Leila lay as if asleep, her golden hair falling low to
hide the cruel wound and all about her the early spring
flowers she had loved.
Now that they were alone together, George's presence
proved insufferable, and Storm, professing complete ner-
vous exhaustion, suggested that they retire early.
George, worn out with his own emotions and the strain
of the day, acquiesced in evident relief. He had dreaded a
night-long vigil with his bereaved friend and rejoiced that
the strange, seemingly dazed apathy which had held him in
its grip was giving way to the demands of over-taxed nature.


78 ASHES TO ASHES
Sleep, however, was furthest from Storm's intentions.
There was work still to be done, and in secret. Foulkes
had signified his intention of coming out on the first train
in the morning, and it was possible that he might suggest
going over Leila's papers. If that letter which she had
tried to conceal the day before were found, or any other
correspondence from Brewster, it might precipitate the rise
of a suspicion which otherwise seemed now to be eliminated.
Leila's desk was down in the library, and waiting only
until he felt assured that the occupant of the guest chamber
across the hall had fallen asleep, Storm put on soft felt
slippers, drew his dressing gown about him, and descended.
How still the house was l Still, yet vibrant with some-
thing unseen but palpitating as though the spirit had not
wholly departed from that immobile form lying amid the
blossoms, whose fragrance stole out with cloying, sinister
sweetness upon the air.
Storm closed the library door noiselessly behind him,
switched on the light and crossing to the little rose-wood
desk stood transfixed.
A book lay upon it, and from between its leaves pro-
truded, as if carelessly or hastily thrust there, what appeared
to be the very letter he sought. “Leicester Building”. The
engraved letters stood out as he drew the envelope forth, but
above them was a line which made him start.
“National Tool & Implement Company”.
But Brewster was an insurance broker! The name had
an oddly familiar ring, too. What could it mean?
With shaking fingers he drew the enclosure from the en-
velope and read:
Mrs. Norman Storm:
Dear Madam :-


8O ASHES TO ASHES
tation, receipted bills, memoranda and household accounts
—his feverish fingers sought in vain among them for a
single line of an intimate or sentimental nature. But then,
Leila would scarcely have kept secret love letters in an open
desk. Somewhere in her apartments upstairs, perhaps, she
had arranged a hiding place for them.
Then a swift remembrance came to him. The secret
compartment! Back of the small drawer between the
pigeon-holes on the desk top was a small space to which
access could be had only by pressing a hidden knob. Leila
had found it by accident one day and had been almost child-
ishly delighted with her discovery.
Storm removed the drawer, pressed the spring, and the
false back slid aside revealing two packets of letters. One
was bound by a bit of white satin ribbon, yellowing now
and slightly frayed; the other encircled with a rubber band.
The sight of them brought a grimace of triumphs to
Storm's lips, but it changed quickly as he tore the ribbon
from the first packet. The letters were all postmarked
prior to ten years ago and were in his handwriting—his own
love letters, written during the period of their engagement
and before. One end of the ribbon was knotted about a
dried flower; an orange blossoml It must have been from
her wedding bouquet.
A strange tightness constricted his throat, and he thrust
the packet hastily aside. He did not want to be reminded at
this hour of the happiness, the fool's paradise in which he
had lived before enlightenment came. No sentimentality
about the past must be permitted to weaken his self-control
11OW.
But the second packet, too, contained only his letters;
those written since their marriage, mere notes of a most
prosaic sort, some of them, sent to her during his infrequent


THE LETTER 81
absences from home and reminding her of trivial, every-
day matters which required attention. The last, dated only
a month before, concerned the reinstatement of MacWhir-
ter, their ante-bellum gardener. Why had Leila kept every
scrap of his handwriting as though she treasured it, as
though it were precious to her?
For a long time he sat there staring at the scattered en-
velopes, the first vague, terrible stirring of doubt which
had come when he read Jaffray's letter returning again to
torture his spirit. Then once more the scene of the previous
night in that room arose in reassuring condemnation, and
with a smothered oath he seized the letters and tore them
viciously, the older packet with the rest, until nothing re-
mained but a heap of infinitesimal scraps and the bit of
yellowed ribbon.
He wanted them out of his sight, destroyed utterly, but
where ? The fire in the kitchen range would have been
banked for the night, but he could rake the coals aside.
Sweeping the torn letters into a newspaper together with
the ribbon, he made his way quietly to the kitchen. The
range balked him at first. He strove vainly to coax a blaze
from the livid coals, but with the aid of kindling wood and
after much manipulation of the dampers he succeeded in
producing a tiny flame. Upon this he thrust handfuls of
the paper scraps, and when they caught and blazed up he
thrust the ribbon deep among them.
How slowly they burned The edges of the ribbon
charred and it curled up, writhing like a living thing in
agony. The flame was dying down, and Storm had turned
frantically to the wood-box to pile on more fuel, when
suddenly there came a grayish puff, a leaping tongue of fire,
and the ribbon vanished, leaving only a heap of pale flakes
against the darker, coarser ashes.


82 ASHES TO ASHES
Storm scattered them and was placing an extra stick of
wood upon the glowing coals to make sure that the evidences
of his work would be wholly obliterated, when the utterance
of his name in surprised accents made him wheel as though
a blow had been dealt to him from behind.
“Norman | I thought you were in bed!” George, his
short, obese figure, grotesque in an ugly striped bathrobe,
stood blinking in the doorway. “What on earth are you
doing down here? And what's burning? There's a funny
odor—”
“Wretched green wood. No wonder the cook grumbles
about this range; I thought I should never get it going!”
Storm interrupted hastily. “I couldn't sleep, and wanted
a cup of coffee. There was no use in disturbing the ser-
vants.”
“Why didn't you call me?” demanded the other. “I could
have made it for you. You look all done up, Norman.
Did you take that sleeping stuff Carr left for you?”
Storm shook his head.
“It would take more than that to bring sleep to me to-
night,” he said.
“Well, anyway, I don't know what you are poking about
in here for ſ” objected George. “You’re a chump to try to
get the range going at this hour when you've got that electric
percolator in the dining-room. Here's the coffee; come on
in there and I’ll have it ready for you in no time!”
Storm followed him in silence, only too glad to get him
away from the kitchen, and watched him as in deft bachelor
fashion he manipulated the percolator.
Storm drank the coffee when it was made and then
dragged George off to the library where the latter at length
fell asleep upon the couch; but Storm sat huddled in his
chair, dry-eyed and brooding, until the dawn.


THE LETTER 83
Wendle Foulkes appeared at nine o'clock, his keen old
face very solemn, and almost his first words, when his con-
dolences were made, set at rest a question which Daly had
raised on the previous day.
“You know, of course, that Leila left no will,” he began.
“At least, none to my knowledge, and I am certain she
would have consulted me had she entertained any thought
of making one. Death was farthest from her imagining,
poor child ! What she left is yours, of course, but we will
have to comply with the law and advertise for heirs.”
Storm made a gesture of wearied impatience, and the
attorney went on:
“There is something I must tell you, Norman. You were
not my first visitor on Monday morning. Leila had been
before you; she left only a few minutes before your arrival,
but she had requested me to say nothing to you of her
coming.”
“But why?” Storm stared.
“She came to consult me about a piece of property which
she wanted to buy: that strip of land next your place here,
over which you and Alpheus Jaffray have haggled and
fought for years. She had gotten in the old man's good
graces somehow, and she believed that she could persuade
him to sell it to her even though he was so violently anta-
gonistic to you. I don't mind telling you frankly that I
advised against it, Norman. It would have taken all that
she had left of her original capital, and I knew how yours
was dwindling, but she won me over.” He paused and
wiped his eyeglasses, clearing his throat suspiciously mean-
while. “She ordered me to keep the proposed transaction
a secret from you, and I promised, but now it is only right
that you should know. She left to go to Jaffray's office, over
in the Leicester Building.”


84 ASHES TO ASHES
George Holworthy, who was hovering in the background,
drew in his breath sharply, but Storm repeated with dogged
insistence: -
“Why should my wife have wanted to keep such a secret
from me? I cannot understand it! She told me everything
” He paused involuntarily, biting his lip. There was one
other thing she had not told him, had not confessed even at
the last!
“You would not have been kept in ignorance long.” The
attorney's tone was pitying. “Have you forgotten what
day to-morrow is?”
“‘To-morrow?’” Storm repeated blankly.
“Your birthday.”
“God!” The exclamation came from George. “And the
funerall”
Storm sat as if turned to stone. It had been for him l Her
secret trip to town, her innocent, pitiful subterfuges, her
joy over the letter which had told her that the surprise she
had planned was within her grasp! All for him!
Then a swift revulsion of feeling came. Bah! It may
have heen to throw more dust in his eyes, to render his con-
fidence in her doubly assured; a sop to her own conscience,
perhaps. The infinite reproach in her eyes when he had
accused her there in the den, her air of conscious right-
eousness when she had said: “You will regret that accusation
bitterly when you learn the truth—” What a consummate
actress she had become!
Fate had played into his hands, though; he had witnessed
her perfidy with his own eyes. Had it not been for his
opportune return that night, how easily his suspicions would
have been allayed l How contrite he would have been at his
doubt of her, and how she and her lover would have gloated
over the ease with which he had been deceived


THE LETTER 85
But the others were looking at him, amazed at his silence,
and with an effort he pulled himself together.
“Her last thought was for me!” His voice shook with
the irony of it, but to the two men it was an evidence of
purely natural emotion. “The thought of it only makes what
has come harder for me to bear! Her unselfishness, her
devotion—!”
“I know, boy, I know.” Foulkes laid his hand for a
moment on Storm's shoulder. “You must try to remember
that you have been far luckier than most men; you have
had ten years of such perfect happiness as falls to the lot
of few of us !”
“That is true.” Storm bowed his head to conceal the
sneer of bitterness which rose unbidden to his lips. “I can-
not realize that it has come so suddenly, so horribly to an
end l’”
A brief discussion of business affairs ensued, and then
Wendle Foulkes took his departure. A silence had fallen
between the other two which was broken at last by George.
“So that was it!” he murmured as if to himself. “That
was why she invented that luncheon at the Ferndale Inn—”
“What?” demanded Storm, aghast, How much did
George know? “Invented what luncheon?”
“Don’t you remember when I dined here with you
God! Was it only last Monday night?—and Leila told us
she had lunched that day at the Ferndale Inn, when in real-
ity she had been to the city? I repeated that remark, because
I could scarcely believe my ears, but she stuck to her little
fib. I did wonder at your surprise for I had seen you both
in town at noon.”
“You had—seen us both?” Storm repeated.
“Yes. I was going through Cortlandt Street coming out
of the Leicester Building and saw you standing there staring


86 ASHES TO ASHES
after her as though you had seen a ghost,” George explained
innocently. “I started to hail you and tried to cross, but a
line of traffic got in the way and when the street was clear
you had disappeared. I meant to tell you that night but I
didn't.”
“Why, that's so! It must have been Leila, after all, whom
I saw.” Storm weighed each word carefully. “I wasn't
sure, you know, she passed me so quickly, and when she
spoke that night of having been to the Ferndale Inn I natu-
rally concluded that I must have been mistaken; it couldn't
have been she I saw. It did not occur to me for a moment
that she was telling even a little white lie, for Leila has
never kept anything from me in all her life, George.”
He spoke with a deliberate emphasis, striving desperately
to eradicate from the other's mind the thought that he had
been aware of her deception. Confound the fellow ! Why
had he, out of all in the city, been the one to witness that
unexpected meeting! His silence later was significant, too.
Had he an inkling of Storm's state of mind that night?
“I see. Couldn't imagine why she should have kept her
little expedition to herself, but it wasn't any affair of mine,
of course.” George spoke with an elaborate carelessness
which did not seem wholly convincing to the critical ears of
the other man. “Funny it should have deceived you, for she
didn't take me in for a minute, she fibbed so—so clumsily,
bless her! I thought it probably some little joke she was
planning, but your approaching birthday never occurred to
me. It is odd, isn’t it, that we should have talked of old
Jaffray and that trout stream when you walked to the station
with me later?”
“Leila knew how I had set my heart upon it,” Storm
returned. It would do no good to revert to the topic of the
lie. Reiterated explanation of his attitude would only deepen


THE LETTER 87
any suspicion which George might still entertain. To ignore
it, to pass it by as a thing of no moment, was the only course.
“Do you remember that she complained of feeling ill that
night?”
George nodded.
“That was the first thing I thought of when Millard
broke the news to me, after I could begin to think at all,”
he observed. “She must have had a warning that one of those
attacks was coming on. I spoke of it to her, as you may
recall, but she denied it; afraid of worrying you, I suppose.
To think that it should have come the very next night when
she was alone and helpless!”
Storm drew a deep breath. At least, George had no
shadow of a suspicion as to the real cause of her death.
“Don’t talk about it!” he implored. “I’ve reproached
myself a hundred times with not being at hand, but how
could I know?”
“Forgive me! You couldn't, of course. No one could
have anticipated it. It was to be, that's all one could say,
though God only knows why! You were not to blame.”
He threw his arms across the other's shoulders in an
affectionate, consoling clasp, and in his mild, candid eyes
Storm read only pity, Sorrow and an abiding trustfulness.


CHAPTER VIII
THE TRUTH
frocked minister's voice rose solemnly above the
subdued rustlings and sighing whispers in the little
vine-wreathed church, and the stirring ceased. A robin
peered in curiously at one of the open windows from his
perch on a maple bough and chirped inquiringly, and the
scent of lilacs was wafted in from the rector's garden to
mingle with the heavier fragrance of lilies and white roses
heaped about the casket at the altar steps.
It was such a small casket, almost like that of a child, and
fairly buried beneath the weight of the floral offerings which
banked it; a varied collection of offerings, for the costliest
of hot-house set pieces mingled with sheaves of home-grown
blossoms, and rare orchids nestled beside humble wild vio-
lets, but each had their place.
The congregation, too, was a heterogeneous one. Rich
and poor, smart and shabby, the country club colony and
the villagers met in a common democracy to do honor to
their dead friend.
“The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken awa >>
The minister went on to the end, and then the voices of a
hidden choir chanted softly: “Lord, thou hast been our re-
fuge: from one generation to another . . . .”
In the front pew Norman Storm rested his sleek head
upon his black-gloved hand, and George Holworthy beside
“I am the resurrection and the life—” The white-
88


THE TRUTH -- 89
him cleared his throat huskily. In the moment of stillness
which followed the Psalm, a woman's sob rose from some-
where back in the church, the sound jangling in Storm's ears
like a touch upon naked nerves.
The last act of the farce, and then peace! Peace in
which to plan for the future, to gain strength with which to
shut out vain, maddening memories, to meet and cope with
the change which his own act had wrought in his life. But
would peace come?
Everything had gone smoothly; his scheme to evade
justice and preserve himself from danger had been crowned
with success; but in fortifying himself against suspicion
and accusation from outside, he had not thought that a more
subtle enemy might arise to be faced and vanquished or for-
ever hold him in miserable thrall.
His love for Leila had not died with her. Despite her
unfaithfulness, to the thought of which he clung doggedly,
he could not exorcise her gentle influence. Everything in
the house spoke mutely to him of her, everywhere he turned
were evidences of her care and thoughtfulness and charm.
In vain he reminded himself that it was over and done with,
a closed chapter never to be recalled. He was beginning
to fear himself, to dread the hours of solitude ahead as
much as he looked forward to them. The voice of his con-
Science was whispering, threatening, and he must silence it
or know no peace.
George glanced furtively at him now and then as the
service went on, but he gave no sign. It drew to a close at
last, and still he sat there immersed in his own thoughts
until a touch upon his arm roused him to a consciousness of
the present. Half-way down the aisle Richard and Julie
Brewster with exalted faces and hands clasped like children
stood aside to let him pass, but he did not even see them,


90 ASHES TO ASHES
and those who pressed forward and would have spoken
paused at sight of his face. Pitying shocked murmurs
followed him as he and George stepped into the car, but he
did not heed them, and the long ride to the cemetery pro-
gressed in silence.
The brief, simple service of committal, the clods of
earth falling dully, heavily into the grave and then came the
interminable drive home. George's glances were less fur-
tive now, more openly charged with amazement. Storm had
not shed a tear, had not vouchsafed an utterance of emotion
throughout those solemn hours. His friends wondered how
great the reaction would be from such long, pent-up grief,
and as they swept into the driveway before the silent, empty
house which awaited them he ventured a suggestion.
“Norman, don't you want to pack up and come and stay
in town with me for a few days? The change will do you
good and give you time to—to get used to things.”
Storm stifled the exasperated rejoinder which rose to his
lips and replied quietly:
“Thanks, old man, but I want to be here, alone. I’ve got
to face facts sooner or later, to bring myself to a realization
that she has gone, and I’m better off here.”
“Well, maybe that's so,” George conceded. “Country
air's the best, and I’ll run out now and then to cheer you
up. You'll take to playing golf again after a bit—”
“Don't!” The cry was wrung from Storm's very soul.
Never again would he hold a golf-stick in his hands ! He
could see now before him that driver with the dark stains
spattered upon it, and he recoiled shuddering from the appa-
rition, while George inwardly cursed his own tactlessness,
the while wholly ignorant of how his clumsy, well-meant
effort at consolation had pierced the armor of the other
man's self-control.
-


THE TRUTH 9I
The fickle May sunshine vanished, and before the coming
of twilight a bank of heavy gray clouds formed in the west,
presaging a storm. They made a pretense of dining, while
the rising wind swept gustily about the house and moaned
in the chimneys like a thing in pain.
Storm still preserved his stoic calm, and George's per-
turbation grew. It wasn't natural, wasn't like the Norman
he had known from college days. The younger man had
always been outwardly reserved, but such stern, almost
deliberate self-repression was new to him and filled his
friend with vague alarm.
“You didn't close your eyes during the night before last,
and you couldn't have slept much last night, Norman, for I
heard you walking the floor at all hours,” he remarked.
“Don’t you think it would be well to call in Carr and have
him look you over and give you something quieting? You'll
be ill if you keep this up.”
“I’m all right!” Storm responded with a touch of impa-
tience. “Don’t worry about me, George. I’ll turn in early
and by to-morrow I'll get a fresh grip on myself 22
“I think you've got too tight a grip on yourself as it is,”
George interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Storm shot the question at him
almost fiercely. Was he under surveillance, his every mood
and gesture subject to analysis? Why couldn't the other
let him alone?
“You’re not meeting this normally,” replied George in
all seriousness. “Hang it all, I'd rather see you violent than
like this There's something horrible about your calmness,
the way you are clamping down your feelings! If you would
just give wa 22
“I can't,” Storm protested in the first wholly honest speech
which had passed his lips. “I’m all frozen up. For God's


92 ASHES TO ASHES
sake, don't nag me, George, because I’m about all in 1”
The other subsided, but Storm could feel his eyes upon
him, and their mute solicitude drove him to an inward
frenzy. At all costs he must get away from that insistent
scrutiny! He would lock himself in his room, feign sleep,
illness, anything! George had served his turn, and Storm
thanked fortune that business would of necessity demand
the fussy, faithful little man's presence in town the next
day.
He was casting about for an excuse as they rose from
the table when all at once the front door knocker sounded
faintly, almost apologetically.
“I can't see anyone! I won't!” The haggard lines
deepened about Storm's mouth. “In Heaven's name, can't
they respect my—my grief? I’m going upstairs. George,
you get rid of them. Send them away, whoever they are l’’
But George did not send them away. Listening from above,
Storm heard the front door open and close, heard George's
low rumble, and a reply in higher but softly modulated
feminine tones. Then came a masculine voice which made
him grip the stair rail in sudden fury not unmixed with con-
sternation.
Richard Brewster! It couldn't be; the fellow would not
dare intrude his presence here, even though he fancied his
secret unshared by any living soul! But that was unmis-
takably Julie's voice raised in almost tearful pleading, and
then Brewster spoke again.
What had brought them here? Why didn't George get
rid of them as he had been told to do? Could it be that
Julie had discovered the truth of her husband's unfaithful-
ness, and with a woman's hysterical notion of justice had
brought Brewster here to force his confession to the man he
had wronged? It was evident from the sounds that reached
º


THE TRUTH 93
his ears that George was showing them into the library, was
taking it upon himself to disregard Storm's express com-
mands. Damn them all! Why couldn't they let him alone?
A brief colloquy ensued, and then George mounted the
stairs.
“Look here!” he began in a sepulchral whisper. “It’s
the Brewsters, Norman, and I think you ought to see them
for a minute. There's something they want to tell you—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” interrupted Storm fiercely.
“Good God, man, can't you see I’m in no condition to listen
to a lot of vapid condolences? I told you to send them away!”
“I would have done so, but I think you ought to let them
tell you,” George insisted with the meek, unyielding tenacity
which the other man had always found exasperating. “Julie
Brewster is terribly wrought up; she says that in justice
to—to Leila's memory you must hear what she has to say.”
In justice to Leila's memory ! Storm gave a sudden, in-
voluntary start. There could be no ambiguity about that
phrase. With a feeling as if the world were crashing down
about his ears, he thrust George unceremoniously aside and
descended the stairs.
They were standing side by side on the hearth rug await-
ing him, Julie in tears but with her face bravely lifted to
his, Brewster meeting his eyes without a tremor.
“It is good of you to see us, Mr. Storm.” Julie was
making an obvious effort to control her emotion. “We
wouldn't have intruded, but I wanted you to know the
truth; I couldn't bear the thought that the shadow of even
the slightest misunderstanding should rest between you
and—and Leila's memory now, especially when it was all
my fault.”
“‘Your fault’?” Storm repeated. “Sit down, please.
I don’t understand—”


94 ASHES TO ASHES
“We won't detain you long, old man.” It was Brewster
who spoke, but his words failed to pierce the tumult in the
other's brain. “We felt it would comfort you as much as
anything could to know that almost her last thought on earth
had been for the happiness of others.”
Storm's eyes had never left the woman's face, and to
their mute command she responded:
“I’m not going to try your patience with a long story
of my own foolishness, but I did a wicked, selfish thing in
dragging poor Leila into my troubles just to save myself.
She was so generous, so self-sacrificing that she did not
murmur at the risk to herself, and I never realized until
she—she was dead that I might have been the cause of a
misunderstanding between you at the very last. It has al-
most killed me to think of it, and I simply had to come and
tell you the truth about the whole affair!”
Storm tried to collect his reeling senses, but only one clear
thought came to his rescue. These people must never know,
never suspect that any trouble had arisen between him and
Leila.
He steadied his voice with an effort at composure.
“I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Brewster. If my
poor wife was able to help you out of any difficulty—I am
glad, but I know nothing of it. You speak of a risk f"
“Yes. I have been very foolish—wilfully, blindly foolish
—in the way I've acted for weeks past.” She paused and
then hurried on shamefacedly. “You see, I thought Dick was
neglecting me, and to pay him out I’ve been flirting out-
rageously with Ted Mattison. Leila tried to influence me,
but I wouldn't listen to her, and when Dick woke up to what
was going on and ordered me not even to speak to Ted
again I—I resented it and defied him.
“Last Monday I motored out to the Ferndale Inn for


THE TRUTH 95
lunch alone with Ted, and some horrid, gossipy people were
there who knew how I’d been trotting about. I didn't think
they had caught a glimpse of Ted then, but I was sure that
if they had recognized me they would put two and two to-
gether and tell Dick, and I was afraid; terribly afraid, for
Dick had threatened to leave me if I disobeyed him.
“As soon as I reached home that afternoon I rushed to
Leila, told her the whole thing and made her promise to say
that she had been to the Inn with me. It never occurred to
me that that promise would make her tell you a lie; I’m
afraid I didn't think about anything except the trouble I was
in and how I could manage to get out of it.”
So that was it! They had come to explain about that
paltry lie! Brewster dared to stand there while his wife made
her trivial confession, while all the time—! A turbulent flame
of rage arose in Storm's heart, but he quelled it rigorously.
Caution, now ! Brewster must not suspect!
“I knew that my wife had not been with you.” Could
that be his own voice speaking with such quiet restraint?
“In fact, I had seen her myself in town at noon, although
she did not know it. Please don't distress yourself further,
Mrs. Brewster; I know what her errand was in town and
why she wished to keep it from me.”
“Oh!” Julie started for a moment and then added mis-
erably: “Leila was sure that you guessed she had fibbed
to you. The very next day—the last day of her life!—she
begged me to absolve her from her promise, for she said
you had seemed so strange and cold to her that morning
she was afraid you suspected, and it was the first time she
had ever told you an untruth!”
“She must have imagined a change in my attitude,” Storm
said hastily. “I was preoccupied and in a hurry to get
to town, but that little white lie never gave me a moment's


96 ASHES to ASHES
uneasiness. I would have chaffed her about it only I did
not want to spoil her surprise.”
“Surprise!” Julie echoed.
“Yes. When I had seen her in town the day before she
was just coming out of Alpheus Jaffray's office in the
Leicester Building.” He felt a measure of grim satisfaction
at Brewster's uncontrollable start. “She had been there to
arrange to purchase from him the trout stream which adjoins
the property here and which he had refused to sell me; you
know as well as the rest of the crowd what a veritable feud
has existed between the old fellow and me. I learned the
truth from my attorney, whom Leila had consulted previ-
ously about the transaction. My poor wife intended it as
a birthday surprise for me. My birthday is to-day—to-
day!”
He turned away to hide the rage which was fast getting
beyond his control at the smug, hypocritical presence of that
other man, but his emotion was misread by both his com-
panions.
“To-day! How terrible for you, Storm l” began Brew-
ster, but his wife sobbed:
“If Leila had only guessed But that untruth made her
positively wretched Why, when I telephoned to her late
that night and she came out to meet me 22
“You telephoned to her! She met you !” The room
whirled and grew black before Storm's eyes, and the wo-
man's voice, although clear and distinct, seemed to come
from far away.
“Yes. I’d had a terrible row with Dick when he came
home that night, and I knew he had heard something more
about Ted, though I didn't know what. I was nearly
crazy, Mr. Storm, and when he rushed out of the house in
anger I 'phoned Leila and begged her to meet me and help


THE TRUTH 97
me; tell me what to do! She had promised that afternoon
to come to me if I needed her. You had gone to the station
with Mr. Holworthy when I called up, and Leila did meet
me, at the edge of the golf course.
“She urged me to tell Dick everything, but I wouldn't.
I might just as well have done so, though, for those horrid
people had seen Ted with me at the Inn, after all, and they
went straight to Dick the next day. If only I hadn't per-
suaded Leila to lie for me! It wasn't any use, and it made
some of her last hours unhappy. I shall never forgive my-
self, never!—Oh, don't look at me like that, Mr.Storm l I
can’t bear it!”
Storm had slowly risen from his chair, one hand clutching
the table edge as though for support, his eye fixed in an
unwavering gaze of horror at the one thing visible in the
whirling vortex about him: the white face of Julie. In his
dazed brain a hideous fact was taking shape and form, and
his soul cowered before it.
He essayed to speak, but no sound issued from his dry
lips, and Brewster stepped forward.
“Try not to blame Julie too much, old man,” he begged.
“You see, the poor little girl was desperate. I was as much
at fault in the situation between us as she was; your dead
wife showed me that and brought me to reason. The last
act of her life was to save me from wrecking both mine and
Julie's, and we can never be grateful enough to her memory.
That is why we had to come here to-night to tell you.”
Slowly Storm's gaze shifted to the other man's face, and
the inexorable truth of Brewster's sincerity was forced upon
his wretched consciousness. Still he could find no words,
and the other continued:
“When I confronted Julie and she stuck to her story, I
came here to your wife to confirm the truth of what I had


CHAPTER IX
THE ESCAPE
HEN Storm came to himself he was lying on the
W library couch with the gray dawn seeping in at
the curtained windows and George's rotund figure
in the hideous striped bathrobe looming up grotesquely from
an improvised bed formed of two arm-chairs.
Storm felt a vague sense of irration. What was he doing
there, dressed save for his shoes and collar, instead of being
in pajamas in his own bed, and why was George hanging
around?
Then the mists of sleep cleared from his brain, and re-
membrance came. Leila was innocent, and he had killed
her l True to him in every act and word and thought, yet
he had flung a monstrous accusation at her, and struck her
down. His Leila | He saw her again as she lay huddled
at his feet, and could have cried aloud in his anguish.
If he could but take back that blow ! If only it were
given him to live over once more the time which had passed
since he saw her on that crowded street and doubt first
entered his mind! If he could only speak to her, tell he !
Then a measure of sanity returned to him. She was dead.
He had killed her. Nothing could alter that, nothing could
bring her back. No reparation, no expiation would undo
his mad act and restore the life that he had taken. If he
himself were to live, to go on, he must put behind him all
thought of the past; crush back this creeping menace of
*
IOO


THE ESCAPE IOT
remorse which threatened to overwhelm him. Regret would
avail him nothing now. He had loved the woman who had
shared his life for ten years, but she was gone and the future
was before him, long years in which, since he could not
atone, he must school himself to forget.
At least no one would ever suspect the secret which he
carried in his heart. The worst was over, he had fooled them
all ! But with the thought a new terror gripped him by the
throat. What had he done, what had he said when the
revelation of Leila's innocence swept him from his moorings
of self-control? The Brewsters had been there, both of
them, staring at him as though the ghost of Leila herself
had risen to accuse him! George must have been hovering
about somewhere, too; must have taken care of him, helped
him to the couch, watched over him throughout those hours
of unconsciousness, and listened 1 Great God! Had he be-
trayed himself?
The light was growing brighter now, bringing out the
familiar shapes of the furniture against the gloom and re-
vealing in startling clarity the tired lines in the relaxed face
of his self-appointed nurse. Storm sat up and scrutinized
it half fearfully. Could George sleep like that, exhausted
though he well might be, if he had gained an inkling of the
truth? It seemed impossible, and yet Storm felt that he
must know the worst. A direct accusation, even, would be
better than this suspense. The first look would tell, the
first glance that passed between them.
Storm coughed, and George's eyes opened sleepily, wan-
dered vaguely about and then as they came to bear on the
upright figure on the couch, warmed with a sudden clear
light of affectionate compassion.
“Norman, old boy! How do you feel? Can I get you
anything?” -


IO2 ASHES TO ASHES
Storm sank back with a sigh of relief.
“Nor I—a drink of water ” he mumbled and closed
his eyes as George rose and padded off in his flapping slip-
pers down the hall. There still remained the Brewsters, and
his sudden collapse in their presence was enough of itself to
arouse their suspicion aside from the wild words which
might have issued unbidden from his lips. He must learn
what had taken place!
When George returned with the glass Storm drained it
and then asked weakly:
“Went to pieces, didn't I?”
“You sure did, but it was coming to you,” George affirmed.
“You’re all right now, though, so just rest and try not to
think of anything. Carr fixed you up in good shape—”
“Oh, Lord!” groaned Storm. “Carr I didn't even know
he was here ! How did you get rid of the Brewsters?”
“Well, it wasn't easy!” A faint smile lighted George's
tired face. “Dick's got sense enough, but that little scatter-
brained wife of his wanted to stay and take care of you!
It was all I could do to persuade her to go home.”
“And all that while I was making an exhibition of myself
before them l’” Storm exclaimed bitterly.
“You were not,” retorted George. “You broke down,
of course, just as I knew you must, sooner or later. I hadn't
been easy in my mind about you all day, and I didn't like the
look on your face when you went down to the library to
see them, so I stuck around, not eavesdropping, old boy, but
to be at hand in case you needed me. I could hear their
voices, and then you gave a kind of a cry, and I butted in.
“I found Julie fussing over you, and I motioned to her
husband to get her away into the drawing-room. He came
back and we put you on the couch, and that's all there is to
it. I told them to stop in at Carr's and send him here.”


THE ESCAPE 103
“What did I say? I mean,” Storm hastily amended, “I
don't remember anything. Julie and Dick came to tell me
how Leila had brought them together again when they
were on the point of a separation. You remember when she
told us that she had been out to the Ferndale Inn with Julie?
That wasn't only to keep her visit to old Jaffray's office
secret, but because she had promised Julie to lie for her.
They thought I might have misunderstood, and that it would
comfort me to know she had made peace between them, but
instead it—it broke me up! The full realization came over
me of all that I had lost, and I went off my head, I guess.
Tell me what I said, George.”
“Why, nothing! You just—hang it all, man, you gave
way to your feelings, that's all! You didn't say anything,”
George replied uncomfortably. “When the doctor came he
gave you a good stiff hypodermic, and you dropped off to
sleep like a baby. You're bound to feel rocky, you know,
but you're over the worst of it!”
“Poor old Georgel” With renewed confidence there
came to Storm a twinge of compunction. “You look as
though you needed the doctor yourself | You must have
had a rotten night.”
“Never you mind about me!” returned George gruffly.
“Here! Carr said you were to take this when you woke up
and not to talk too much.”
Obediently Storm took the medicine and almost imme-
diately drifted off into troubled sleep.
It was broad noon when he awakened once more with the
fragrant odor of coffee in the air and George standing be-
fore him, dressed for departure.
“Sorry, old boy, but I’ve got to run up to town, you
know. You'll be all right for a few hours, and I’ll be back
before night. Drink your coffee, take a cold bath and get


IO4 ASHES TO ASHES
out on the veranda in the sun. Nobody'll bother you; I’ve
seen to that.”
Storm tried faintly to protest against George's return;
he didn't need any care, he would be better off alone, and the
other mustn't neglect his business affairs any longer. But
George was not to be swerved from his purpose, and after
a few hours of solitude Storm was in a mood to welcome
his return. In his weakened state he did not find it easy
to keep his truant thoughts from straying to the past, and
a horror which he was unable to combat made him shun
his own society. -
For the next few days, while the flood of condolences
still poured in, he clung to George as to an anchor; but when
the last dismal conventions had been observed and the house-
hold had settled down to something like order, his old feel-
ing of irritation against his friend returned. George's eter-
nal pussy-footing about the house as though death yet
lingered there, his lugubrious face and labored attempts at
cheer and consolation became insupportable, and his host
breathed a sigh of relief when he ultimately departed.
Spring advanced, and with returning strength Storm's
nerves steadied; and, secure in the knowledge that his guilt
was buried forever, he took up the daily round once more.
A week after the funeral, he returned to his sinecure at
the offices of the Mammoth Trust Company. The neighbors,
possibly because of George's forewarning, had left him con-
siderately alone in the interim, but now as he stood on the
station platform awaiting his customary train for the city,
the ubiquitous Millard advanced beaming.
“By Jove, this is good, old chap! Glad you are getting
back into the harness again; best thing for you!” he ex-
claimed. “Fine weather we're having now, and the course
is in wonderful condition; never better! I'm in topping


THE ESCAPE IOS
form, if I do say it myself; and I haven't missed a day.”
Despite his volubility, there was an odd constraint in
his manner, and Storm eyed him curiously. Could it be a
latent suspicion?
“You’ll be going in for the tournament?” he enquired
briefly. -
“Surest thing you knowl Too bad you—” Millard
caught himself up. “I say, though, why don't you get up
early now and then and play a round or two with me before
breakfast? Nobody else out then, it would do you no end
of good. How about to-morrow?”
Storm shook his head, checking the shudder which came
involuntarily at the suggestion.
“Thanks, but I’m not quite up to it. I think I'll let golf
alone for a while,” he replied, adding hastily as he saw signs
of remonstrance in the other's face, “I’ve got too much to
do, reinvestments to make and that sort of thing.”
“Of course,” Millard nodded. “You’ll have your hands
full, but you would find that an occasional round would set
you up wonderfully. Nothing like it to straighten you out
and take your mind off things. Just 'phone me if you feel
like it any day, old chap, and I'll join you.”
The appearance of several belated fellow-commuters saved
Storm from the necessity of a reply, and as they came up to
greet him he eyed each in turn furtively.
They were cordial enough, but none alluded directly to
his bereavement, and the same constraint was evident in their
bearing that Millard had manifested. He continued to study
them on the train from behind the shelter of his newspaper.
Unmistakable relief had registered itself on their faces when
the train came, and now a few of them were ostentatiously
buried in the market reports; but for the most part, in groups
of two and three, they were discussing their business affairs,


Ioé ASHES TO ASHES
and to the listener their tones seemed unnecessarily raised.
Not one had ventured to take the vacant seat beside him.
Had the Brewsters spread broadcast the story of his
emotional outburst in their presence, and could it have occa-
sioned remark, started vague rumor and conjecture which
might yet lead to the discovery of the truth? In vain he told
himself that he was over-analytical, that these old friends
shrank not from him but from dilating upon his tragic loss.
To his apprehensive imagination their manner held a deeper
significance than that of mere masculine inability to voice
their sympathy, and with gnawing persistency the menac-
ing possibilities rankled in his brain.
At the office, after the formal condolences of his associ-
ates, Storm slipped mechanically into the old, well-ordered
routine; but here, too, he fancied that he was being eyed
askance. He could at least avoid running the gauntlet of
his clubs for a time without occasioning remark, but the
thought of Greenlea itself and all that it held for him had
become obnoxious, hideous! The return to that empty house
day after day; could he endure it without going mad?
He caught the club car in a mood of surly defiance, but
he had scarcely taken his accustomed place when Richard
Brewster appeared and without waiting for an invitation
seated himself beside him.
“Awfully glad to see you on the job again.” He spoke
heartily, and his beaming face corroborated his words. “We
were worried about you, you know, the other night; Julie
wanted to stay and take care of you, but Holworthy wouldn't
hear of it. I hope you've forgiven us for intruding.”
Storm eyed him watchfully, but the guileless friendliness
of the younger man was patent, and the other sighed in
relief. -
“I understand your motive, and I thank you both for


THE ESCAPE 107
coming,” he said after a moment's pause. “Sorry I lost
control of myself, but I’d been keeping up for so long—”
“It was only natural,” Brewster interrupted. “You’ll be
leaving us, I suppose, for a time anyway, as soon as you've
got the estate settled. We'll miss you—”
“Leaving?” Storm stared.
“You’ll go away for a-a rest, won't you? New scenes
and all that sort of thing? It will be hard for you to go on
here ” The younger man broke off and added hastily:
“Julie was saying only this morning at breakfast that if you
decided to keep the house open you would need a house-
keeper, and she knows of a splendid woman, an elderly
widow in reduced circumstances—”
Storm halted him with an abrupt gesture of negation.
“I haven't made any plans yet, Brewster. The maids I’ve
got are used to my ways and capable of running things
temporarily, although it will be necessary to make other
arrangements, of course, if I decide to remain in Greenlea.”
The reply was mechanical, for his thoughts were busied with
the new vista which the other's assumption had opened be-
fore his mental vision. “I am grateful to Mrs. Brewster
for her interest, and if I need the woman of whom she spoke
I will let her know. Just now I am drifting; I haven't looked
ahead.”
Barker met him as usual at the station, and during the
short drive home he glanced about him at the smug, famil-
iar scene with a buoyant sense of coming escape. To get
away! To cut loose now, at once, from all these prying
people, the petty social intercourse, the thousand and one
things which reminded him of Leila and of what he had
done! The revulsion of feeling from the contentment of
past years which had swept over him that day culminated
with a sudden rush of hatred for it all. The house loomed


IO8 ASHES TO ASHES
before him a veritable nightmare, and the coming days had
appeared each a separate ordeal from the prospect of which
he shrank with unutterable loathing.
He had felt chained to the old order of things by the
fear of arousing suspicion if he ran away precipitately, but
the one man of whose opinion he had been most apprehen-
sive had himself suggested the way out as the most natural
course in the world.
Storm could have laughed at his uneasiness of the morn-
ing; the other fellows had been merely embarrassed, that
was all, reluctant to mention his tragic bereavement, and
trying with awkward constraint to bridge over the chasm. If
they took it for granted, as Brewster did, that he would
seek a temporary change of scene, the main obstacle was
removed from his path. It would be a simple matter to
sell the house, and then the world would be before him.
On the hall table he found a letter from George Hol-
worthy, and tore it open with an absent-minded smile. He
would soon be free even from old Georgel
Dear Norman, (he read):
Tried to get out to see you to-night, but must
meet Abbott. Had a talk with Jim Potter yester-
day. The firm has ordered him to the Coast im-
mediately and he is winding up his affairs here and
wants to get rid of his apartment. Willing to rent
furnished, just as it stands, cheap, until his lease
is up in October. It is a bully little place up on
the Drive and the stuff he has there is all a fellow
would want to keep a bachelor hall. Why don't
you take it off his hands and close up the house
out there? Jim will take his man with him, but
you can get another, and New York is the best


IIO ASHES TO ASHES
back to a past which must be buried. He would be free,
too, from Brewster and Millard and the rest of them; but
on the other hand George would be constantly thrusting
his society upon him.
Undecided, he wandered out to the veranda, but the vines
which Leila had tended peered at him over the rail and
whispered together; in the library her books, her desk, the
foolish, impractical reading lamp she had bought for him
all mutely recalled her vanished presence. There remained
only the drawing-room, where her body had lain, the den—l
With a shudder he turned and mounted the stairs. The
blank, closed door of her room stared at him, and within his
own were evidences on every hand of feminine thoughtful-
ness and care. Her influence vibrated like a living thing,
all about him, clutching him by the throat, smothering him!
Anything, anywhere would be preferable to this!
It was only half-past nine. He could not go to the coun-
try club, he shrank from the society of any of his neigh-
bors; he could neither sleep, nor read, nor find a corner
which did not cry aloud of Leilal There would be other
nights like this, weeks of them . . . .
In swift rebellion he descended to the library and seized
the telephone.
. . . . “Mr. Holworthy, please . . . .That you, George?
. . . . Yes, Norman. I’ve got your letter and you're right.
I can’t stand it out here. I’ll take Potter's rooms at his
own price, and I want possession by Monday . . . . All
right, fix it, will you? . . . . No, but it's got on my nerves;
I can't go on. I—it's hell!”


CHAPTER X
A CHANCE MEETING
66 OLD you you'd like it here.” George Holworthy
| crossed one pudgy knee over the other and eyed
his friend's back at the window with immense
satisfaction. “Old Jim certainly knows how to live, doesn't
he, from percolators to night-lights? You'll be mighty com-
fortable here, Norman.”
Storm turned slowly from his contemplation of the sha-
dowed park below, the broad sweep of the river and twinkle
of the Palisades beyond.
“It’s great!” he declared briefly but with a ringing, buoy-
ant note which had long been absent from his tones. “I
tell you George, old boy, I feel like a new man already! I
never knew until now how stagnant a backwater like Green-
lea can make a fellow become! Same old trains, same old
country-club, same old crowd of petty-minded busybodies!
Lord, I don't see how I stood it all these years!”
The outburst was spontaneous, and not until he saw the
look of reproachful amazement which crossed George's
face did he realize that he had lowered his guard.
“You were happy,” ventured George.
“Of course,” Storm hastened to acquiesce. “That made
all the difference. But alone yy
He shrugged and turned away lest the other read too
clearly the change which had come with his escape from the
scene of his crime. Significant of that change was the fact
III


II2 ASHES TO ASHES
that he could think of his deed as a crime now without
shrinking. After the first shock of horror and remorse had
passed together with the fear of detection, a sense of tri-
umph began to dominate him, a sort of pride in himself and
his achievement. He had hoodwinked them all ! He, who
had fancied himself a weakling merely because luck had
been against him in the past, had proved his strength, his
invincibility now. Old George, sitting there so placidly,
blinking at him with those good-natured, near-sighted eyes
of his: how little he suspected, how little he could ever
suspect of the truth! The rest of them, with their smug
condolences and pity!
Gad, how easy it had been 1
“What do you think of Homachi?” George's question
broke in upon his self-congratulation.
“The Jap you got for me? He's an improvement on
Agnes, I can tell you!” Storm opened the bronze humidor
and offered it. “Smoke?—You've no idea how that girl's
sniffling got on my nerves! Of course I appreciated her
feelings, but hang it all, a man can't buck up and carry on
with other people constantly thrusting his own sorrow at
him! Homachi is a cheerful, grinning little cuss, and he
certainly can make an omelette. Come up and have break-
fast some Sunday morning and you'll see.”
“Thanks.” George spoke a trifle drily. “Glad you like
him. Have you made any plans yet about the disposition
of the Greenlea house?”
The constraint in his tone warned Storm that for the
second time he had shown his hand too plainly, and he forced
a look of pained surprise.
“Disposition of the house?” he echoed. “Heavens, no!
It's closed up, of course, and I’ve left MacWhirter there
as caretaker. It was one of Leila's last wishes, you know,


A CHANCE MEETING II3
to give him employment when he came out of the Base Hos-
pital. I hadn't dreamed of disposing of it; I couldn't bear
to think of strangers in her garden, under her roof, in the
home she loved If I'm glad to be out of it, it's not that
I am callous, but that everything about it affects me too
much, George. You ought to be able to understand. If
I hug my grief I'll just simply go under, and Leila herself
wouldn't want that.”
“I do understand, old man.” George's voice trembled
now with quick sympathy, and Storm hid a smile of relief.
“You’re trying to be brave for her sake, and it is fine of you!
Stay away from the place by all means while it makes you
feel that way. You could do worse than take a lease here
for yourself next year when Jim's expires.”
Storm shook his head.
“I’ve been thinking that I’d like to take a trip somewhere,
later on,” he said slowly, watching the other's face through
narrowed lids. “A long trip; China or South America or
way up North. I could come back and start all over
again » -
“But your position with the Trust Company?” George
sputtered. “They couldn't put a man in your place and then
oust him for you when you came back.”
“I wouldn't expect them to,” Storm responded. “To tell
you the truth, I feel that I've been stagnating there, too.
It's a sinecure and I’ve been content to drift along sure of
the income and not taking chances, but I’m responsible for
no one else now and I can afford a risk.”
George rose. -
“Don’t do anything rash,” he advised. “Fifteen thousand
a year is a mighty safe little bet in these uncertain times, and
you've never known what it is to get out for yourself, you
know. You've got the habit of luxury xx


II4 ASHES TO ASHES
“And no business head? Thanks,” drawled his host
pleasantly. “I’m not going to make a fool of myself and kill
the goose until I find golden eggs elsewhere. That notion
of a trip was just an impulse. I may get over this restless
fit and settle down here permanently, after all. I like these
rooms of Jim's, and town looks good to me.”
Nevertheless, the next day found him in Wendle Foulkes'
office facing the keen old attorney with an air of quiet com-
mand which brooked no expostulation.
“How long will it take you to convert my securities into
cash?” he demanded. “When we talked about it a fortnight
ago I listened to you because of my wife, but now I’ve only
myself to consider, and I have a right to take a risk with
my own if I feel inclined.”
“Of course you have, my boy,” Foulkes returned slowly.
“I have gone beyond my province, perhaps, in trying to in-
fluence you, but I promised your father—however, I’ve noth-
ing more to say. I will have the cash for you in ten days.
You have exactly fifty thousand dollars, on which you've
been getting six per cent; I hope you'll be able to better it.”
“Thanks.” Storm was conscious of an air of defeat in
the old man's manner and he resented it vaguely, then
shrugged. What did it matter, anyway? He would be free
from this pettifogging nuisance soon enough. “About the
other matter P”
“You mean Leila's estate?” Foulkes' tone softened. “I
have the papers all here for you to look over. We must
advertise for claims for six months, of course—a mere for-
mality in this case—and then what she left can be turned
over to you. She had just fourteen thousand when she
married you and spent eleven of it. Here are the accounts.
It was a matter of pride with her to buy your Christmas and
birthday presents with her own money, Norman, and I


A CHANCE MEETING is
couldn’t gainsay her. Two thousand went for that black
pearl scarf-pin, three thousand 33
“Don’t l” Storm cried sharply. “I don't want to hear all
that! Send the papers up to my rooms. Can't you see P”
He stopped with a gesture of repugnance, and the attor-
ney, ignorant of the source of the other's emotion, nodded
compassionately.
“I know, my boy, but I want you to see how matters
stand. There are three thousand left, of the principal, which
were to have been paid to Jaffray for that land adjoining
yours, and accrued interest on the constantly depleted ori-
ginal capital which aggregates almost as much again. Her
estate, roughly speaking, will amount to between five and six
thousand dollars; I'll send you the exact figures.”
“I don't care about them! I'm not thinking of what she
left; it isn't that.” Storm rose, unable to meet the kindly
gaze of the older man. “I only want to get the whole thing
settled and done with. I can’t bear to discuss it; these details
are horrible, impossible for me to contemplate sanely just
yet!”
“I quite understand, Norman, but they must be attended
to, you know.” Foulkes rose and held out his hand. “I’ll
render you an accounting in six months, and then it will be
over.—About your own affairs. You have never taken the
advice I volunteered with very good grace, and I shall not
offer any now. I am getting old, and you are no longer a
boy; you know your own mind. However, if in the future
you feel the need of disinterested counsel or help you know
where to come for it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Storm felt an odd sense of contrition.
“I’m not going into that South American scheme. I shall
look around before deciding definitely on what I have in
mind, and I'm sorry if I have seemed to resent your interest


II6 ASHES TO ASHES
in the past. A man can't be in leading-strings all his life,
you know, and I have a good, conservative proposition now.”
He had. Storm chuckled grimly to himself as he de-
parted. Fifty thousand would carry him far away, give him
a year or two of utterly care-free existence, and leave a re-
spectable sum to start in some fresh venture. The European
countries were practically bankrupt; a little cash would bring
monumental return and in some continental capital he could
start a new life. Just as the thought of escape from Green-
lea had made his surroundings there suddenly intolerable,
so now the contemplation of utter freedom and a wider
vista brought with it an impatience, a longing for instant
action. The lease on Potter's rooms, the trumpery five thou-
sand from Leila's estate—these details need not deter or
delay him!
Another thought did, however. It was one thing, and a
perfectly natural one, under the circumstances, for him to
have closed the house and moved in town; it would be quite
another question were he to throw up a fifteen-thousand-a-
year job, seize all the cash he could lay his hands upon and
rush out of the country. No man in his sane senses would
take such a step unless some more urgent and sinister motive
actuated him than a mere desire for forgetfulness of grief
in strange scenes and a new environment.
Forcing himself to regard it from a detached point of
view, he saw the madness of that course. His imagination
conjured up the blank amazement which would ensue not
only among the Greenlea people, but in his town clubs, in
the Trust Company. There would be hints that grief had
unsettled his reason, then darker whispers still; whispers
which would grow in volume until the echo of them reached
him wherever he might be, at the uttermost ends of the
earth.


A CHANCE MEETING 117
He must not spoil all now by a precipitate move; he must
possess his soul in patience until a favorable opportunity
presented itself. He had inserted an opening wedge in
mentioning his tentative intention to George; in a few weeks
he would refer to it again, speaking of it casually but fre-
quently, as a trip with definitely planned limitations, and
hinting at a sound business proposition which awaited his
return. The idea must filter through the clubs and out to
Greenlea, must have become an old story before he finally
acted upon it, so that his going would occasion no remark.
Once away, it would be simple enough to cable his in-
structions regarding the sale of the house and postpone his
return from time to time until the old crowd had practically
forgotten him. George would remember, but old George
wouldn't suspect the truth if he vanished to-morrow !
With the onus of fear lifted from him, Storm still shrank
from solitude. Decency and convention precluded an im-
mediate return to his clubs, and he desired above all things
to avoid the society of those who knew him and the details of
the recent tragedy. He took to satisfying his gregarious need
by seeking out-of-the-way hotels and restaurants frequen-
ted for the most part by the visiting foreigners who thronged
the city, where, sitting long over his coffee, he could lose
himself in the study of his neighbors.
On an evening a few days after his interview with Foulkes
he was seated at a table in an old-fashioned French hostelry
far downtown, listening to the snatches of staccato conver-
sation which rose above the subdued cadences of the orches-
tra and watching the scene brilliant with the uniforms of half
a dozen nations, when to his annoyance he heard his name
uttered in accents of cheery surprise.
Turning swiftly he beheld Millard, flushed and evidently
slightly exhilarated, rising from the corner table where he


I2O ASHES TO ASHES
33
ruin to wait. out manº got his capital now
“But, my friend, Monsieur Storm is perhaps not inter-
ested; we bore him,” Monsieur du Chainat interrupted.
“The letter which our consul here has given me to your
great banker, Monsieur Whitmarsh, has interested him to
such an extent that the affair is all but closed.”
“Whitmarsh?” Storm pricked up his ears. The propo-
sition must be good if that most astute of international
financiers considered it.
“But, yes.” The Frenchman shrugged deprecatingly.
“It is, of course, a trifling matter to engage his attention,
but I am to have a second interview with him to-morrow at
three. I shall be happy to conclude my mission, for there
is attached to it the sentiment as well as what you call busi-
ness.”
A second interview ! Whitmarsh wasted no time, and
this must mean a deal. Sixty thousand dollars, and doubled
in three months! Storm leaned impulsively across the table.
“What is your proposition, Monsieur, if I may ask? It
sounds a trifle—er, unusual.”
“It is.” The Frenchman smiled again. “You will un-
derstand, Monsieur Storm, that in France it is not the cus-
tom to develop a manufacturing concern until it grows too
big for us and then sell out to a corporation. With us
business descends from generation to generation, it becomes
at once the idol and life of the family.
“My father-in-law, Henri Peronneau of Lille, has a soap
factory established by his grandfather. Twenty years ago,
a dishonest chemist in his employ stole the formula which
rendered the Peronneau soap famous and set up a rival
factory. Both, of course, were dismantled during the Ger-
man occupation.
“Monsieur Peronneau has been granted a loan of six hun-


122 ASHES TO ASHES
The conversation drifted into desultory topics and after
a half hour Monsieur du Chainat took his leave, dragging
the reluctant Millard with him. As for Storm, he sat long
over his cooling coffee, and until far into the night he pon-
dered the possibilities which this chance meeting opened
before him. The difference between sixty thousand dollars
and a hundred and twenty meant the difference between lux-
urious living and the petty economies which would try his
soul; between independence for years of travel and care-free
pleasure, and the necessity of knuckling down after a brief
respite to uncongenial money-grubbing. It must be all right
if Whitmarsh were going into it, and his letter left no room
for doubt on that score.
If he, Storm, had only met the Frenchman first!
In the morning he tried to concentrate on the affairs of
the Trust Company, but it was of no avail. The glittering
opportunity aroused all his gambling instinct and seemed all
the more alluring in that it was out of his reach. But was
it? Perhaps Whitmarsh would fail, for some reason, to
accept the proposition; not from lack of faith in its genu-
ineness, for he must have looked into it with his usual cau-
tion before going so far in the negotations; but he had been
known to turn down deals of much greater magnitude at the
last moment through sheer eccentricity.
If Du Chainat could offer bona fide securities and he
himself could obtain a mortgage of ten thousand on the
Greenlea house, he could add that to his capital and take
the plunge.
At noon, Storm telephoned to the Belterre and asked for
Monsieur du Chainat. -
“This is Storm talking, Millard's friend,” he answered.
“I called up, Monsieur, to tell you that if by any chance the
Whitmarsh deal falls through, I might consider your propo-


A CHANCE MEETING I23
ſchº
|
sition myself . . . Yes, call me up at my rooms, os 19 River-
side, at six. Good-bye.”
He hung up the receiver slowly. Suppose, after all, the
man should be an impostor? He would be risking all he
had in the world in the event that Whitmarsh did not take
the proposition; all that stood between him and the accursed
treadmill of existence here within reach of the memories
which thrust out their tentacles to crush him. If that Lille
soap factory were a myth !
He reached for the receiver once more and called the
French consulate. Yes, Monsieur Henri Peronneau, of Lille,
was well known to them. His son-in-law, Monsieur Maurice
du Chainat, was now in this country negotiating a loan to re-
construct the Peronneau factory. If Mr. Storm were in-
terested, a meeting could be arranged . . . .
Storm turned away from the booth with sparkling eyes.
If Whitmarsh refused the loan he would take a chance!
Luck must be with him still ; that marvelous luck which had
enabled him to elude the consequences of his crime was yet
running strong. At six o'clock he would know !


CHAPTER XI
LUCK
ROMPTLY at six that evening the telephone in
P Storm's apartment shrilled, and it had scarcely
ceased vibrating when he sprang to it and caught
up the receiver.
He uttered a quick monosyllabic assent to some evident
query, listened intently for a minute and then threw back
his head in a smile of elation. The next instant he was
speaking calmly, quietly.
“Too small a proposition for him to tackle, eh?” he ob-
served. “Well, I’m not a magnate, Monsieur du Chainat,
but I would like to talk it over with you. How about dining
with me in an hour at the Rochefoucauld where we met last
night? . . . . Bring along your papers, and we can come
back here later and go into the details . . . . Very good,
at seven.”
His luck was holding ! Old Whitmarsh had turned the
loan down as too petty a transaction to interest him. The
chance was his now, make or break! But pshaw! he
couldn't lose; not if Du Chainat's securities were all right.
Past failures had made him skeptical, but now fortune had
changed. A hundred and twenty thousand 1
He whistled exultantly as he changed from one somber
suit of mourning to another, and only paused when a casual
glance in the mirror brought home to him with a shock the
incongruity between his expression and his attire. He threw
back his shoulders defiantly.
I24


LUCK - I25
“The past is dead!” he muttered. “Three months, and
I shall be free to forget!”
Monsieur du Chainat met him in the hotel lobby and
greeted him with undiminished enthusiasm.
“I am delighted, Monsieur, that you find yourself inter-
ested,” he remarked, after their order had been given.
“Since I telephoned to you an hour ago I have received yet
another offer to take up the loan, this from an associate of
Monsieur Whitmarsh, whom he must have consulted; a
Monsieur Nicholas Langhorne. You perhaps have heard of
him P”
Storm nodded.
“I know him,” he said briefly, forbearing to add that the
gentleman in question was the president of the Trust Com-
pany which he ornamented with his presence. To get ahead
of old Langhorne ! That would be gratification enough
were the profits cut to a minimum.
“I have replied to him that the affair is already under
consideration”—Monsieur du Chainat poised a fragment
of hors d'oeuvre gracefully upon his fork, “but should
you not, after examining the documents I have brought,
desire to close, Monsieur, I will see him to-morrow.”
“‘To-morrow !’” Storm echoed in dismay. “I should like
a little longer time than that in which to decide. It may
take me some days to convert my capital into cash, and there
are other contingencies >>
“But Monsieur forgets that to me time is of paramount
importance.” The Frenchman's face had clouded. “It is
for that we pay one hundred per cent interest in three
months l When I have acquired the loan I do not even wait
for the ship which takes me back; I cable to my beau-pere
the money, that the work may start without an hour's delay.
You comprehend, Monsieur, how urgent is our need by the


126 ASHES TO ASHES
extent of our sacrifice. I shall have an inheritance from
my uncle soon, and I shall aid Père Peronneau in paying
off the government loan for which he is responsible when he
repays it with the debt we incur here. There is the senti-
ment as well as the business, as I told you last night, Mon-
sieur. If you could but see the beau-pêre—”
He drew a simple but graphic word picture of the old
manufacturer, but his listener was distrait. Could he get
the fifty thousand from Foulkes at such short order, to say
nothing of arranging the mortgage on the Greenlea house?
Monsieur du Chainat's haste seemed plausible enough, and
then there was Langhorne only too ready to snap up the
prize!
By heavens, if the Frenchman's security looked good to
him, he would raise the money, come what might!
And the security did look more than good when later
they repaired to his rooms, and Monsieur du Chainat pro-
duced his sheaf of multitudinous documents. There were
the unassailable correspondence on the letter heads of the
consulate, Henri Peronneau's authorization of his son-in-
law, Maurice Pierre du Chainat as his agent, duly signed
and attested to by the notary of Lille, a deed formally mak-
ing over to the lender of three hundred thousand francs—the
space for whose name was left significantly blank—the go-
vernment loan of six hundred thousand in its entirety, and
lastly a formidable-appearing document of the French go-
vernment itself announcing the grant of the loan.
“For further evidence of our good faith,”—Monsieur du
Chainat drew a second packet of papers from his pocket,_
“I have here a deed to the factory itself which can be held
as security. As you can see from this photograph, Monsieur,
the factory is a mere shell now, but a stout and solid shell,
and the land upon which it stands is worth more than the


LUCK 127
sum we require. Our government has not asked this secu-
rity of us but accepted instead some undveloped coal pro-
perties to the south. Here are the documents attesting to
that and also those which prove the factory to be the pro-
perty of Monsieur Peronneau, free of lien or mortgage.”
They talked until far into the night, and when the French-
man at length took his departure he bore with him Storm's
agreement to advance the loan.
The morning brought no breath of misgiving, save anxiety
lest he should fail in his efforts to secure the cash in the
space of twenty-four hours specified by Du Chainat. The
Trust Company would assume the mortgage on the Green-
lea house, he knew, and waive technicalities to give him the
ten thousand at once, but there remained Foulkes to be
managed, and if the old rascal knew that haste was impera-
tive to the transaction he would balk it in sheer perversity.
On one point Storm was determined; he would not take
Foulkes into his confidence, nor anyone.
He had a stormy session with the old attorney, adjourned
at noon only to be renewed with more wordy violence an
hour later; but in the end Storm emerged triumphant, with
a certified check for fifty thousand dollars and Foulkes' dis-
mal prophecies ringing in his ears. The mortgage on the
house was, as he had anticipated, a simple matter to arrange,
and on the following morning he handed to Monsieur du
Chainat the sixty thousand dollars which were to return to
him twofold.
The momentous transaction concluded, he repaired to
his desk at the Trust Company, gloating over the uncon-
scious bald head of Nicholas Langhorne. He had put one
over on him, beaten that conservative financier by a matter
of hours! Du Chainat had shown him Langhorne's letter,
and he read between the lines the latter's eagerness to grasp


I28 ASHES TO ASHES
the coveted opportunity which he had himself placed within
Storm's reach by taking up the mortgage. How he would
writhe if he knew who had forestalled him, just as he and
the rest would writhe if they realized the enormity of that
other affair which he had put over on all the world!
They would never learn the truth about Leila's death;
that was buried forever. But he would give much to tell
Langhorne how he had outwitted him, and watch the old
fox's facel Perhaps he would tell him some day, the day on
which his six hundred thousand francs came and he resigned
from the Trust Companyl
George Holworthy found him a strange companion for
the rest of the week. The faithful friend could not under-
stand his moods, for Storm, never easily comprehended by
the other's slow-moving brain, seemed all at once to develop
a complexity which utterly baffled him.
Storm himself found it difficult to preserve a calm and
resigned demeanor to mask his thoughts which seethed with
plans for the future. When haunting memories came un-
bidden, he thrust them fiercely aside, smothered them be-
neath the exultation of having escaped the lax hands of jus-
tice.
“Upon my soul, Norman, I don't know what to make of
you!” George complained one evening as they strolled up
the Drive. “If you were a woman, I'd swear you were hys-
terical l’’
Storm halted, glad of the semi-obscurity of the trees which
tempered the searching street lights.
“You’re crazy!” he retorted.
“No, I'm not,” insisted George in serious refutation.
“You’re down in the dumps one minute and all excited the
next. You haven't been speculating again?”
“Good Lord, no!” Storm breathed more freely. He


LUCK 129
must be careful! If old George thought his manner odd, how
would it impress others? “I’m through with all that sort
of thing.”
“Well, I didn't know,” the other said lamely. “There's
a streak of recklessness in you, and when you get in one
of those don't-give-a-hang moods of yours you are apt to
pull off some fool stunt 22
“My dear George I" Storm's tone was pained. “I’ve been
through enough, God knows, in the last few weeks to sober
me down >> -
“But it hasn't!” George persevered. “You seem hardened,
defiant, just in the frame of mind to do something desper-
ate? I tell you I've been worried about you these days.”
Storm shrugged ironically.
“Sorry I can't set your mind at rest,” he replied. “I
don’t seem to be taking what's come to me according to your
notions. First, you are disappointed because I don’t rant
around and tear my hair, and now you accuse me of hys-
terial”
“That's it; that's what I don't likel” exclaimed George.
“That callousness; it isn't natural, it isn't you! You're put-
ting it on because your trouble has made you defiant, bitter.
I know you, Norman, you can't fool me; I'm only trying to
help you, to keep you from doing anything you will have
cause to regret.”
“Don’t you worry,” Storm reassured him, the while his
face twitched with mirth. George knew him, did he? He
couldn't fool him? He checked an impulse to laugh aloud
and added quietly: “I’m not in such a desperate mood as you
imagine, old man; I can't seem to settle down to the new
order of things just yet, that's the trouble, but I’ve no inten-
tion of going to the dogs, financially or any other way. I'll
get a grip on myself soon.”


I3O ASHES TO ASHES
But as the days passed Storm did not find it so easy to
control himself. He had gained complete ascendancy over
the faint twinges of conscience which assailed him now with
less and less frequency, but with the assurance of absolute
safety came a dangerous, almost insane tendency to test that
safety. Although he had no desire to revisit the scene of
Leila's death, and shrank from any reference to her, the
subject of crime in general began to exert an inordinate
fascination for him, and with it his pride in his own achieve-
ment increased.
He eagerly awaited the news of Du Chainat's arrival in
France, and his occasional glimpses of President Langhorne
filled him with renewed complacency. He would most as-
suredly tell him about getting in ahead on that little deal one
of these days! -
The temptation became overwhelming one morning after
a brief interview with his august superior during which the
latter had called him to account, courteously but firmly, for
a trifling dereliction. The sting rankled, and at the door
he turned, the impulse to retaliate mastering him.
“Oh, Mr. Langhorne, you've heard of a man named Du
Chainat, I believe?”
The president looked up in surprise at his subordinate's
presumption.
“Du Chainat? Can't say I have,” he responded shortly.
Storm smiled and raised his eyebrows in polite incredulity.
“The agent in that little deal Whitmarsh was consider-
ing only last week; a loan for the reconstruction of a
French factor > y
“I am not in Mr. Whitmarsh's confidence, Mr. Storm.”
President Langhorne darted a keen glance at the other and
added: “May I ask why you assume that I know anything of
this particular affair?”


LUCK I31
“I understood that you were interested in it.” Storm
paused expectantly, but the president shook his head.
“Never heard of it,” he asseverated. “You’ve been mis-
informed, Mr. Storm. The man you mention is absolutely
unknown to me.”
He turned pointedly to his desk and Storm withdrew, still
smiling covertly. The old fox wouldn't admit that he had
tried to get in on the game, of course, now that someone
else had beaten him to it. Wait until he learned who that
someone was 1 The joke was so good that it would keep a
little longer, especially since Storm had given him some-
thing to puzzle over. He would have been a fool to give
it away now; old Langhorne could make it infernally un-
pleasant for him around the office if he chose.
The three months stretched interminably before him, and
George with dog-like fidelity seemed determined to stick
close and make it as irksome as he could. God, if only he
were free from them all !
Storm had left his own car locked in the garage at Green-
lea, but on an impulse he hired another when his work was
finished for the afternoon and had himself driven out to
a shore resort for dinner. The season had not yet opened,
and the place was semi-deserted, yet the isolation fitted in
with his mood. George would in all probability put in an
appearance at the apartment that evening, and to avoid him
Storm lingered deliberately over his meal and ordered the
chauffeur to take the longest way home.
He would not admit even to himself that the sudden
aversion to the companionship of the man he had for so
long regarded with amused, half-condescending tolerance
had sprung from the fact that George unconsciously brought
to his mind the aspects of his crime which he was most
determined to put behind him. George was a constant re-


132 ASHES TO ASHES
minder of the years which must be forgotten; his grief at
the loss of the woman who had given him a valued friend-
ship was a constant reproach.
How easy it had been to blind him to the truth! How
easy it had been to blind everybody! Why, a man with
sufficient intelligence could pull off almost anything in this
world and get away with it if he had only enough nerve and
self-control!
Storm was still smiling at the thought as he entered his
apartment house long after ten o'clock and found George
sitting patiently in the hall, his near-sighted eyes glued to
a newspaper.
“I waited for you,” the latter explained, happily oblivious
to the coolness of the reception. “Knew you wouldn't be
late, and I wanted a little talk with you.”
“Come on in,” Storm invited wearily, opening the door
and switching on the lights. “I ran out of town for a breath
of clean air.—The cigars are in the humidor; help your-
Self.”
George settled himself comfortably in a huge leather
chair and smoked in silence for a space, while Storm moved
restlessly about the room.
“I came,” remarked the visitor at length, “to ask you
what you know about Millard's nephew. He applied to us
for a job, and the only thing open is a rather responsible
position.”
“Don’t know anything about him,” snapped his host. “He
held some sort of minor clerical position in Washington
during the war. Weak chest and the only-son-of-his-mother
stuff kept him from active service. He's a likable enough
chap, plays good golf 22
George shook his head.
“Hardly material to the point,” he observed. “I want


LUCK 133
to know whether he's dependable or not; conscientious and
steady, not given up to these quick-rich ideas that get so
many young fellows. I tell you we can't be too careful now-
adays—”
Storm laughed shortly.
“My dear George, I wouldn't give you an opinion on
any man's honesty. Given the incentive and the opportu-
nity, how do we know where anyone gets off?”
“Oh, come, Norman l’” George's tone was scandalized.
“That's a pretty broad assertion. We're not all potential
criminals l’”
“No” Storm paused to light a cigar. “Well, if we're
not you must admit that the opportunities lie around thick
enough. The wonder of it is that there isn't more crooked-
ness going on l”
“The example of what happens to the fellow who has
tried it is a deterrent, I imagine,” George observed senten-
tiously. “When he's caught 25
“And when is he caught except through his own negligence
and loss of nerve?” demanded Storm, the train of thought
which had occupied his mind an hour before recurring to
him. “Certainly it isn't through the extraordinary ability
of society at large to track him down. A man gives himself
away; he is safe until he makes a mistake.”
“Then every crook in the world must be a bungler, for
they're all caught, sooner or later,” George retorted. “The
cleverest ones over-reach themselves in time.—Take this
fellow Jan Martens, or whatever his real name is. To be
sure, he hasn't been caught yet, but his game is up; he tried it
once too often.”
“Martens?” Storm repeated absently, his mind fixed upon
his own argument.
“Haven’t you looked at the evening papers?” asked


I34 ASHES TO ASHES
George. “He’s been working an old con. game with a new
twist and getting the suckers for anything from five to fifty
thousand. Worked Boston and Philadelphia before he came
here and got away with a tremendous haul. They only got
the goods on him to-day, but he had skipped. It was a clever
stunt, too; he played upon a combination of sympathy and
cupidity in his victims that only failed when he tackled a
wise one. His line was getting loans on forged securities
for rebuilding demolished property in France and Bel-
gium 33
“What?”
Storm was not conscious that he had spoken, that he had
turned and was staring at his visitor with wild eyes. He
only knew that George's solid, compact figure was wavering
oddly, and his voice seemed to come from far away.
“He rather upsets your theory, Norman,” George con-
tinued complacently, ignorant of the effect of his disclosure.
“He wasn’t giving himself away, by a long shot, and his
paraphernalia was certainly elaborate and imposing enough
in all conscience In Boston he posed as Jan. Martens, a
Belgian looking for a loan to rebuild the family chateau and
giving forged Congo properties as security. It worked so
well that when he came here he tried to improve on it, and
over-reached himself, as I contended a few minutes ago.
“A lot of foreigners are over here now trying to negotiate
perfectly legitimate loans on the same order, but with bona
fide securities to offer, and he fell in with one of them who
was vouched for at the French consulate here, a citizen of
Lille named Du Chainat.”
Storm drew a long breath.
“But this—Du Chainat is all right, you say?” he stam-
mered. “His proposition was legitimate?”
“Absolutely. He must have taken this Martens into his


LUCK I35
confidence, shown him his papers and left them where the
crook could get at them, for Martens forged a duplicate set,
—they found the stacks of counterfeit government deeds and
grants, both Belgian and French, in his room to-day together
with official letter-heads from the consulates, and then
when Du Chainat returned to France he impersonated him.
Du Chainat had put through his loan all right with Whit-
marsh.”
“When ” Storm moistened his dry lips. “When did
this Du Chainat leave America?”
“Three weeks ago, according to the paper. The impostor
was only exposed through a woman, too, a rich widow whom
he approached yesterday with his proposition; but he didn't
take into consideration the fact that she had lived abroad.
As it happened, she knew the Du Chainat family in Lille,
but by the time she made up her mind to risk notoriety and
inform the police of the attempted swindle the bird had
flown.”
He paused, but Storm had heard only the first three words
of his utterance. “Three weeks ago”! And only a week had
passed since he handed to the bogus Du Chainat every cent
he had in the world ! It couldn't be true! There must be
Some hideous mistakel
“Here, it's all in the paper. I was reading about it while
I waited for you. Want to see it?”
George picked up the newspaper from the table where
he had dropped it on entering, and Storm seized it, hoping
blindly, doggedly against all hope. His luck could not have
deserted him! Fate would not play him such a ghastly
trick now !
But the headlines stared at him in uncompromising type,
and the article itself left no room for doubt. He had been
despoiled of his only means of freedom! Penniless, he was


136 ASHES TO ASHES
chained forever to the environs of the past, to the friends
who had been Leila's, the life of which she had been a part.
The curse was upon him, and he might not even flee from the
memories which dogged him! He was bound hand and foot,
held fast!


CHAPTER XII
MIRAGE
ency of thought that it was blind instinct alone, not
conscious will, which had enabled him to shield the
death blow that had been given him from George Hol-
worthy's peering eyes. The crumbling of his air castles
had left him stunned, and he remembered nothing of the rest
of the interview save that George had moralized intermin-
ably and in leaving at last had harked back to the Millard
boy. Surely he would not have droned on of trivialities
had he gleaned an inkling of the tumult in his host's brain!
Until the morning light stole in at the windows Storm
paced the floor in a frenzy of consternation. He had one
slender hope: that the false Du Chainat would be appre-
hended. If he appeared against the scoundrel or entered
a complaint the resultant revelation of how easily he had
been fleeced would be a bitter pill to swallow. Old Lang-
horne would recall that conversation of the previous day,
and it would be his turn to smile, while Foulkes and George
would descend upon him with galling criticism and reproach.
He could endure it all, however, if only it would mean
the recovery of his money or even a portion of it! As his
hope of getting away vanished, the absolute need of such
escape grew in his thoughts until it assumed the proportions
of an obsession. He felt as if something he could not name
were tightening about him slowly but inexorably and he
S TORM realized later when the dawn brought coher-
I37


138 ASHES TO ASHES
struggled wildly to free himself from the invisible fetters.
If he had to stay on at the trust company, suffer George's
continual presence, run the daily gauntlet of mingled sym-
pathy and curiosity of his friends, he should go mad! Other
men lived down tragedies, went on in the same old rut until
the end of time, but he could not.
And then all at once the truth burst upon him! If Leila
had died a natural death as the world supposed; if she had
been taken from him in the high tide of their love and happi-
ness, he might have gone on with existence again in time with
no thought of cutting himself adrift from the past. It was
the secret knowledge of his guilt which was driving him
forth, which rendered unendurable all the familiar things
of his every-day life!
Yet he must endure them! Unless the bogus Du Chainat
were caught there was no way out for him.
Unconscious of irony, his breast swelled with virtuous
indignation at thought of the swindler and dire were the
anathemas he heaped upon the departed one. He searched
the papers feverishly, made what inquiries he dared without
drawing undue attention to himself and haunted the Belterre
grill for news, but all to no avail; and as day succeeded day
he developed a savage moroseness which rebuffed even
George's overtures. He would take no one into his confi-
dence; there would be time enough for admitting that he
had played the fool when the miscreant was caught. If he
were not, Storm determined to accept the inevitable in
silence; but day by day the obsession of flight increased.
Somehow, at any price, he must get away!
The papers still played up the pseudo Du Chainat as fur-
ther exploits of that wily adventurer were brought to light,
and the press gleefully baited the police for their inability
to discover whither he had flown. The flickering hope that


MIRAGE I39
he would be apprehended died slowly in Storm's breast, and
the blankness of despair settled upon him.
One morning Nicholas Langhorne sent for him, and before
the president spoke Storm sensed a subtle difference in his
manner. The pompous official attitude seemed to have been
laid aside, for once a warmly personal note crept into his
voice.
“Sit down, Storm; I want to have a little talk with you.”
The other seated himself and waited, but Langhorne seemed
in no hurry to begin. He took off his glasses, wiped them,
replaced them and then sat meditatively fingering a pen.
At last he threw it aside and turned abruptly to face his
subordinate.
“Storm, I knew your father well. We both started here
away down on the lowest rung of the ladder, and although
he soon branched out into a wider, less conservative field we
never allowed our friendship to flag. It was on his account
that we took you, and because of his memory you were
given preference over more experienced men.”
He paused and Storm stiffened, but he replied warily:
“I am aware of that, Mr. Langhorne. I hope that I have
executed my duties 32
Langhorne waved him to silence.
“I have no complaint to make. I sent for you because
my personal interest in you as the son of my old friend has
caused me a certain amount of disquietude. When you
came to me a fortnight ago and requested that I arrange
an immediate mortgage on your suburban property I waived
the usual procedure and complied at once. It was not my
province to question your need or use of the money, although
I knew of your previous unfortunate ventures, and I hoped
that you had not again been ill-advised.
“A week later—ten days ago, to be exact—you came to


140 ASHES TO ASHES
me and mentioned a person named Du Chainat, whom you
said had been in negotiation with Mr. Whitmarsh. This
Du Chainat, or rather the man impersonating him, has been
exposed as a swindler on a rather large scale. I trust that
you yourself did not fall a victim to him?”
Storm's eyes flashed, but he held himself rigidly in control.
Bleat to this fathead and give him an opportunity to gloat?
He would see him damned first!
“Hardly, Mr. Langhorne.” He allowed the ghost of a
smile to lift the corners of his mouth. “The investment
I had in mind was quite another sort.”
Langhorne frowned doubtfully.
“You appeared to take it for granted that I knew this
Du Chainat. May I ask what your motive was in mention-
ing him to me?”
Storm hesitated and then replied with seeming candor:
“Well, if you want the truth, Mr. Langhorne, I–er, I
believed that you yourself were one of his intended vic-
tims.”
“I, sir?” The president stared.
“Yes. I met this man in the Rochefoucauld grill one
night, and he worked his usual game; told me of the loan
he was attempting to negotiate and said Whitmarsh had
turned it down because it wasn't a big enough proposition
for him. Du Chainat, as he called himself, showed me
your letter, and as I had reason to distrust him I ventured
to mention the matter to you, thinking that I might be of
service in warning you of the whispers I had heard against
him.”
“My letter?” Langhorne gripped the arms of his chair.
“I never wrote a letter to the man in my life!”
“When you denied having heard of him,” Storm con-
tinued, unmoved by the other's expostulation, “I naturally


MIRAGE I4I
concluded that you resented my intrusion into your private
affairs, and said nothing more. The man was exposed in
the evening papers that very night, as I remember.”
“You saw a letter purporting to have been written by
me?” the president demanded.
“I would have been willing to swear to your signature,
Mr. Langhorne,” replied Storm.
“Forgery !” The clenched hand came down upon his
desk. “That signature was forged 1 I'll look into this
when the fellow is caught. His effrontery is astounding!
What was the gist of this letter, Storm?”
“An intimation that you would advance the loan,” he
responded dully. There was no mistaking now the sincer-
ity of the other's indignation. “The letter was a forgery, of
course, as you say, but it was a remarkably clever one. The
signature was almost identical in every detail with yours.”
“I wish you had told me of this before l’” The president
fumed. “This may cause a vast amount of trouble. How-
ever, I am glad to be assured that you were not victimized
by this person. By the way, this is not my custom—in fact
it is emphatically against my rule, especially where officers
of the company are concerned—but I shall be glad to make
an exception in your case, Storm. I may be able to give
you a little advance information, strictly confidential, you
understand, on a certain investment later, if you are looking
for one.”
“Thank you, Mr. Langhorne. I'm not thinking of making
any just now.” He smiled again, reading the other's motive,
and added pointedly: “I have mentioned the Du Chainat
letter to no one else, of course, nor shall I do so.”
The president flushed but dismissed him with forced cor-
diality, and Storm returned to his own sanctum in a bitter
mood. Even the small satisfaction of believing that Lang-


I42 ASHES TO ASHES
horne, too, had fallen for the alluring proposition was de-
nied him l
At noon, as he left the trust company building to go to
the luncheon club of which he was a member, he collided
with Millard.
“Hello, there! Just coming in to see you.” The little
man's usually apoplectic face was pale, and his small, beady
eyes shifted nervously beneath Storm's gaze. “Where are
you off to?”
“Lunch,” replied the other briefly. Confound the little
golf hound ! It was he who got him into the Du Chainat
affair!
“Then have it with me, do!” Millard urged. “I want to
talk to you. Let's run in to Peppini's where we can be
quiet.”
Storm was on the point of refusal, but something in the
other's manner made him change his mind.
“If you like.” He turned, and Millard fell into step be-
side him. “How's the golf coming along?”
“Hang golf l’ Millard exploded. “I’ve had other things
on my mind, Storm, old chap! I’ve been in the very devil
of a hole, and Mrs. M.–well, you know what she is when she
has got anything on me! I haven't had a minute's peace.”
“What's the trouble?” Storm asked perfunctorily as they
entered the little restaurant and made for a corner table.
Millard did not reply until the waiter had taken their order
and departed. Then he leaned confidentially across the table.
“It’s all about the scoundrel, Du Chainat,” he began.
“You remember him; chap I introduced to you in the
Rochefoucauld. By Jove, I owe you an apology for that!”
“Not at all.” A hidden thought made Storm's lips curl
in grim humor. “We are all of us apt to be mistaken in the
people we think we know.”


MIRAGE I43
“That's what I say!” corroborated Millard eagerly.
“How're you going to tell a crook nowadays? The fellow
took me in absolutely! And now, to hear Mrs. M. talk you
would think I had been in league with him!”
“You tried to get her to go into one of his schemes,
didn't you?” Storm asked. The other nodded gloomily.
“I did, and I shall never be permitted to hear the last of
it!” he observed. “That isn't what is worrying me, though.
You see, I introduced him around pretty generally, and if
any of my friends fell for his graft I should feel personally
responsible. There you are, for instance; that's what I wan-
ted to see you about, Storm; I hope to the Lord that you
didn't—”
“Not by a damn sight!” Storm retorted savagely. Was
he to go through a repetition of the scene with Langhorne?
“What do you take me for? I’m not looking to line the
pockets of every adventurer that comes along.”
Millard winced.
“All right, old chap, only I was anxious. You seemed
interested that night.”
“I was, in the man himself; he was a new type to me,
but I don't mind telling you now that I didn't trust him.”
Storm smiled patronizingly. “I don't wonder his little pro-
position looked good to you. It did to me; too good. Money
isn’t so scarce for a legitimate deal that a man has to offer
one hundred per cent profit in three months. You would
have realized that yourself if you had stopped to think. The
trouble with you was that the man's personality blinded you,
Millard. I'll admit that he was a plausible rascal, but if
anyone had been fool enough to fall for his game they de-
served what was coming to them.”
“I suppose so,” Millard mumbled shamefacedly. “Any-
how, they’ve got him now.”


I44 ASHES TO ASHES
“What!” Storm sat back in his chair.
“Fact. I’ve just come from Police Headquarters.”
Millard nodded, visibly cheered by the impression his an-
nouncement had made. “It has been established beyond a
doubt that he is on board the Alsace en route for France.
He'll be arrested the moment they reach Havre.”
Storm's brain whirled, yet he strove mightily to command
himself. Millard must not know, must not guess! Could
it be after all that luck had not deserted him? Hope had
died so utterly that he found it difficult to believe this sudden
turn of fortune.
“How can they be sure?” he stammered. “There may be
some mistake.”
“Not a chance!” Millard, his equanimity restored, chat-
tered on. “His movements have been traced from the mo-
ment he left the hotel until he walked up the gangplank, and
they've got him dead to rights. Nervy of him to go back
to France when he knew the Government was out after
him, wasn't it? I suppose he banked on that; that they
would never dream he would dare to return. He's under
a different name, of course, and all that, but the detectives
have been in wireless communication with the captain of
the Alsace and there isn't a loophole of escape for him. He
is cornered like a rat in a trap and a good job, too !”
The garrulity of his companion had given Storm time to
collect himself. He must learn all that he could and yet not
seem too eager. He shrugged.
“His cleverness didn't get him far, did it?” he remarked
with elaborate carelessness. “Let’s see; the Alsace sailed
three days ago, if I am not mistaken.”
“Four,” the other corrected him. “She won't reach port
for another three days, however; traveling slow, for there
has been a report of some floating mines having been sighted


146 ASHES TO ASHES
“Don’t ‘assure’ me, Millard; I know you!” Storm laughed;
then his face sobered. “How is everyone out at the Coun-
try Club?”
“Fine !” Millard waxed enthusiastic at the welcome change
of topic. “We’ve taken on some more members; a new
family or two from out Summit View way, and a most
attractive widow. We talk of you a lot, Storm. You can't
think what a gap your poor wife's death and your leaving
us has made in the community! She was a wonderful
little woman! You've no idea how she is missed.”
“I think I have,” Storm responded quietly.
“Oh, forgive me, old chap!” Millard flushed with honest
contrition. “You more than anyone else in the world must
feel—but I’m glad to see that you are not taking it too
hard.”
Storm shot a quick glance at him. Was there a suggestion
of criticism in the other's tone?
“One cannot always see,” he said stiffly. “Sometimes a
thing cuts too deep to show on the surface. But I can't
talk about it even yet, Millard. I can't find words.”
He couldn't. One thought alone was racing through his
brain. His sixty thousand was safe, after all! It would be
given into his hands again, and he would be free! Free from
these hypocritical mouthings about a dead past, these con-
stant reminders of the old life!
What a fool he had been to disclaim so emphatically to
both Langhorne and Millard the fact that he had been
victimized How they would laugh at him when the truth
came out! Well, let them! Unconsciously he squared his
shoulders. He would have the last laugh, sixty thousand
of them! God, what a reprieve!
The afternoon passed in a glamor of renewed hope and
revived plans. No more trifling with investments for him!


MIRAGE I47
When once the money was safely in his possesssion again
he would throw up his position without a day's delay and
catch the first steamer that sailed, no matter for what port
she cleared. Anywhere! Any war-riddled, God-forsaken
corner of the globe would be heaven after this caged ex-
istence, surrounded by potential spies—and judges!
He was dimly aware that those with whom he came in
contact that afternoon gazed at him curiously, but for once
he was heedless of their possible criticism. The exalted
mood lasted throughout his solitary dinner, and on returning
to his apartments he ignored a painfully spelled message
which Homachi had left requesting him to call up “Mr. Hol-
worti” and paced the floor in utter abandonment to the joy
which consumed him.
His days of slavery and imprisonment were over ! Just
at the moment when life had looked blackest to him and all
hope was gone, the shackles were struck from him and the
way lay open to a new existence. Never again would he
decry his luck! His capital, which had shrunk to insignifi-
cance before the wild idea of doubling it, now loomed large
before him. It meant freedom, life!
He would go to the Far East. Many changes were bound
to come there, many opportunities would arise in the general
upheaval of worldwide readjustment to the new order of
things, and the colorful atmosphere there had always held a
fascination for him. Europe would do later, but at first he
would lose himself in the glamor of a new world.
He halted, drawn from his reverie by the sound of con-
fused, raucous shouting in the street, and realized vaguely
that it had been going on for some time. His apartment
was on the ground floor, and he opened a window of the
living-room and leaned out. The Drive seemed deserted,
but on the block below he descried two retreating


148 ASHES TO ASHES
figures with flat white bundles beneath their arms.
Their shrill call came again to his ears.
“Wuxtry | Turr'ble disaster! . . . All on board I.”
A train wreck, perhaps. Storm was withdrawing his head
when from the second newsboy came the cry which struck
terror to his heart.
“French steamer wrecked at sea! Awful loss of life!”
The Alsace! For a moment Storm stood as though pet-
rified; then, turning, he dashed hatless from the apartment
and out into the street. The newsboy raced toward him and
he tore a paper from the grasp of the foremost, thrust some
silver into his hand and made for the apartment once more.
He dared not halt beneath a street lamp to read the staring
headlines; he must be secure from observation behind closed
doors when he learned the truth.
It might be some other ship. It must bel Fate would
not hold out this promise of a reprieve to him only to snatch
it away just as his fingers closed upon it!
Again in his apartment, he approached the lamp and
spread the paper out with shaking fingers. There in bold
lack letters which seemed to dance mockingly before him
he read:—
“S. S. Alsace Lost at Sea. No survivors.”
He tried to read on, but the letters ran together before
his eyes, and he dashed the paper to the floor. The walls
of his prison closed in upon hi again, stiflingly, relentlessly!
The cup had once more beer. dashed from his lips, and a
groan of utter despair surged up from his heart while the
bitterness of death settled upon him.


CHAPTER XIII
THE BLACK BAG
ORNING found Storm with a desperate, hunted
M look in his eyes still pacing the floor, his heart sick
within him. Why had that blundering ass, Millard,
told him yesterday? Why had he been plunged in the mad-
ness of a fool's paradise for a few short hours, only to be
drawn back into an existence that had become all the more
unbearable by contrast?
He had contrived a sufficient measure of calmness in the
late hours to read the amplification of the damning head-
lines. The Alsace was supposed to have struck one of the
floating mines of which she had been warned, and to have
gone down with all on board. No calls for help had been
received by wireless, no survivors picked up. Another liner,
westward bound, had run into a mass of wreckage on the
course of the unfortunate ship; wreckage which denoted
a fearful explosion and fragments of which bore the name
“Alsace”. That was all; but it was conclusive, damning
to Storm's last hope. t
The morning's news had little to add save a verification
of the ocean tragedy in a message radioed from a second
ship which had encountered the flotsam of the wreck. It
was evident beyond peradventure of a doubt that the ill-
fated Alsace had been blown to atoms, and all on board must
have perished instantly with her.
The article was followed by a copy of the passenger list
I49


I50 ASHES TO ASHES
together with brief obituaries of the more prominent of the
wreck's victims, and beneath it was a terse paragraph which
verified Millard's disclosures of the previous day. The no-
torious swindler, Jan Martens, alias Maurice du Chainat,
was known to have been on board, and arrangements had
been made to take him in custody upon the arrival of the
ship at her destination; in fact he had been placed nominally
under arrest by the captain of the Alsace, as the last wire-
less message known to have been sent out from the unfor-
tunate ship announced. It was feared that the bulk of
the money netted by his gigantic swindle had gone down
with him.
Storm left his breakfast untasted, deaf to the polite con-
cern of Homachi, and took his miserable way to the trust
company. God, how he loathed it all! The very sight of
his desk, familiar through long years of usage, awoke anew
the spirit of senseless, futile revolt; doubly futile now since
the mirage of a different future had risen again only to be
blotted out.
In the bitterness of soul which surpassed anything he had
known in his blackest hours, Storm forced himself to go
through with the dreary round; but the close of day found
him desperate, at bay. He could not go on! What was the
use, anyway? What did the future hold for him now? Only
memories which rose up in the silent hours to take him by
the throat, from which there could be no escape while life
lasted
With the waning afternoon the sky had become overcast,
and twilight brought a gentle summer rain through which
Storm plodded doggedly. Food was distasteful, the thought
of a restaurant was abhorrent to him in his morose mood,
and yet he shrank from hours of solitude in his apartment.
He was afraid of himself, afraid to think, and he longed des-


I52 ASHES TO ASHES
of all nights when he needed human companionship seemed
to be in some strange predicament, but he did not stop to
question. He was only too glad of the promised relief from
solitude.
“Come along! I've got just the place. Lord, but it's
good to see you! We'll go straight up to my own rooms.
My man will have gone, but I can rustle up some grub and
anything else you feel like having.”
He gestured toward the line of waiting taxicabs, but
Horton drew back.
“Where are you living?” he asked, with a trace of ner-
VOuSneSS.
“Riverside Drive,” Storm replied impatiently. “Come
on, old man, your umbrella's leaking.”
“Is there a subway station near you?”
“Yes, of course, only a block or two away. But what
in the >>
“Never mind now. Let's go up that way,” his friend
proposed. “I’m not stuck on these taxis under the present
circumstances. A lot of the fellows that drive them are
crooks, and you never can tell Me for the subway,
and don't talk too much on the way up, Norman. This is
serious business.”
“All right,” Storm acquiesced shortly. “But let me carry
that bag, won't you? You've got enough with that umbrella
and brief case.”
“Not on your life!” responded Horton with emphasis. I'll
carry it myself. You lead the way, Norman.”
Storm obeyed. He had known little of Horton in the
past and nothing of how or where the years since their
college days had been passed. Without having much in
common, they had traveled in the same crowd during the
first term at the university, and many had been the scrapes,


THE BLACK BAG I53
engendered by Horton's reckless love of fun and Storm's
rebellion against discipline, which they had shared.
Horton had been compelled to leave college at the end
of the freshman year by his father's failure and gradually
had dropped from sight of his old classmates. In the first
few years he had been heard of now and then in widely
different parts of the country, employed in positions of minor
responsibility, but of late no news had come and Storm had
forgotten him completely until this passing glimpse of his
face recalled old associations.
In the subway he studied his companion furtively. Hor-
ton's figure had grown heavier with the years, his face more
full but healthily tanned, while the prominent jaw and clear,
steady eyes betokened added strength of character. Storm
speculated on his possible circumstances; his clothes were
of good quality but obviously ready-made, and the bluff
heartiness of his manner suggested an association with men
of a rougher caliber than Storm himself counted among
his friends. Here was a man who had mastered circum-
stances, not permitted himself to be enslaved by them!
Storm wondered what the other would do in his place. At
least he would not allow penury to hold him chained to an
existence which, had become unendurable ! Then he dis-
missed the idea with a shrug. Horton could never stand in
his place; he would not have the cleverness to cloak murder
in the guise of accident, or the quick wit and self-control to
see it through. No one could have done it save Storm him-
self
When they reached his station he touched Horton lightly
on the arm to appraise him of the fact and was amazed at
the latter's quick, defensive start. What did the man fear?
His secretiveness, his evident intention at first to deny his
identity: what could they portend? Could it be that Horton


I54 ASHES TO ASHES
was a fugitive from justice? Storm smiled at the thought.
Why, he himself, if the world only knew !
But Horton’s ebullient spirits bubbled over when they
emerged on the street level, and a hasty glance about assured
him that no other pedestrians were near.
“Lord, but it's good to be in New York again, Norman l’”
he exclaimed. “The old burg is the greatest little spot on
God's green earth, let me tell you! The sight and sound and
smell of it get into a fellow's blood. Talk about the East
a-calling! It's deaf and dumb compared to the urge of little
old Manhattan l’”
“Feel that way about it?” Storm's lips curled as he
remembered his own glowing, futile dreams of the Far East.
“You bet I do!” Horton shifted his umbrella to grasp
more firmly the small black bag which he was carrying. “Do
you know, Norman, there have been nights down in Mexico
and up in Alaska and out on the plains when I would have
given five years of my life for an hour here ! Mind you,
it isn't so much the bright lights—I can’t afford, for more
reasons than one, to cut loose as I used to—but it's what
these literary cusses call atmosphere', I guess; there's some-
thing in life here, any phase of it, that gets under a guy’s
skin and makes him itch to get back!”
“Mexico? Alaska?” repeated Storm with unconscious
envy. “You’ve been about a bit, Jack, haven't you?”
“Surest thing you know !” The other laughed, adding,
as Storm halted: “This where you hang out? Oh, boy!
Some class to you!”
“I took these rooms off the hands of a friend only lately,”
Storm replied, wincing in spite of himself at Horton's un-
couth appreciation. “I have lived out of town for years.”
He opened the apartment door and switched on the lights,
and his companion gave a low whistle. -


THE BLACK BAG I55
“Some class!” he repeated admiringly. “You must have
made good, Norman.”
There was an element of surprise in his tone that nettled
his host.
“I’m an official of the Mammoth Trust Company, you
know,” he said loftily. “Let me take your coat, Jack, and
just put your bag down anywhere.”
Horton allowed himself to be divested of his coat and
hat, but when he followed Storm into the living-room he was
still carrying the black bag, which he deposited on a corner
of the couch, seating himself beside it.
“Mammoth Trust, eh?” he repeated. “Your old man was
a big bug there at one time, wasn't he? I remember you
used to talk about it in the old days; said he was going to
get you an easy berth there when you graduated. By Gad,
you did fall in soft!”
Storm flushed at the imputation, although he found no
words with which to deny it. What a rough boor Jack had
become! He almost regretted that he had brought him
home. Still, even he was better than no one.
“Cocktail?” he asked suggestively.
Horton shook his head.
“I’m off the fancy stuff,” he replied. “The fact is, I'm
not supposed to be touching anything at all, but I may as
well take the lid off since we're going to make a night of it.
Got any Scotch?”
Storm produced the bottle, siphon and two tall glasses,
and went into the kitchen to crack some ice. His guest
followed him to the door after a quick backward glance at
his bag.
“Great little place you've got here.” He glanced about
him and back at his host. Then for the first time he noted
the latter's mourning garb, and his eyes widened. “Look


156 ASHES TO ASHES
here, Norman, you — you've lost someone. Not your
wife ?” Storm nodded.
“You don't say! I'm confoundedly sorry, old scout
Horton exclaimed with real feeling. “I knew you were
married, of course; saw your wife's picture in the society
papers more than once a few years ago. When you brought
me here and I lamped it was a typical bachelor's diggings, I
didn't like to ask questions; divorces here are thicker than
flees below the border, and you never can tell. When did
it happen, Norman?”
“A little over a month ago.” Storm turned to the ice
chest as if to cut off further questions or attempt at sym-
pathy, but Horton was as impervious to snubs as a good-na-
tured puppy.
“Isn't it hell?” he soliloquized. “When a fellow's happy,
something rotten always happens. Beautiful woman, wasn't
she? Any kids?” -
“No,” replied his host shortly. “Come on, let's have our
drink and then we'll see what we can dig up for dinner.
Homachi usually stuffs the pantry shelves pretty well.”
The glasses were filled and Horton raised his, somewhat
uncomfortably oppressed with the lack of fitting words.
Storm forestalled him hastily.
“I don't talk much about my trouble, Jack. Let's try to
forget it for to-night. This is a reunion, and I'm damn glad
to have you here! Happy days!”
Horton nodded and drank deeply, drawing a long breath
of satisfaction.
“That's the stuff!” he approved. “Some kick to it, all
right! Do you ever see anything of the old crowd?”
“I run into one or another of them at the club now and
then.” Storm put down his glass. “I’ll go and investigate
the pantry; you must be starved.”
!"


THE BLACK BAG I57
“I could do with a little nourishment,” Horton acquiesced.
“Let me help you rustle the grub. You don't look as if you
were much of a hand at it.”
“Are you?”
Horton laughed boisterously.
“Just watch me!” he cried. “I’ve been roughing it for
years, in one way and another; mining camps, oil leases,
cattle ranches and even a tramp steamer.”
“Really? You haven’t told me a thing about yourself
yet, Jack. The last I heard of you, you were working in a
bank out in Chicago.”
“Yeah!” Horton snorted disgustedly. “Nice kid-glove-
and-silk-hat job; thirty bucks a week and a bum lung.—
Say, where can I put this bag of mine?”
“Why, leave it here.” Storm stared. “Nobody is going
to walk off with it.”
“Not if I know it, they're not!” returned his guest with
emphasis. “I’ve got some mighty important stuff in here.
Got any place where I can lock it up? I'd feel easier in
my mind—”
“Why, of course!” Storm threw open a closet door.
“Here, keep the key yourself if it will give you any satis-
isfaction. Now come on; I'm hungry, myself.”
They found the pantry well stocked and made a hearty
meal. Storm, usually an abstemious drinker, poured out
a second Scotch and under its influence grew expansive.
He regaled his guest with tales of high finance, adroitly
registering his own importance in the trust company and his
intimacy w Jh men of large affairs. It was only later when
they returned again to the living-room that he became con-
scious of a seeming reticence on the part of his friend.
“But tell me about yourself,” he demanded. “Will you
smoke? Try one of these.”


158 ASHES TO ASHES
He offered the humidor, and Horton selected a cigar and
eyed it almost reverently.
“A fifty-centerl” he exclaimed. “Gee, you're hitting the
high spots, all right, and I don't wonder after what you've
been telling me! As to myself—well, I'm no great shakes,
but I’m not kicking. I've had a pretty good time of it, by
and large.”
“But you said something about lung trouble.” Storm lit
his own cigarette and held the match to the other's cigar.
“You certainly don't look it now.”
“Fact, though,” Horton nodded. “Good thing, too, or I
would have been a pasty-faced, pretty-mannered bank clerk
to this day. It was a question of living out in the open or
dying in a hall room, and the West looked good to me. I
started in as paymaster in a mining camp, and believe me
it was some job for a tenderfoot who had never been nearer
to a gun than across the footlights at a melodramal I
learned to travel heeled and be quick on the draw and a few
other things; human nature generally. It's funny the fa-
scination other's people's money has for some folks. Never
felt that way myself; I guess that's why I've usually had
charge of the payroll.”
Storm smiled bitterly, his thoughts reverting to the pseudo
Du Chainat and his own money lying now at the bottom of
the sea. He had boasted of his affluence to Horton to soothe
his wounded self-esteem at the latter's naive appraisement
of him, but his own predicament had returned with crush-
ing force. Happily, Horton was aware of no lack of re-
sponse on the part of the host.
“Yes, sir!” he continued. “It’s no credit to me that I’ve
run straight, but it kind of gives a fellow a damned good
feeling to know that folks realize without question that he's
worthy of trust. Why, right now !” He broke off and


THE BLACK BAG I59
added in a lower tone: “I’m a hell of a fellow to pin medals
on myself I ought to be miles away this minute and going
fast. Couldn't resist a glimpse of the old town, though, and
I reckon I can take care of myself. I thought I would just
look 'round a bit and then be on my way, but you came
along 22
“And you tried to pass me up!” Storm recalled the other's
furtive manner. “What is the game, anyway, Jack? Where
are you bound for?”
“A jumping-off place back in the Alleghanies.” Horton
grimaced. “Some different from your berth here, isn't it?
You've got a nice mahogany roll-top, I suppose, and nothing
on your mind but your hat, while I travel with my eyes
peeled and my finger on the trigger. See this?”
He reached in his hip pocket and produced a blunt-nosed
pistol which winked wickedly in the light.
“Good heavens ! What do you carry that thing around
with you for?” Storm gasped.
“Looks like business, doesn’t it? Fact is, I'm pay-master
now for one of the biggest coal companies in Pennsylvania,
and when you've got charge of a small fortune every month
and an army of Hunkies and general riff-raff know it, it’s
just as well to be on the look-out.” He laid the weapon on
the table and ground out the stub of his cigar regretfully
in the ash-tray. “That was some smoke!”
“Have another,” Storm invited. “I only smoke cigarettes
myself, but these cigars are supposed to be pretty good, I
believe.”
“They are that!” his guest agreed with unction. “Lord,
I don't know when I’ve had a feed like this, and three good
hookers of Scotch and such tobaccol” He lighted a fresh
cigar and sprawled back in his chair with a sigh of content.
“This is certainly the life!” -


I6o ASHES TO ASHES
“There’s more Scotch
Horton shook his head.
“Not for mine, thanks. I’m at peace with the world. If
it weren't for that bag of mine—”
“What's in it, anyway?” Storm asked idly. “Money for
your gang out there?”
“You’ve guessed it, son.” Horton sat up suddenly. “I’ll
show you something that will make your eyes pop out, for
all your big deals | You fellows who write checks and tear
off coupons don't know what money is; it is only when you
handle the actual coin in bulk that you realize what it stands
for.”
He crossed to the closet and unlocked it while Storm
watched him, diverted in spite of himself at the other's
complacency.
“Here you are l’” Horton placed the bag on the table and
opened it. “Have a look!”
Storm obeyed. Packets of yellow-backed bills, sheaves
on sheaves of them, met his gaze, and cylinders of coins.
The bag was filled to the brim with them!
“All gold l’Horton explained, pointing to the cylinders.
“Some of the Hunkies won't take anything else. Do you
know how much I’ve got here, old scout? One hundred and
twelve thousand, five hundred and fifty-two dollars and
eighty-four cents!”
” Storm began suggestively, but


CHAPTER XIV
IN HIS HANDS
his sang-froid. Horton's psychology had been sound;
it was one thing to deal in figures and quite another
to view the actual cash before one.
“This is some money!” He unconsciously adopted his
companion's slang. “I don't wonder you go heeled, as you
call it, with that much at stake l’’
“I’ve handled twice as much during the war, when we
were speeding up production to the limit,” Horton boasted
as he fastened the bag and placed it on the floor at his feet.
“Twice as much and then some, and never lost a cent! I'm
not taking any chances, though; the constabulary down there
do their part, and a wonderful lot of fellows they are, but
they can't be everywhere at once. The last guy that held
my job was found in a thicket by the road with his head
bashed in. The birds that got him were caught, but a lot
of good it did him! No, sir. I take mighty good care not
to land in his shoes!”
A hundred and twelve thousand dollars! The figures
themselves held an odd fascination for Storm, and he could
not keep his eyes from straying to the bag.
“I had an experience out in Montana in the early days
when I was new to the game.” Horton settled back once
more luxuriously into his chair. “I was only carrying five
thousand then, but it looked as big as a million to me, and
I. contemplation of the money Storm was stirred despite
I6I


I62 ASHES TO ASHES
I don't mind telling you that I was plumb scared of the
responsibility. I had a wild bit of road to cover between
the town and the mine, and I jumped at every shadow. We
had a rough lot out there, too; scum of the earth, even for
a raw mining camp. One night four guys that we had
turned off laid for me; they'd have done for me, too, only
by sheer dumb luck I got the drop on them first. I held
'em there, all four of 'em, till a gang of our own men came
along, but it was a narrow squeak for me! Lord, but I was
one sick hombre ſ”
He chuckled reminiscently, but his host did not smile.
Instead, his lips tightened and an avid gleam came into his
eyes. A hundred and twelve thousand dollars! What it
would mean to him If he had Jack's opportunity !
“There was another time down in Mexico.” His guest
was in the flood tide of garrulity now, all unconscious of
the train of thought his innocent display had evoked. “A
couple of greasers tried to stick me up, but I drilled a hole
in one of them, and the other beat it for the hills. It’s tame
here in the East compared to those days, but there's always
a chance of trouble in my game.”
How ridiculously small and flimsy the black bag looked
to contain such tremendous potentialities l All that Du
Chainat's alluring proposition had held out, and more, was
there before him in the custody of this smirking, self-assured
boor! Storm felt a wave of unaccountable hatred for the
other man sweeping over him. What right had Jack Horton
to flaunt that money in his face? God, if it were only his
He roused himself to realize that the other was eying
him in a crestfallen fashion, disappointed that his narrative
had seemed to make no impression, and Storm collected
his vagrant thoughts.
“I envy you your experiences,” he said. “The element


IN HIS HANDS 163
of danger must be exhilarating. To walk out of the station,
as you did to-night, and realize that if the very men who
rubbed shoulders with you in the street knew what was in
that bag your life might not be worth tuppence—”
“Say, look here!” Horton showed traces of alarm. “I
told you in confidence, old scout! For the love of Pete, don't
mention it! It would mean my job if the company heard that
I had been flashing the payroll! They must never get onto
it that I stopped off in town; no one must know ! You'll
keep it a secret that you met me?”
“Of course.” Storm nodded. “You don't know how
well I can keep a secret, Jack!”
“You're the only living soul who knows where I am this
minute!” The other chuckled, reassured. “Not that I’ll be
missed for these few hours. The company don't check me
up on time nor keep tabs on me; they know I'm honest, and
the money is as safe in my care as though it were still in
the bank.”
“The only living soul who knows where I am!” The words
rang in Storm's ears with the insistence of a tolling bell, and
a tremondous, sinister idea was born. Nothing stood between
him and the money there before his eyes, within reach of
his hand, but this cocksure fatheadl If he could get it away
from him, secretly, without the other's knowing But that
was impossible! The fool knew his business too well to
be tricked; he had learned it in the roughest, wildest parts
of the country, and here they were in the midst of the
crowded city, where a single outcry would bring immediate
investigation. Jack Horton would guard that bag while he
lived. While he lived /
“No one will ever learn from me that I saw you to-night,”
Storm said slowly. “You needn't worry about that.”
Horton nodded.


IN HIS HANDS I65
only about your work. You're not married, I suppose?”
“Not me!” the other laughed, then amended: “At least,
not yet. I’ve looked 'em all over, from Tampico to Nome
and from 'Frisco to Boston, but I haven't seen one yet that
I'd tie up to for keeps; except maybe this little dame I
wanted to talk to just now. Prettiest little thing you ever
saw in your life, Norman, and got a lot of horse sense be-
sides. Want to see the picture?”
He pulled out his watch, Snapped the case open and ex-
tended it across the table.
The face in the little photograph was undeniably pretty,
but the style of coiffure was over-elaborate, and even to
Storm's untrained masculine eye the gown seemed cheaply
ornate; not the sort of thing that Leila or any of her set
would have worn.
“Who is she?” he asked; then correcting himself hastily,
“I mean, where does she come from? She is mighty pretty,”
he added as he snapped the watch shut and handed it back.
“You’ve gussed it; she's no New Yorker; comes from
Pennsylvania, out Bethlehem way. Her daddy made a pot
of money in steel during the war, and she's on here try-
ing to catch up with the procession. She’ll do it, too, with
the old man's cash and her looks.” Horton grinned fatu-
ously. “She's strong for your Uncle Jack, all right.”
What an ass he looked, blithering there about a girl while
at his feet lay the price of his life! But Storm must know
11101 e.
“Then I suppose congratulations are in order?” he que-
ried, eying his guest through narrowed lids.
“Not yet. I don't mean to brag, but I have an idea they
will be as soon as I make up my mind to say the word.” He
paused to lay his cigar stub with the others in the tray, and
Storm's eyes followed the motion as if fascinated. The


IN HIS HANDS 167
able. A phrase which the other had used in telling of his
predecessor's fate returned to Storm like a flash of inspira-
tion: “found in a thicket by the road with his head bashed
in”—The Drive! Later it would be deserted enough; but
how to get Horton out there P
“Lose 'Genie?” Horton repeated. “Not a chance! There's
no nonsense about her, I can tell you! She is only doing
this to please her daddy, but she'll never get stung by the
society bug. I knew her before the old man made his pile,
and it hasn't changed her a mite. She'd stick to me through
thick and thin, but when a fellow has led the free life I
have, he isn't in too much of a hurry to settle down in double
harness, even if it is silver mounted.”
“There is no one else?” Storm regarded him quizzically.
“For you, I mean? No other girl in the running?”
“No, sir! I never bothered much with them, anyway;
been too busy. This Mid-Eastern Consolidated Coal Cor-
poration is the biggest job I've had yet, and I’m planning
to stick right with them and go on up. They know me, and
once I get on the inside—!” Horton paused and reached
for the humidor. “I’m eating up your cigars, old scout!
Look at that pile of ashes.”
“Help yourself.” Storm tossed the match box across the
table. “That's what they’re here for. Damn the ashes.”
“Well, it's my last.” Horton glanced at his watch. “Great
Scott! Eleven thirty! I ought to be changing at Altoona
right now for a little jerkwater road up into the moun-
tains!—Oh, what's the odds ! It's been worth it, this pow-
wow with you, Norman. I’ll catch the twelve-forty >>
“Why? I thought you were going to stay over night!”
stammered his host, aghast at this sudden hitch in his half-
formulated plan. “I’m all alone here, as you see, and we
can turn in any time you feel like it.”


I68 ASHES TO ASHES
“I—I oughtn't tol” Horton hesitated, and Storm seized
upon his opportunity.
“You’re safer here with that bag than you would be travel-
ing at night. You can get a train at almost any hour in the
morning, and you said they didn’t check up on your time.”
He paused, and as the other still visibly wavered he added
persuasively: “Tell you what I’ll do, Jack. I've got some
business to attend to in Philadelphia that would require my
presence there in a day or two, anyway; if you'll wait over
I'll go part of the way with you to-morrow. It isn't often
that two chaps who were such good pals at college meet after
so many years, and we have a lot to talk over yet.”
“That's so,” Horton agreed. “A few hours more or less
won't make any difference, I guess, and I'll be mighty glad
to have your company part of the way in the morning. I'm
not due back until late in the afternoon; got through my busi-
ness to-day ahead of time. That's how I came to think of
stopping off for a look at the old town.”
“It would make trouble if you weren't there to-morrow,
though?” Storm asked slowly. “I mean, if you should stay
over with me—?”
“Trouble? Say!” Horton leaned forward impressively.
“If I weren't there by six o'clock to-morrow night every wire
in the east would be hot from efforts to locate me. I’m not
so precious to them, but their little old hundred thousand
odd–wow !”
He flickered the ashes from his cigar, and a few flakes
missed the tray and fell on the shining surface of the table
top. Storm watched them settle, just as those other ashes
must have settled among the flowers . . . God, why did he
have to think of that now P ‘In a thicket with his head
bashed in'! There was a spot up the Drive past the viaduct
where the path turned sharply, and on the other side of the


IN HIS HANDS 169
low wall was a sheer drop of fifty feet or more with stout
bushes clinging to it all the way down. A living man could
grab them and save himself, perhaps, but a dead body,
hurtled over the wall
“You’ll get there, all right.” Storm forced himself to speak
casually. “You’re traveling light, but I can make you com-
fortabe for the night—”
“Comfortable?” Horton spread his legs out luxuriously.
“I’m so darned comfortable right now that I wouldn't change
places with a king! Lord, but it's like old times to see you
again, Norman l Twenty years is a long stretch, but it seems
only yesterday that we sat smoking together in your old
rooms, and usually planning some devilment, too ! Re-
member the love letters on pink paper that we sent to the
old chemistry prof-what was his name? Oh, yes, Peebles.
Gad, we kept them up for weeks until he was afraid to look
even the president's old maid sister in the face!”
He chuckled reminiscently, and Storm's lips twisted in
a smile. ‘Head bashed in 1’ How could he do it? What
sort of weapon P From where he sat he could look over
his guest's shoulder into the hall, and the umbrella stand
was in a direct line of vision. Potter had been rather a con-
noisseur of canes, and among those he had left behind him
in his hurried departure was a curious one with a loaded
head. A tap with it would crack a skull like an egg-shell!
But not if that skull were covered by a thick, soft felt hat,
such as Horton wore when they met. If he could contrive
to make him put on an old golf cap, on some pretext; could
get him up the Drive to that lonely spot where the wall
sheered down, he would have but to strike once and the bag
and its precious contents would be his He listened. Had
the rain stopped? It was no longer beating against the win-
dow. He must make an excuse to look out and see.


17o ASHES TO ASHES
“We certainly pulled off a few stunts in the old days!” he
observed. “Don’t you think it's a bit stuffy in here? Let's
get some of the smoke out.”
He rose and strolled to the window, trembling with inward
excitement, but forcing himself to walk slowly, casually.
He raised the window. The pavement was still wet and
glistening, but overhead the stars winked down at him.
“Hello, it's clearing off!” he announced “We might have
a stroll later, before we turn in.” -
“What for?” Horton asked unenthusiastically. “I’ve been
on the jump all day. It is good enough for me right here.”
“Then what do you say to a little drink?” Storm heard
the footsteps of a lone pedestrian approaching, and hurriedly
closing the window, pulled down the shade. Horton was
seated where the light played strongly on his face, and he
would be plainly visible from the street. A passer-by
glancing in would think nothing strange about seeing a man
sitting quietly smoking there, but he might chance to re-
member the face; he might recall it later when a hue and
cry was raised and pictures were printed in the newspapers.
. . . “As long as you're staying on here with me to-night
another little nip or two won't do you any harm. This is an
occasion, you know !”
Rigidly as he held himself in control, there was a note of
suppressed eagerness in his tone which the unsuspicious
Horton misread.
“On with the dance!” he cried gaily. “I’m with you, old
Scout! Just one, though; got to have a clear head in the
morning. Booze is a good thing to let alone in my business,
but I know when I’ve had enough. Do you remember the
time we got pickled in Dutch Jake's, and you wanted to go
and serenade the whole faculty?”
While he chattered on serenely Storm moved in and out


IN HIS HANDS 171
bringing glasses, ice and a fresh siphon. He mixed as stiff
a drink as he dared for his guest, a light one for himself,
and raised his glass.
“To ourselves!” he exclaimed with a reckless laugh.
“That's the best toast in the world, Jack, and the most
honest one. To us!”
“And our next meeting.” Horton drank, nor noticed that
his host set his glass down untasted while a faint shudder
swept over him. “Phew! but that's a strong one! I need
a little more fizz in that, old scout.” He reached for the
siphon. “Say, what wouldn't I give if we could all be to-
gether again, just once; the old crowd, I mean' There was
Van Tries and Caldwell and Holworthy and Swain and Mc-
Knight. I wonder what has become of them all!”
“Holworthy is here in town; I run into him now and
then.” Storm raised his glass slowly, watching the hand
that held it. Steady as a die!
“That so?” Horton looked up, interested. “What is his
line?” -
“Real estate. He's the same old plodding George, except
that he is getting fat. McKnight died in the prison camp
at Rastatt and Swain went under in Wall Street and blew
the top of his head off.”
Horton's ruddy face sobered.
“That makes three of the old crowd gone, for Caldwell
was killed in a motor smash-up,” he said. “I remember
reading about it in the papers. All violent deaths, too!
Well, maybe we're none of us fated to die in our own beds.”
Storm started nervously and glanced at him. Was there
something prophetic in Horton's speech? Then he shook
himself angrily. Bah! he was getting morbid. Morbid, with
a hundred thousand dollars at his feet, waiting for him to
stoop and pick it up!


172 ASHES TO ASHES
Horton, too, stirred in his chair as though shaking off un-
welcome thoughts, and added:
“Anyway, here we are 1 You're well fixed, and I'm on
the road to it; that leaves only Van Tries, of our bunch.
Ever hear anything from him?”
“Not since he beat it for Japan with another man's wife.”
“You don't say!” Horton's eyes widened. “Well, he
always was a wild one; too much money and no responsi-
bility. I tell you, Norman, money is a comfortable thing to
have, but it causes a hell of a lot of trouble in this world!
Not that mine will bother me very much, but fellows like
Van Tries. They don't know the value of it till it's gone,
and then they're out for the count because they've never
learned to do anything except spend.”
His tone dropped to a monotonous drawl with a note of
fatigue in it, and Storm drew a deep breath. It was nearly
one o'clock. His plan was complete and there remained only
to put it to the test. How quickly the inspiration had come
to him! How simple it was and yet how masterly 1 Per-
haps that first murder had sharpened his wits for this!
There was no reason for waiting longer; it must be now
or never! He rose.
“What do you say to a little stroll, Jack, before we hit
the hay?” he asked with a studied carelessness. “Not a
long one, for I know you must be tired after traveling all
day; but I don't sleep very well unless I get a bit of fresh
air just before I turn in.”
Breathlessly he watched the other. What if Horton should
suggest that he go alone? What if P
“I’m with you.” Horton rose equably. “We must be
smoked up like a couple of hams.”
He reached out a hand for his pistol, but Storm stopped
him with a nervous laugh.


IN HIS HANDS I73
“Here! There's a Sullivan law in this town against carry-
ing concealed weapons! You don't want that thing with
you; put it in the table drawer there.”
“All right.” Horton opened the drawer and then hesi-
tated. “The money! There have been hold-ups on the
Drive. I’ve read of them—”
“Good Lord, you weren't going to cart that bag along,
were you?” Storm's tone was a perfect blend of amusement
and good-natured expostulation. “Why, man, we'll only be
gone ten minutes, fifteen at most! Lock it up again in the
closet; no one is going to break in here!”
Horton shook his head obstinately.
“I never leave it out of my sight when I'm on the job,”
he said. “You never can tell, you know, Norman.”
“I suppose some sneak thief is clairvoyant enough to know
that money is here to-night of all nights, in a bag in a locked
closet!” Storm shrugged. “Camouflage it behind some hat
boxes and things on the shelf if you like. I tell you we'll
only be gone a few minutes, and the watchman is right out-
side.”
“It’s a big chance,” Horton responded doubtfully. “I
suppose it sounds foolish to you, but I’ve learned to play
safe. Still, if it is only five minutes—”
He picked up the bag and started for the closet. Storm
watched him stow it carefully away with a smile of triumph.
The fool was taking such pains—for him! He put on his
own coat and then caught up Horton's. The felt hat which
the latter had worn rolled to the floor, limp and sodden.
“I say, your hat is drenched l’” He could scarcely keep
the note of exultation from sounding in his voice. The last
obstacle removed Everything was playing into his hands;
he couldn't fail! “I told you that your umbrella leaked!
Just reach up on the top shelf there and get a golf cap. There


CHAPTER XV
ASHES TO ASHES
fully before the telephone switchboard as they tra-
versed the hall to the vestibule, and the street itself
seemed deserted, but from afar echoed the measured tread
of the watchman approaching upon his rounds.
“Let’s cut across to the path,” suggested Storm with a
hint of nervousness in his lowered tones. “It is better walk-
ing, and you can get a really magnificent view of the river
lights from a few blocks further up.”
He led his companion across the driveway and bridle
road to the path deeply enshrouded by trees and bordered
by the low stone wall which ran along the edge of the em-
bankment. The night was moonless, but overhead the stars
shone brightly and the broad sweep of the river below them
at their left was dotted with the lights of ships and barges
riding at anchor or moving slowly out with the tide.
“By jingo, it's some night!” Horton thrust back his
shoulders and drew in a deep breath as he strode along at
the rapid, vigorous gait of one habituated to covering long
distances afoot. “Glad you thought of getting a bit of air,
Norman; this is great! Look at the old river down there,
and the Palisades beyond I tell you there isn't a spot on
the face of the earth that can touch little old New York l’’
“I like it out here myself. Sometimes when I can't sleep
I walk along this path for hours, watching the lights and
Tº: night elevator man was almost slumbering peace-
I75


176 ASHES TO ASHES
the river; there is a bigness and impersonality about it that
is restful.” Storm spoke truly, but back of his mind was the
shuddering consciousness that never again would he find
peace and tranquility in this nocturnal haunt. After to-
night the shadows would be peopled with ghosts, the dark
river would run red and the frowning cliffs on the farther
bank would echo with the doings of this hour. What
matter? He would be far away with the means to live his
own life and not a trace left behind him! Unconsciously
his grip tightened on the cane, and he glanced speculatively
at his companion. How easy it was going to bel Just a
moment of steady courage, of carefully calculated effort;
one smash—and the task would be accomplished 1 A few
more blocks, a quarter mile at most !
“You ought to see the harbor at Yokohama,” Horton re-
marked. “Prettiest sight in the world when a ship comes
in, if you didn't have to use your nose at the same time!
All the sampans come out with their strings of colored lights
and I can tell you they beat our barges any day in the week
for picturesqueness! You hear the coolies chanting and
the samyens and samisens tinkling, and the very taste of the
East is in your mouth. Oh, I’m not getting poetic from
the effects of your Scotch, old scout! It's all ugly enough
and dirty and mean and distorted in the daylight, but there
is a witchery over it at night. Here you don't get that;
there's a hard-and-fast realism about it that dispels any illu-
sion. It is a sort of bigness, as you say, but it doesn't hit
me with any dolce-far-niente stuff; it means bustle to me,
and commerce and adventure and wealth. Gee, when I’ve
made my pile I’d like to sit in at the window of one of those
white stone fronts over there and watch my coal barges
slouching along on the end of a tow line and my cranes and
winches and flat-cars getting busy along the docks! Fine
*


ASHES TO ASHES 177
pipe dream for a guy whose only contact with big money
is in handling other people's, eh?”
He laughed boyishly, without cynicism, and Storm clapped
him on the shoulder with assumed heartiness.
“You’ll get there yet, Jack! Perhaps you're on the way
to it now, who knows?” Only six blocks more and then they
would reach that turn in the path! The unintended double
significance in his words swept over him, and he felt an in-
sane desire to laugh aloud. “You say you are in right with
this Mid-Eastern Consolidated Corporation, and your wife
will have money 22
“I’m not marrying her for what her old man has got!”
Horton interrupted hastily. “It may be convenient some
time for her to be able to help me swing something big, but
you understand I like that little girl for herself. She's a
thoroughbred, if her mother did run a miner's boarding
house in the old days, and she's got the pep to keep a fellow
right up on his toes and make him make good on his own
account. I kind of wish I had telephoned to her to-night;
it’ll be a couple of weeks at least before I can hit this burg
again, and I’d like to have heard her voice—”
“You can 'phone in the morning,” Storm suggested, his
eyes intent upon the path ahead. A figure was advancing
toward them out of the darkness, and midway between them
a street lamp shed broad rays. They would meet the stranger
directly beneath it if they kept up their present gait. Storm
halted deliberately and drew out his cigarette case. “Wait
half a second till I get a light. Tell you what you can do,
Jack. Stop over a train in Philadelphia with me to-morrow
and call the lady up from there.”
Horton shook his head decisively.
“Not me! Once I get on my way in the morning I’m
going to keep right on going,” he declared. “I don't feel


178 ASHES TO ASHES
right in my mind yet about this little stop-over, but it sure
has been worth it! The next time I come to town—”
The advancing figure passed under the rays of the lamp
and was revealed as a blue-coated policeman swinging along
idly but with a certain brisk watchfulness. Storm blew out
his match and fell in step once more beside his companion.
“The next time you come, drop me a line ahead and we'll
fix up a little dinner with Holworthy and any of the rest I
can find lying around the club,” he said suavely. “It is a
good thing to get in touch with the old crowd now and then;
livens a chap up and keeps him in the running.”
The policeman passed with only a casual glance at the
two obviously respectable citizens, and his footsteps died
away behind them. Only four blocks more!
“You bet it does I’’ Horton assented heartily. “Why,
just running into you to-night like this and having a chat
over old times has given me a new lease of life! I'll like
first rate to see old Holworthy and the rest again, but most.
of all I want you to meet my girl. She's aces high, Norman,
and you'll agree with me when you know her. We'll get
her to shake the old lady for an evening and come to
dinner—” he paused suddenly and added: “Say, we’ve come
further than I thought. Hadn't we better be getting back?
I don't want to cut short your stroll, but that bag back there
is on my mind.”
“All right. Just let us go to the top of the hill here around
the turn.” Storm threw his cigarette away and strove to
speak casually, but his throat had become all at once parched
and strained, and a tremor of excitement threatened his
tones. “There's a down-stream boat almost due, and I want
you to see it come round the bend. I watch for it here
nearly every night, and it's a sight worth seeing. I suppose
you'll be taking a trip somewhere on your honeymoon?”


ASHES TO ASHES 179
“Haven’t got as far as that yet!” Horton protested
laughingly. “Oh, the little girl knows what is in the wind,
all right—trust a woman for that!—but I haven't put it up
to her in so many words. I want to lay my pipes with the
Mid-Eastern first and see where I’m likely to stand before
I tackle her old man. He likes me fast enough, but when
it comes to me horning in on the family he'll expect me to
spread my cards on the table, and I have not got much to
show for the last twenty years except the trust of the people
I’ve worked for.”
“That is a pretty big asset,” muttered Storm, his eyes on
the brow of the hill just ahead. If he could keep Horton go-
ing, keep him talking until they reached that dark stretch and
then, unsuspected, fall a step or two behind ! “It is
a long step of the way toward success to gain the trust of
your associates.”
“Sure!” the other responded with pardonable pride. “But
it is not so much of an asset as an income producer to an
old guy who has struggled all his life and then struck it
rich all of a sudden; so rich and so easy that he figures any
fellow who hasn’t done the same is a dub. But I’m not
worrying; I’ve got it pretty good out there, and two or three
more trips with the payroll will about be my finish. There's
going to be a big reorganization soon, and I mean to edge
in then on the inside.” -
Storm glanced hurriedly, keenly behind him. Not a fi-
gure was in sight, no sound broke the stillness save his com-
panion's voice and the whispering of the wind in the rows
of trees along the deserted drive. On the other side of the
low wall the ground dropped away into seemingly limitless
space, while outward and far below the broad river waited.
A few yards more, a few steps
A sudden raucous honk blared upon the air, and over the


182 ASHES TO ASHES
then by a supreme effort of will stayed the wild impulse.
The tapping sounded there upon the wall close at hand; it
was just a dead branch of the vine whipping in the wind.
What a fool he was Where had his nerve gone?
He must finish his job and quickly. That policeman
would pass shortly again upon his rounds, or if not he, some
strolling night prowler might appear at any moment to
stumble over the body and raise an alarm. Every minute
that he lingered there increased his danger, and yet he felt
a loathsome repugnance at the thought of touching Horton
again.
Nerving himself desperately he slipped his arms beneath
the body and gave a convulsive heave. It jerked, swayed
suddenly but slumped back again, and Storm's breath came
in a sobbing gasp. God, how heavy it was 1 Could he ever
get it up to the top of the wall? The sweat poured like
rain down his face, and with a mighty effort of strained and
snapping muscles he lifted it from the pavement, poised it
for a moment on the edge of the abyss and sent it crashing
over and down.
Weak and trembling in the nausea of sickening reaction,
he cowered back and listened. Would the thing ever stop
rolling? The first thud and crash of underbrush was fol-
lowed by a sound as of mighty beasts trampling through a
forest, then a pattering hail of pebbles and then, at last,
silence.
Swaying drunkenly, Storm groped for the cane, found it
and turned. Every instinct impelled him to frenzied flight,
to run while wind and limb retained strength to obey his
will; yet beneath the shuddering terror which obsessed him
he realized that he must walk slowly, casually, that no chance
passer-by might connect this strolling pedestrian with the
horror which lay behind.


ASHES TO ASHES 183
Quivering with the effort to stay the mad impulse, he
moved stiffly off down the path nor dared glance once be-
hind him, although he could feel the gooseflesh rising upon
his neck with the sensation of being watched by something
supernatural, unclean He must pass beneath the first street
lamp, but in the shadows midway the block he could cross
the bridle road and driveway and continue south on the side-
walk. It would not do to remain on the path; if he should
encounter the policeman again, and the latter recognizing
him, should question him, should question why only one
returned where two had gone
Each dragging step sent a spasm of nervous torture
through his frame, but he gritted his teeth and held himself
erect as he passed beneath the light, even giving a jaunty
swing to the cane which seemed to gain weight with every
moment that went. Twenty yards further he turned to cut
across the driveway to the sidewalk, and as he did so a
sound came from behind him that stilled the blood in his
veins. It was merely the hoot of the fog horn on the river,
but it came to him like the long-drawn wail of a soul in
pain.
A sense of utter desolation swept over him with its echo,
but he rallied it with a savage defiance. In spite of every-
thing, in spite of fate itself, had he not won 2 The money
was his, money for a life-time of travel and ease and for-
getfulness! No one could trace him, not a clue had been
overlooked. What if commonplace Jack Horton with his
petty affairs and affections and ambitions had been snuffed
out? He had taken one chance too many, that was all, and
the Mid-Eastern could well afford their loss, while to Storm
the contents of that bag meant reason, life itself!
Still that odd sense of loneliness oppressed him, and in
spite of his eagerness to examine and gloat over his treasure,


184 ASHES TO ASHES
as he neared the apartment house his steps lagged. He real-
ized all at once that he missed Horton's presence, his easy,
self-centered chatter. How confidently the fellow had
boasted of his girl' and his prospects, talked of the future
as a condition already brought to pass; and then at one blow,
one single muscular effort of another, he had been sent into
eternity!
What an easy thing it was to take a life and to evade the
consequences, if only one used a modicum of courage and
caution 1 Murder was nothing more, after all, than the
twang of a pea shooter at a bird, the tap of a butcher's
hammer! A stealthy glow of elation stole over Storm's
spirit, stilling the qualms which had beset him, and a heady
exhilaration coursed through his veins like wine. The fu-
ture was his; he was invincible!
The elevator man still slumbered in the same position as
when Storm had left the house, and he let himself into his
own apartment with infinite caution, closing the door noise-
lessly behind him. He longed to drag the bag from its
hiding place and thrust his hands into its contents in a very
orgy of triumphant possession, but he reminded himself
sternly that an imperative task still lay before him. Ho-
machi must find no traces of a visitor when he came in the
morning. Then, too, there were other possible evidences
to consider . . .
Storm switched on the lights and examined his hands and
clothing with minute care. The latter bore no stains which
he could discover, but upon his fingers were brownish smears
which made his gorge rise, and about the thumb-nail of his
left hand—the hand which had come in contact with Hor-
ton's fallen head—a thread of dull crimson had settled.
He turned to the bathroom in revolted haste when a fresh
thought made him pause and grope for the pocket of his


ASHES TO ASHES 185
overcoat. The cap! Had the glancing but deadly blow which
knocked it off to catch it by a miracle upon the vine spattered
it with Horton's blood? He drew it forth and smoothed
it into a semblance of shape with shaking hands. It was
damp and crumpled, but no spot marred its surface or lin-
ing; the blow had been too swift and sure!
Tossing it upon the rack, Storm made for the bathroom,
where he scrubbed his hands until the flesh smarted before
turning his attention to the cane itself. When he had dropped
it upon the path in order to raise the body it must have fallen
into a puddle left by the storm, for it bore no marks save the
discoloration of dampness; yet to make sure he carried it
into the kitchen and held its heavy head beneath the strong
bow of water from the faucet in the sink, then polished it
with a rough towel until it shone. How it reminded him of
that other rounded knob of wood with the sinister smudge
of blood upon it and the single golden hair . . .
What a timorous, morbid weakling he had been that night!
Afraid of his own shadow, of every move and breath!
Nothing could touch him now, nothing could harm him;
no one could ever know !
He replaced the cane in the umbrella-stand and was
turning again toward the kitchen when his eyes fell upon
the center table in the living-room. There beneath the lamp
lay the bronze ash tray ringed with cigar butts and filled
with ashes. Again the thought came to him of that other
tray with similar contents which he had scattered to the
winds. Why not these also? Ashes to ashes.
Those other ashes had been symbolic of his deed and
vanished at a mere gesture; these were the concrete eviden-
ces of Horton's presence beneath his roof and yet might be
as easily dispelled.
With a quick movement he pressed the button of the


CHAPTER XVI
THE SECOND WIGIL
ITH an almost physical effort Storm flung off the
W W vague, harrowing suggestion which had laid it-
self upon him; and shrouding the window care-
fully with its curtains he turned on the lights once more,
and glanced at the tall clock in the corner.
Quarter past two Scarcely an hour had passed sincé, he
and Horton had left that room to start upon the little stroll
which was to end so momentously for them both. For Hor-
ton it meant obliteration, the end of all things, but for him
the beginning of a new life, a life which should begin with no
memories, which should be crammed so full of color and mo-
tion and excitement that thought itself would be crowded
out !
The money! He must know that it was still there even
though he dared not lose himself in the joy of contemplation
of it until every last trace of the visitor's presence had been
removed.
He turned to the closet and halted suddenly. There on
the settee before him lay Horton's felt hat, shapeless and
sodden and somehow oddly pathetic. Storm put the wo-
manish thought from him and gazed at the storm-battered
object in momentary disquietude. He must get rid of it in
some way, but that would resolve itself later. Now he must
assure himself that the prize for which he had risked all
was within his grasp,
187


I88 ASHES TO ASHES
With eager, trembling fingers he produced the key, opened
the closet door and felt about on the shelf. Horton had
hidden the bag well, poor confident fool! He had made sure
that none but knowing hands should seek out its hiding-
place. There it was Storm felt the grained surface
of the leather, the hard, square edges of the packets which
bulged its sides, and a light of exultation gleamed in his
eyes. His 1 All his That afternoon, a few short hours
before, he had been the most miserable, hopeless of men,
and now, through his courage, his resourcefulness and cun-
ning, he had changed the face of destiny!
But he was wasting precious time in pandering now to
the obsession which filled him. Storm caught the golf cap
from the rack and tossed it lightly upon the closet shelf
where it had rested so brief a time before, then reluctantly
closed the door. Moving to the living-room once more, he
collected the glasses, siphon and bottle and carried them to
the kitchen where with scrupulous care he cleared away
the débris of the earlier repast. As he applied himself to
his unaccustomed task his thoughts raced forward to the
magic years ahead, and if the lingering specter of a lonely,
huddled, battered form lying somewhere out in the night
intruded itself to block the vision he thrust it sternly aside.
Nothing could stop him now ! The cup of forgetfulness,
of hope and adventure and rejuvenation which had been held
to his lips and snatched away was at last safe within his
grasp, and he meant to drink of it to the full ! That picture
of Yokohama harbor which Horton had drawn; he should
see it, too, and soon! The bobbing lights and tinkling notes
of the samisens, and taste of the East in his mouth; it should
be his, all of it, until he was satiated with it and turned to
other lands !
He looked about the conventional, luxurious rooms as


190 ASHES TO ASHES
gloated, but all that it stood for, all that it would mean to
him.
He had known the galling shackles of necessity which
bound him to the wheel of circumstance, and now at one
blow he had struck them off! He was free!
How long he crouched there he never knew, but after a
time the first ecstasy passed and a measure of sanity re-
turned. The money was his now; but he could not make
instant use of his fortune, nor could he leave it in that bag.
The logical thing would be to place it in the safe built into
the wall of his bedroom, of which Potter had shown him the
combination before he departed. The gold and banknotes
would form too bulky a package to be concealed from Ho-
machi's sharp eyes anywhere else in the apartment, and
Storm repelled the thought of conveying it secretly to some
safe deposit vault. He must keep it in his immediate posses-
sion, within reach of his hand.
He rose and carried the bag into the bedroom where he
carefully counted out its contents upon the bed. One thou-
sand, ten, twenty, fifty, one hundred, a hundred and twelveſ
He gasped at the immensity of it spread out before him! A
hundred and twelve thousand dollars; and there were still
some smaller gold coins and a two-dollar bill ! As he lifted
the bag something clinked within it, and investigating an
inner pocket he discovered eight shining new dimes and four
bright pennies. Five hundred and fifty-two dollars and
eighty-four cents in addition to the thousands ! He recalled
Horton's statement of the amount, and an ironic smile
curved his lips. What a methodical, cautious, conscientious
protector of other people's money he had been, and how little
it had availed him or them when the blow fell!
Storm opened the safe, deposited the money within it
down to the last penny, and closing it slid the panel back


THE SECOND VIGIL 19I
into place. The bag remained to be disposed of, and there
was Horton's hat and pistol, too, in the drawer of the living-
room table. He must get rid of them at the earliest possible
moment, and in a manner which could not be traced. Of
course, there was a chance that Horton's body would not be
discovered until all means of identification had been obli-
terated; but it was so unlikely that Storm dismissed it from
his thoughts. He could not afford to gamble on a favorable
long shot now; he must look at this situation as squarely as
he had the first desperate one of a month before, and pre-
pare himself for every contingency.
Horton's clothing must surely contain papers revealing
his identity and attesting to his connection with the Mid-
Eastern coal people. In the event that his body were found
on the morrow, they would be communicated with, perhaps
even before they had time to grow uneasy over the non-
appearance of their paymaster. In a few hours, twelve at
most, that ordinary looking bag might become the most im-
portant and sought-after article in the country, its descrip-
tion down to the minutest detail spread broadcast in the
press.
How could he rid himself of it and of the pistol and hat
as well? Gruesome accounts recurred to his mind of dis-
membered bodies having been wrapped in clumsy packages
and dropped overboard in midstream from ferryboats. But
something had always gone wrong; some sharp-eyed pass-
enger had observed the action and marked the luckless indi-
vidual for future identification, or the package itself had
been recovered and the murderer traced by some such trivial
detail as the wrapping or string which enclosed it. Clearly
that means was not to be considered; and yet something
must be done, and Storm could conceive of nothing more
difficult to destroy than a stout leather bag. If he could only


192 ASHES TO ASHES
pack the other damning evidence—the hat and pistol—into
it and ship it somewhere far away or else check it at some
parcel repository
Why not! The audacity of the thought made him gasp,
and yet its feasibility instantly took hold upon his mind. If
he attempted to express or send it by parcel post he would be
compelled to write an address, and handwriting could be
traced; but if he went to one of the great railroad terminals
at the morning rush hour and checked the bag at the parcel
desk he would merely be handed a numbered paper tag which
could be easily destroyed, and in the hurrying crowd his iden-
tity would surely be lost. Better still, he could employ a
stolid porter to check the bag for him, and it would be held
for ten days or more before investigated as unclaimed.
Of course, there was the danger of his being recognized by
some acquaintance in the passing throng of travelers, but it
would be a simple matter to provide himself with a plausible
excuse for his presence there. The bag itself was incon-
spicuous in appearance—Horton had seen to that!—and it
bore no signs to reveal the purpose for which it had been
used. The more Storm pondered, the more favorable the idea
impressed him. He would have to get out in the morning
without Homachi's observation and that of the elevator boy,
but it could be managed. For the rest he must trust to luck
until he had finally rid himself of it; it was the only possible
solution.
He took the pistol from the table drawer and weighed it
thoughtfully in his hand. It would not make the bag heavy
enough to occasion remark, and yet it must be packed in care-
fully; the bag must have the outward appearance of being
filled with the ordinary concomitants of travel. The hat
would help, and for the rest paper would serve
Then Storm remembered and blessed his valet's saving


THE SECOND VIGIL I93
propensity. On an unused upper shelf in the pantry were
a pile of old newspapers, some of them left from the litter
of Potter's departure, but most of them painstakingly col-
lected and preserved for some purpose known only to Ho-
machi's Asiatic mind.
Storm procured a sheaf of them, and was on the point of
wrapping up the pistol to stow it into the bag when on the
front page of the topmost newspaper he saw roughly
scrawled in pencil the characters, “One-A”. It was the
number of his apartment—the newsdealer's or house super-
intendent's guide for the delivery of the papers—a common
practice, as he knew, all over the city, and yet it might
furnish a clue.
Whipping off the outer sheets of each newspaper, he
folded them and replaced them on the kitchen shelf, then
crumpled the others and lined the bag with them, nesting
the pistol secure from movement or jar in their depths.
The hat, folded into a wad, came next, and then more paper
until the bag was full. When closed it had a comfortably
bulging appearance, and Storm snapped the secret spring
into place and set it on the floor between the dressing table
and wall where it would escape Homachi's eyes when he
came to call his master in the morning.
Morning? Already a dim gray effulgence was stealing
in between the curtains of the window, and Storm smiled to
himself. How different was the vigil from the one of a
month ago when he had sat quaking and bathed in sweat
upon the foot of his bed, longing for yet dreading the com-
ing of the dawn, waiting through tortured ages for the cry
to echo up from below which would tell him that the body
of his first victim had been discovered
Now he knew that he had nothing to fear. He was master
of this situation as he had been of the other, had he but


CHAPTER XVII
MISSING
HEN Homachi, usually as punctual as a time-clock,
W W arrived twenty minutes late in the morning he
found his employer already risen and attired for
the day. His elaborate protestations of apology were sum-
marily cut short.
“That's all right, Homachi, only get me some coffee. I’m
in a devil of a hurry this morning.” Storm checked him-
self. “Er—I cooked a bite for myself last night and rather
messed up things, but I fancy you can find enough left for
breakfast.”
Homachi's slant eyes widened.
“Any time you want me I stay, sir,” he declared reproach-
fully. “I please cook dinner. Unhappy cars no run this
morning, sir. I hurry coffee 52
He slipped away to the kitchen with his noiseless, catlike
tread, and Storm glanced uneasily toward the corner where
the bag lay. Could Homachi have seen it from where he
stood in the doorway?
He gulped his coffee hastily when it was prepared, keep-
ing the valet busy with trivial services lest he enter the
bedroom. The man held his coat for him, presented his hat
and stick and then stood waiting to usher him out. Con-
found the fellow’s obsequiousness! Was he waiting pur-
posely to spy upon him? Inwardly fuming, Storm turned
with an assumed start toward the desk in the living-room.
196


MISSING 197
“Forgot those papers!” he muttered for the other's bene-
fit, adding carelessly: “Go ahead and clear up the break-
fast things, Homachi. By the way, I shall not be home un-
til late. You may go this afternoon at the usual hour.”
Homachi bowed and departed while Storm made a pre-
tense of rummaging through the papers on the desk. How
rocky his nerves were ! He must pull himself together, he
must be prepared to face the risk of the next hour. That
fellow was dawdling unconscionably! Would he ever clear
out?
At last Storm heard the sound of running water in the
kitchen and the subdued clatter of dishes. He tiptoed into
the bedroom, seized the bag, and holding it under his coat
made for the door.
Luck was with him! The telephone operator sat at the
switchboard with his back squarely turned, and the elevator
had ascended. The way was clear !
Closing the door behind him Storm walked briskly down
the hall and out into the sunshine, swinging the bag casually
in plain view. It seemed to him to be increasing in dimen-
sion and weight at every step, to be growing to colossal size,
dragging his arm from its socket! He had purposly chosen
an early rush hour when clerks and shop people would be
hurrying to their work, but he felt that the eyes of every
passer-by were fastened upon him, boring into the burden
that he carried.
Suppose Horton had been followed on the previous night
after all by some emissary of the company whose funds
were in his charge? In spite of the heat of the morning,
the thought brought a cold sweat out upon Storm's brow.
Horton had boasted volubly of the trust reposed in him;
but what if, unknown to him, the company had placed a
guard or checker upon him? Surely it would not be unusual


198 ASHES TO ASHES
when a man was carrying sums of such magnitude in cash?
Suppose the watcher had lost sight of him at the terminal
the night before; was Storm running too great a risk by
returning to the same station? If the fellow were hang-
ing about and should recognize the ba !
A thousand wild apprehensions flashed through his brain,
but he fought them back resolutely. He must get rid of the
bag at once, and boldness was his best course. Every mo-
ment that he retained it in his possession increased his
danger, and he could not trail over the town with it in
broad day. Even now the body might have been discovered
and identified and messages might be humming back and
forth from Pennsylvania to New York raising the alarm
for the bag and its precious contents. He could not hesi-
tate; he must go on 1
The subway express train was crowded to the doors with
a heterogeneous mass of the city's toilers, and Storm wedged
himself on the platform of one of the rearward cars among
a group of laborers and clerks, hoping fervently that he
might escape recognition before he reached his destination.
Remembering the loaded pistol, he guarded the bag as well
as he was able from the jostling throng, his heart in his
mouth at every lurch of the speeding train. He was glad
that he had not thought to remove the cartridges, for he
might have left fingerprints in handling the weapon; but
his nervousness increased as he neared his station. Dared
he trust a porter? Suppose the bag were dropped
“Grand Centrall” called the guard, and Storm braced
himself. He must go through with it now; the moment had
CO1116.
He made his way out into the vast terminal and mingled
with a crowd of commuters pouring through one of the gates
from an arriving train. His hat, with its decorous mourning


MISSING 199
band, was pulled low over his eyes, and he averted his face,
fearing every minute to feel a hand upon his shoulder and
hear his name uttered by some acquaintance; but he passed
on unmolested until he found himself confronted by a red-
capped porter.
“Carry yo' bag, suh? Taxi, suh?”
Storm eyed the dusky, stolid countenance keenly for a
moment, and then made his decision.
“No, I want the bag checked. Take it to the parcel room,
will you?”
“It’ll be a dime, suh,” the porter announced, taking over
the burden nonchalantly.
Storm produced the dime and a quarter more.
“Get me the check as quick as you can. I’m in a hurry.”
The porter scurried off, intent on finishing the job and
obtaining a new client, and Storm followed as well as he
was able through the crowd, keeping his eyes upon the bob-
bing red cap ahead. He saw the porter worm his way
through a queue of people waiting before a long counter,
saw the bag slammed down upon it to be grasped by a hand
from the other side and disappear. A cry of relief surged
up from his heart, and the impulse to turn and flee before
the porter could return with the check almost overmastered
him, but he fought it down. No question must be raised
now about the bag; the porter must have no cause to recall
his appearance later.
“Here yo' is, suh. Want a taxif”
Storm pocketed the check, shook his head and turning
hurried from the station in the throng which surged out
upon the sidewalk once more. It was done! No link re-
mained to connect him with the dead paymaster except the
money securely locked away in his safe, and that bit of
numbered cardboard in his pocket. His apprehensions of the


2OO ASHES TO ASHES
early morning fell from him, and he felt as though he were
treading on air. Now he had only to wait until the news
came out and the nine-days wonder over the murder and
the missing money had subsided, and then he could start
upon his journey.
On arrival at the Mammoth Trust Building he went at
once to a washroom downstairs and locked himself in.
Then, secure from observation, he took the parcel check
from his pocket. It bore the number “39”, and as he tore
it in strips he wondered whether in the near future those nu-
merals would stare out at him in scare-head type from the
newspapers. Twisting the strips of thin cardboard together,
he touched a match to them and watched them blaze down
to a pinch of smoldering ashes in the hand-basin. He
washed these away carefully, leaving no slightest smudge
behind and then hurried out and up to his office. More
ashes | Ashes now of the last menacing bit of evidence
against himself
A tiresome conference awaited him, and more than once
during its course Storm had to take a fresh grip on him-
self to keep from allowing the secret elation within him to
show upon his face. What would they think, what would
they do—these smug-faced, pompous, eminently conven-
tional members of society who surrounded the table—if they
knew what he had done? Two murders in the space of a
few short weeks, two lives wiped out in the very heart of
civilization, and not a question raised against him, not a
breath of suspicion | By God, he was immune, invincible!
He could commit any crime on the calendar and get away
with it! There wasn't a living soul clever enough to hunt
him down! He was the greatest murderer of the age, the
cleverest man in the world !
The madness of exultation had passed when the noon


MISSING 2OI
hour came, but his spirits were still dangerously high. The
sedate luncheon club did not appeal to his mood and he
turned into Peppini's where he had lunched with Millard
only a few days before.
A voice hailed him from the corner table, and Millard
himself rose with extended hand.
“Hello, old chap! I say, if you're alone won't you join
me?”
To his surprise Storm found himself responding almost
jovially.
“If you'll lunch with me; I see you are just starting.
How is everything out at Greenleaf.”
“Fine ! We've got a new pro. out at the club and he's
running things in fine shape; but there isn't much that he
can teach us old boys, eh?” Millard lowered his voice. “I
say, you have seen the papers?”
Storm started. Could it be that already P Then he
checked himself half angrily. What did Millard know of
Horton?
“Papers?” he repeated vaguely.
“Yesterday. The loss of the Alsace. You remember I
told you that Du Chainat, as he called himself, was on
board.”
“Oh, that!” Storm laughed loudly, so loudly that Millard
stared at him in surprise. “Odd thing, wasn't it? Fancy how
the people he swindled must have felt when they read that
he had escaped their clutches I’”
Millard looked shocked.
“Terrible thing, I call it,” he said slowly. “It makes a
chap believe that there is such a thing as retributive justice,
after all.”
“Bosh!” Storm waved his hand in contempt. “Where
is the justice in the loss of six or seven hundred lives just


MISSING 205
There was no link connecting him, Norman Storm, with
his classmate of twenty years before. There was no reason
why he, his constitution impaired by grief over the accidental
death of his wife, should not resign from his position at
the trust company and go in search of forgetfulness and
health on a long sea voyage since, as far as the world knew,
he had ample means left from his father's estate.
And yet Storm realized all at once that he could not go!
He was bound even more irrevocably than by the lack of
funds which yesterday had oppressed him to the environs
of this latest act of his. In vain he told himself that it was
mere morbid curiosity; that he didn't care, it couldn't matter
to him how or when the crime was discovered. He knew
in advance what the result of the investigation would be
and how the furore over the disappearance of the money
would die out in sheer lack of evidence upon which to con-
tinue the search. Morbid or no, there was a secret spell
upon him, a secret fascination which would hold him there
until the case had run its course and been relegated to the
limbo of forgotten things.
In lesser degree, the same impatience which had filled
him during that night-long vigil when he waited for the
servant's cry to announce Leila's death now assailed him
to learn of the discovery of Horton's body. He bought the
early editions of the afternoon papers and scanned them
eagerly, but they bore no reference to such an episode. Had
the body, in its fall down that steep declivity, been arrested
by the branches of some clump of underbrush, to lie con-
cealed perhaps until autumn stripped the foliage away?
The thought was unendurable, the prolonged suspense would
drive him mad!
The money, too, began to worry him. Was its hiding
place really secure? What if Homachi had discovered and


MISSING 207
“Where shall it be?” the latter asked. “The manse or
Bryan's or out on the Post Road?”
Storm did not reply. They were chugging over the via-
duct and around the turn where he and Horton had walked
the night before. They were nearing the top of the incline
where the wall sheered down—was that a crowd collecting
there on the path? He strained his eyes ahead and uncon-
sciously a muttered exclamation arose in his throat. The
next moment they were upon a little group, and he saw it
was comosed of a gossipping phalanx of nurse-maids with
baby carriages, lingering in the last, slanting rays of the
westering sun.
He sank back with a sigh, and the little car plodded on.
“What's the matter with you?” George demanded in
good-natured sarcasm. “Getting deaf, or something? I
asked you where you wanted to go.”
“Eh 2–Oh, anywhere,” Storm responded absently. “As
long as it isn't one of those jazz places. Don't go too far; I
don't feel like a long walk home, and you are bound to strip
the gears or do some fool thing.”
“I like that!” the other retorted. “I only did that once
to your car and then Leila >>
He paused, biting his lip, and Storm clenched his hands.
He could have turned and struck the man beside him —
Leila 1 Greenleal Damn them all, would they never allow
him to forget, even for a moment? Wasn't there enough
on his mind—with that body lying somewhere back there un-
discovered and the thought of the alarm which must be even
now manifesting itself out at the Mid-Eastern plant in the
Alleghanies—without recalling that first hideous affair?
“I—I’ve learned to drive all right now,” George amended
hastily. “Wait till we get up to the road where I can let
her out and you'll see!”


MISSING 209
to his lips, and he set it down hastily. Horton had uttered
those same words only the night before! With an effort
he collected himself and steadied his voice.
“Let’s see,” he began deliberately. “There were Swain
and McKnight and Van Tries and you and I xx
He paused and George nodded.
“Swain and McKnight are gone, but you're forgetting
Caldwell and Horton. I haven’t heard of either of them
in years, have you?”
Storm shook his head, unable to frame a word. In a
quick revulsion of feeling, he wished fervently that he might
change the subject, but his dry lips refused their office.
“Jack Horton was a wild fellow, but there was no real
harm in him,” George pursued. “Just the irresponsibility of
youth, I guess. He's probably settled down somewhere
now and making good.”
Storm gritted his teeth. ‘Making good' . He could have
laughed aloud at the irony of it. God! if he could only
silence George before his self-control broke down!
“You can't tell what a man will be in twenty years'
time.” Was that his own voice speaking so coolly, so casu-
ally? “Our old crowd has scattered all over the face of the
globe.—Let's order; I'm starved.”
The talk drifted off to other topics, to his unutterable
relief, but contrary to his assertion Storm scarcely touched
the food which was placed before him. He hoped that
George would take a different route home, but shrank from
suggesting it and instead lapsed into a morose silence. As
they passed again that ominous spot upon which his thoughts
centered, he strove to pierce the darkness, but the path was
deserted and no sound came to his ears but the humming of
the motor.
Sleep did not come to him until nearly dawn and he was


CHAPTER XVIII
THE GIRL IN THE WATCH CASE
TORM received the news with outward composure,
S feigning a natural irritation at being aroused from
sleep to mask the chaos of his thoughts, and cut George
off as soon as he was able to stem the tide of his volubility.
Then, throwing a bathrobe about his shoulders, he stumbled
to the hall door and opened it. His own morning paper lay on
the mat, and even before he picked it up the staring head-
lines met his eye.
“$112,000 Missing. Trusted Employee Of Mid-Eastern
Disappears With Huge Sum In Cash”.
He shut the door and sinking into the nearest chair read
on absorbedly:
“John M. Horton, pay clerk for the Mid-Eastern Con-
solidated Coal Corporation, disappeared on the sixth inst.
with a black leather handbag in his possession containing
the total sum of $112,552.84 which he had just drawn from
the Mid-Eastern Trust Company's Poughkeepsie branch.
He was last seen boarding a train in the latter city at four-
forty P. M. for New York en route to Altoona, Pa., and the
alarm was not sent out until late yesterday afternoon. Re-
presentatives of the Mid-Eastern C.C.C. who have been
interviewed loyally declare their faith in the missing man
and assert that he must have met with foul play. When last
seen ‘Jack’ Horton, as he is known, wore a dark green felt
hat, black overcoat, blue serge suit and low tan shoes. He
is about forty years of age—”
2II


THE GIRL IN THE WATCH CASE 2I3
noon came he had quite recovered command of himself.
George telephoned again, asking him to lunch, but he
pleaded another engagement. If he had to listen to old
George's theories and speculations it would madden him,
and he wanted to have himself well in hand for his visit
to Police Headquarters with Millard.
As the hour drew near his keen anticipation mounted.
Millard had said that there was nothing very big on, but
that was yesterday; the disappearance of a man with a
hundred thousand dollars in his possession would be a sen-
sation even in the manifold events of so huge a city, and he
was eager to hear what view had been taken of the case by
the authorities. As on the previous afternoon, he purchased
the earliest editions of the evening papers; but although
they contained lengthy accounts of the Mid-Eastern affair,
no mention was made of the discovery of a dead man near
the Drive.
Millard was bubbling with enthusiasm when they met.
“Come along!” he said gaily. “Shouldn't be surprised
if we heard something about this Horton affair. You read
of it, of course?”
Storm pondered. It was far from his intention to draw
any possible limelight on himself, yet if his companion ran
into George the latter would be sure to mention that Horton
was an old friend of them both, and Millard might think
it strange that he had made no reference to it.
“Yes.” He nodded carelessly. “Rather a shock, too.
There was a chap in our freshman class at college of that
name. Holworthy thinks it may be the same fellow, but I
doubt it. We lost track of him years ago, anyway.”
“They'll get him,” Millard asserted with conviction. “He
won't get far, even with that bank-roll. I tell you, I wouldn't
steal a pewter golf cup—and that's the nearest thing to


216 ASHES TO ASHES
there, naturally; then you noticed the needle on the spring
and recalled the case which put the dainty, innocent little
slipper in a different light to you. It was an extraordinary
case, too much so for the ingenious gentleman who conceived
it to have hoped for success. Its bizarre, unusual features
rendered it all the more simple to solve. The casual, un-
premeditated cases are the ones which give us the most
trouble because as a rule they leave fewer clues. The man
who plans a crime most carefully is bound to over-reach
himself in some particular, but the one who picks up a
weapon lying innocently or accidentally to his hand, strikes
with it and lays it down again, is the man who gives us
the longest run.”
Storm could feel the blood ebbing from his face. Could
this genial, smiling person be reading his mind, probing to
the depths of the secret he guarded; or was he merely
voicing his own favorite theory? At any rate, Storm real-
ized that his previously formed opinion of the Commissioner
was undergoing a swift reversal.
He murmured a polite phrase or two of interest, and the
Commissioner said:
“I wish I had time to tell you the history of even a few
of the things there, for each is a relic of some case celebrated
in the annals of the Department. However, I suppose you
gentlemen would like to have a look at the Homicide Bureau
and the Bureau of Missing Persons; they are usually the
most interesting departments to outsiders. My secretary
will introduce you.”
He took leave of them with hearty cordiality, and once
outside the anteroom Storm smiled quietly to himself. The
Commissioner's unique collection lacked two specimens
which might have graced it: a certain golf club known as a
driver, and a cane with a wickedly heavy head. But the


THE GIRL IN THE WATCH CASE 217
Commissioner, astute as he was, would never miss them!
His theory was all very well in its way, Storm conceded,
but it did not go quite far enough. What of the man who
did not over-reach himself; the man who perfected his coup
in advance and left no clues whatever behind? All uncon-
sciously the Commissioner had been lauding Storm's own
achievements, and his sense of elation heightened.
“Nothing doing in the Homicide Bureau this afternoon
that would interest you, I am afraid,” the secretary an-
nounced. “We'll try the Bureau of Missing Persons; there
is usually something going on there.”
He led them down the wide stairs and along the echoing
corridor to a door at the left, and Storm saw a large room
divided by a rail and subdivided again at the end by parti-
tions forming two smaller offices. An older man with a
delicate, high-bred, sensitive face came forward, and as he
was presented to the Captain, Storm watched the latter's
quick changes of expression with something of the contempt
with which he had at first discounted the Commissioner's
frank, genial manner. This man, he reflected, might have
been a scholar or priest; a father confessor, but surely
not an analyst of human nature; a pedant, not a person of
quick decision and unerring action. Pah! The Captain
would be a mere tool in his hands; he could deceive him,
trick him, beat him at his own game as easily as he had
tricked the Greenlea officials and the simple-minded, guile-
less community out there.
He had already beaten him 1 Storm smiled again at the
thought. The Captain must be combing the country now
for a man whose body had lain exposed more than thirty-
six hours within the limits of the city, and Storm alone
knew where ! One word from him would set that quiet
office in a furore! And this was the man who had located


THE GIRL IN THE WATCH CASE 219
“To be perfectly frank, sir, I don't know.” His tone
was disarmingly candid. “When Mr. Millard spoke of the
case I mentioned the fact that there was a chap in my class
at Elmhaven of that name. He only stayed for one term
and I shouldn't know him now if I met him, I'm afraid.
That was twenty years ago.”
He smiled deprecatingly, but the steady glance of the
Captain did not waver. “You haven't seen him since?”
“No.” Then, realizing the inevitable question to follow,
he volunteered: “The last I heard of our Jack Horton, and
then most indirectly, was that he held some sort of minor
position in a bank in Chicago. I’m inclined to doubt that
this is the same fellow.” -
The Captain's face softened, and he said, with a swift
return of his old genial manner:
“Twenty years can change a man, Mr. Storm. It is the
same Jack Horton, I am afraid. We have his record and
he attended college at Elmhaven at the time you mention.
But it is not certain that he absconded, you know ; if it
were, the case would not be up to this department. He is
merely officially ‘missing’ as yet.”
“With a hundred thousand in cash l’’ Millard smirked.
“Not much danger of his having suffered an attack of apha-
sia, is there, Captain? By Jove, if I had that much money
about me, I might forget my own name myself l’”
The typewriters clicking behind the rail in the outer
office ceased all at once as the door leading to the corridor
opened slowly, and a girl appeared, hesitating on the
threshold. She was an undeniably pretty little girl despite
the fact that her eyes were reddened and swollen, but her
light summer frock was oddly out of place in that grim
setting. She peered slowly about until her eyes caught the
Captain's, and rested there.


22O ASHES TO ASHES
“Is this,” she began in a high, strained voice, “is this the
place where they find people who have disappeared?”
“We try to.” The Captain's tone had mellowed and a
persuasive, paternal note crept into it. “Tell me for whom
you are looking.”
He seated himself at his desk, motioning her to a chair
beside it, and drew a blank form toward him. Millard was
staring in goggle-eyed interest, and Storm stared also, but
from far different motives. Where had he seen that pretty,
piquant, slightly sullen face before?
As for the girl, she stood undecidedly, twisting the chain
of her platinum mesh bag between her hands.
At length she burst forth half-confidentially, half-shyly:
“For—for Mr. Horton I Oh, you must know who I
mean Mr. John Horton, the paymaster of the Mid-Eastern
Consolidated Coal Corporation. The papers say this morn-
ing that he has disappeared, but it cannot be true! I was
told that if I came here—” -
The girl in Horton's watch case! Storm drew a sharp,
quick breath and did not need Millard's nudge to rivet his
attention. The girl! He had not calculated upon her tak-
ing a possible hand in the game.
At a sign from Captain Nairn the stenographers had filed
into the second of the inner offices, and to all appearance
he and his client were alone.
“Who are you, my dear?” His fatherly tones showed no
indication of change or added interest.
The girl hesitated again.
“I’m just a-a friend, but I felt that I had to come to
you. If Jack has really disappeared, you know what terrible
things will be said about him soon, since he had all that
| money in his possession. If he hasn’t returned to the col-
liery it is because something frightful must have happened


THE GIRL IN THE WATCH CASE 22I
to him. He must have been set upon by thieves; killed, or
hurt and perhaps held prisoner somewhere! Oh, if you
don’t find him !”
“Your name, please?” A note of sternness crept into the
Captain's tones.
“I am Eugenia Saulsbury.” A little quick color came and
went in the girl’s cheeks, but she held her head proudly erect.
“You reside here in New York?”
“No. I am visiting an old friend of my mother, Mrs. Van
Alen on Madison Avenue, but I live with my father near
Bethlehem in Pennsylvania. He will be annoyed, I am
afraid, that I have courted publicity in coming to you like
this, but he—he thought a great deal of Jack, and I know
he will back up any investigation to find him to the limit of
his resources.” She paused. “I–I have thought of hiring
the best private detectives I could find—I wired Daddy so—
but I felt that I simply had to come to you, too! I do not
believe that Jack ever reached the city.”
“Why not, Miss Saulsbury?” The stern note quickened
to imperative demand.
“Because if he had I am sure he would have made an
attempt to communicate with me.” She sank into a chair
and fumbled in her bag for her handkerchief, her eyes
blinded by sudden tears. “He—I—you see, we-we were
very good friends! I know that he is honorable to a fault,
and something dreadful must have happened if he cannot
be found ! You are the head of this bureau, are you not?”
“I am Captain Nairn,” the official nodded gravely. “Have
you any reason for thinking that he met with foul play other
than the fact of his disappearance, Miss Saulsbury? Do
you know of any enemies P”
“A hundred thousand dollars in cash would invite the
enmity of a great many people if they knew it was in your


222 ASHES TO ASHES
possession, wouldn't it?” she observed, with unconscious
cynicism. “Jack was always armed when he had the com-
pany’s payroll in charge, but I warned him that he was
too confident, too sure of his ability to protect it. You see,
Captain Nairn, he would never believe any evil of anybody;
that was one of the strongest traits in his character. He
has had some narrow escapes before, but they were from
rough characters down in the mountains. If he took that
train at Poughkeepsie, as they say, he must be somewhere
between there and here, and if he is not dead, he is badly
hurt and unable to communicate with his friends. Please,
please lose no time in finding him l’’
“If what you think proves to be the case he will un-
doubtedly be discovered,” the Captain began soothingly, but
the girl interrupted, wringing her hands.
“Every hour, every minute counts, not only if he is hurt
physically, but to save him from mental torture! If he is
lying injured and helpless somewhere and thinking that peo-
ple may consider him dishonest, he will be suffering more
from that than from what may have been done to him, and
the thought is driving me mad! It would be better, almost,
to know the the worst l”
The telephone shrilled once at the Captain's elbow and
he picked up the receiver and listened. His face, which
Storm had thought mobile, had become a mere expression-
less mask. The girl was dabbing at her eyes, but her tears
had ceased and her small chin came out indomitably.
Captain Nairn uttered the one word “Right!” in reply
to the communication which had come to him, then hung up
the receiver and turned once more to his visitor.
“Miss Saulsbury, no effort will be spared to find your
friend, you may be sure of that.”
“But you—you believe he hasn't taken that money, don't


THE GIRL IN THE WATCH CASE 223
you? You'll find out if he has been hurt or imprisoned
somewhere?” She had taken his assurance as a dismissal
and, rising, held out her hand in appeal.
The Captain shook it gravely.
“We will do our best to find him, Miss Saulsbury, dead
or alive.”
When she had withdrawn and the clicking of her small
shoes diminished in the corridor outside, Millard stepped
forward.
“That was mighty interesting, Captain' Don't mind our
listening! So that little lady was in love with Horton, eh?
Saulsbury—from Bethlehem She must be the daughter
of ‘Big Jim' Saulsbury, of International Steel ! Do you
think she was trying to—er, stall?”
“No.” The Captain shook his head. “Her motive was
honest and straightforward enough, I think. She made only
one misstatement, or attempt at evasion.”
“What was that?”
Storm drew closer to catch the reply.
“That she intended to put the case in the hands of private
detectives; she has already done so-At eleven o'clock this
morning, to be exact. You see, gentlemen, her house has
been watched since midnight and she has been under sur-
veillance every moment. We could take no chances, and in
cases of this sort we look first for the woman!”


CHAPTER XIX
FOUND
HEN, a few minutes later, they came down the
W V steps of the building, Millard was still descanting
on the infallible methods of the bureau they had
just quitted; but Storm was silent, although in his heart he
gave grudging assent to the eulogy. They were thorough,
for a fact; he had not anticipated such "extensive work on
the part of the police in so short a time. The alarm sent
out at sundown from Pennsylvania for the missing man,
and by midnight his record known and the house in which
his sweetheart lived placed under surveillance!
To Millard and himself as mere curious visitors no infor-
mation had been dropped, and he had an uneasy idea that
the mental reservation indicated by Captain Nairn's attitude
concealed a far deeper knowledge of the case than had been
given out to the press. In the latter's manner, especially
when they shook hands at the moment of departure, he felt
that, had the Captain chosen to speak, he might have learned
something of vital importance to himself. Had the bag been
already discovered at the station, and was the porter's me-
mory for faces more keen than he had judged? Were de-
tectives even now scouring the city for a man of his per-
sonal description?
“I’ll wager that telephone message had something to do
with the Horton affair,” Millard remarked suddenly.
“Maybe he was caught then l’”
224


FOUND - 225
Storm roused himself from his meditations with a start.
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, you see, I’ve watched the Captain before,” replied
Millard. “You saw how quickly his expression could change
when he wanted it to. By Jove, that chap should have been
an actor | He put me over the jumps for a solid hour, I
don't mind telling you, when I went in to explain about my
acquaintance with Du Chainat, and although he did it in a
perfectly courteous, kid-glove manner I felt as limp as a
rag when I came out. His expression ran the gamut from
bland incredulity to direct accusation, and if I had had any-
thing to confess he would have broken me down absolutely.
Those fellows at Headquarters could force a confession
from the cleverest crook in Christendom!”
“And what has this to do with the telephone message to-
day?” Storm inquired in bored disgust at his companion's
garrulousness.
“Everything, my boy!” Millard retorted. “While he was
talking to Big Jim's daughter just now and drawing her out,
his face was alive with expression, but after he had heard
the first few words which came to him over the 'phone he
looked absolutely blank and wooden. He got some infor-
mation right then that he did not mean to convey, or I am
very much mistaken. I say, there was something rather
fine, wasn't there, about that girl?” w
“She was rather pretty,” Storm admitted, with a shrug.
“I don't mean that!” exclaimed the other impatiently.
“She was gotten up like a circus queen! I mean her atti-
tude, her loyalty toward your friend Horton. Jolly white
of her, I thought it!”
“Oh, when a woman is in love!” Storm sneered and added
in cold displeasure, “Don’t call Horton my friend, please.
I doubt still that this fellow is the one I knew at college.”


226 ASHES TO ASHES
“But the Captain told you he was at Elmhaven 39
“After I had myself informed him that there was a chap
of that name there; don't forget that, Millard. A mere play
to the gallery.” Storm laughed. “Captain Nairn is highly
successful, I have no doubt, in cases of lost children and
runaway girls, but I must confess I see no basis for your
remarkable faith in the powers of the Department. They've
failed in other cases just as they will in this.”
“You wait and see!” Millard's tone was distinctly ruffled.
“I’ve known the Commissioner's secretary for years and I'm
going to get him to let me in on this case from the inside
and watch how they work it. I’ll bet you fifty dollars they
get that man Horton l”
“And the hundred thousand?”, Storm was still laughing,
but there was a reckless glint in his eyes.
“And the hundred thousand l’” Millard repeated with
emphasis.
“Any time limit?”
“Oh, well, if the fellow succeeds in getting out of the
country ” Millard hedged.
“Shall we say six months?—Donel Come up and dine
with me at my rooms on Tuesday night, and we'll let George
Holworthy hold the stakes.” Storm held out his hand in a
sudden volatile accession of cordiality. “Good-bye, and
thanks for a most interesting afternoon, old man, really ſ”
After he had left Millard, however, a quick revulsion of
mood came and he cursed the impulse which had led him to
extend the invitation. The voluble little man bored him
horribly, but he had felt an impish desire to goad him on
in his laudation of the Department, and to seal the compact
of the wager within a few feet of where the money lay
securely hidden had seemed a great joke at the moment. It
might be a wise move, at that, to keep in with Millard if


FOUND 227
the latter managed through his boasted friendship with the
Commissioner's secretary to obtain any inside information
on the progress of the case. He would be sure to retail it in
defense of his argument, and in spite of his sense of security
Storm determined to be forewarned of any possible danger.
He dined alone at an old down-town hotel which he fre-
quented when the mood for solitude came upon him. It
was a stately place with an air of faded grandeur about it,
left far behind in the upward march of the city, but still
retaining a remnant of its ancient patronage.
As he sat over his coffee, Storm idly studied the diners
scattered about at the nearby tables. They were elderly
for the most part with a solid air of conscious rectitude
and well-being, and they ate with the deliberation and grave
relish due to the reputation of the cuisine. A shining bald
pate above a coat of magisterial black at the next table
caught Storm's eye by its glistening expanse. The man was
sitting back luxuriously reading a paper which he held out-
stretched to aid some defect of vision, and over one ample
shoulder a few letters of the headline jumped out in staring
type.
“—ton's Body—”
Storm caught his breath, and for a moment the page
wavered and blurred before his eyes. Could it mean Hor-
ton's body? Had it been discovered? He craned his neck,
leaning as far forward and to one side as he dared; but by
a perverse fate the older man moved also, his shoulder
effectually concealing the rest of the message.
Storm cursed him softly beneath his breath, still maneu-
vering desperately to read the lines so tantalizingly with-
held from him. Confound the old dotard | If he would
shift that paper only a bit to one side, hold it a matter of
a few inches higher, the whole article could be read, for


FOUND 229
there—but what did Horton matter? He was dead and that
was an end of it. How easily his skull had caved in beneath
the force of that single blow ! How easily the whole thing
had been accomplished
But was the money really safe in his apartment now that
the search would narrow down to the bag and its contents?
Would it not be wiser if he were to hire a safe-deposit box
somewhere under an assumed name P But even as the
thought came he negatived it. Wise or not, he realized that
he could not know a moment's rest with the money for which
he had risked so much out of his immediate possession. He
would wait until the bag was discovered and the news of it
had been forgotten and then slip unostentatiously away.
This might come at any day; he must be prepared.
Thank heaven he had mentioned his proposed trip to
George long before Horton crossed his path once more!
Now his suddenly announced decision would call forth no
surprise from that devoted friend, and George could be de-
pended upon in the depths of his innocence to explain the
-situation to any curious acquaintances.
“Poor old Norman l’ he would say, shaking his head sadly.
“Went all to pieces over the loss of his wife. Health gave
out completely, you know; couldn't eat, couldn't sleep,
racked with nerves! Sea voyage is the best thing for him,
and he'll come back a new man.”
Storm laughed at his own conceit, but by morning his
resolve had strengthened and definite plans began to form
themselves in his mind. When he was safely away—in
Japan, perhaps, he would change some of the banknotes
at a foreign branch of one of the banking houses and send
back a draft to old Foulkes to take up that mortgage on the
Greenlea house with Langhorne; he could get a far better
price for the property unencumbered.


230 ASHES TO ASHES
Still later he could write to old George and deputize him
to sell it. George would be pained, of course, but what did
that matter? He could explain that he meant to extend his
trip and could never, in any event, bring himself to a return
to Greenlea. He could tell George also to dispose of what
personal belongings still remained of Leila's among her
friends there and to sell the house as it stood.
The morning papers threw no further light on the sub-
ject of Horton's murder, yet Storm knew that no stone
would be left unturned in the search for the bag, and he
felt that its discovery might be imminent. A week or two
at most after that took place and the whole affair would
vanish from the public mind.
He would be prepared to sail at once, but in cutting ab-
solutely adrift from the old life he meant in no sense to be-
come a pariah. When he was satiated with travel he would
settle down in some Continental city and enjoy life un-
trammeled by memories.
That night he took stock of his own belongings. He had
left the details of his removal from Greenlea in George's
hands, and the latter had made a free selection. When Storm
had weeded them out from Potter's effects he looked at the
conglomeration in despair. He meant to travel light, taking
only his fresh mourning attire with him, which could be dis-
carded readily enough as soon as he was away from his
circle of condoling friends; and his old clothes could be given
to Homachi.
But George had added a collection of junk which could
not be so easily disposed of without opening even that credu-
lous individual's eyes to the real state of Storm's mind. His
glance swept in exasperation over the room; that reading
lamp, for instance, his favorite edition of Balzac, the antique
clock, the bronze desk set! George's infernal sentiment


FOUND 233
murderers were discovered and convicted. Big Jim is
backing her up, too. He came on here to New York, and
although he refuses to talk for publication it is understood
that he has hired the best private detectives in the country
to supplement the authorities. By Jingo, I hope they get
them l’”
“Do they think some gang were out after him?” Storm
asked.
- “They don’t seem to think anything!” George waxed in-
dignant. “I tell you, things are in a pretty state in this town
when a chap can be decoyed off a train, robbed of a hundred
thousand dollars and murdered in cold blood! Where were
the police, I should like to know?”
Storm smiled.
“We had a little talk about crime not so long ago, if you re-
member,” he observed. “You didn't quite agree with me
when I suggested that a person could commit any sort of
crime and get away with it if he used his brains, but this
looks like a case in point, eh?”
Suddenly he caught his breath. It had occurred to him
that George's glance had fallen idly upon the sheets of
newspaper with which they were packing the articles into
the trunk, and remembrance came to him. They were using
the outer sheets only from the top of the pile on the pantry
shelf; the inner sheets of those papers were wrapped about
Horton's pistol in the bag! Had George noted anything
unusual? His manner certainly did not show it, and he was
packing with a preoccupation which boded ill for the safe
arrival of the fragile lamp at Greenlea.
To test him, Storm repeated:
“It looks as if the fellow was going to get away with it
in this case, at any rate.”
“They’ve only just started,” George replied significantly,


234 ASHES TO ASHES
adding as he eyed the half-filled trunk: “We should have
put those books on the bottom, but never mind now. Does
this desk set go in, too?”
“Yes.” Storm breathed more easily, but his vaunted
foresight had received a shock. Why hadn't he destroyed
those confounded outer sheets of the newspaper?
The thought brought a swift reminder to him. Why not
get rid now of the cap which Horton had worn on that fate-
ful walk? There was room in the trunk . . . .
He dashed to the closet.
“Wait a minute, George. When you packed up my things
to move in town you brought along a lot of old clothes that
I shan’t have any use for in a dog's age. Might as well ship
some of them back to Greenlea now and have done with it.”
“Sure!” responded George equably. “Bring them along.”
Storm returned, his arms filled with a miscellaneous col-
lection of coats and headgear. Among the latter was a
certain cap of thin dark blue cloth, and as he saw it disappear
into the trunk he heaved a sigh of relief. That, too, was
gone! He turned to his companion.
“Oh, did I tell you that I saw Horton's girl yesterday;
this Miss Saulsbury?”
“Where?” George demanded, staring.
“At Police Headquarters. A friend of Millard showed
us around.”
Storm told in detail of the scene at the Bureau of Missing
Persons, and George listened with deep interest.
“Mighty loyal of that girl to stand up for poor Jack when
the whole world was ready to condemn him as an absconder,
wasn't it?” he commented, as Millard had done. “Even I
—well, it did look pretty black against him, didn't it? They'll
get his murderers, sure l’”
“So Millard thinks. He is crazy about the work of the


FOUND 235
Department since he has been given a glimpse behind the
scenes, and he swears they can't fail.” Storm laughed. “In
fact, we have a little wager on about it, and you are to hold
the stakes. He is coming up to dinner next Tuesday night.”
“Well, for an old friend of Jack, you've taken a queer
stand, it seems to me,” George said slowly. “Anybody would
think you didn't want to see his murderers punished!”
“Not at all!” Storm retorted coolly: “There is nothing per-
sonal in this; it is a purely abstract question. Millard be-
lieves in the infallibility of the Department, and I don't.
What have they done so far? Horton was last seen alive in
Poughkeepsie on Wednesday afternoon; he is murdered in
New York some time that night, and his body is not even
discovered until Friday afternoon. This is Saturday night,
and what progress has been made in the case? Exactly none!
They don't know how Horton came to be out there on the
Drive, who killed him or where the money is 1”
“They've found the bag it was in, anyway.”
“What?” Storm stared at him as though he could scarely
believe he had heard aright.
“Uh-huh. The last edition of all the papers is playing
it up big. The bag with poor old Jack's hat and a pistol
and a lot of old newspapers inside was discovered in the
parcel-checking room of the Grand Central Station.” George
paused and added: “Isn't that marvelous police work for
you? They must have doped it out that because he disap-
peared presumably from the terminal the bag would be
found somewhere around there, and by Jingo, it was Think
of conceiving the idea of searching the parcel room and then
tell me a fellow can get away with anything in this town
when such minds as those are on the job after him! Won-
derful work, I call it! When they find out who checked
that bag there, they've got Jack Horton's murderer!”


CHAPTER XX
MARKED !
HEY finished packing the trunk, made and devoured
| the rarebit, and still George lingered. His mind had
been jarred from its placid routine by the tragic death
of their former classmate, and he dwelt upon the remini-
scences which were an added torture to Storm's perturbed
mental state.
The bag had been discovered, but did the porter remem-
ber checking it? Did he remember the face of the man who
had given it into his charge? That was a paramount ques-
tion. He had not noticed that the papers he brought home
with him were not the final edition, and now it was too late
to procure one even if he could get rid of George. He felt
that he could not wait till morning; he must know ! Dare
he ask his companion for particulars? Surely it would be
only natural for him to show as much casual interest as
that in the mystery surrounding an old friend's death!
“What do you think about the case yourself?” he queried
at last, abruptly cutting off the flow of reminiscence. “What
is your theory as to how Jack came to his death?”
“Well,” George helped himself to a cigar. “He may not
have been killed on the Drive, you know. His body may
have been brought there by automobile and thrown over the
wall, and a high-powered car travels fast; the murder may
have taken place miles away. I'm going down and have a
look at old Jack to-morrow if they will let me—I have a
236


MARKED ! 237
theory about the whole thing that I would like to try out
for my own satisfaction.”
“And what is that?” Storm inquired with a jarring note
of sarcasm in his tones.
“Oh, I don't pretend to be any amateur detective,” George
returned mildly. “But I knew old Jack! They're all taking
it for granted that he wasn't killed in New York because
he had no business to be here; at least, he was supposed to
have gone right on through. Now, his character may have
steadied down and grown more dependable with the years—
it must have, since he has been so uniformly trusted in such
responsible positions—but you can't change a person's natu-
ral propensities, and Jack was always keen for a good time.
Understand, I'm not casting any aspersions on him; I don't
say he would have taken a chance of trouble with that money
in his care, but what if he didn't think he was taking
chances? What if he ran into some people he knew and
trusted as he would himself, was persuaded to stop over
and then taken unawares?”
“But what grounds are there for such a supposition?”
The sarcasm had gone from Storm's tones and they were
muffled and oddly constrained. “Didn't the papers speak
of a struggle? That doesn't look as if Horton were caught
off guard by people he might have been chumming with.”
“That's why I want to see the body,” responded George.
“It could have been banged about and the clothes torn by
that fall over the wall and down that steep, rocky incline.”
“Of course,” Storm commented; “but ordinary footpads
could have set upon him from behind—”
“Ordinary footpads would not have known the contents
of that bag,” objected the other. “Now, if he really boarded
that train alive in broad daylight, he must have left it wil-
lingly, and therefore he must have done so at the terminal


238 ASHES TO ASHES
in New York, for no amount of persuasion or coercion
would have made him get off at an intermediate station with
that bag in his possession.”
“And since the bag was found at the terminal, you think
he was murdered there?” Storm laughed shortly.
“No, but I do think he was murdered somewhere within
the city limits; you couldn't get a dead or drugged or resist-
ing man off a train in broad daylight without attracting at-
tention, and as a matter of fact the autopsy shows that Jack
wasn't drugged. He may have met some old pal on the train
or in the station and decided to wait over for an hour or so
in town before continuing on his journey, and it must have
been someone he knew well. If he left Poughkeepsie on
that four-something train, he must have reached New York
in time for dinner, and it has been established that he wasn't
killed until around midnight. It seems to me that if the
police would look up what friends of his were in New York
that night, they might learn something to their advantage.”
“You are getting to be quite an analyst, George; I should
never have suspected it.” Storm yawned openly and tossed
away his cigarette. “What about the bag? You said that
when they found the man who checked it they would have
Horton's murderer. It has been established, then, that a
man did check it? They have a description of him, per-
haps?”
He waited breathlessly for the answer, but George merely
shrugged.
“No. It was checked some time on Thursday; that's all
they know. The hat and pistol were in it, wadded out with
newspapers, but not another scrap of evidence.” George
rose. “Guess I’ll be getting on downtown. If I can get
Abbott's car to-morrow afternoon, do you want to run out
somewhere for dinner? You're not looking up to the mark


24O ASHES TO ASHES
“Don’t be a fool, Norman l’” George advised with the
roughness of sudden feeling in his tones. “I know you are
dragging your anchor just now, but you'll come up in the
wind all right. We all get over things in time; we have to.
You would never get such a position as you have with the
Mammoth Trust, and you haven't the temperament to start
out for yourself.”
“I’m not dependant on that position, as it happens,” Storm
remarked coldly, but his pulses leaped at the inward signifi-
cance of the statement. What was fifteen thousand a year
in a treadmill of precedent and prejudice to a hundred and
twelve thousand and the world before him?
“I know you are not, but the remains of your father's
estate won't last you long.” George spoke with dogged pa-
tience. “You are not the sort to tie yourself down later to
an inferior position where you would feel galled and em-
bittered by the driving methods of the average commercial
concern. You've got it pretty easy there, Norman, with the
Mammoth people.”
“I don't care! I have enough for myself if I never do
another stroke of work and I have no one else to consider.
I want to be my own master! I want to be free!”
The cry was wrung from him in an unguarded upward
surge of exasperation, but George shook his head.
“We are none of us that, ever,” he said slowly. “We think
that we can fly from our memories, but we can't old man.
It is only from within us that resignation comes, and peace,
and finally, if we are strong and patient enough, something
that passes for happiness.”
“How do you know all this?” Storm demanded. “Where
did you get your philosophy?”
“From sticking it out.” George stared straight ahead of
him, and his tone was a trifle grim. “Don’t think you are the


MARKED ! 24I
only one who has had to make the best of things and go on;
I tell you, you can get used to anything in time.”
“I don't propose tol" Storm cried recklessly. “I’ve had
enough of this, I tell you; I’ve got to get away!—Not per-
manently, you understand, but for a good long trip.”
He added the latter as a sense of caution returned to him,
and George retorted:
“What at the end of it? You've got luxurious habits;
there is no sense in blinking the truth. After you've wan-
dered around the world lonelier than you are now and spent
all your capital, you'll come home to find your position gone
and nothing in store for you. You've been through the
worst of it; stick it out now and try to work all the harder.”
“I tell you I've come to the end l’” Storm cried desper-
ately. “I don't mean to be violent, old man, but I’ve got to
have a change or I shall go mad! I thought if I left Green-
lea and moved into town things would adjust themselves,
that I should feel better; but I don't. I haven’t the least in-
tention of beggaring myself as you seem to think; why, I
shan’t be away more than a few months at most, and I have
other things in view for my return. I’ve been sticking too
long at the trust company, practically rusting. I need fresh
interests, a new impetus. This whole damned town stifles
me!”
“Then why not ask for a month's vacation and come up-
state on a fishing trip with me?” George asked after a
moment. “Abbott can look after my affairs, and it isn't too
late for the trout. You used to be fond of fishing »
Storm moved impatiently in his seat.
“I don’t want to do any thing I’m used to 1" he declared.
“I want complete change, new scenes, everything! Can't you
understand?”
“I think I can.” George kept his eyes carefully trained


242 ASHES TO ASHES
ahead, and he seemed to be choosing his words with unusual
deliberation. “But you can't fight anything, you can't forget
anything, by running away from it, Norman.”
“I’m not running away!” The denial came hotly from
the other's lips, and he eyed his companion in swift, furtive
alarm. “I’m worn out and my nerves are gone; that is all
there is to it! You are so confoundedly phlegmatic,
George, that you could keep on in the same old rut if the
heavens fell! This isn't a wild impulse; I’ve had it in mind
ever since—since Leila left me. Don't be surprised if you
hear of my pulling up stakes any day.”
George had no more to say, but Storm felt uneasily that
his announcement had not been received quite as he had
hoped it would be. To his own mind his proposed trip seemed
natural enough on the face of it, but it was evident that to
his conservative friend the deliberate relinquishment of a
life-long sinecure was not justified by his mere desire for a
change of scene. George was not proving as easy to handle,
after all, as he had anticipated; and if he thought the pro-
posed departure strange, how would the rest of their world
look upon it?
But what did it matter what any of them thought? Leila's
death had been declared accidental, and that incident was
closed forever, while no possible link remained to connect
him with the murder of Horton. Storm told himself an-
grily that this utterly unwarranted apprehension showed the
state his nerves were in. He must get away !
That night, obsessed with the idea, he looked up sailing
dates. This was the tenth of June; if he left New York on
the following Saturday, the sixteenth, he could journey by
rail across the continent, allow a day or two in which to look
about San Francisco and catch the Chikamatzu from that
port for Yokohama. It would be a simple matter to make


MARKED ! 243
his way from there to the China coast when Japan palled,
and from there to India, to Egypt . . . .
Six days more! He could possess his soul in patience for
that brief period, and it would be none too long to enable
him to put his affairs in final order. The investigation into
Horton's death and the disappearance of the money had
reached the point which he had anticipated; now it would re-
main at a standstill until finally dropped for lack of further
evidence. As far as he personally was concerned, the affair
Was Over.
With his decision made and the date of departure fixed
in his mind, all nervous misgivings fell from him, and the
news of the two succeeding days contained nothing to re-
awaken any disquietude.
The police were noncommittal, but it was evident that
they had nothing to offer in response to the clamor of the
press for a report of progress in the case. The private
detectives working at the behest of “Big Jim' Saulsbury's
daughter and those of the Mid-Eastern Corporation were
assiduously following chimerical clues. The investigation
appeared to be indeed at a standstill, and Storm's spirits
soared.
He even anticipated with a certain sly amusement the
dinner on Tuesday evening when the wager with Millard was
to be ratified in George's presence. Those two wiseacres,
with their convention-bound souls and orthodox respect for
the majesty of the law, should dine calmly within arm's
length of the money the disappearance of which they would
so solemnly discuss! How he would draw them out, listen
to their fatuous exposition of their theories and laugh in
his sleeve at them both !
Homachi was eager to exhibit his culinary ability, and
master and man planned a perfectly appointed little repast,


244 ASHES TO ASHES
the former with a nice discrimination as to wines. His guest
must be in a mellow, receptive mood, for he meant to take
this occasion to announce his imminent departure definitely;
he could depend on Millard to spread the news about Green-
lea, and the attitude in which he received it would indicate
the spirit in which he would disseminate it.
George was the first to appear on the scene, and his good-
natured face wore a little, worried frown as he shook hands.
“I heard downtown today that you had closed out your
account at the bank, Norman,” he began. “You are not
actually preparing to go away, are you?”
“I told you on Sunday,” Storm reminded him grimly.
“I know, but I–I really hoped you would think better of
it.” George shook his head. “I can't stand by without a
remonstrance and see my best friend throw his whole future
away on a mere restless whim. You know you are fixed for
life with the Mammoth people, and no man in his senses
would turn his back on an assured and ample income to
gratify such a suddenly aroused desire for travel. What is
it, Norman? What is on your mind?”
“What do you mean?” Storm's eyes narrowed and his
voice was ominously calm. “What should be on my mind,
George?” -
“I don't knowl Hang it, I wish I did l’” the other re-
torted. “It just isn't reasonable, that's all. I don’t want to
—to touch on anything that will add to your sorrow, Nor-
man, but I can't help feeling that there is something more in
this than just an attempt to forget your grief over Leila's
death. A man might naturally hanker for new scenes, but he
wouldn't sacrifice his whole future for a few months' change.
Tell me what is at the bottom of this crazy move of yours,
won't you? I know you think I'm just a stodgy old fool, but
maybe I can help.”


246 ASHES TO ASHES
The latter responded while Storm went out to the pantry
to perform certain functions with a cocktail shaker. When
he returned he found that the irrepressible Millard had al-
ready plunged into the subject of the wager.
“Really, you know, in the interests of law and order you
should drink to my victory, Storm 1" the latter declared
jovially.
“By all means !” Storm smiled. “For the good of the com-
monwealth as well as to avenge the memory of the man I
knew at college, I hope that Horton's murderers will be
brought to justice; but as a mere matter of personal opinion,
backed by fifty dollars, I do not believe that the authorities
are equal to the task.”
Millard drank with a consciously superior air and then
produced his wallet.
“Here's my fifty to declare that they are l’” he said.
“The murderers and the money?” Storm laughed.
“And the money!” retorted his guest.
“I say, I don't like this transaction a little bit, at least as
far as my part in it is concerned,” George objected. “Hold-
ing the stakes on a bet of this sort seems scarcely decent,
to me. Jack Horton was my friend.”
Jokingly they overruled his scruples and went in to din-
ner; but from time to time Storm found himself eying Mil-
lard askance. The latter bore himself with an air of ill-con-
cealed mystery which augmented his natural self-importance,
and his knowing smile was irritating to a degree. More than
once as the meal progressed he seemed on the point of vol-
unteering a statement, but each time he checked himself,
though Storm plied him assiduously with the contents of the
cob-webbed bottles.
Storm himself drank more than was his wont, but his
brain remained clear and became if anything more coolly,


MARKED ! 247
keenly critical. It was evident that Millard had something
which he was eager to impart, but an unusual caution
weighed upon him. Was it merely a theory of his own con-
cerning the murder, or had he really succeeded in learning
anything at Headquarters which had been withheld from
the public despite the taunts of the press?
After the wager had been settled, Millard had sedulously
avoided all reference to the crime, and Storm's efforts to
reopen the subject met with no response from him. At
length the latter desisted and allowed the conversation to
drift to other topics, although he kept his guests' glasses
constantly filled.
George left his almost untouched, and his face grew
graver as Millard's became more flushed. Storm knew that
he was brooding in his dull, ruminative fashion over the
situation which Millard's entrance had interrupted, and as
the meal drew to a close he decided to make his announce-
ment and have it over with.
“I am especially glad to have you two good friends here
with me to-night ” he began.
“Hear! Hear!” Millard interjected.
“No; this is no speech, but it is probably the last occasion
on which we three shall meet for some time,” Storm pur-
sued. “I’m leaving town in a few days—making quite an
extended trip, in fact, and I doubt if I shall be back much
before it is time for George to hand me your fifty dollars,
Millard.”
“Going away!” Millard exclaimed blankly. “Where, old
chap? What's the idea?”
“I’m not very well; nerves gone to pieces. I need a long
sea voyage to buck me up, the doctor says, and I’m planning
a trip to the East,” Storm explained. “When I come back
I am thinking of going into something new. The Mammoth


248 ASHES TO ASHES
Trust is all very well, but it doesn't offer a wide enough
scope for the future. I am out after something big, but I
want a rest first, and change.”
Millard nodded solemnly.
“Best thing for you,” he said. “Change, and all that, and
then strike out for yourself. Dry rot in most of those old,
conservative institutions. Hope you'll come back to Green-
lea in time for the election of the club officers in the Fall.
Here's luck, but don't count on that fifty of mine! If you
knew what I do, you'd kiss your own good-bye!”
As he spoke he knocked the ash from the cigar which he
had just lighted and a few flecks fell upon his host's knee.
Storm brushed them off with a quick gesture of loathing.
Ashes! God, could there be something prophetic in Mil-
lard's words?
He leaned forward in his chair.
“Look here, what have you got up your sleeve?” he de-
manded. “The bet goes as it lays, but I hope you haven't
been letting them jolly you at Headquarters into believing
that you are coming out an easy winner. They always pre-
tend secret progress when they are stalled on a case, and they
are at a deadlock now.”
“Deadlock, nothing!” Millard crowed, his caution forgot-
ten at the jibe. “That's what the chaps who did for Horton
are thinking right now, but just wait till they try to pass one
of those bills from the wad they stole!”
“Why?” Storm was not conscious that he had spoken,
that he was clutching the table edge in a grip that embedded
his nails in the cloth.
“Why? Because their numbers have been flashed all over
the United States; the Chief of Police in every big city has
been warned to be on the lookout for them, and long before
the scoundrels can reach another country, provided they suc-


MARKED ! 249
**
ceed in getting out of this one, the news will have preceded
them!” Millard waved his pudgy hands excitedly. “You
didn't suppose they would give the bills out to Horton at
the trust company without jotting down the numbers in case
of error or accident, did you? It really wasn't sporting of
me to bet on a sure thing; but do you think now that your
man has a chance of getting away with the money?”
“Millard, you're going to win!” It was George who spoke,
and firm conviction rang in his tones.
“Win? Hah!” Millard sat back in his chair. “The min-
ute one of those bills makes its appearance, the man who
offers it will be held for murder!”


CHAPTER XXI
THE UN CONSIDERED TRIFLE
Storm at Millard's words, but he controlled himself
by a mighty effort. More vital than at any moment
in the past was his need now of quick, coherent thought, and
he forced himself to rise above the crushing blow. The bills
were numbered and traceable! He should have thought of
that l But the gold ! The gold!
His throat was dry and parched, but he dared not lift his
glass lest the shaking of his hand betray him. He swallowed
and forced a laugh, but it sounded strained and unnatural
in his own ears.
“Is that the big secret?” He was mortally afraid that his
voice would crack, but it was evident that so far the others
had noted nothing amiss; and emboldened he went on:
“Good Lord, Millard, the criminals may be plain thugs, but
are your friends at Headquarters such utter fools as to think
they wouldn't realize the bills were numbered? They won't
take any chances on them, you may be sure of that. It was
the gold they were after l No attempt was made to check
up on that, was there? I mean, it wasn’t a fresh coinage
or anything of that sort, with some mark that could be
traced P”
Ages seemed to pass before Millard slowly shook his head,
crestfallen that his news had been so tamely received.
“No,” he admitted. “But there isn't such a lot of gold in
Bº: fury that was half despair swept over
250


252 ASHES TO ASHES
have been spirited off the train from Poughkeepsie against
his will, and he wasn't killed until hours later. Now if he had
met a friend I must really suggest that at Head-
quarters!”
“Another cigar?” The urbane host, quite his old self
again, smiled as he leaned across the table. “Try some of
that 1812 brandy, Millard; you'll appreciate it. Old George
here has been full of theories since Horton's murder, but I
am afraid they are not practicable, and you won't find much
sympathy for amateur efforts at Headquarters. I think my-
self that the body was brought there in a machine from the
Lord knows what distance and thrown over the wall, but
beyond that who can tell?”
“Well, there is something in support of that theory.” Mil-
lard bristled again with an assumption of his former import-
ance. “Just between ourselves, it is known that a machine
came tearing down the Drive at a little after one o'clock
that night going to beat the devil and it must have passed
that spot. The occupants were yelling and carrying on, and
the policeman who tried to hold them up at One Hundred
and Tenth Street thought they were just a bunch of drunks
out on a joy ride. I don't mind telling you they've been
scouring the city for that machine ever since.”
Storm gazed into his liqueur glass with inscrutable eyes.
He remembered that car and its roisterous crew. It had
passed just before. . . . He roused himself to hear George's
dogged, mildly insistent tones.
“It isn't logical to suppose that people on such an errand
would draw attention to themselves. I don't mean that Jack
walked deliberately at that time of night to the spot where
he was found murdered, but 33
“It is possible that he may have done just that.” Millard
paused to sniff the bouquet of his brandy with the air of a


254 ASHES TO ASHES
have remembered that the bills would be spotted, of course;
that was the one flaw in his reasoning. The fact remained
that he had not done so, however. What if he had not got-
ten Millard here to-night and loosened his tongue? If he
had not been so providentially forewarned, all the structure
he had so carefully built up might have fallen about him and
carried him to ruin beneath it at his first attempt to make
use of his newly acquired wealth !
“I wonder if it could have been Jack Horton and another
man whom the policeman saw?” George cogitated. “That
couple walking, I mean? If it were, it would bear out my
theory. Of course, we don't know who Horton's intimates
were of late years, nor what he could have been doing up
in this part of the city so long after he should have been
on his way; but it is not impossible, as you say. The police-
man doesn't remember hearing anything a little later? A
cry or anything of that sort? Why on earth didn't he follow
them? Two men on that lonely stretch of drive at such an
hour! He might have known there would be foul
play !”
“My dear Georgel” Storm laughed, but his hand shook
as he refilled Millard's glass so that a drop or two of the
pale golden liquid fell on the cloth. “Don’t try to endow
the Department with supernatural powers of divination!
You and I have taken many a midnight stroll on the Drive
since I took over Potter's rooms here. Would you have had
a policeman dog our footsteps to see that we didn't murder
each other? It is inconceivable that it could have been Jack
Horton; remember that his bag, with the hat and pistol
inside, were found in the Grand Central Station. If he had
been killed out there where he was found it would have been
far simpler for his murderers to have left them there with
the body and just made away with the money.”


THE UNCONSIDERED TRIFLE 255
To this George found no answer, but Millard smiled a
trifle crookedly as he set down his glass, and a knowing leer
spread over his flushed countenance.
“Something more was found in the bag besides the hat
and pistol,” he observed. “This isn't supposed to be known,
but I’ve got inside dope on it straight from Headquarters.
Lot of old newspapers were wadded around the pistol. You
might say there would be nothing in that, but there was
something funny about those newspapers; the outside sheet
was missing from every one of them!”
Storm drew a deep breath that was almost a sob and a
great fear gripped him. Only three nights before when they
were packing the trunk to be sent back to Greenlea, they
had used the outer sheets of those same newspapers, and
the old doubt returned to him. Had George noticed? He
had said nothing, and his manner as Storm recalled it con-
veyed no intimation that his thoughts had been even momen-
tarily distracted from the discussion then under way. Storm
stole a furtive glance at him, but George seemed not to have
heard. He was playing idly with the cigar-lighter, and his
face wore a frown of labored concentration. -
If it were only possible to silence Millard | But the latter
continued with evident relish:
“And why was it missing? Because those papers weren't
bought haphazard at a news-stand; they’d been delivered
from day to day by a regular vendor, and the outer sheets
had been removed because they bore the name of the person
to whom they had been consigned.” Millard produced a
small notebook from his pocket and ruffled its pages import-
antly. “Look here! I jotted down the dates of those
papers: May twenty-eighth, thirtieth, thirty-first, and June
first, third and fourth, of this year, too! Not so old, eh?
They come down to within a day or two of the murder!


256 ASHES TO ASHES T
I guess that's bad evidence! Those newspapers had been
delivered to the person who packed that bag, old chap, or he
wouldn't have been so infernally careful, and he is one of
those who murdered Horton l’”
“You cannot trace parts of newspapers if they have no
distinguishing mark on them!” Storm said hastily, casting
about in desperation for a change of theme. “Your friends
at Headquarters are remarkably painstaking, but have they
considered the possibility that Horton may have stopped
over in New York to see this girl in whom he was interested,
and been waylaid P”
“There's not a chance of that.” Millard shook his head.
“She has told all she knows, and it has been proven that he
never went near her; never even communicated with her,
although so many hours elapsed between the time his train
reached the city and the murder. Oh, it's a poser, all right,
but they'll solve it. I’ll win my wager yet, old chap.”
He cast a wavering and reluctant eye upon the clock and
roSe. -
“You’re not going yet?” Storm asked mechanically.
“Have another smoke—?”
“Must be getting on if I’m going to catch the midnight,
and if I don't there'll be the deuce to pay!” Millard's tone
was frankly regretful. “Wish I could stay and make a night
of it, dear boy, but you know how it is! You know how
I'm situated It's been some evening, though, hasn't it?
I envy you, Storm; such rooms, such a cook, and call your
soul your own l’”
“Yet I am anxious to start on my trip,” Storm remarked.
“I want to get away xx
“I know, dear old boy! Memories l” Millard heaved a
lugubrious sigh. “I don't blame you, but we'll all look for-
ward to having you with us again. I’ll look in on you before


THE UNCONSIDERED TRIFLE 257
you start, of course. Coming my way, Holworthy?”
“Eh P” George glanced up with a start, as if suddenly
aroused, his near-sighted eyes blinking. But Storm inter-
vened.
“Oh, George will stop for another smoke and a chat. It
is early for him yet, you know; he's a bachelor!”
He fairly hustled his departing guest into his coat in fear
lest George should insist upon accompanying him. They
must not leave together, presenting an opportunity for Mil-
lard to expatiate on his theme of the newspapers! Dense
as he was, few things escaped George. He might have only
subconsciously noted the trivial episode of the other night;
but would he remember it later? Storm felt the moisture
start suddenly upon his forehead, and the smoke-wreathed
air seemed dense and choking.
“Yes, I—I’ll stay a little while,” George said absently.
“You don't know that policeman's number, do you, Millard?
The one who passed those two men on the Drive?”
“No, but I fancy you'll find him out there almost any
night about the same time.” Millard paused at the door.
“Run out to Greenlea and dine with us soon, Holworthy;
I suppose it is no good asking you, Storm? Well, thanks
for a top-hole evening and don't forget our wager!”
The door closed behind him at last, and Storm turned to
face his remaining guest with the cold fear still clutching at
his heart.
“Beastly bore, Millard,” he commented, lighting a cigar-
ette with a critical eye on the hand that held the match. God,
how it trembled ! Had George seen? “That is a rotten way
for a host to talk, I know, but he gets on a fellow's nerves
with his everlasting chatter. I made the wager with him to
shut him up, but it had the opposite effect. Personally, I
don't believe he knows anything more of what is being done


258 ASHES TO ASHES
in the case than is given out to the press; they certainly
wouldn't take a he-gossip of his stamp into their confidence
at Headquarters. He made all that stuff up just to create
an impression.”
George shook his head slowly.
“I don't know. He must be right about the numbered
bills. I thought of that myself and wondered why the
papers didn't make a point of it. The men, too, on the
Drive; I would like to have a talk with that policeman.”
“Are you going to turn detective, too?” Storm's laugh
grated unpleasantly on his own ears.
“No, but I believe if the authorities followed that lead
they would be on their way to the truth,” George responded
gravely. “I can't help feeling that I’m right about poor old
Jack. He would never have taken his hand off his number
if he had not been absolutely sure of his company.”
“It seems to me that you are a little over-confident of the
character of a man you haven't seen in twenty years!”
Storm sneered, his equanimity partially restored. It was
evident that George suspected nothing. “How do you know
what he might have done, what impulses may have guided
him?” -
“A man's whole nature doesn't change, even in a genera-
tion,” the other observed. “I studied him at college as I
did the rest of the crowd, and subsequent events have proved
that my judgment in any of them wasn't far wrong. More-
over, the testimony of this Saulsbury girl, of his employers
and everyone who was associated with him in these later
years bears out my estimate of him. Jack was done in at a
single blow by someone he knew and trusted, and I say it is
a damned shame and outrage!”
“Well, don't get excited about it,” his host advised coolly.
“It won't help the poor chap now, you know. I take more


THE UNCONSIDERED TRIFLE 259
stock myself in that story of the motor car on the Drive
than the possibility of one of the two pedestrians having
been Jack.”
“The fact that the bag was found at the terminal, of which
you reminded me, would have no more bearing on the theory
that his body was brought there than that he had walked
to the spot where he was murdered,” George contended
tenaciously. “Odd about those papers which were stuffed
into the bag, wasn't it? About the outside sheets being miss-
ing, I mean. They were for the twenty-eighth, thirtieth and
thirty-first of May, and the first, third and fourth of June,
he said; didn't he? I wish I had thought to ask him what
newspapers they were. It presents a rather nice little
problem.”
Storm’s breath fluttered in his throat, but he contrived to
reply with an assumption of carelessness.
“Oh, that's nothing! Newspapers cannot be traced. That
was just a mere detail.”
George had heard, after all, but the incident of the pre-
vious Saturday night had utterly escaped him In the wave
of relief which swept over him Storm felt ironically that he
had never before appreciated the virtue of his old friend's
density. But for his slow wit and lack of imagination the
man sitting there smoking so placidly before him might have
been his accuserſ
“Mere details left unguarded are what show up many a
criminal,” George remarked sententiously. “The uncon-
sidered trifles are what turn the scale of evidence against
an intelligent man more often than a big error in judgment.”
Storm writhed inwardly, but the mask of half-contemp-
tuous amusement still veiled his face.
“It doesn't take much intelligence to hit a man over the
head!” he observed. “You’re talking through your hat,


CHAPTER XXII
AT THE CLUB
fication Storm appeared at his office at noon and
dragged him unceremoniously off for lunch. In the
course of their long friendship he had been almost invariably
the one to seek out his more brilliant companion, and he was
touched at this evidence of a need of him.
“I must say you look pretty bad, Norman,” he began with
tactless solicitude. “And you were as nervous as a woman
last night; I could see it. You are not taking care of your-
self 25
“I don't sleep well,” Storm interrupted shortly. “I wanted
to talk things over with you. I've been thinking about that
trip I proposed takin 32
“Yes?” George urged eagerly as he paused.
“Well, I don't know but what you are right if I can only
pull myself together somehow.” Storm weighed each word
with care. “You cannot appreciate what I have been through
in the last month or you would realize how desperately I
want to get away from all reminders of my—my grief; but
if I can fight it without cutting myself adrift and losing my
connection with the trust company, it would be foolish to
sacrifice such a sinecure, especially when I have nothing else
absolutely definite in view.”
He could invent that ‘something else' easily enough, he
reflected as he watched George's glowing face, when the mo-
O N the following day, to George's surprise and grati-
263


264 ASHES TO ASHES
ment came for departure. Meanwhile, he had decided to
play safe; it would not be long! As the words formed in his
mind he shuddered involuntarily; that had been Jack Hor-
ton's expression He had boasted of playing safe in the very
hour of his death !
“Of course it would ! I knew you would come to your
senses, old man!” George cried warmly. “I do realize what
you must have suffered, but the only way to forget is to fight
it. You—you can count on me, you know !”
Storm nodded.
“I am sure of that.” He paused and added: “About that
little fishing trip you suggested; do you think you could get
away?”
“Surest thing you know ! I’m feeling seedy myself, and
it will do us both good. Shall we ask Millard to join us?”
“Heavens, no! He is an infernal nuisance!” Storm ex-
claimed hastily. Through the long night hours he had
planned his trip for the express purpose of keeping George
and his inconvenient theories away from the too loquacious
disseminator of news from Headquarters. “I only want
you, George. How soon do you think you can get away?”
In secret distaste he watched the other's puppy-like
wriggle of affectionate gratification at this mark of favor.
What a fool he had been to fear him! Yet there might still
be a chance for George to suspect, and if he did he would
not rest until he had ferreted out the truth.
“Let’s see; this is Wednesday,” George responded. “I
ought to be able to make it by the first of next week. I'll talk
to Abbott about it this afternoon and let you know later.
Say, why don't you meet me at the Club?”
Storm made a quick gesture of rejection.
“I haven’t been there since 25
“I know, and that's just why it will do you good,” George


AT THE CLUB 265
urged. “You’ve got to take the plunge some time, you know.
There is no good in isolating yourself and brooding, as you
have been doing. Most of the fellows are away now for the
hot weather; you won't find half a dozen there before
dinner.”
“We-ell,” Storm conceded. The ubiquitous Millard would
not be present, at any rate, nor would anyone else who had
the slightest interest in the murder of an obscure paymaster;
and now that the suggestion had been made he felt a vague
desire to see the old club once more. “I’ll meet you there
at half-past five.”
The papers were still devoting much front-page space to
the murder and robbery, but it was concerned principally
with the activities of the detectives employed by Miss Sauls-
bury and those of the Mid-Eastern Corporation. The Police
Department was reported as making progress, but its nature
was not disclosed; and Storm smiled to himself as he read.
No mention was made of the two men seen walking on the
Drive, but the incident of the motor car was prominently ex-
ploited, and the generally accepted theory seemed to be that
the body had been brought from some undetermined distance
and flung over the wall.
All reference to the bag and its contents when found at
the terminal had been permitted to drop, and he looked in
vain for any suggestion that the numbers of the bills were
known.
When he reached the club that afternoon he found that
George had not yet arrived; but a tall, lanky figure arose with
outstretched hand from the window seat.
“Hello, old fellow ! Glad to see you back! We've been
asking about you.”
“Thanks, Griffiths. I’ve not been away,” Storm replied
briefly. “Just haven't felt sociable, that's all.”


268 ASHES TO ASHES
A half hour passed, the little group broke up and Storm
and his companion were on the point of departure when a
hearty, good-humored voice boomed from the doorway and
an elderly man with a bluff military swagger bore down upon
them.
“Great Guns, Storm, but it's good to see you here again!
I wrote you—you got my letter?—when I heard of your
loss. Terrible thing, terrible! Damn fine little lad xy
He paused, clearing his throat and clapping Storm re-
soundingly on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Colonel; yes, I received your letter,” the latter
responded. “Meant to reply to it, but George here can tell
you that I’ve been rather unsettled »y
“Heard you had moved to town and taken somebody's
rooms up on the Drive,” Colonel Walker interupted. “We’ve
needed you here for a fourth at bridge; had to take on
Paine, and he's rotten—”
“I like that!” the editor retorted indignantly. “Who re-
voked twice in one evening—?”
“That was because we were playing for low stakes. I'm
never on my mettle unless the game is away over my head.”
The Colonel laughed and added: “Saw you the other night,
Storm, and tried to hail you but you got away in the crowd.
I wanted to drag you off to a stag house party up in West-
chester. Let's see; that was last Wednesday night, over by
the Grand Central Station—”
“You must have been mistaken l’” Storm interrupted
hastily. He could feel George's eyes upon him, and this
fresh turn of affairs left him aghast.
“No, I'm not,” Colonel Walker insisted bluntly. “It was
Wednesday night, I remember, just around dinner time, for
it was raining like blazes and you were dodging along under
your umbrella—”
*


270 ASHES TO ASHES
Storm sat back in silence, puffing his cigarette and leaving
the burden of conversation to the others. He heard the
Colonel's deep bass, Griffiths' keen, incisive tones and
George's measured, phlegmatic voice with no change in its
unemotional timbre, but they came to him as from a distance.
Did George know? The thought held him as in a vice and
he longed for yet dreaded the moment when they should be
alone together, which he felt must reveal the truth.
At length George rose somewhat heavily and turned to
his friend.
“Shall we be getting on, Norman? Unless you would
prefer to dine here, of course >>
“No.” Storm, too, got out of his chair. “We’ve a lot
of things to settle about our trip.”
They took leave of their friends and left the club, and
still George's manner remained, to the other man's over-
analytical state of mind, significantly grave and reticent. He
could endure the suspense no longer, and a spirit of bravado
entered into him.
“That did me good, rather; to get to the club and see some
of the old fellows again,” Storm declared mendaciously.
“What are you silent about, old man?”
“Nothing; I’ve been thinking,” George responded. “All
your fishing gear is down at Greenlea, isn't it? Can you
write to MacWhirter and get it here by Monday?”
Storm gave a furtive sidelong glance at him, but George
was plodding along with an inscrutable countenance.
“I can run down overnight and pick out what I need,”
Storm asserted shortly. “We can make out a list to-night.
Suppose we stop at the Blenheim Grill here for a bite and
then go on up to my rooms?” -
George accepted without comment, and they were soon
ensconced at a table as far as possible from the blatant or-


AT THE CLUB 275
dampening thought. Had George noticed the coincidence
of his having been near the Grand Central Station at the very
hour of Horton's supposed arrival, as revealed by Colonel
Walker's unlucky chance remark? Storm dared not draw
his attention to the coincidence itself if it had escaped him,
yet a perverse instinct drove him on to ascertain if he had
noted the significance of the date mentioned.
“Old Walker is putting on flesh again since demobiliza-
tion took place,” he began tentatively. “I hear he has been
hitting it up quite a little lately.”
“He is a pretty good fellow,” George replied tolerantly.
“Likes to swagger and make out that he's a regular devil,
but there is no real harm in him.—Say, we'd better get some
new G. lines, and if I were you I'd look over that four-and-
a-half-ounce rod of yours.”
“That's all right.” Storm returned insistently to his point.
“I wonder who was giving the stag house-party up in West-
chester for which the Colonel was bound when he hailed
me? Odd that I should not have heard him, for he bellows
like a bull.”
“Oh, well, in a crowd—” George's tone was absent and
he broke off to announce with vigor. “I’ll tell you one thing;
if you expect any luck you had better get a Montreal or
two. The pet Parmachini Belle of yours would make any
bass in the lake give you a laugh!”
Another dangerous chance eliminated Danger? Storm
chuckled with amusement at the thought. To test old George
further was like taking milk from a blind kitten! Only a
miracle could harm him now and the age of miracles was
past. He was invincible, indeed!
“Ashes be damned P’


CHAPTER XXIII
THE SCOURGE OF MEMORY
ing for his office Homachi ushered in a visitor. He
was a sturdy, well-built man with sandy hair and a
lean, lantern-jawed face, and as he advanced and stood
fumbling with his cap only a slight limp and sag of one hip
betrayed the artificial limb which replaced the one he had
left in France.
“Well, MacWhirter,” Storm began cordially, and then
his tone sharpened. “There isn't anything wrong at Green-
lea P”
“No, sir.” The erstwhile gardener shifted uneasily.
“Everything is right as can be. Since you left me there as
caretaker there's been nothing for me to do; not even a stray
dog to be warned off the place.”
“Then sit down, man, and tell me what brings you here.”
There was a trace of impatience now in Storm's voice. An-
other reminder of Greenlea and what had happened there!
“Well, sir, it's just that; I’ve not enough to do.” Mac-
Whirter eased himself down gingerly upon the edge of a
chair. “I’m not earning what you pay me and I'm well
fit >>
He flushed, glancing down at his curiously stiffened leg,
and Storm said hastily:
“Of course you are 1 You're in every way as efficient as
you were before the war. I put you in charge because you
T HE next morning as Storm was on the point of start-
276


278 ASHES TO ASHES
country club can look after things for me. I hope for your
own sake that you have another position in view P”
“They'll take me on as assistant ground keeper at the
club, sir.” MacWhirter's tone was abashed. “Please don't
think I'm ungrateful yy
Storm waved that aside.
“It will be mean less wages.” He watched the man
closely.
“Yes, sir. But I—” MacWhirter's eyes fell. “I’d
rather take it, sir, if you don't mind.”
Storm shrugged.
“It is all the same to me, MacWhirter. Let me see; your
month is up—?” -
“Tomorrow, sir.” There was unconcealed eagerness in
the man's tone. “Of course, if you were thinking of getting
another caretaker, I could wait—”
“I shan't.” Storm spoke with sudden decision. “I’m
going away on a long trip myself, and I have closed out my
bank account, but I’ll pay you off now in cash. Put the
place in good order and mail me the keys to-morrow.”
“I’ve brought them with me, sir.” MacWhirter rose,
placed a bunch of keys upon the table and gravely accepted
the money. “Thank you, sir. You'll find the place in per-
fect order and the garden doing brave and fine if you run
ort before you go away. I appreciate what you've done for
me, Mr. Storm, and I wouldn't speak of leaving but for the
lonesomeness and my being of no real use.” -
Storm cut the man's protestations short and got rid of
him with a curtness but poorly masked. His manner more
than his words had conjured up a picture of the silent, de-
serted house standing amid the bright flowers like a corpse
decked for the funeral which made Storm's senses recoil as
before a vision of something sinister and full of dread.


THE SCOURGE OF MEMORY 279
For the life of him he could not put from his mind the
swiftly recurring memory of that sleeping garden on the
night when he had cast the handful of ashes out upon it and
then drawn the curtains that the coming moon might not peer
through at what lay within. Had those ashes of his first
crime bred a fatal growth there among the flowers? Had
a phoenix risen from them to cry the deed in tones audible
only to MacWhirter's susceptible Celtic ear?
In vain he cursed himself for a superstitious fool. Of
course the place was lonesome, but thank God! he was rid
of the man and his silly whims and fancies! No caretaker
was needed there, anyway, and in the fall he would cable
George to sell it for him. Every closed, deserted house in
the country bore an aspect which the ignorant would term
‘uncanny', but there could be nothing real, nothing tangible
in the sensations which had driven MacWhirter away; no
lingering influence of that night's event could remain to
manifest itself to those who might come within its aura.
He would like to have asked MacWhirter to explain him-
self, had not common sense forbade. He felt an inordinate
curiosity as to the latter's sensations, and a sort of dread
fascination settled itself upon him, a desire to see for him-
self if that house at Greenlea retained the power to thrill
or unnerve him. -
Then with a supreme effort he cast aside the spell which
had held him in thrall. What utter rot such superstitions
were in these materialistic days l MacWhirter was lonely,
and he had made use of the first excuse which came handy
to get out of an uncongenial job. No ghosts walked save
those which lived in memory, and Storm would soon be free
from them forever! But he must go soon! Such a mood
as this could not have fastened upon him had he not been
near the breaking point; not now, when everything had gone


28o ASHES TO ASHES
so splendidly, when with consummate skill and daring he had
attained all his aims, overcome all obstacles, turned the very
weapons of fate into tools to serve his own ends!
He told himself defiantly that everything was before him,
but he was deucedly tired, that was all. He would rest
thoroughly in the woods, recoup his nerves and then start
upon the real adventure. Meanwhile, for the sake of his
continued sanity he must put all morbid thoughts of Mac-
Whirter's nonsense and of Greenlea from his mind.
Yet when he presented himself before Nicholas Lang-
horne in the latter's sanctum at a little before noon his hag-
gard face was sufficient excuse for his errand.
“I wanted to know if it would be convenient for me to
turn my work over to someone else for the next week or
two, Mr. Langhorne,” he began. “I’m not feeling quite up
to the mark; thought if I got away for a time—”
“My dear Storm, I was going to suggest it to you myself.”
Langhorne waved him to a chair. “I’ve noticed that you were
looking badly, and it is natural enough under the circum-
stances. You really should have taken a good rest at the
time—er, a month ago. Arrange for as long a vacation as
you need to put yourself in shape again. Sherwood or Bell
or any of the minor officials can take over your work.”
Storm flushed in resentment at the unconscious imputa-
tion. So that was how his services were regarded by this
pompous old idiot! That was how he was appreciated 1
“Thank you,” he said stiffly, adding in swift irony: “If
you can possibly get along without me I should like to leave
town almost immediately.”
Langhorne nodded blandly.
“Just turn over your books to Sherwood to-morrow morn-
ing and don't give another thought to business until you re-
turn. Where have you planned to go, my boy?”


THE SCOURGE OF MEMORY 28I
The note of personal interest was as unusual as the pa-
ternal address, but Storm still glowered.
“Up in the north woods, I think, for some bass fishing.
I shall not be gone longer than about ten days.” He rose.
“I’m glad you can spare me for I feel about all in.”
“Fishing!” Langhorne mused. “There is a lot of ma-
laria in those woods, Storm, and the discomforts of camp
are abominable, to say nothing of the indigestible cooking
provided by the average guide. Now, if you will take my
advice, you will pick out some nice, quiet country club with
a good green and play your eighteen holes every day. There
is nothing like golf to set a man up; gentleman's game,
steadies the nerve, clears the eye, fills the lungs with good
fresh air and not too strenuous. Golf—”
“I’ve played it,” Storm interrupted quietly, but the cold
fury which possessed him trembled in his tones. “I prefer
fishing and I want to rough it for a time. I won't detain
you any longer, Mr. Langhorne. My books are in perfect
order and can be turned over to-morrow.”
He withdrew, inwardly seething. Great God, must every-
one he encountered remind him? That driver, with the
smudge of blood and the long golden hair clinging to it, rose
again before him as it had so many times before, and in the
privacy of his own office once more he buried his face in
his hands to ward off the vision. When, in heaven's name,
would he be free from them all?
At least, his dismal treading of the eternal mill here had
ceased forever. When he turned over his books to Sher-
wood on the morrow and locked his desk, he knew that he
would never reopen it. When he returned from the fishing
trip it would be easy to plead further ill-health until the
moment came to send in his resignation. This phase of
existence was over.


THE SCOURGE OF MEMORY 283
even been mentioned between them on the previous night,
but Storm knew well the tenacity of George's grasp of an
opinion or theory. Had he been sufficiently interested to
try to probe Millard for further news? But what news
could there be?
This time he voiced the thought aloud.
“How about our wager, Millard? Still think you are
going to win?”
“I wish I were as sure of eternal salvation l” the other
retorted stoutly. “Of course I'll win, Storm; that man and
the money will be found !”
“So it is ‘that’ man now, eh?” Storm watched him nar-
rowly. “Your friends at Headquarters have given up the
idea of a gang, then? They think it was a one-man job?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” Millard wriggled uncomfortably
in the chair in which he had seated himself, uninvited. “I
haven't learned anything further from that source, but Hol-
worthy's theory the other night sounded mighty feasible to
me. It is a lot more likely that Horton met some close friend
and went off quietly to make a night of it than that he
trusted himself with that bag in his possession to a crowd;
and he couldn't very well have been kidnapped. Holworthy
is getting to be as much of a bug on the case as I am. Said
his one regret in leaving town was that he would not be able
to keep in touch with it. He told me when he called me up
to ask about the papers—”
“What papers?” Storm interrupted.
“Why, those that were found wadded around the pistol
in the bag,” explained the other. “He wanted to know what
the names of them were and I told him they were all ‘Daily
Bulletins' of May twenty-eigth, thirtieth—”
“Oh, for the Lord's sake Millard, don't go over all that
again!” Storm cried in uncontrollable exasperation.


THE SCOURGE OF MEMORY 285
had brought that tactless reminder down about his own ears.
He could see her now in a soft cotton frock standing out
under a towering old lilac bush, its top just burgeoning in
clusters of misty lavender, the sun glinting down between
the branches on her golden hair. When she was warm it
used to curl in little moist tendrils about her forehead and
the nape of her slender, white neck, and it felt like spun
silk between one's fingers. . . .
Storm struck his forehead sharply with his clenched fist.
What was the matter with him to-day? Why couldn't he
control his treacherous, wandering thoughts? This last un-
nerving vision had been Millard's fault, curse him! Well,
he was through with Millard, just as he was through with
Langhorne and all the crew here and at the club! They
were out of his path from this moment on 1 Only George
remained to be tolerated a while longer for discretion's
sake
Then the thought recurred to him of George's tele-
phoned query to Millard. What on earth did he care about
the papers that were found in the bag? Horton had been
a mere acquaintance of his of years gone by ; why should
he take such a profound interest in the murder?
Could old George have begun to suspect the truth after
all? During the long evening in his rooms on the previous
night nothing had been discussed save the proposed fishing
trip, and at its end they had not definitely decided where to
go; but George had seemed full of plans and as carefree
and eager as a boy for the anticipated outing. Could this
have been all a blind? -
He remembered, too, how George had evaded comment,
on Colonel Walker's disclosure. Storm had concluded then
that the whole thing had gone miles over George's head;
but what if it had struck home? What if he were mulling


IF GEORGE KNEW 289
cooler air blew up from the river, and when they reached
the door of his apartment house Storm felt more at ease,
although his head still throbbed and a weight seemed drag-
ging at his limbs.
His rooms, as he let himself in with his latchkey, were
dim and cool and inviting, and with a shiver of distaste at
the thought of food he threw himself across the bed and
almost at once fell into a heavy, troubled sleep.
When he awoke the moonlight was flooding the room,
casting vague, fantastic shadows in the corners and group-
ing them about the head of his bed. Storm sat up, bewil-
dered. His throat felt drawn and parched, his head ached
splittingly and a vague but insistent craving assailed him.
Then he remembered and got weakly to his feet. He had
had no dinner, nothing since that hasty, unappetizing noon-
day meal. He groped his way to the light switch in the
living-room and turning it on, blinked dazedly at the clock.
It was after midnight! He must have lain for many hours
in that exhausted sleep as if drugged.
But he felt better, at any rate; the lassitude was gone
and his head was clearer, even though it ached. He would
be all right in the morning. . . .
Foraging about, he found bread and cheese in the pantry
and milk and fruit in the ice chest and upon these he made
a simple but satisfying meal.
It was cooler; there was no doubt about it. A freshening
breeze was sweeping up from the river and blowing in the
curtains at the living-room windows.
Storm decided impulsively upon a stroll before turning
in again. He had not indulged in one of his nocturnal walks
since that momentous one with Jack Horton the week be-
fore; but he need not bring that back too vividly by ven-
turing in the same direction, and his throbbing head de-


IF GEORGE KNEW 291
Here was where they had walked when Horton boasted
so about his girl! What a complacent, self-satisfied creature
he had been 1 Common, too; how a few years of roughing
it brought out the bourgeois streak in a man! Everything
about him had grated, repelled; his swagger, his laugh, the
animal-like gusto with which he ate and drank and smoked.
What a boor!
Yonder was the street lamp and here the place where
Storm himself had halted ostensibly to light a cigarette, but
in reality to wait until the approaching figure of the police-
man should have advanced into the surrounding shadows.
There was no policeman to-night; no living thing seemed
to be abroad save himself, and the path ahead looked all at
once lonely and foreboding.
It rose sharply now; he had reached the foot of the in-
cline. This was where Horton had first suggested going
back, and he had argued for the sight of the river steamer
when she came around the turn. Horton had been descant-
ing on his future with the Mid-Eastern people; his future,
which had come to an end there ahead where the wall
sloped He had been so sure of himself!
But surely the wind was risingl These summer showers
came up with amazing suddenness; perhaps it would be as
well P
No! Storm shook himself angrily and plodded doggedly
on. He would make no weak excuses to himself, pander
to no womanish impulse to evade. This was a moral test
and he would see it through !
It was just here that the automobile had appeared, roaring
and careening down the road. What fools the authorities
were to make such a point of its wild progress! Even old
George, dense as he was, had seen the improbability of its
connection with that night's event.


IF GEORGE KNEW 293
sleep and came out for a stroll and then remembered about
that murder last week; thought I'd have a look at the spot,
but I can't seem to find it from the newspaper description.
It happened somewhere about here, didn't it, Officer?”
“Just here, sir. You're standing on the very spot now,”
the policeman responded with emphasis. “See that place on
the wall there by the bush? That's where they figure the
body was thrown over. As for the murder itself: well, it's
not come out yet where that was done, but 'twas just down
from here that the body was found.”
“Indeed! Are you sure?” Storm assumed an uncon-
sciously clever imitation of Millard's eager curiosity.
“I ought to be, sir! I've pointed it out enough of times
since.” There was a touch of weariness in the official’s
tones. “What with them operatives from the private agency,
and the coal company's men, to say nothing of the nuts and
cranks y-
He paused significantly and Storm took up the cue.
“I’m coming back here in the daytime; I’ve a theory of
my own about this case 1" he announced confidentially. “Let
me see; I’ll know the spot by that clump of trees and the
bench. You know, Officer 3-y
“Excuse me, sir!” the policeman interrupted in utter bore-
dom. “I’ve got to be getting on down my beat.”
“I’ll walk on with you,” proposed Storm equably. “I
live down the Drive a bit and it is too dark for me to poke
around up here now.”
The other accepted his companionship with resignation,
and they started down the path while Storm inwardly con-
gratulated himself upon the skill with which he had handled
the situation. It was unique, unheard-of 1 That he, the
murderer, should encounter an officer of the law on the
very scene of his crime, successfully foster the belief that


294 ASHES TO ASHES
he was a harmless crank and presently slip through that
official's fingers ! Oh, it was colossall
“I’ve read every word the papers have printed about this
affair,” he went on, still in that guileless, confidential tone.
“I can't conceive why the body wasn't found before.”
“Reason enoughl” the officer asserted with warmth.
“There's no path down there, nothing but a steep slope of
shale and bushes between the wall and the railroad tracks,
and no one's ever along there but a track walker now and
then. There's a dump and two docks near, but the road
leads down from under the Drive at the viaduct. If it hadn't
been for them boys playing around, the body mightn't have
been found till Christmas, and no blame to the Depart-
ment l”
Every nerve in Storm's body shook with the tension, and
he could feel the sweat starting from his pores; but they
had left that spot behind and every slow, swinging step took
them further from it. He had no intention of permitting
the policeman to note the street near which he lived; a few
blocks further on and he would take leave of him and cut
across the Drive. A few blocks—but he must play up, he
must not drop his rôle for an instant.
“I don’t think that automobile that the papers make so
much of had anything to do with it, do you, Officer?” he
asked in a loquacious tone, adding: “A friend of mine has
a friend at Headquarters who told him that two men were
seen walking together on the Drive here only a little before
the time when the murder was supposed to have been com-
mitted, and one of them—”
“Say!” the other interrupted disgustedly. “Some guy
at Headquarters must have a mighty big mouth ! You're
the second that's been after me about that!”
“After you!” Storm repeated.


300 ASHES TO ASHES
..He had laid his plans in that long hour before sleep came
to him, and now he hurried to the nearest telegraph office,
sent off several despatches and then called up George.
“Say!” that individual expostulated over the wire. “How
on earth are we going to start on Monday if you don't make
up your mind where you want to go? I expected to hear
from you all day yesterday xx
“That's all right; I’ve fixed it!” Storm responded. “Come
up to my rooms to-night. I’ll have Homachi give us a little
dinner and we can talk over the final arrangements then.”
“Did you get those bass flies?” demanded George.
“No. I will, this afternoon.”
“Well, have you sent word out to MacWhirter to have
your fishing gear brought in: How about your clothes?
Will he know what to pack?” George's tone was filled with
an anxious solicitude that was almost ludicrously maternal.
“You needn't bother about mourning up there, you know;
you'll want the oldest clothes you've got, and your hip boots,
and don't forget about that rod—”
“I know, I–I'll attend to it,” stammered Storm. “Come
up about seven, will you?”
He rang off, his mind in a quandary. George had known
nothing of MacWhirter's defection, but his words had re-
minded the other that the house at Greenlea was locked up
and there was no one to pack up his fishing gear unless he
went out and did it for himself. He could not send Homa-
chi, who would not know where to find anything, and the
thought of telephoning to one of the neighbors of the Green-
lea colony and enlisting their aid was out of the question;
they, male or female, would like nothing better than a chance
to go through the house unmolested and pry into every de-
tail of the home which had been so tragically broken up.
He must go himself; that was plain. He thought of Mac-


THE FINAL TEST 3OI
Whirter's manner on the previous day and shivered invol-
untarily; then the episode of the night recurred to him and
he smiled. He had tested himself and in the test had en-
countered the unforseen, but it had not daunted him. His
strength, his nerve, his ingenuity had been equal to the situ-
ation, would be equal to any exigency of the future! What
was there now in all the world for him to fear?
He would go back to Greenlea, and George should go with
him! They would spend the night there, and then whatever
ghosts of memory the old house held for him would be laid
forever.
His decision made, he stopped at a sporting goods shop,
purchased the flies, lines and a new reel, and then returned
to his rooms to await the replies to his telegrams of the
morning.
Here a new difficulty confronted him. The money! Those
packets of greenbacks and tiny roulades of gold which he
had taken life itself to gain! He could not go away for a
week or more and leave them reposing there in that flimsy
safe! There were duplicates of it in every apartment in
the house. It was even conceivable that Potter himself
might have missed something of value and thinking that he
had left it in the safe, return unexpectedly and open it.
There might be a fire! Any of a hundred possibilities could
happen which would betray his secret to the world.
Yet it was out of the question for him to take it with him.
He could not carry it about him, for in the enforced inti-
macy of camp life he would be unable to conceal it from
George; and he well knew that the latter would rummage
at will in every article of hand-baggage. Moreover, the
packets of bills were too bulky, and the ten thousand dollars
in gold alone must weigh approximately forty pounds
But where could he secrete it during his absence?.


THE FINAL TEST 303
packing it carefully between layers of old clothing, lest the
cylinders of gold become unrolled and clink together. When
it was all safely stowed away he filled the top of the valise
with discarded linen and closing it, lifted it experimentally
from the floor.
Its weight seemed prodigious, and he was badly out of
condition, he knew. Would his flabby muscles stand the
strain of carrying it? Storm set his lips resolutely. He
must force himself to do it; there was no other way. He
had whipped his faltering strength into obeying his will
before, and his will was absolutely supreme!
When George arrived promptly at seven he found his
host in a more genial mood than he had exhibited for weeks,
with a hint of eager anticipation in his manner which re-
called the old, high-spirited Norman of days long gone.
“You look better already!” George beamed at him.
“Where are we going, anyway? You said over the 'phone
that you'd fixed it, but I don't xx
Storm gathered up a sheaf of telegrams from the desk
and seizing his guest by the arm dragged him off to the
dining-room.
“Come on and let us have dinner. We can talk while we
eat; we haven't any too much time.”
“Time!” repeated George. “We’re not going anywhere
this evening !”
“Aren't we?” Storm laughed. “Homachi has a chicken
casserole for us to-night and some new asparagus with a
sauce which he fondly believes to be Hollandaise. I hope
you are good and hungry; I know I am.”
“But what's all this mystery?” George demanded, after
Homachi had served them. “Who are all those telegrams
from? I hope you haven't gone and arranged some long
trip, Norman, You know we can't stay away for more than


308 ASHES TO ASHES
“That's all right, Norman; you're tired.” George's tone
was affectionately magnanimous. “Go to bed to-night as
soon as you feel sleepy and I’ll finish the packing. I know
every inch of the house and just what you will need to take
with you.”
Nothing more was said until they drove up before the
veranda. Everything was dark and abysmally silent, and
the vines had grown in a tangled riot over the steps. Storm
stumbled with his precious burden and almost fell, but he
caught himself in time, shaking with sudden fear. God, if
he had dropped that old valise and it had split asunder
scattering the gold and banknotes in the darkness!


310 ASHES TO ASHES
stairs. Other lights sprang up and then Storm descended.
“I’ve left four burning up there; got to go back and get
the rods and bags and stuff,” he announced. George
noticed that he had left the heavy valise upstairs. “Here!
You hold this and we'll light more and stick them around.”
“Not all over the place l’” George objected. “Get all your
things together in one room and we'll pack there.”
“All right. The library, then.” Storm made for the
door, his candle held aloft over his head, and paused.
“Hello! MacWhirter had that trunk I sent down dumped
in here !—Never mind, it won’t be in our way.”
George had moved about the room, lighting candles and
placing them in every available receptacle with a fine dis-
regard of the dropping wax; and now he turned to his com-
panion.
“Where is your old camp outfit?” he asked.
“Oh, Pierre will have all the blankets and pots and pans
and things of that sort,” replied Storm carelessly. “We
will take our supplies from town. All we need from here
are clothes and fishing gear and the bags to pack them in.
The clothes are in the closets upstairs and the rest of the
stuff in the attic.”
“Well, let us assemble it all here first and then sort it
out,” suggested George. “If I once get it all together you
can go to bed whenever you like and I’ll finish the job. You
look about all in.”
Storm shook his head, but he realized the truth of his
friend's words. The continued strain of the past days had
been terrific, and the effort to nerve himself for this final
test of his own strength and endurance had proved greater
than he knew. The pain in his head, which had throbbed
ceaselessly for two days, was gone, but he felt a sense of
mental and physical fatigue which was akin to exhaustion.


THE KEY 313
“I—I thought we might run over to the Reel and Rifle and
you would need them,” George stammered. “You ought to
take it up once more, Norman.”
Storm threw his hands out with an uncontrollable gesture
of horror.
“I shall never play again!” he cried hoarsely. “Take
those sticks away out of my sight!”
With a pained, bewildered expression George turned
obediently and deposited his burden with a clatter in the
corner of the hall. He did not quite understand his old
friend these days, and seemed to be forever offending when
he meant only to be kind and thoughtful. Of course Storm
and Leila had played golf together always, but they had
gone on fishing trips together, too, and Storm did not appear
to mind the prospect of that. Why should golf hold such
particularly poignant memories for him?
Storm meanwhile was fighting hard to regain the mastery
over himself that the unexpected sight of those wretched
golf sticks had for a moment overthrown. Curse that
meddlesome fool! Why had he taken it upon himself to
suggest that damned game, above everything else, and how
had he dared to get those sticks without even asking!
But the fire of rage died out within him as quickly as it
had arisen. Let old George think what he pleased; it didn't
matter. He was too tired to dissemble, and besides it would
not be worth the effort. George would put it down as just
one of his moods, that was all.
Then another thought came to him, and he moved swiftly
to the table and opened the drawer. His pistol lay within,
and as he picked it up a grim smile twisted the corners of his
mouth. It was quite improbable, of course, but there was
just a chance that he might find use for it on that fishing
trip!


THE KEY 317
º:
sudden thought struck him. He had packed everything but
headgear. Norman must have some old caps lying around
somewhere; old golf caps would be just the thing. He
hadn't seen any when they poked about in the closets up-
stairs. They must be in Norman's rooms in town.
Then his gaze fell upon the trunk. Why, the caps were
in there, of course! He had helped to pack them himself
only a week ago. Norman must have the key to it on his
ring, and it would be a pity to disturb him now; still, George
felt that it would be better not to leave it till the morning.
In his methodical, bachelor existence he liked to finish a thing
once he had started it.
But perhaps he could get the key-ring and open the trunk
without disturbing old Norman If he walked very softly
the other need not awaken, and he could give him back his
keys in the morning.
George took up a candle, and shielding its flame carefully
with his hand he started up the stairs, tiptoeing with ex-
aggerated care. Once a loose board creaked beneath his
feet and he paused, as apprehensive as though he were bent
upon committing a burglary.
From the stillness above came a long-drawn, reassuring
snore, and relieved he plodded on again until he reached the
top.
Storm's door was closed, but he turned the handle noise-
lessly and opening it inch by inch, peered within. Storm was
fast asleep, his jaw drooping and upon his relaxed face the
hint of an expression which George had never seen before.
He looked almost as if he were smiling; smiling at some-
thing that was not pleasant to see.
Then George's eyes softened as they traveled down the
out-flung arm to the inert hand resting against the valise.
Poor old Norman l Even in sleep he cared for her, he
*


CHAPTER XXVII
IN THE LIBRARY
smaller keys from the others on the ring he tried
them one after the other in the lock of the trunk.
He was beginning to despair when at length one fitted, and
snapping down the hasps he threw back the lid.
They could not have packed very well, he and Norman,
or else the expressmen had been unusually rough in handling
the trunk. Its contents had been flung about in wild dis-
order, and George thought ruefully of the delicate clock and
the glass ink-well of the desk set.
He picked out the caps and a mackinaw which might
come in handy, and was on the point of closing the trunk
when he hesitated. It might be as well to see if that clock
were damaged or not; it had been Leila's gift and George
knew how much Norman thought of it.
He lifted the other garments out and then the books, re-
vealing the remaining articles wrapped loosely in newspa-
per. He felt about among them until he found the clock,
and as he took it up the paper fell from it and partially
opened as it dropped to the floor.
The clock looked all right; its works might be damaged,
but at least it was not smashed 1
With a sigh of thankfulness George stooped to pick up
the paper, when the printed line upon the top margin caught
his eye.
G: returned to the library, and sorting the
3I9


322 ASHES TO ASHES
t-
tance with the swindler His egotism would have made
him boast of his escape at the moment of the furore over
the Du Chainat exposurel
Griffiths had said that Storm was down in the swindler's
list for sixty thousand; that would have meant every cent
and more than George knew Storm possessed in the world!
From whence, if he had indeed lost that, had come the money
for this long foreign trip so suddenly decided upon without
apparent reason? -
George recalled his own theory of Horton's death: that
he had met someone he knew well and trusted absolutely,
and placing himself utterly in the supposed friend's hands,
had been done to death without warning. -
It could not have been Norman Storm 1 Not that old
friend of twenty years, sleeping so peacefully upstairs!
George tried to thrust the thought from him in an agony of
unspeakable horror, but it remained and would not be ex-
orcised.
Suppose by sheer accident or stroke of fate Horton and
Storm had met near the station and the latter had taken
Horton to his rooms? His rooms, which were so near the
place on the Drive where the body was afterward found!
Suppose Horton had told of the huge amount in cash that
he carried, exhibited it, perhaps, and the sight proved too
great a temptation for Storm, already half-crazed with the
loss of the last of his fortune?
George could not conceive of the man he had loved as
a brother deliberately planning a cold-blooded murder, but
every known fact fitted in with this hideous supposition.
Storm could not have killed Horton in his own rooms and
conveyed the body to the place where it was found, but if
he could have induced Horton to accompany him there on
some pretex