The chronicles of Quincy Adams Sawyer, detectiveCharles Felton Pidgin, John M. Taylor


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HARWARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
FROM THE LIBRARY OF
. FRANKLIN P. RICE
of Worcester
S-9
The Gift of
MRS. MARY B. RICE
1922
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“DOBELL DREW A REVOLVER AND SHOT THE ITALIAN
DEAD.” (See page 260.) *


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Copyright, 1912,
By L. C. PAGE & ComPANY.
(INcorporated)
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
All rights reserved
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.


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º,


THE CHRONICLES OF
QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER
DETECTIVE
—e-
I
THE AFFAIR OF THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT
WITH the death abroad of the Honourable Quincy
Adams Sawyer, United States Ambassador to
Vienna, his son, also named Quincy Adams, came
into possession of the remnants of what had once
been a large fortune. The fortune, however, had
been greatly impaired, as the tastes of the senior
Quincy Adams Sawyer had developed more in the
directon of adventure and travel than in that of
sober business, a fact which led eventually to bad
investments and disastrous results. Therefore,
when the elder Sawyer, cool and debonair to the
end, shook his son's hand for the last time and calmly
bade him farewell, he left behind an amount suffi-
cient to provide a small income for that son, but
1


2 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
by no means sufficient to make him entirely inde-
pendent.
To the younger Quincy Adams Sawyer, however,
the loss of his father's fortune, which had always
been his to command, was a matter of minor im-
portance. As the father had lived with the main
idea of seeing strange sights and meeting new peo-
ple, so, likewise, did the son find that strange adven-
tures and unexpected experiences were to him as
the breath of life. Nor did this fact force itself
on him at the time of his father's death, it having
been well founded long previous to that event, for
the younger Quincy had led a constantly changing
existence since his earliest youth.
When he entered the high school in his younger
days, after a decidedly tempestuous course through
the lower grades, it was with an already established
reputation for deviltry. But, once in that school,
and to the surprise of his new instructors, who, it
must be confessed, acknowledged his introduction
to them with a decided feeling of regret, he devoted
himself to his studies with a mild docility that was
astounding. The reason for this apparent change
was a peculiar one. Quincy, purely in the pursuit
of his own inclinations, had made friends with the
police inspectors and had entered upon an exhaust-
ive study of police matters, a study to which many
subjects in his school curriculum, as he early dis-


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 3
covered, lent a wealth of information that was in-
valuable. For instance, he early made the discovery
that, if one were able to deal out, in grudgingly
small amount, scientific information concerning
chemical analysis and kindred subjects, it was easy
to secure in return information concerning the more
ordinary points of police work. Thus Quincy's four
years in the high school passed with mutual profit
to himself and to the police inspectors.
At the end of his course he entered the great uni-
versity located in the back-yard of his home city,
carrying with him resources that were invaluable
in the particular style of course he had selected. He
was personally acquainted with every police captain
on the force, could call every inspector by his first
name, and had shown at various times marked tal-
ent in the actual work of the detection of criminals.
As Quincy's education progressed, so, in like ratio,
did that of the police inspectors, particularly along
the lines of chemistry and psychology. This fact
was perhaps due not so much to the desire for in-
creased learning on the part of the inspectors, or
the hunger for knowledge on Quincy's side, as to
the spirited arguments with which Quincy's visits
to the police stations were enlivened, for it has long
been established that men cannot continuously argue
along given lines without gaining more and more
information with which to strengthen their argu-


4 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
ments. By the time Quincy had completed the first
half of his freshman year so great had his friend-
ship with the police become that it was a generally
acknowledged fact throughout the college that Saw-
yer could easily murder the mayor and escape with-
out so much as a reprimand'
By the time he had finished his sophomore year
he knew police work and methods from Alpha to
Omega. Also, he had exhausted the resources of his
university so far as sociology was concerned and
had browsed about casually through what few other
courses chanced to appeal to him. He had joined
every club and secret society to which he was eli-
gible, had been in countless altercations with the
faculty, and had generally blazed a path that was
startling in its numerous ramifications. Then, as a
grand climax, the influence of the police not extend-
ing to the dean and the faculty, he was uncondition-
ally expelled. Expelled with a thoroughness and
expedition that left a rankling suspicion that the
faculty, as a whole, was delighted with the oppor-
tunity of dispensing with his presence, and sincerely
trusted that he might never stray their way again.
Nothing daunted by his summary removal,
Quincy packed his trunk, shook hands all around
with the police inspectors, who watched his leave-
taking with sincere regret, and blithely departed
for Vienna, where his father received him with


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 5
solemn words and twinkling eyes, for Quincy's
progress had been regularly reported. The quiet
life of a foreign embassy, however, had no attrac-
tion for Quincy, and it was but a short time before
he once more packed up his belongings and again
set forth into the world at large. During the five
ensuing years he travelled ceaselessly, visiting every
civilized nation on the globe's face, to say nothing
of many nations which were far from being civi-
lized. Being a rolling stone, he, of course, gathered
no moss, but in place of that rather questionable
commodity he gathered what in later years was to be
of inestimable value to him; namely, information
and experience.
Therefore, at the time of his father's death, the
fact that his expected fortune had vanished in thin
air lowered Quincy's spirits not a jot. He had al-
ready decided on the profession which he intended
to follow, and, in order to establish himself in that
profession, his little remnant of money would be as
useful as would have been his father's vast fortune.
Consequently, he took up his residence in Boston, his
early home. He said nothing of his purpose for a
time, but quietly set to work to establish a reputa-
tion for himself in private detective work. He kept
in the background as much as was possible, not
wishing to launch himself until at least one impor-
tant case had come his way and been successfully


6 QUINCY ADAMS SAwYER, DETECTIVE
dealt with. At last, after a year of work and wait-
ing, it came. His name flashed into the limelight
like a comet across a dark sky, and, within a week,
the city in general, and his old friends in particular,
knew that Quincy Adams Sawyer had returned to
his former haunts and had established himself as a
private detective.
His project at last auspiciously launched, Quincy
abandoned his previous mode of living and turned
the suite of rooms, which had served him as living-
rooms and office combined, into a suite for living
purposes only. He then removed his professional
quarters to a small office in the centre of the city,
hung out a brass plate on which appeared the single
word “Sawyer,” and plunged into the work which
his sudden fame had brought him with all the zest
and power of which he was capable. His standing
as a detective was now firmly established and grew
day by day as his old friends, the police inspectors,
judiciously turned many private cases his way.
That he had a marked ability in their particular line
they had all along known, and, now that he had
chosen, in a way, to cast his lot among them, they
welcomed him with a heartiness which left nothing
to be desired. And, in return, Quincy's regard for
his old friends increased. The staff had changed
somewhat since his earlier acquaintance with it,
many of the old faces were gone and many new


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 7
ones had appeared in their places, but the sum total
made up the same old staff and to its members he
was kin.
His friendly relations with the local police thus
renewed, it was consequently no surprise to Quincy
when Inspector Gates, of the department, appeared
one morning in the doorway of his office and glanced
questioningly within. The inspector was one of the
newer men of the staff, and had gained his pro-
motion from the ranks during Quincy's absence
from the country. He was a young man of deci-
dedly pleasing appearance, whose frank face and
honest eyes invited both trust and friendship, while
his age, being about equal in years to Quincy's,
proved that he had intelligence of a marked degree,
since he had so early in life been chosen for the
staff of inspectors. He had, furthermore, the face
of a statesman coupled with the build of a prize-
fighter, and Quincy surveyed his mighty bulk with
admiration as he paused in the doorway.
“Are you busy this morning, Mr. Sawyer?”
Gates inquired in a voice of drawing-room polite-
116SS.
“Not particularly so,” Quincy replied smilingly.
“Take a chair and, here, have a cigar.”
Gates deposited his weight on a protesting chair,
accepted the proffered cigar, and stared at Quincy
speculatively.


8 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Mr. Sawyer,” he said finally, “I want your help
in a case. You see it's this way. I'm a compara-
tively new man on the staff and this is my first big
case. If I'm successful in it, my future is assured;
but, if I fail, it may be years before I get another
chance. The case is a peculiar one and one
offering every chance of failure. That is the
selfish end of it, but there is also another side.
There is an old lady involved, and also she's such
a bully old lady and she takes everything so
cool that I'm blamed if I’m not sorry for her,
and I want to succeed in this case for her sake as
well as mine. I don’t mean that she's suspected of
anything, but she seems to be on the receiving end
of the crime, so to speak, and she certainly is in
danger from some source or other. That's why I
came here, hoping that if you did not chance to be
very busy you might give me a lift.”
“Of course,” Quincy replied as Gates paused un-
certainly. “My business is very quiet at present,
and if you have an interesting case I shall be over-
joyed to help you out with it. You fellows have
done me a good many neighbourly turns of late,
and I’d be a poor stick indeed if I were not ready
to reciprocate. Now let me hear the details, please.”
“The story is this,” Gates stated slowly. “Mrs.
Marion Patterson and her grandson, Fred Hemen-
way, live in one of the old-time houses in the Back


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 9
Bay. Mrs. Patterson is reputed to be comfortably
well off, although I do not believe that she is con-
sidered wealthy in the broad sense of the word.
She lives very quietly, keeps no carriage or auto-
mobile and only one servant, a woman who has
been with her since she first commenced housekeep-
ing as a young bride, years ago. Hemenway, her
grandson, is a young man engaged in the real estate
business, although his business is centred largely,
I imagine, on property owned by his grandmother,
as she holds numerous houses and buildings in this
city and the neighbouring towns. He is, so far as I
have been able to discover, an excellent fellow in
every way. That for the introduction.
“The story proper commences at a time a week
ago, last Tuesday evening, to be exact. Hemenway,
on that evening, had remained down town in his
office, after hours, to work on some papers that are
connected with a land jumble he is mixed up in.
According to his story he had worked until about
ten o'clock without interruption, and had almost suc-
ceeded in tracing out the various points which he
desired to settle. Then, without any warning what-
ever, without his even becoming aware that any
person had entered his office, he was struck on the
head and rendered unconscious. He did not regain
consciousness until after midnight, and, even when
his senses returned, they were in such befogged


10 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
shape that he could fix his mind on no subject save
his desire to return home. Consequently it was
not until the next morning that the police were noti-
fied and I was detailed on the case. I went to his
office with him and found things much as he had
described them. The papers he had been working
over were still on the desk, somewhat damaged by
ink, as the ink bottle had been overturned during the
assault and its contents had flowed freely over the
desk and everything upon it. .
“The most curious part of the whole affair, how-
ever, was the fact that, so far as we could discover,
not a single article in the room had been taken or
disturbed. Whether Hemenway's assailant became
frightened after striking the blow, and fancied that
he had done more damage than he had originally
intended; or whether he intended to kill Hemenway
outright, and had no other purpose in view, I have
been unable to decide. But, whatever his purpose
may have been, the fact remains that nothing was
disturbed. He did, however, leave behind him a
clue. The clue was a thumb print firmly printed
and clearly defined on the door just above the knob.
He had, you see, carelessly smeared his thumb with
the ink from Hemenway's desk, and, on making his
exit, had tranferred the ink to the door, leaving a
perfect impression of his thumb. I photographed
the impression and have made a careful search of


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 11
the records at headquarters, but I can find no print
there which corresponds to the one on Hemenway's
door. Therefore the conclusion must be that the
assailant is not an old-timer or we would have his
finger prints.
“I worked on the case unceasingly, as I wished
to solve it, not only for the ends of justice, but for
my own credit as well, and you, knowing police
departments as you do, will realize that such a de-
sire was not so completely selfish as it sounds. But
work as I would, I was unable to make any head-
way whatever. Then came the next step in the case,
and one which was even more surprising than the
first. Last night the old lady was assaulted, and I
assure you, Sawyer, that, had she been one of my
own relatives, I could not have felt more savage to-
ward her assailant than I do, for if there was ever an
old lady who was white clear through, she is the one.
“The assault happened in a manner somewhat
similar to that on her grandson. She was in her
sitting-room, reading, while she waited for her
grandson, who was again detained in his office by
night work. She is somewhat deaf, so it is not sur-
prising that she heard no sounds such as would have
been made by a man forcibly entering the house.
The assailant entered through one of the windows,
which he forced open. Then he must have crossed
directly to where she was sitting and repeated the


12 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
assault he had made on Hemenway, namely, he
struck her on the head and knocked her uncon-
scious. She did not recover until Hemenway re-
turned at a late hour and found her. He immedi-
ately sent for a doctor, who cared for her, and then,
when she had regained consciousness, he telephoned
for me.
“I rushed at once to the house, but she was un-
able to tell me anything other than the bits of in-
formation which I have given you. I searched the
room for clues and found one, a repetition of that
in Hemenway's office. The difference in this case,
however, was in the fact that the thumb print was
clearly defined on the face of a small mirror which
lay on the table, and the print was identical with
that on the door of Hemenway's office. There-
fore we can be certain that these assaults were
committed by the same person, but aside from that
there is no other clue. We cannot even dis-
cover a motive, as in neither case was anything
taken, which plainly indicates that robbery was
not the intention. Neither have they, so far as
either knows, an enemy who would wish to put
them out of the way. Furthermore, it does not seem
that the assailant intended to kill them, for on both
occasions he was careful to strike only a stunning
blow, and one that would not result in death. That
takes away the possibility of murder as the reason


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 13
for the assaults, besides which is the apparent ab-
sence of any motive for a murder. There you have
the case, Sawyer, and the stories of the two as-
saults which are connected with it. Will you take
hold of it with me?” He stared at Quincy anx-
iously as he finished.
“I certainly shall take hold of it,” Quincy re-
plied heartily. “It strikes me that you have un-
earthed a case of unusual interest.”
“You’ll think it has interest when you undertake
to unravel it,” Gates responded grimly.
“All right; but we shall try,” Quincy laughed.
“Now let us go up to the Back Bay residence and
make our start there before the trail gets too old.
We can take in Hemenway's office later, if it be-
comes necessary.” -
The Back Bay residence of Mrs. Patterson dif-
fered only in minor details from the residences which
surround it on every hand. It was a plain, brick
house with a disguised areaway at one side and with
the usual flight of stone steps leading up to the front
door. Ascending these steps, Quincy and Gates
were admitted by the elderly serving woman and
were shown at once to the little sitting-room where
the assault of the preceding evening had occurred.
Nobody was in the room at the time, and, while
Gates pointed out the several points of interest, and
indicated the spot occupied by Mrs. Patterson when


14 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
she was struck down, Quincy examined the room and
its contents. After searching the room, Quincy
walked across to the large window and peered down
into the areaway just beneath him, raising the win-
dow and examining the woodwork at the end of his
scrutiny.
“Humph!” he muttered. “An old-fashioned
window-catch of no value whatever as a lock. Slid
back when a knife blade was pressed against it. You
can see, Gates, where the knife scarred the wood.”
Apparently deciding that nothing of value was to
be gained at the window, he next crossed to the
table, where he stood for a long time looking down
at the thumb print still plainly visible on the glass
of the small mirror.
“Has this mirror been moved, Gates?” he in-
quired.
“Yes, I was obliged to move it when I photo-
graphed the thumb print, but I marked the spot
where it lay and replaced it exactly.”
For a moment Quincy was silent, but at last he
remarked in a voice that seemed half speculative and
half questioning: “I wonder, Gates, what logical
reason a man could have had for touching that mir-
ror in the first place. It lies so far in on the table
that he wouldn't be likely to have leaned on it by
accident, but yet he must have touched it in some
way. What do you suppose he wished to see?”


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 15
Gates shook his head silently. “I am sure I
don't understand,” he replied. “It seems all a piece
with the other points of the affair. What logical
reason could he have had for knocking the old lady
on the head, so far as logic is concerned?”
Quincy remained thoughtful for a few moments.
“Will Mrs. Patterson be able to see us this morn-
ing?” he then inquired.
“I think so. She's pretty plucky and she'll be
ready to give us every point of information she has
if she can talk at all. She was too dazed to talk
much last night, but I don't think that she is seri-
ously injured. I'll call the servant and inquire.”
He pressed the button and they waited in silence;
but, when the door was finally pushed open, it was
not the servant who appeared before them. Quincy
saw framed in the doorway a young man whose
cool eyes flashed sharply over them, and whose ap-
pearance gave every indication of ready resource-
fulness and unhesitating action. Gates greeted the
man in friendly fashion and turned toward Quincy.
“Mr. Hemenway, Sawyer,” he said. “It is
probable that he will be able to answer our ques-
tions.” -
“No,” Hemenway replied briefly. “My grand-
mother wishes to talk to you herself. She is sitting
up and has nearly recovered from her blow. She
wishes me to conduct you up-stairs.”


16 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Without further words he faced about and as-
cended the gracefully curving stairway, Quincy and
Gates following at his heels. At the head of the
stairs he turned and conducted them along the cor-
ridor to an open door, where he stood aside and
signed them to precede him. Within the room
Quincy found himself facing a smiling old lady who
sat propped up in an easy chair, amid pillows and
cushions, staring at him with sharp, twinkling eyes.
Aside from a small bandage which encircled her
head, she gave no sign of the adventure she had so
recently experienced and seemed, in all, but little
the worse for the attack.
“Isn't she plucky?” Gates whispered admiringly.
“Do you wonder I'm so anxious to catch the man
who struck her?”
Quincy nodded briefly, and glanced up at the
sound of the woman’s voice.
“Have you gentlemen been able to formulate any
reason for the unpleasant attentions which have been
shown to my grandson and myself?” she inquired
in a voice which Quincy noted to be as clear as her
eyes.
“Not yet,” he replied with gentle respect; “but
we hope to do so soon. If you and Mr. Hemenway
will tell us everything you can about the affair it
may help us to solve the problem more readily.”
“I can tell you little,” Mrs. Patterson replied


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 17
with an emphasizing nod of her head. “I heard
nothing and saw nothing. All I know is that I was
struck from behind and was unconscious until I
opened my eyes and found Fred bending over me.”
“You were struck from behind!” Quincy ejacu-
lated. “You are sure of that?”
“Positive, sir.” Another nod of the head ac-
companied the statement.
“And how were you sitting? Were you facing
the table or turned sideways to it?”
“I was facing the table. I always sit that way
when I read because the drop lamp is so high it
reflects better on my book than when I am turned
from it. Fred says I should turn my back to it as
he does, but you will notice that he wears glasses
while I don't,” she concluded with a merry little
laugh.
Quincy smiled silently, but seemed satisfied with
the result of his questioning, for he turned at once
to Hemenway.
“Are you able to recall the facts preceding the
blow which rendered you unconscious?” he inquired.
“Nothing of value,” was the immediate reply.
“Like my grandmother I neither heard nor saw
anything, for I was too much occupied with my
work to think of aught else.”
“May I inquire what you were working on?”
The man hesitated for a moment, but at last re-


18 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
sponded: “Certainly, although I hardly see how it
can have any bearing on the case. I am involved
in a most important law case which has been in
litigation for more than a year and which is now
coming up for settlement within a week. The case
involves some real estate which is at present my
property, and which is claimed by a corporation
which has been formed for the purpose of booming
certain land of which mine is the keystone. With-
out it their company is worthless. I am frank to
say that there is some foundation for their claims,
although I think that by every degree of right the
land belongs to me. I was at work over titles and
maps in connection with it at the time when I was
assaulted. So deeply was I interested in the work
that I hardly think I would have noted an earth-
quake.”
“There is nothing about those papers that would
tempt the other side of this case to steal them, is
there?” Quincy inquired sharply.
“No, not a thing. They possess duplicates of
the very papers I was working over and would not
have been in the least interested in the possession
of mine. Furthermore, even had the company de-
sired to secure my papers, of what advantage would
it have been to them to assault my grandmother in
the manner you have noted? She had no papers,
nor information, concerning the matter. And, above


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 19
all, had it been the agent of that company who com-
mitted these attacks, he would have had a definite
purpose in view, such as the stealing of the papers,
and I am certain that not a single thing is missing,
either here or at my office. No, gentlemen, we must
look in some other direction for the assailant. That,
to me, is very evident.”
“What is the name of that real estate company,
Mr. Hemenway?” Quincy asked.
“The Lorillard Realty Corporation,” Hemenway
replied. “Peter Lorillard is its president and prin-
cipal stockholder. But, as I said, you may rest as-
sured that they had nothing to gain by such methods
as these.”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Quincy remarked im-
patiently. “I wish, however, to get hold of every
possible clue in connection with this affair. You
have no enemies who would be likely to use such
methods as have been employed?”
“None, so far as I know. Had the affair ended
with the assault on me at the office I should un-
doubtedly have set it down to an attack by possible
enemies, or to an assault with robbery for a motive,
thinking that the man might in some way have
been frightened away before having time in which to
complete the robbery. This second assault, how-
ever, seems to do away with that possibility. These
things cannot be the result of a coincidence, gentle-


20 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
men. They must be in some way connected, al-
though in what way I am free to confess I do not
know.”
“You are still at work on your law case?”
“Oh, yes. It is very important, and I cannot
neglect it, even with such occurrences as these taking
place.”
Quincy had nothing to say for a few moments;
but was evidently thinking deeply. “I believe,”
he remarked at last, “that I must once more examine
the sitting-room. Will you accompany me, Mr.
Hemenway?”
Hemenway readily assented, and was half-way to
the door before the voice of his grandmother
arrested him. “Wait a moment, Fred,” she called.
“I want to go, too. I want to watch all that is
going on,” she added with a smile. -
Hemenway instantly stopped and, returning, put
his grandmother's arm through his and conducted
her toward the stairway, the others following be-
hind. When the old lady had been comfortably
seated, the investigation of the room was re-
newed. -
Quincy walked at once to the window, which he
again examined with great care. “Gates,” he said
at last, “come here a moment. I want a snapshot
of the thumb print on this window.”
Gates strode across the room with interest writ-


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 21
ten large on his face. “That isn't the same thumb
print!” he exclaimed, after a momentary glance.
“That's why I want a photograph of it,” Quincy
blandly answered him.
Gates seemed unsatisfied with the remark and the
lack of information it contained, but he readily rec-
ognized the importance of Quincy's discovery, and
at once busied himself with his camera. He carefully
dusted the pane about the print and made two ex-
posures, turning questioningly to Quincy when he
had finished.
“Now,” Quincy said, “I want your camera for
a few minutes.”
The camera was at once handed to him, and with
it he retraced his steps to the table, where he mi-
x nutely studied the small mirror.
“When you photographed that thumb print,
Gates, by what part did you hold the mirror?” he
asked.
“By the very tip end of the handle.” Gates was
plainly on pins and needles through curiosity at the
turn events were taking, but he asked no ques-
tions.
Quincy rested the mirror against a pile of books
and busied himself in front of it for several minutes.
He first tried the light from one direction, and then
from another, all the time whistling softly under his
breath. At the end of fifteen minutes the fruit of
->
*


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 23
“Now, Gates,” Quincy continued, after a pro-
tracted spell of silence, “I don't think that we shall
be able to do much actual work before evening.
I have a few minor matters which I wish to
consider, but that portion of the work I can
best do alone. Do you know Tim McMahon's
saloon over in the West End?”
“Sure,” Gates responded, fresh interest showing
in his face. “I was on that beat a year, and got my
first experience as a cop over there. But what about
Tim P”
“Oh, there is nothing in particular that I wish
to say about Tim, it is his saloon that I am interested
in. Would they know you over there if you should
show up?”
“Tim would, but he's pretty straight himself, no
matter what his patrons may be. He'd keep quiet
if I tipped him the wink.”
“Good. I want you to meet me there at eight
o'clock tonight. Go into Tim's back room and, if
I am not there, wait for me.”
Gates grinned. “Say,” he remarked, “you
seem to be tolerably familiar with that place.”
“It was one of my sociology laboratories,”
Quincy assured him. “Tim and I are old cro-
nies.”
“I suppose,” Gates continued, after a short pause,
“that you know what you are doing, but I'll swear


24 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
that it gets past me. Are you on a particular trail,
or are you trusting to luck?”
"I am following a definite path,” Quincy assured
him. “Meet me at Tim's according to instructions
and you may see something interesting. Oh, before
we separate for the day, I want one more thing from
you. Lend me your thumb a minute.”
As Gates wonderingly complied, Quincy carefully
inked the thumb with a fountain pen and made an
impression of the print on the back of an old en-
velope. He then made an impression of his own
thumb, carefully examined both to make certain
that they were perfect, and placed the envelope in
an inner pocket. Next, with Gates' permission, he
removed the film from the inspector's camera and,
pocketing it, together with photographic copies of
the two thumb prints appearing in the case, he bade
the inspector a smiling farewell and disappeared in
the direction of his own office. -
He did not at once return to his office, however,
but made his way to a small sporting goods shop
which made a specialty of developing plates and
films for amateur photographers. There he perched
on a counter for a long time, while his own films
were being developed and printed. With the prints
at last in his possession, he retired into his office
and there spent several hours studying and compar-
ing the various thumb prints in the small collection.


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 25
At times he scowled fiercely, as though the matter
were not untangling to his complete satisfaction;
but again and again a silent smile broke through
the scowl, and when at last he rose from his hours
of study it was with the air of one who had at least
partially solved a knotty problem. He stretched
himself with many grunts and strainings of his
muscles, yawned wearily and stared out of his win-
dow at the buildings in the vicinity. He finally
reached for his hat, but even as his fingers touched
its brim, he was halted by the ringing of the tele-
phone bell. Picking up the 'phone he called lazily
into it.
“Hello. This you, Sawyer?” came an excited
voice from the other end of the wire. “Say, this
is Gates talking. The fat's kicked over for fair
and the deuce is to pay. Hemenway has been kid-
napped or spirited away somewhere!”
“Kidnapped l Nonsense!” Quincy exclaimed.
“It isn’t possible to kidnap a grown man right in
broad daylight in a city the size of this.”
“But it's been done, I tell you,” Gates persisted.
“The old lady just called me up to tell me about
it. It seems the door bell rang a short time ago and
he answered the bell. When he didn't come back
for a long time she sent the servant to find out
what was keeping him, as she's naturally a little
nervous. The servant found the front door open,


26 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
but there was no sign of Hemenway anywhere. He
had disappeared completely.”
“He stepped out somewhere with whoever
wanted to see him,” Quincy suggested.
“Stepped out nothing! His hat hangs where he
left it last night, and he didn't even have a coat on.
He wouldn't be stepping out in his shirt-sleeves if
he intended to be gone long. The old lady waited
half an hour more for him to show up and then,
when he didn't come, she had the servant make
inquiries. A fellow in the next house said that he
had seen a closed carriage drive up to Hemenway's
door and saw two men get out of it. He didn't
pay any particular attention to them, and didn't
notice the carriage again, until just as it was dri-
ving away. Then, he says, he caught a glimpse of
a fellow without a coat in the carriage and that one
of the others seemed to be holding his hand over
that man's mouth. That don't look as though he
went away of his own accord, does it?”
Quincy gave a low whistle at the news and stood
for several seconds uncertainly tapping on the
'phone. Then his air of assurance returned and he
replied sharply: “Never mind about this, Gates;
you carry out our former program and meet me at
Tim McMahon's tonight. I’m going out to look
for Hemenway, but the chances are against my find-
ing him this afternoon, even though I think I know
- - . . A


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 27
wthat has become of him. You can safely tell the old
lady that no harm will come to him, but beyond
that I can't say anything yet. Be sure and meet me
at Tim’s.”
The receiver clicked back on the hook, and Quincy
whirled quickly toward a spacious closet at one side
of his office.
Late in the afternoon a disreputable-appearing
tatterdemalion slouched into one of the most noto-
rious dives in the West End. The man, after a
quick glance about the room, timidly approached
the bar; but the forbidding frown of the bartender
seemed to alter his purpose, for he turned abruptly
and sank into a chair near one of the billiard tables.
A game was in progress, and for many minutes his
heavy-lidded eyes disinterestedly followed the suc-
cess of one after another of the players. Nobody
paid particular notice to him and he returned the
courtesy, his eyes being fixed on the balls rather
than on the players. At last, however, the clerk in
charge of the tables approached in a leisurely
fashion and the eyes of the loafer gleamed momen-
tarily with sudden interest.
“Rabbit,” he whispered softly, as the young clerk
stood before him.
At the sound of the name the man turned sharply
and stared with open suspicion. “Well, what do
youse want?” he demanded, approaching slowly.


28 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
The man indicated a chair at his side. “Sit down
a minute,” he invited.
Rabbit somewhat reluctantly complied, still keep-
ing his eyes fixed suspiciously on his companion.
“Say, look a-here,” he growled, “I ain't settin'
up no drinks today. Get that into your bean.”
A shade of amusement crossed the ragged man's
face and, with a look of silent warning, he pushed
back his hat, revealing his whole face for a mo-
ment before returning the hat to its original
position.
“Mr. Sawyer!” Rabbit gasped in amazement.
“I ain’t seen youse since you was in college and I
was a pin boy down to O'Neil's. Say, are youse
down and out?” he asked with ready sympathy,
correcting himself almost immediately. “Oh, I
know. They tells me youse is a fly one now.” He
asked no questions, apparently divining the fact that
his part was to answer and not to interrogate.
“Seen Long Tom lately?” Quincy inquired in a
low voice, after an interval of silence.
“So it's him, is it?” Rabbit muttered in a voice
equally low. “Say, this won't be gettin' me into
trouble, will it?”
“No, you're safe enough,” Quincy assured him.
“You won't be snitching because Tom isn't hiding
out yet.”
“That's so, too,” Rabbit remarked thoughtfully.


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 29
“Well, him and Ike McKechnie was in here this
mornin'. I ain't seen 'em since. What's their
job?”
“So Ike's in it, is he?” Quincy soliloquized. “I
suspected as much. I'm not dead sure of their job,
Rabbit, but I have a very good idea. But, remem-
ber this. If I don't tell you that they're wanted,
nor why, they can’t blame you for what may happen
to them. Have they been around here often of
late?”
“I ain't seen 'em before for two weeks. I guess
they've been hangin' out down to O'Neil's or over
to Tim McMahon's. They've both been havin' lots
of the ready lately, and I guess this joint got too
cheap for ‘em.”
“What did they do in here this morning? Drink
or talk business?”
“Talked business, I guess. They was over at
one of the tables a long time punishin' a pint or
two of booze. I didn't go near 'em because I never
had no use for Long Tom, and Ike never had no
use for me. They didn't look like they wanted
company, anyhow.”
Quincy's hand disappeared into the breast of his
ragged coat. When it once more became visible a
bill peeped from between two of his fingers, and on
the corner of the bill was plainly to be seen a figure
five. Rabbit's eyes shone hungrily as they rested on


30 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
the bill, and his face took on an added look of
interest.
“That's yours,” Quincy informed him, “if you
will find out for certain whether or not Ike and Tom
have hired any rooms up-stairs, and, if so, for how
long.”
Rabbit's long limbs were endowed with all the
speed of the animal which had lent him its name,
but he was too wise to exhibit his speed at the
present moment and, in that way, arouse suspicion
by too great haste. He arose in leisurely fashion
and sauntered carelessly about the room, gradually
drawing nearer to the bar. At length, he reached
his goal and, leaning lazily across it, carelessly ad-
dressed a short sentence to the bartender. He
talked in low tones with that worthy individual for
some time before again taking up his circuitous
route among the tables. At length he again sank
into the chair at Quincy's side.
“They've got one room,” he whispered through
the corner of his mouth, his head all the while
turned in the opposite direction. “It’s hired for a
week. They've got a friend in it now, but the bar-
tender wouldn't tell me when he came, and says he
don't know who the guy is.”
“Good,” Quincy whispered, as the money surrep-
titiously changed hands. “Keep your eyes open and
there may be another fiver coming to you later on.”


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 31
Rabbit again drifted out among the tables, while
Quincy resumed his attitude of bleary somnolence.
Finally he, too, arose unsteadily and approached
the bar. With many sage shakes of his head, and
numerous low-voiced comments to the forbidding
bartender, he searched through all his pockets until,
with almost superhuman endeavour, he had accumu-
lated the sum of ten cents. He laid the money on
the bar, poured out a glass of the vile whisky and
then, when the bartender turned to replace the bottle,
dumped the contents of the glass on the floor. That
accomplished, he made his way out of the place
ostentatiously wiping his lips and giving every in-
dication of satisfied thirst.
Once outside, he turned sharply from the back
street on which the saloon was located and hastily
made his way to the nearest corner. There he
boarded a car and was whirled away to the centre
of the city, where, once again in his office, he re-
moved his ragged clothes and resumed his normal
appearance.
“Let me see,” he muttered thoughtfully, as he
dropped into a chair. “I wonder what Ike has been
up to of late years. I’ve somewhat lost track of
him since I’ve been away.” He picked up a city
directory and hastily scanned its pages. “Yes, here
we find him. Jeremiah McKechnie, attorney-at-
law. So he hasn't been debarred at any rate and,


32 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
judging from the location of his office, he must be
doing very well financially. He has brains, cer-
tainly, or he would never have emerged from his
existence as a keeper of a pawn-shop, during which
previous period, I suppose, he accumulated the
name “Ike.’” He paused thoughtfully for a time,
and then turned to a business gazetteer of the city,
a page of which seemed to hold his attention for a
long period. At last he arose and shook his
shoulders impatiently, glancing at his watch and
then out into the deepening twilight. “Well,” he
muttered, “everything is now ready and the stage
is set. It is only necessary to await the raising
of the curtain.”
He walked at a leisurely pace out of his office
and to the nearest restaurant where he seated him-
self for a comfortable meal. The waiter bowed cor-
dially, for Quincy, both during and since his college
days, had made friends with men in all walks of
life, a fact which was of ever increasing value to
him in his present profession.
“Saw an old friend of yours in here today, Mr.
Sawyer,” the waiter informed him while busily
laying the table. “Leastwise he was an old ac-
quaintance, but perhaps you wouldn't call him a
friend.”
“Who was it?” Quincy inquired with an inter-
ested Smile.


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 33
“Ike McKechnie. He was in here for lunch.
Ike seems to be getting quite up in the world of
late,” the waiter concluded, as he hurried away with
Quincy's order.
At the information Quincy smiled broadly. Un-
consciously he seemed to have been trailing Ike Mc-
Kechnie all day and very closely, a fact which was
of much interest to him.
“Was Ike alone?” he inquired, when the waiter
had returned.
“No,” was the reply. “He had some stout old
gent with him and they seemed to be on extra good
terms from the way they talked and laughed. The
old gent looked like ready money and heaps of it,
too.”
Quincy made no further inquiries nor comments
on the subject, devoting himself soberly to his meal.
This piece of information added nothing to the
structure of evidence he had erected, but it served
to a marked degree to substantiate his theories and
to make him more certain than ever that he was on
the right track. He then dismissed the entire matter
from his mind while he finished his dinner and,
when at last he arose and sauntered out, carelessly
puffing a cigar, an observer would have thought him
the last person to be intimately connected with a
deep and complicated problem.
Tim McMahon's saloon blazed with light as
N


34 QUINCY ADAMS SAwYER, DETECTIVE
Quincy strolled nonchalantly in at the appointed
hour. The saloon was of a somewhat better class
than its neighbours and catered to a trade with
greater resources than might be discovered in the
ordinary West End saloon patron. Ward politi-
cians, small grafters and the general run of muni-
cipal hangers-on made the place their headquarters,
and to it, for that reason, practically every member
of the ward's political representation made his way
at one time or another during the year. Minor
plots against the city's treasury were laid there al-
most nightly, and it was a poor week indeed when a
small portion of that same treasury did not, by
means of some subtle pretext, find its way into
Tim's coffers. Gambling was allowed “on the
quiet,” but rows of any sort were strictly pro-
hibited, for Tim was exceedingly jealous of his
saloon's reputation and, as the result, the man who
“started anything ” was in grave danger of being
immediately propelled to the middle of the side-
walk with forceful energy.
As Quincy picked his way through the small
crowd, the genial face of Tim himself appeared
from around the lower corner of the bar. Seeing
Quincy he advanced with outstretched hand and
ready Smile, in memory of Quincy’s “laboratory
days,” many of which had been spent within those
walls while the young man absorbed, from his sur-


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 35
roundings, lore of political forays and gained a
speaking acquaintance with every notorious charac-
ter in the district. Tim jerked his head in the direc-
tion of the back room as his hand met Quincy's
in friendly clasp.
“Gates is in there,” he growled in his thick,
rumbling voice. “Say, what's up, anyhow?” he
continued anxiously. “You fellows ain't going to
start trouble in my place, are you?”
“Not unless the trouble starts on the other side
and you refuse to back us, Tim,” Quincy assured
him with a meaning glance. “We’re after two of
your best customers, but they are to blame, because
they've used your back room as a meeting-place
where they've planned crooked work that's outside
the regular.” To Tim and his confreres any plot
against the city as a whole was “the regular”
and was allowed, but plots against individuals were
firmly tabooed.
Tim's eyes gleamed angrily. “They're trying
to put my place in bad with the bulls, are they?”
he growled in a voice indicative of rising wrath.
“They are in a fair way to do so,” Quincy as-
sured him; “but, if you will give us your backing
when we need it, the bulls will have nothing to do
with this case, with the exception of Gates, and
he's a friend of yours. They'll yell blue murder,
Tim, when we land on them; but we have the
*


36 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
goods and we can prove it to you before we're
through.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Sawyer,” Tim an-
swered, “especially if you'll show me the goods
afterward. Now, who are the men and what do
you want me to do?”
“The men,” Quincy answered slowly, “are Ike
McKechnie and Long Tom.” Tim whistled, but
said nothing. “When they come in I want you to
tip us off. We'll get them into one of the private
rooms and then we'll ring for drinks. When we
do that you are to answer the bell yourself and
then we'll tell you what else to do. Has anyone
spoken for Room Eight? No? All right, then.
We'll take them to Room Eight, and, if you do your
part, you'll have no trouble over this, and you'll
get your place free of a pretty pair of crooks.”
Tim nodded emphatic agreement with the plan
and Quincy left him, making his way into the back
room where Gates was impatiently waiting. Gates
glanced up questioningly as Quincy approached.
“Everything going well?” he inquired.
“Excellently,” Quincy assured him, dropping
into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Our
men will undoubtedly put in an appearance here
later on in the evening.”
Gates raised his eyebrows. “Our men?” he
repeated.


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 37
Quincy nodded. “Gates, do you know Ike Mc-
Kechnie and Long Tom?”
Gates shook his head negatively after several
moments of careful reflection. “I don't remember
ever having heard of either of them,” he said.
“So much the better. They know me, which is
bad; but I think that we shall have little trouble in
overcoming that difficulty. Tim will tip us off
when they appear outside and I can point them out
to you when they come in here, as they are certain
to do. Now, the idea is this. I am drunk, hope-
lessly drunk, and we want to play poker. The
chances are strong that they'll remember me as easy
money, and they'll be ready enough to play, provided
their suspicions are not aroused. If their suspicions
do become aroused, they'll agree to play anyway be-
cause they won't dare do anything else. Your job
is to round them up and get them interested. Then
we will all go to Room Eight, — don't forget that
number, — and, when we are once there, I imagine
that developments will follow each other very
rapidly. You have the plan correctly?”
Gates nodded quietly and Quincy sank back in an
excellent assumption of a drunken stupor.
For perhaps half an hour they remained in their
positions, silent save for the occasional maudlin
remarks from Quincy, thrown out from time to
time for the benefit of the various, patrons of the


38 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
saloon with which the place was filling. At last
Tim's face appeared in the doorway, and his glance
flashed quickly over the assemblage until it rested
on Gates. He nodded meaningly and then stared in
anxious astonishment at Quincy, but a cautious
wink from Gates reassured him and his head disap-
peared. Hardly had the door closed after him be-
fore it reopened to admit the eagerly awaited pair,
Long Tom and Lawyer Ike McKechnie.
Gates sized them up as they advanced, and men-
tally classified each before they had reached the
middle of the room. In McKechnie he saw a man
whom nature had evidently intended to be slim, but
who had so far improved on nature's designs as to
become remarkably fat and florid as to features,
although his body still maintained its original gang-
ling formation. His face was filled with egotistical
pomposity and the condescending manner with
which he addressed his companion from time to
time showed beyond doubt that, in his own mind,
at least, Lawyer McKechnie was a figure to be
reckoned with. Long Tom, on the other hand, out-
wardly possessed neither egotism nor self-assertion.
An exceptionally tall man, and one whose extreme,
slimness made his height seem even greater, he,
carried with him an air of furtiveness and foxlike
cunning that would be sufficient at first glance to
arouse the suspicions of even the most trusting of


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 39
men. He appeared to rely on McKechnie as on
a guide or commander, and implicitly obeyed
every suggestion emanating from that worthy
Source.
As the men cast about them for a vacant table,
Gates arose and nonchalantly approached them,
both men halting, with eyes fixed questioningly
and expectantly upon him as he came up with
them.
“My friend and I,” he said with a backward jerk
of his thumb in Quincy's direction, “want a little
game. We've engaged a room and have been
waiting for someone to come in who looked as if
he could play a gentleman's game. Are you in on
it?”
McKechnie grinned uncertainly and shifted his
position slightly so as to obtain a better view of
Quincy. “For the love of Mike!” he exclaimed, as
his eye fell on the silent figure at the table. “It's"
young Sawyer and as full as a goat.” He fixed his
eyes speculatively on Gates. “Sawyer used to
carry a fair roll,” he stated meditatively.
Gates caught the implied interrogation. “Be-
lieve me,” he stated emphatically, “Sawyer's roll
hasn't diminished any.”
McKechnie grinned in secret anticipation.
“We’re on,” he announced. “Where's your
room?'"


40 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
After much shaking and many protesting groans
and growls Quincy was at last imbued with suffi-
cient interest in his surroundings to climb to his
feet and be led, leaning heavily on Gates, in the di-
rection of Room Eight. Once there, Gates dropped
him unceremoniously into the chair nearest the
door and busied himself with preparations for the
game. As he moved and talked, however, his
watchful eyes were continuously roving in Quincy's
direction, where they were at last rewarded by the
sight of a sharp wink.
“Guess we'd better start right by having some
drinks brought up, hadn't we?” he questioned, the
invitation being met by fervent expressions of as-
sent. In accordance with the evident desire of the
company, therefore, he leaned over and pressed long
on the button.
To the surprise of Long Tom and McKechnie
it was Tim McMahon, himself, who answered the
summons, and he further added to their surprise by
carefully closing the door as he entered and placing
his broad back against it.
“What'll you have?” was his husky greeting.
Surprises appeared to abound in that particular
room, as Long Tom and McKechnie were about to
discover, for, hardly had Tim's inquiry been made,
before Quincy abruptly emerged from his lethargy
and sat up, fixing his eyes on McKechnie's face.


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 41
Suspicion immediately appeared in that individual's
eyes and his hands convulsively grasped the edge
of the table.
“What kind of a plant is this?” he demanded
savagely. “You fellows spring your game quick,
whatever it is.”
Quincy laughed softly and meaningly. “Our
game, Ike?” he inquired. “You surprise me.
Indeed you do.” He half rose, and leaned across
the table, as he continued, but the smile had dis-
appeared from his face, leaving in its place a look of
cold accusation. “We’re playing no game, Ike
McKechnie, as you are about to discover. I am
superseding my friend, Inspector Gates, a trifle, but
it will amount to the same thing in the end. Ike
McKechnie, I arrest you in the name of the Com-
monwealth of Massachusetts on the charge of ab-
duction and as being an accessory before the fact
on a charge of murderous assault. Long Tom, I
arrest you under the same authority on the charge
of abduction and of assault with intent to kill, the
latter charge containing two counts.
“And I,” Gates broke in, “must warn you that
whatever you say from this time forth may be used
against you at your trial.”
For a moment the pair stared dumbly in
Quincy's direction, too stupefied to move or speak;
but their state of paralysis lasted only momentarily.


42 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
With a vicious snarl McKechnie sprang from his
chair straight on Gates, who, taken off his guard,
fell heavily to the floor. Long Tom was no whit
behind his pal in readiness and, as Quincy grappled
with McKechnie, Tom plunged in behind, getting
a strangle hold about Quincy's neck and bearing
him to the floor. As Quincy fell McKechnie leaped
back, drew a revolver and turned with a savage
grunt of triumph toward McMahon. If he had
thoughts of over-awing the saloon keeper by show
of arms, however, he was doomed to bitter disap-
pointment, for Tim, though slow of movement,
could move like a cyclone when once he got under
way.
As McKechnie's revolver whipped into view, Tim,
moving with the irresistible force of a runaway
express train, struck him, head-on, and the two
rolled to the floor amid a chaos of splintered chairs
and overturned furniture. As the crash of the fall
sounded, and mingled with it came the grunts of
McKechnie, groaning beneath Tim's massive bulk,
Long Tom suddenly loosened his hold on Quincy
and turned to flee. But he was too late. Gates,
having regained his scattered wits during the few
moments occupied by the short conflict, had taken
up his position in the doorway, and Tom found him-
self staring into the barrel of a business-like re-
volver.


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 43
“Better quit it, Tom,” Gates advised him quietly.
“It's all over now.”
Before Long Tom could make up his own mind
as to his step, Gates' muscular arm had seized him
and hurled him across the room into a chair, where
he sank down cowed and silent. McKechnie fol-
lowed, propelled by a vigorous thrust from Tim,
and the fight for freedom ended almost as abruptly
as it had begun.
“Look here, Tim,” McKechnie snarled, at last
regaining some of his self-control. “Are you going
to stand for this? Are you going to let us be
pinched on any such fool charge, and in your own
place?” r
“Ah, cheese!” was Tim's disgusted retort. “A
healthy bunch of regard you're showin' for my place
all of a sudden, ain't you? Do you think I'm goin'
to butt in on the bulls and put my place to the
everlastin' bad just for the likes of you? Not by a
heap. This administration ain't none too friendly
toward me as things is, and you can bet your
bottom dollar that I ain’t takin' chances. What'd
you go to work and get my place mixed up in this
for, anyway? That's what I want to know,” he
continued savagely. -
McKechnie subsided, seemingly too overcome to
speak, but not so with Long Tom. While the dis-
cussion had been in progress he had hitched him-


44 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
self about until he had secured an open passage
between his chair and the window. With a leap he
cleared the chair and covered half the distance to his
desired goal, and another bound took him to the
window itself. But he had not been sufficiently
cautious in his original movements, for every fur-
tive hitch of the chair had been noted by Quincy
and, as Long Tom threw himself at the window
ledge, he was sharply upset and hurled struggling
to the floor, with Quincy astride him. Twist and
squirm as he would, his arms were relentlessly
borne back until two sharp metallic clicks informed
him as plainly as words that further resistance
would be useless. As he struggled to his feet his
eyes fell on a small object which Quincy held in his
hand, and, in spite of himself, he paled visibly at
the sight. Quincy stood silently regarding the
object, an expression of disgust on his face. Then,
with a nauseated shrug, he dropped the object into
his own pocket. As he looked up into Long Tom's
shifting eyes, however, that individual shuddered
violently and the light of hope appeared to have ut-
terly vanished from his face.
“Handcuff Ike, Gates,” came Quincy's curt com-
mand, and in a few moments McKechnie's wrists
were adorned with rings of gleaming steel.
“Now,” Quincy continued, “we have work else-
where for the time being. I want to leave these men


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 45
here, Tim, until we come back.” Tim nodded as-
sent to the proposition and glared balefully at the
prisoners. “You’ll make certain they don't es-
cape while we are gone?” Quincy continued.
“Oh, they won't escape,” Tim affirmed grimly.
“I’ll sit right here myself, and keep 'em company
until you get back. I want to know the rest of this
tale.”
“Say, Sawyer,” Gates protested in an undertone,
as they made their way out of the building.
“Aren't we taking a long chance in arresting these
men? Are you sure of your ground?”
“Absolutely,” Quincy replied soberly. “I was
sure of it from the first, but I caught Long Tom
with the goods just now and there isn't a bit of
doubt left. I lifted a little object from his pocket
that will give you a start when you see it.”
“Where are we headed for, anyhow?” Gates
next asked as they dropped from a surface car at a
dark corner in the West End.
“We are going after Hemenway,” Quincy in-
formed him. “And, by the way, Gates, you have
not the least show in the world of passing muster
where we are going. You look altogether too
trim.”
“But I can't work up any kind of a disguise
now,” Gates protested.
“Oh, yes, you can. A scientific disguise has


46 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
nothing to do with false whiskers and changed
clothes, in spite of what the popular version of the
subject may be. Here, let me show you how to go
about it. First push that hat toward the back of
your head; no, a little farther and a bit to one
side. That's right. Next roll the right hand lapel
of your coat over a little, so that the lapel and about
half your collar will remain out of place. Correct.
Then stick this in your other lapel.” He put in
place a cheap button bearing a pointless phrase
printed on it, a button of the type sold with cigar-
ettes. “Lastly, put this jewel in your tie.” He
extended a tie pin set with a large flashy gem.
“Gee,” Gates muttered. “Is that sparkler the
real thing?”
“The real thing in paste, yes. It will flash like
fire when the light strikes it from the proper angle.
Now take your face between those big paws of
yours and rub it heartily so as to give you a flushed
appearance, and if you don't pass anywhere as a
low class tout I'm mistaken.”
Quincy surveyed his handiwork as a makeup
artist with a grin, and then made a few hasty
changes in his own appearance, achieving a result
which Gates greeted with a snort of derision.
“If I look like you do I'm ashamed of myself,”
Gates grinned as they moved off.
The saloon which Quincy had visited in the


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 47
afternoon maintained its same general appearance
as they entered. . The crowd of loungers and
hangers-on was a little larger, perhaps; but the
same sullen bartender stood at his place, Rabbit still
circulated among the billiard tables, and the same
furtive type of men slunk about the room, grunting
at one another in subdued tones.
“Got a table vacant, Sport?” Quincy demanded
in a loud tone of Rabbit, sinking his voice to a
whisper as he fired a second question. “What
room is Long Tom's friend in?”
“Naw, there ain't none vacant,” Rabbit
responded with a gleam of recognition in his eyes.
“Up-stairs, first room to the right,” he concluded
in a whisper.
“Well,” Quincy continued, “my friend and I
want to play off a bet. Call us when there's a
table vacant and there'll be something in it for you.”
A meaning glance accompanied the words, and as
Quincy moved off Rabbit found another bill in his
hand.
Going directly to the bar they called for drinks,
and, the crowd about being too large to allow for
their dispensing of the vile liquid by way of the
floor, they were forced to drink it. “Rat poison,”
Quincy heard Gates disgustedly mutter as he set his
glass on the bar. Quincy then addressed the bar-
tender:


48 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“My friend and I,” he said, “want a room.
Got one for us?”
The bartender eyed him critically and, appearing
to detect nothing suspicious about either of the pros-
pective guests, replied: “Yes. A dollar a night in
advance.” -
Quincy produced the money, peeling it from a
very slender roll, and the pair were conducted to
the floor above by a seedy-looking bell boy. As
the door of their room closed Quincy listened in-
tently while the footfalls of the bell boy slowly re-
ceded down the corridor. When the sounds had
died away he jerked open the door and was in the
corridor, Gates striding briskly after him. They
rushed silently to the door Rabbit had described,
and Quincy turned the knob, finding, as he had ex-
pected, that the door was locked.
“Open it,” he commanded tersely, and Gates was
instantly at work with his skeleton keys. The
lock was old fashioned and yielded quickly, allow-
ing the pair to gain entrance after merely a momen-
tary delay. The room was in darkness, but Quincy's
flashlight quickly revealed the electric switch, and
the lights immediately flashed forth.
There on the bed lay Hemenway, securely bound
and gagged.
Working rapidly, it was but a few moments be-
fore they had untied the various knots and Hemen-


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 49
way sat slowly up, gingerly stretching his arms to
allow for the returning circulation.
“They kidnapped me,” he sputtered, as soon as
he was able to speak. “They enticed me into a
cab and brought me here. I've been tied up ever
since.” -
“Why didn't you yell or raise a rough house to
attract attention?” Gates demanded.
“Yell!” Hemenway snorted. “I couldn't yell.
One of them had a grip on my neck, and I had my
hands full trying to keep him from choking me to
death. I thought at first that killing me was their
intention, and I fought like a cat to get away from
them. I bit, clawed, struck, kicked and did every-
thing a man could do, but I couldn't break that
hold on my throat and, fighting against two of them
as I was, it didn't take a great while before I was
too exhausted to keep up the struggle. When I
stopped fighting they loosened up on me a little and
I had a chance to get my breath while they were
driving to this place. I couldn't attract any outside
attention, though, because they pulled the curtains
down and one of them had his hand on me ready
to grab me by the throat again if I made the least
TnoVement.
“When we got to this place they drove in by
means of some back alley, and there was another
blackguard waiting for them at the door. He was


50 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
a bartender, I should think, and the three of them
dragged me out of the hack. I broke away from
them somewhat, and got down in the street on my
back, and, believe me, there were some sore shins
in that crowd before they could get me up again.
I kicked and howled and raised all kinds of a ruc-
tion, but it was no use. I couldn't seem to attract
any attention at all and, as soon as I tired myself
out again, they dragged me up here and tied me up.
I've been tied up just as you found me ever since.
That bartender has been up every once in a while,
since, to make sure that I wasn't getting the ropes
loose, but I haven't seen anything of the other
pair.”
“Would you know the other men?” Quincy
questioned.
“You bet I would,” Hemenway replied with
savage conviction. “I'd know them anywhere.
And, if I ever do meet them again —” The pause
which followed the remark was filled with signifi-
cant promise.
“Come,” Quincy stated. “We can't waste time
here. It would be dangerous.”
Even as he spoke, footsteps sounded at the foot
of the stairs, followed almost immediately by Rab-
bit's bawling summons: “Say, you gents. There's
a table vacant now.”
For a moment silence reigned, and then the three


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 51
in the doorway heard a fierce sibilant whisper from
half way up the stairs. “You fool, what did you
do that for?”
“They told me to,” Rabbit whined in protest.
“They told me to holler when there was a table.”
“Come,” said Gates in a low growl. “The
longer we wait the harder our job will be.”
He leaped through the door, with the others close
at his heels. Down the flight of stairs they charged
and, before the bartender, for it was he, had time in
which to recover himself, a blow from Gates' mighty
fist sent him flying out of the way, reeling and
staggering against the wall. From the direction of
the saloon came the alarmed cry of “cops,” fol-
lowed by the scurrying of many feet. In their path
stood the Rabbit, cleverly simulating silent terror;
but, as the trio bounded his way, one eye closed
slowly and a quick jerk of his thumb indicated a
doorway.
The slight delay in getting their bearings was
sufficient to complicate their escape. The bartender
had regained his feet and, thirsting for vengeance,
came at them with a yell, calling all the while for
the aid of his friends in the saloon. Gates leaped
forward to meet him, but found quickly that he
had his hands full, for the bartender showed himself
to be a skilled boxer, undoubtedly a product of the
prize ring. His first blow sent Gates back, dazed


52 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
and half falling, and, without pausing an instant,
he followed up his advantage to such good purpose
that Gates became fully occupied in trying to parry
the blows, without being given an opportunity to
strike in his own behalf.
To make matters worse there came a rush of feet
from the direction of the saloon and it was evident
to the detectives and Hemenway that it would be
but a matter of a few seconds before they were
set upon by overwhelming numbers. Again, how-
ever, it was the Rabbit who came to their rescue.
With a shrill Squeal of assumed terror he turned
about and dived headlong through the door,
striking among the advancing legs and so entan-
gling them that in an instant the doorway was
choked with a heap of struggling human beings, all
striving to regain their feet and advance to the
attack.
But, the slight delay caused by Rabbit's manoeuvre
had been sufficient to once more turn the tide, for
the bartender, suddenly beset on either side by
Quincy and Hemenway, while Gates occupied him
from in front, found himself to be greatly at a dis-
advantage. His arms were simultaneously pinioned
to his sides and then, with a sudden heave by the
three men in unison, he was propelled headlong into
the struggling mass that choked the doorway. Their
way once more free from obstruction, the trio


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 53
sprang toward the door which the Rabbit had in-
dicated and plunged through it, finding themselves
in a narrow alley, at one end of which gleamed
the lights of a street, and from which end came the
dull clanging of street car gongs. A short run
carried them the length of the alley and, having
gained the street, it was but a few moments before
they were aboard a surface car and bound in the
direction of Tim McMahon's saloon.
The status of affairs in Room Eight appeared to
have changed not at all during their absence. Mc-
Kechnie and Long Tom still sat where they had
been left, staring gloomily at each other, while
Tim slouched back in a chairand puffed at his stubby
clay pipe in grim silence. Such was the sight which
met Hemenway's gaze as he entered, but the silent
inactivity of the place was of short duration fol-
lowing his entrance. As his eyes fell on the pris-
oners he grasped sharply at Quincy's arm.
“Those are the men,” he exclaimed excitedly.
“They are the ones who were in that cab.”
“I know it,” Quincy assured him quietly. “We
are now about to call their game and the result will
be interesting.”
While the brief colloquy was going on Gates had
been sharply scanning Long Tom's face, noting the
various shades of pallor that were intermittently ap-
pearing on it, and watching the expression of fear


54 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
grow ever stronger as the man's imagination be-
came active.
“Look at Long Tom,” he whispered to Quincy.
“It will need only the mildest of examinations to
twist a confession from him.”
“We don't need it,” Quincy replied. “We have
the goods on them both, and they can't shake away
under any consideration. Now, Mr. Hemenway,”
he continued, turning half about, “I am able to
introduce you to the man who assaulted you in your
office, and then followed it up by an assault on your
grandmother in her own home. You are proud of
your work, aren't you, Tom P. It takes a man of
unusual courage to sneak up behind an old lady
and hit her over the head.”
“But, why?” Hemenway gasped, looking from
Quincy to Long Tom, and evidently struggling in
a fog of mystification. “Why should he have done
it? I am sure I never saw the man before, and,
for the life of me, I cannot see what enmity
he could have toward my grandmother and my-
Self.”
“He had none, Hemenway. I assure you that he
had none whatever. This little game was a stroke
in a certain class of high finance. Our collection,”
indicating the prisoners, “is still short one curio,
but that need make no difference at present. You
will best be able to understand the affair if I give


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 55
you a more detailed account of it, and the reasons
causing it, as I have figured them out.
“My starting point, Mr. Hemenway, was here.
It was perfectly evident, from the mode employed
in the assaults on yourself and on your grandmother,
that whoever committed the deeds had no intention
of doing either of you a lasting injury. The blows
dealt in each case were too light to cause death,
being merely what are called in police parlance
‘sleepers,” or stunning blows. They were struck,
I judged, with a sandbag, and by the hand of a man
well versed in the art of sandbagging. If the blows
were not intended to cause death, or serious injury,
their motive could not, therefore, have been revenge.
The robbery theory passed out of the case hand-
in-hand with the theory of enmity, or revenge, be-
cause in each case you testified that nothing what-
ever had been taken. Consequently, I was obliged
to seek elsewhere for a motive, and it was not until
you told me of the pending law settlement of your
contested property rights that I commenced to see
a glimmer of light in the case.
“I seized on that theory and worked at it, finding
that it quickly unfolded a most plausible motive for
the assaults; namely, that the man who was con-
testing your rights was preparing to spring some
sort of a trap, and that he wished to keep your at-
tention engaged elsewhere while he was working


56 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
w
out his little game. Nothing will focus a man's
attention more readily, as a rule, than an assault on
him, and you were therefore attacked. But, even
then, you did not relax your efforts in the prepa-
ration of your property case, and it became necessary
for your opponent to take another step, the result
being the attack on your grandmother. But, even
then, your opponent evidently was not fully satis-
fied, for we have seen that you were kidnapped and
carried to the place where we found you, - your
room, let me add, having been hired for a week,
which argues that you were doomed to confinement
until after the case had come to trial. There, I
think, we have the motive of this affair.”
“But,” Hemenway protested; “would they have
dared to kidnap me for any such reason as that?
I saw the two men and would have been able to
identify them at any time.”
“Yes,” Quincy replied with a smile. “You
could have identified them to your own satisfac-
tion; but you have no idea what beautiful alibis
they would have been provided with, had you
brought your charge against them. The chances
are strong that, instead of having your case against
them upheld, the only result of your charge would
have been that you would have found yourself
ordered out of court and have been reprimanded for
bringing in charges so evidently the result of your


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 57
own drunken imagination. Yes, that is what your
charge would have been called, so don't look
shocked. These men would have been supplied with
an endless chain of witnesses who would have cor-
roborated whatever alibi the defence happened to
choose. You can see how little risk they ran in
abducting you. Remember, also, that they are
backed by Peter Lorillard, of the Lorillard Realty
Corporation, and that Mr. McKechnie is that corpo-
ration's chief counsel. There you have the whole
affair in a nutshell.”
“But, Sawyer,” Gates broke in. “All that is
interesting and necessary, but how did you settle on
Long Tom? That is what I want to find out.”
“Well,” Quincy continued, “that part was the
result of deduction. I have shown how I traced the
affair to Lorillard's company and how McKechnie
is the company's counsel. I have also shown that I
believed both victims to have been sandbagged.
Now, a sandbag is a weapon that requires great
skill in its use. It leaves no mark when a blow is
struck with it, it is silent, and above all it is deadly.
In the hands of an inexperienced man a sandbag
is one of the most dangerous of weapons; but an
expert can so judge the force of his blow as to make
it as wicked or as harmless as he pleases. You
must observe that nobody other than an expert could
have struck the blows in this particular case, for


58 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
you will readily see that it required a far different
blow to strike down a young man than was re-
quired to incapacitate an aged woman. Had the
same blows been used the inevitable result would
have been death for Mrs. Patterson. Therefore I
discovered that I must search for a sandbag expert.
“Strange as it may seem, sandbag experts are
very few and far between in this city, for the sand-
bag, as Inspector Gates will tell you, is rarely used
here. In fact, as I ran back over the list of my
variously accomplished acquaintances, I could think
of only one man whom I absolutely knew to be a
sandbag expert. That man was Long Tom, who
learned the art in Chicago, I believe, several years
ago. Long Tom, also, was a close pal of Ike Mc-
Kechnie, which fact formed a second link connect-
ing him with the case. From time to time, as I
followed out the thread of evidence, I found other
connections which strengthened my belief. Now,
Gates, before I continue my story, will you please
take Tom's thumb print and compare it with the
photographs of the prints figuring in this case.
Compare it carefully with the one in Mr. Hemen-
way’s office, but above all compare it very carefully
with the one which appeared on the mirror in Mrs.
Patterson’s room.”
As Gates stepped forward to comply with
Quincy's instructions a sneering grin of triumph


THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 59
flashed for a moment over McKechnie's face, but
no answering grin came back from Long Tom, who
was sullenly extending his thumb for the impression.
Gates went rapidly about his work and in a few
moments had the impression of Long Tom's thumb
laid beside the photographs on the card table. As
he bent over the table to make the comparison,
however, an expression of astonishment appeared
on his face, and he strained sharply forward.
“Sawyer,” he exclaimed excitedly. “These
prints are not the same!”
“Of course they aren't the same,” McKechnie
sneered. “You fellows are in bad, and you'd better
take these irons off Tom and me, or you'll sweat
proper for this job.” He glared threateningly as
he concluded.
“Don’t grow overheated, Ike,” Quincy cautioned
him coolly. “Remember that I didn't say they were
the same. In fact, I knew they were not.”
With the exception of Long Tom all regarded
him incredulously; but the sandbagger still sat with
head bowed hopelessly, and with an air of complete
dejection.
“Now, listen,” Quincy continued, “because right
here we have the keystone of the whole affair, and
one of diabolical cunning it is. You will remember,
Gates, that I carefully questioned Mrs. Patterson
in order to discover whether her assailant ap-


60 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
proached her from one side or from behind. Now,
Gates, approaching as he did from behind, how in
the world could he have so manoeuvred as to acci-
dentally touch a mirror which lay on the table some
distance in front of her? Furthermore, why should
a man, in leaving an office which was well lighted,
carefully impress his thumb on the door some dis-
tance above the knob P. Were those actions acciden-
tal? Most assuredly they were not.
“Those thumb prints were placed purposely,
and with the desire that they should be discovered.
Why? Because they were not the prints of the as-
sailant's thumb, but were artificial prints intended
to throw investigators off the track. He well knew
that no court in the world would convict him on
such circumstantial evidence as might be offered
against him, provided it could be shown that his
thumb print was different from those found on the
scenes of his crimes.
“Study that photograph of the thumb print on
the mirror, Gates. Don't you see the peculiarity
it possesses? Look at it. It is a double thumb
print. You can see the tip of another thumb at
the side of the main print and farther over on the
mirror you can see where two knuckles lightly
touched the glass. Do you follow me? Good.
Now, look here.”
As he concluded he drew from his pocket the


. THE DOUBLE THUMB PRINT 61
object he had taken from Long Tom and laid it on
the table, still keeping it covered with his hand.
Slowly he removed his hand, and left lying on the
table a mummified human thumb, at which his com-
panions stared aghast.
“That,” he stated triumphantly, “is the key to
the thumb-print riddle. That thumb, treated by
some process which preserved it, has been used for
the purpose of hiding the tracks of the real criminal
in this case. It was a simple matter for the man to
rub the thumb on the palm of his hand until it
gathered sufficient moisture and oil to make an
impression on the glass, or to dip it in ink, as was
the method in the office. When making the im-
print on the mirror, however, he made the fatal
error of touching the tip of his own thumb to the
glass while holding the dummy, and thus he sup-
plied us with the suspicious phenomenon of a double
thumb print. That thumb,” he regarded it with
disgust, “is so far gone that it could never have
been used again, but it did its work in this case and,
but for the shightest of slips on the part of Long
Tom, it would have defeated us.”
For some time after he had concluded his re-
marks no word was spoken, the only sounds in the
room being the nervously excited breathing of the
men or the creaking of a chair as one shifted his
position. Then McKechnie moodily raised his eyes.


62 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“You can't take it all out on us,” he growled.
“Lorillard has got to come in for his share. He
planned it.”
“Lorillard,” Quincy stated, “has already been
arrested. He was taken on my complaint early in
the evening and is now awaiting you at police head-
quarters. Will you go to the station in a cab with-
out making any trouble or shall I have Inspector
Gates call a patrol wagon?”
McKechnie glared sullenly at the handcuffs which
pinioned his wrists. “We'll go in a cab,” he
growled. “I guess the game's up.”


II
THE AFFAIR OF THE GOLDEN BELT
“Do you mean to tell me,” Quincy demanded,
staring incredulously at his visitor and chewing
nervously at the stem of his pipe, “that a man may
be apparently murdered on your own grounds,
buried within a hundred feet of your own house,
and yet you have absolutely no idea as to his iden-
tity?”
“That's just what I mean, sir,” the bald-headed
little man before him reiterated testily. “I haven't
the slightest idea who this man is, nor where he
came from. If I knew all these things I would not
have considered it necessary to have come to you
for aid.”
Quincy grinned at the irritability of the reply and
carefully scrutinized his guest. The man was short,
stout, very bald, and, to cap it all, possessed a pair
of pop eyes that blinked owlishly from behind great
round spectacles. He possessed the air of a man
who is perpetually excited, and the possibility of
being able to draw an intelligent story from him
with a single telling seemed remote in the extreme.
63


THE GOLDEN BELT 65
“Very good,” said Quincy. “Then you and the
doctor dug into the earth and uncovered the body
of a man, the doctor assuring you that the dead man
had probably been living within twenty-four hours,
possibly less. You have no idea as to who the man
may have been, nor had the doctor ever seen him.
Am I right so far, Mr. Brown?”
“You are.” The little man's excitement was
rising again and, as it rose, he spoke with an al-
most comical air of astonishment. “But you must
bear in mind, sir, that the man had been murdered,
sir, murdered, and buried on my land. Why, the
back of his head was all smashed in.”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Brown, I understand that he had
been murdered,” Quincy assured him. “It is hardly
probable that such extraordinary care would have
been taken in concealing the body had the man died
of measles, say. Now, what did you do with the
body and what was your next step following
that?”
“We left the body right beside the hole from
which we took it, sir, and Doctor Weston went to
summon the medical examiner. I hastened here to
find you, because I knew that we should need more
able assistance on the case than that which the local
constabulary could give us. You will help us out,
won't you?” he concluded anxiously.
Quincy was silent for several seconds. “Yes,”


66 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
he said slowly, “I certainly think that I must help
you out. This particular case presents so many al-
luring points that I cannot let it pass. You see I
have here the novel necessity of not only establish-
ing the motive for the crime and finding the
criminal, but I must also establish the identity of
the murdered man and discover why he should have
been on your land at the time of his death. No, I
cannot let such a case as this one pass me. If you
please, Mr. Brown, I wish you would accompany
me immediately to your farm and let me look over
the ground while the trail is yet fresh. If the man
has been dead so short a time as your friend, the
doctor, tells you, it is evident that the murderer has
not been able to secure a very great start. Come,
let us go to Yokum at once.”
While on the way to the railroad station Quincy
had very little to say, and, once seated in the train,
he retired utterly within himself, and sank into a
deep study, from which he did not emerge until the
train had nearly completed the short run to Yokum.
Then, arousing himself momentarily, he demanded:
“Have you any serious enemies, so far as you
know, Mr. Brown?”
Brown started violently at the words, and the sud-
denness with which they were hurled at him. “ Not
to my knowledge, sir,” he rejoined, as soon as he
had somewhat recovered from his agitation. “Are


THE GOLDEN BELT 67
you wondering if this man might have been mis-
taken for me?” he asked somewhat anxiously.
“Not at all,” Quincy laughingly replied. “I had
a far different idea in my mind. But here we are
in Yokum, so let us defer our consideration of the
case until we have examined the evidence at first
hand.”
Brown's carriage was awaiting them and a short
drive took them to the scene of the mystery. There
they found Doctor Weston and the medical exam-
iner engaged in an animated discussion regarding
the force which must have been behind a blow in
order to crush in a man's skull as had been done in
the present instance. Quincy regarded them with a
dry smile for a few moments before interrupting.
“Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said; “but is this
the extent of your progress in the examination?”
At the words the medical examiner started some-
what guiltily. “We have only just arrived,” he
hastened to explain. “I was out attending a patient
when Doctor Weston came to my house, and he was
obliged to wait some little time for my return. If
you will pardon me now, Doctor,” he continued to
Doctor Weston, “I shall make my examination.”
As the examiner bent over the body, which still
lay in the spot where it had been placed after having
been taken from its insufficient grave, Quincy was
close at his elbow. The body, he saw, was that of


68 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
a young man, well dressed and bearing every ap-
pearance of fastidious care, in spite of the earth
stains with which the clothing was now covered.
The smooth-shaven face was in complete repose, a
fact which seemed to indicate that death had come
unexpectedly and instantaneously, a supposition
which was still further supported by the fact that
the blow had undoubtedly been dealt from behind.
The medical examiner proceeded to make a care-
ful investigation of the dead man's pockets, but, in
spite of the fact that the pockets were laden with
the usual collection of minor articles that a man
will generally carry, not a scrap of paper, either
letter or card, was present to indicate the identity of
the body. One thing which was on the body, how-
ever, caused a start of surprise to all present. This
was a large roll of bills which lay loosely in one
of the pockets, and which did not seem to have been
in the least disturbed. Thus, any possibility of a
murder for the sake of robbery was apparently dis-
posed of. -
After several minutes of careful investigation the
medical examiner rose and turned a puzzled face
toward Quincy.
“What do you make of it, Mr. Sawyer?” he in-
quired.
Quincy slowly shook his head. “Very little as
yet,” he replied. “It is evident, of course, that the


THE GOLDEN BELT 69
blow was struck with some blunt instrument, causing
instant death. It would also seem, from the fact
that so little blood appears on the clothing, that the
body was not allowed to lie after death, but was
immediately dragged or carried to this spot and
buried. Beyond those very obvious facts I do not
feel that I can go at present.”
He paused for some little time after he had fin-
ished speaking, and stood absently caressing his
chin while he studied the body with great intent-
ness. Then he suddenly stooped and fumbled
eagerly about the man's coat, turning, with one
knee still resting on the ground, while he again ad-
dressed the examiner.
“Doctor, here seems to be another peculiar fea-
ture. The man's belt is missing.”
“Do you suppose,” Doctor Weston interposed,
“that it was a money belt?”
“That is possible, of course,” Quincy replied
with a trace of doubt in his tone, “but I hardly think
it could have been a fact in this case. That is, I
do not think that any valuables which the man
might have carried were directly responsible for
his death. That roll of bills seems to preclude such
a supposition. Whatever the purpose of the mur-
der might have been I hardly think that it could
have been robbery.”
It was plain that he was deeply puzzled by the


70 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
*
affair, and it was several minutes before he again
removed his gaze from the body, his face showing
that he was by no means satisfied with the informa-
tion at hand. He devoted some time to a careful
examination of the articles which had been taken
from the man's pockets. In the collection was a
perfectly plain white handkerchief, a small pocket
flask, a cigarette case, match safe and various small
bits of personal property. On the match safe, how-
ever, Quincy quickly centred his attention, the
safe being the only article which bore the faintest
semblance of a clue which might lead to the body’s
identification. Even the clue offered by the safe was
faint, indeed, being nothing more than the engraved
block letters “E. B. F.” Quincy placed the safe in
his pocket and quietly arose.
“How long has that man been dead, in your opin-
ion, Doctor?” he inquired of the examiner.
“Less than twenty-four hours,” was the reply.
“I even think I might be willing to hazard the
opinion that he must have been murdered and buried
last night.”
46 Well, we can do little until we are able to dis-
cover something about him. We must discover, if
possible, when he came here, where he was last seen,
and, above all, with whom he talked. In that way
we may be able to find out who he was, and then we
shall have something to work on.”


THE GOLDEN BELT 71
As Quincy and Doctor Weston walked away from
the grounds, Brown and the medical examiner hav-
ing remained behind to arrange for the disposal of
the body, the doctor inquired casually:
“Well, Mr. Sawyer, what do you make of the
case?”
“My dear Doctor,” Quincy replied, “I have abso-
lutely no grounds on which to base any opinion
whatever, as yet. The case is one which will re-
quire considerable investigation and, as an opening,
I wish to inquire as to whether or not you are well
acquainted with Mr. Brown?”
The doctor gave him a sharp glance, but Quincy's
expressionless face told him nothing. “I am fairly
well acquainted with Mr. Brown,” he responded
guardedly, “but I have never been on intimate
terms with him.”
“Of course you can form no opinion as to why
a spot almost within plain sight of Mr. Brown's
house should have been chosen as the burial place
for the murdered man?”
“I can form no opinion whatever about the case,”
the doctor replied, with an emphasis that brought a
smile to Quincy's face.
Quincy did not press the subject and soon after-
ward separated from the doctor at the latter's resi-
dence. He then threw himself heart and soul into
the investigation in hand, making careful inquiries


72 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
at every point where he imagined that the unfor-
tunate young man might have been seen. On every
hand, however, he was met by a baffling lack of
knowledge. It seemed incredible that a man could
have arrived at so small a town and have then com-
pletely disappeared without a single resident, or
hanger-on at the station, having caught so much as
a glimpse of him. Furthermore, it seemed likewise
incredible that the natural curiosity of the country-
man had not caused those who had seen the man,
for he had no doubt about the man's having been
seen by somebody, to retain a mental note of his ap-
pearance.
Just as dusk fell he made his way, now com-
pletely nonplussed, to the little railroad station, be-
ing obliged to return to Boston that evening. Being
some minutes in advance of his train he lighted a
cigar and strolled aimlessly along the platform, his
mind fully occupied with the problem which con-
fronted him. Suddenly, just at the side of the
baggage-room door, he paused, his eyes fixed on an
innocent-appearing suitcase which stood before him.
Plainly stencilled on the end of the suitcase in black
letters were the initials “E. B. F.” Giving no out-
ward sign of the eagerness which was within him,
Quincy turned and carelessly beckoned to the sta-
tion agent. -
“Was that case left here by a young man dressed


“HE PAUSED, HIS EYES FIXED ON AN INNOCENT-
APPEARING SUITCASE.”





THE GOLDEN BELT 73
in a light brown suit?” he inquired, as the agent
hurried to his side. |
The agent thoughtfully scratched his ear for a
moment. “Yes, it was,” he broke out suddenly,
his face lighting with remembrance. “I remember
him now. He came in on the train from Boston last
night, and wanted to leave his case here while he
went somewhere up in the town. He said he'd be
back after it, but he didn't come. Are you a friend
of his?”
“Yes,” Quincy casually informed him, holding
a half dollar conspicuously in his hand. “He asked
me to bring his case up to him. There will be no
objection, I suppose, as long as it isn't checked.”
“No, sir,” the agent responded, pocketing the
coin with alacrity. “The railroad company is not
responsible for it and I'll be glad to get it out of
my way.”
Once aboard the train, Quincy gave himself over
to thought. So his man had come from Boston.
Well, that had seemed reasonably certain from the
first, and it brought him no nearer to his goal. The
matter of the suitcase, however, struck him as be-
ing decidedly significant. If the man had left it at
the station, it was perfectly obvious that he had in-
tended to return for it, and it further needed but
a slight stretch of the imagination in order to es-
tablish the probability that the man had made the


74 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
trip to Yokum with the intention of visiting some
definite point in the town. It was then but a brief
step onward to suppose that the man must have ap-
peared in answer to an appointment.
“I presume,” Quincy confided to his cigar, “that
this is another case where we must first find the
woman, and from her trace down the man. I wish,
though, that I might find some sign of Mr. E. B. F.
in Boston.” He allowed his gaze to rest momen-
tarily on the suitcase beneath his feet. “Well, we
have good cause for hope at any rate.”
When he entered his own rooms, shortly after his
arrival in the city, he was astonished to find Inspec-
tor Gates seated there, reading a magazine and
coolly consuming Quincy’s choicest cigars.
“Hello, Sawyer,” came Gates's easy greeting.
“I was beginning to be afraid that you wouldn't
return tonight. Been far?” The last with a
glance at the suitcase.
“No, only a short distance out. This case is
borrowed.” He deposited it in an inconspicuous
corner before returning to the table. “What's up?
Am I to take this intrusion as a social or a profes-
sional visit?”
Gates grinned and stretched himself lazily. “I
wish you'd smoke better cigars, Sawyer,” he com-
plained. “But, to get down to business, for my
visit is strictly of a professional nature. I have on
--"


THE GOLDEN BELT 75
my hands one of the most curious murders, in point
of lack of clues, that I ever tackled, and I want your
help.”
“Sorry, Gates,” Quincy hastened to interpose,
“but I have one decidedly baffling murder case on
my hands now, and I hardly feel competent to
undertake another at the same time.”
Gates was plainly disappointed at the informa-
tion. “Oh, say, that's too bad!” he exclaimed.
“I’ve been counting on you to help me out, and it
seems to be a case where two heads are surely
needed.”
Quincy seated himself on the opposite side of the
table and observed Gates narrowly. A very
friendly feeling had sprung up between the two
men of late, so much so that both had come to
enjoy the cases in which they co-operated.
“Tell me something about your case,” Quincy
suggested at last.
Gates hitched himself about in his chair. “The
victim,” he said, “is old Mr. Fenton of Newbury
Street. You probably know of him. He's the old
chap who cleaned up several fortunes two years ago
on the stock exchange, and then had sense enough to
retire before he lost them. His household consisted
of himself, his son, and his two servants, and that
is about all I can find out about him. Nobody
seems to have any idea as to where he came from


76 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
originally or what his past history may be. But,
here!, Let me get at the nub of the story first, and
then, if you want details, we can go into them
later.
“He was murdered some time after two o'clock
this morning, death being due to a stab wound in
his side. No clue whatever seems to exist that
would point to the murderer. According to the
stories of the two servants, they were awakened at
about half-past one this morning, when Fenton re-
turned home from his club. He seemed to be hav-
ing trouble with the door and made considerable
noise in closing it, but both servants agree that he
seemed to be alone and that they heard no sound
of voices. They plainly heard him go into the
library where he appeared to settle down, and then
all was quiet. Shortly after two o'clock, Jones, the
man servant, was awakened by what sounded like
a faint scuffling in the library. He became alarmed,
and, rising, he hastily threw on his clothes and hur-
ried to that room. He found the library door open,
the room fully lighted, and his master stretched
on the floor, dead, with a knife wound in his
side.
“Jones did not appear to lose his head over the
affair, for he first aroused the cook and then tele-
phoned for the police. When the officers arrived
they found things to be just as I have described


THE GOLDEN BELT 77
|
them, with the additional fact that Fenton's
wallet, containing a large sum of money, lay on the
library table, apparently where he had placed it.
To cap the whole thing, however, and the weirdest
point of all, is the fact that, although Fenton's
money was untouched, his belt had been removed
and carried away.”
“His what?” Quincy almost shouted the words.
Gates started violently at the vehemence of the
exclamation and stared with some surprise in
Quincy's direction. “His belt, man, his belt,” he
reiterated with some show of irritability. “I’m
sure I spoke the words plainly enough.”
“There is no doubt on that score,” Quincy as-
sured him. “But, I say, Gates. Do you know any-
thing about this son of Fenton's? You say they
lived together?”
“I know of him, yes, although I have not yet
met him. He has been away from the house since
last night, and has not yet been located. But, what
of him P” -
“What is his name? Do you know that?”
“Yes, it is Edgar. Edgar Bronson Fenton.
But what in the world is the matter with you,
man? Do you know him?”
“No, I don’t know him,” Quincy replied, lean-
ing weakly back in his chair, “and there is nothing
the matter with me except that I am going to act


78 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
with you on this case.” He leaned forward im-
pressively and spoke the final words distinctly into
the inspector's face. “Edgar Bronson Fenton was
murdered in Yokum last evening for no apparent
reason other than the desire of some person to se-
cure Fenton's belt. His belt was stolen. That is
his suitcase which I just brought in.”
Incredulity and astonishment seemed to strug-
gle for supremacy in the inspector's face. “Jump-
ing Jerusalem! Sawyer, what are we getting
into?” he exclaimed. “Has somebody set out with
the intention of annihilating the Fentons and col-
lecting their belts as souvenirs, after the manner in
which the early Indians collected scalps? What do
you make of this thing?”
“Perhaps the suitcase will show us,” Quincy sug-
gested, placing it on the table between them.
He quickly unfastened the straps of the case and
tried the lock. It sprang back at his touch and he
threw open the cover. With one accord the two
men bent forward eagerly. As they had expected,
the case contained the usual collection of toilet ar-
ticles and clothing, but it also contained one other
article which caught their attention at once, it be-
ing an empty leather holster, of the square type
made expressly to fit into a man's back pocket.
“Hm,” mused Gates, as he raised the holster.
“Young Fenton went armed, did he? Evidently he


THE GOLDEN BELT 79
expected, or was at least prepared for, trouble. So
long as the examiner failed to find the pistol in his
search, Sawyer, I suppose the murderer must have
carried that away also.”
“It is possible,” Quincy replied. “Or the pistol
may have been dropped at the spot where the as-
sault occurred. Perhaps young Fenton, expecting
trouble, was walking with the pistol in his hand at
the time when he was struck down.”
They laid the holster carefully aside and dug
deeper into the suitcase, removing all the articles
which seemed to have no bearing on the matter un-
til the case lay empty before them, Gates ran his
hand into the pocket of the cover, and his form
seemed to stiffen with anticipation as he drew out
a folded sheet of paper. He opened the sheet and
hastily read the lines it contained, after which he
passed the sheet with a quick jerk to Quincy.
“Read that,” he commanded.
Holding it beneath the light Quincy read:
“‘Bring it to Yokum tomorrow night. I'll meet
you at the same place. This is the last opportunity
you'll have, so take warning. H. B.’
“H. B., Henry Brown,” Quincy mused. “I
wonder if it can be possible.”
“What are you talking about?” Gates de-
manded. “Let me in on the rest of the story,
Sawyer.”


80 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
In a few words Quincy did so. “The man on
whose land the body was found is named Henry
Brown,” he concluded; “but what I am trying to
understand, Gates, is why the murderer took the
trouble to bury young Fenton's body.”
“He wanted to hide it, perhaps,” Gates sug-
gested. “But why should he have undertaken to
hide it right in Brown's dooryard when he had
whole acres of barren land to dig in?”
“That isn't the point,” Quincy insisted. “He
may have buried it practically on the very spot
where the murder was committed, for it would
have been a long, hard haul to have dragged it off
into the woods. What I want to get at, though, is
why he should have buried it at all. Why didn't
he leave it just where it fell? He must have known
that sooner or later somebody from Brown's house-
hold would have discovered the freshly turned earth,
which would inevitably result in a natural curiosity
on their part to discover why the earth had been
turned over. But, above all, if he knew that Brown
possessed a fox terrier he must have been certain
that the dog would find the place and attract at-
tention to it. Furthermore, Gates, where did the
murderer secure the tools with which to dig 3
He certainly couldn't have carried them with
him.”
Gates shrugged his shoulders in token of acknow-


THE GOLDEN BELT 81
ledged lack of comprehension. “He might have
stolen them from Brown's barn,” he said, but with-
out apparent conviction.
“Yes, he might have done that,” Quincy ad-
mitted. “But see here, Gates, doesn't everything
seem to point to the fact that Brown had every op-
portunity to do the deed himself? There is the
note with Brown's initials, although we do not as
yet know, of course, that it is in his handwriting.
The body was found buried on Brown's land. Why
else should young Fenton have been on that land, so
close to Brown's house, unless it was for the pur-
pose of meeting Brown? The body was buried.
Why? Because Brown wished to find it himself
and took that method to insure himself against the
possibility of some other person making the dis-
covery. If the body was discovered above ground
people would be disposed to suggest that Brown
might be guilty; but if it was discovered by Brown
himself, buried within a stone's throw of his house,
the general tendency would be to argue that he
could have had nothing to do with the murder and
was merely a victim of circumstances. Mind, I do
not say that I suspect Brown. I am merely set-
ting forth a possibility so that we may have it
clearly in our minds when we begin our search.
There is still one important question to be answered.
If Brown killed young Fenton, who killed the old


82 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
man? Also, why were the belts taken? That fact
points to the probability of the murders being com-
mitted for the same purpose and by one person or
set of accomplices. I fancy, Gates, that we have a
deep problem to solve, and I would suggest that we
now turn in for the night so as to be able to get an
early start in the morning.”
“Where shall we begin?” Gates inquired.
“I imagine that the best place would be at Fen-
ton's house on Newbury Street. After that we
can uSe Our OW11 judgment, and go either to Yokum
or to whatever place may be suggested to us as
matters develop.”
Early the following morning Quincy and Gates
breakfasted hurriedly and proceeded at once to the
Fenton home. The house was silent and seemingly
lifeless, save for the man servant, who was making
preparations for receiving young Fenton's body
which, in response to several lengthy telephone con-
versations on the part of Gates, had been sent for.
Jones seemed slightly annoyed at the appearance
of the two detectives, and the consequent interrup-
tion of his work, but he appeared to accept the
pair as a necessary evil and courteously ushered
them into the library, which, except for the re-
moval of the elder Fenton's body, had been left in
precisely the same condition as at the time of the
murder.


THE GOLDEN BELT 83
xx
“You need not wait here, Jones,” Gates re-
marked, noting the man's evident impatience.
“Continue with your work and we will call you if
you are needed.”
When the man had departed Quincy glanced
searchingly about the room. The library was small,
but not cramped, and was fitted with handsome
leather-upholstered furniture. Along its sides ran
well-filled bookcases, and in one corner stood a
large desk, its top covered with neat piles of books
and periodicals. In the very centre of the room
stood the table, the abiding place, apparently, of
the numerous daily papers with which Fenton had
been in the habit of supplying himself. On this
table, also, exactly as Gates had previously de-
scribed, lay a capacious leather wallet.
“Has that been examined, Gates?” Quincy in-
quired, pointing toward the wallet.
“Yes, but it contained nothing aside from sev-
eral hundred dollars in bills. There are no papers
which might furnish us with even a hint. Neither
were there any papers in his pockets.”
Quincy searched his companion a moment with
narrowed eyes. “Gates,” he demanded, “do you
suppose it is by coincidence or design that no papers
of any sort have been found on either of the
bodies?”
Gates shook his head slowly. “Sawyer,” he


84 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
replied. “The more I think about this case the
less I understand it.”
Without further loss of time they devoted them-
selves diligently to the task of searching the room
down to its most minute detail. The desk was ex-
amined from top to bottom, and then searched for
possible secret drawers; the book shelves were
cleared and searched; every drawer in the room
was emptied; but, in spite of their utmost care and
diligence the search was unrewarded. Not a single
clue, nor even the slightest piece of valuable in-
formation, were they able to discover. At length,
with a sigh of recognized failure, Quincy perched
himself on the edge of the library table and toyed
carelessly with a paper knife on which his hand had
chanced to rest.
“You did not find the knife with which Fenton
was stabbed, did you, Gates?” he inquired, after a
thoughtful pause.
“No,” Gates replied from the floor, where he
was busily prodding the carpet. “The medical ex-
aminer said that from the nature of the wound he
must have been stabbed with some sort of a curved-
bladed knife. From his description I should think
it must have been done with one of those old-time
Saracen daggers you see in pictures of the middle
ages.”
Quincy did not reply at once, his mind being busy


THE GOLDEN BELT 85
with the paper knife, which had now caught his
more concentrated attention. A puzzled frown
wrinkled his forehead, and his eyes were narrowed
to mere slits, as was his habit when in deep study.
Suddenly he sprang to the floor and crossed ha-
stily to the window, where he carefully examined
the knife, his interest seeming to increase until it
closely approached suppressed excitement.
“Gates,” he called sharply. “Gates, come here.”
With a bound Gates was at his side, anticipation
in his eyes. “What is it?” he questioned eagerly.
“Do you think you have found the knife?”
“No, no, not the knife, but a knife,” Quincy re-
plied. “But, look at it, Gates. Don't you see any-
thing interesting about it?”
“It looks like one of those daggers I just de-
scribed,” Gates responded slowly. -
“It is, Gates. It's a Damascus dagger. But
look at its hilt. Don't you see the engraving
there?”
Gates squinted thoughtfully at the point indi-
cated. “I can see some queer letters there,” he
admitted slowly, “but I can't quite make them out.
They look something like H. B., but I can't be
sure.”
“They are the letters H. B.,” Quincy stated.
“They are engraved in Spanish script, and I should
say that the engraving must have been done a cen-


86 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
tury or two ago, although the dagger, of course,
is much older than that. We now have another
angle on H. B., Gates, and this angle raises a
new question. Is H. B. ancient or modern, and if
he is modern, how came his initials here? In other
words, I believe we have come to a point where we
must discover whether H. B. is an individual, or
some sort of a secret band, perhaps several cen-
turies old. That dagger, Gates, regardless of its
blade, and considering only its jewelled hilt and the
gold scroll work, must be worth hundreds if not
thousands of dollars. Therefore, if H. B. is an in-
dividual, he must be a wealthy one, and, if he owns
that dagger, how does it happen that Fenton left
it carelessly lying about on his library table where
it has patently served as a paper knife?”
“Are you sure that is not the knife with which
Fenton was stabbed P”
“Positive. A man cannot stab another man and
then drop his knife on a table without leaving
some signs. I doubt if that dagger, considering the
presence of the jewels, particularly the pearls,
could have been cleaned, after use of that nature,
without washing. You will notice that there is
not the faintest sign of a stain upon it.”
“Possibly it has a mate,” Gates hazarded.
“Undoubtedly it has. Our problem is now to
discover the owner of the mate, and to ascertain


THE GOLDEN BELT 87
where both were on the night of the murder. It
seems, Gates, that if we can discover H. B. we
shall have a powerful side-light on the murder of
the Fentons. Now, suppose you call Jones and
let us question him.”
Jones seemed somewhat agitated when he stood
before them, in response to a summons from Gates,
but whether the agitation came from impatience to
be again at his work or from fear of the examina-
tion Quincy could not satisfactorily decide. Of one
thing he felt reasonably convinced, and that was
that Jones had no hand in the murder and that he
knew nothing of the identity of the murderer.
“Jones,” Quincy asked, “were these windows
locked when you entered this room after the
murder?”
“No, sir,” Jones replied without hesitation.
“They were all closed, but they were not locked.”
“Were they habitually left unlocked?”
“I think not, sir. Mr. Fenton assumed the en-
tire care of them, so I cannot answer for certain. I
think he always locked them.”
“How long have you been with Mr. Fenton,
Jones?”
“About two years, sir. Ever since he took this
house.” Jones's diffidence seemed to be falling
away somewhat under the sound of his own
voice.


88 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Do you know anything about where he came
from originally? Did you ever chance to hear
either Mr. Fenton or his son refer to a former
place of residence?”
“No, sir. I have been under the impression
that Mr. Fenton came to Boston when Mr. Edgar
was quite young, and the chances are that Mr.
Edgar would have remembered very little of his
former life. Mr. Fenton never had any visitors
who seemed to have known him before he came
here, and I never heard him mention any friends
aside from his business acquaintances in Bos-
ton.”
“Have you noticed any peculiarity about either
Mr. Fenton or his son of late?”
Jones hesitated slightly, and seemed puzzled.
“Yes, sir,” he replied slowly, “I have. They have
seemed nervous, almost frightened, or at least Mr.
Fenton has. I thought, though, that it might be
due to overwork and did not pay any attention to
it.”
“Did their mail come here or was it delivered at
Mr. Fenton’s office?”
“At the office, sir. The only letter that was ever
delivered here came about two weeks ago. That
was about the time that Mr. Fenton began to ap-
pear nervous.”
“Did you chance to notice the postmark on that


THE GOLDEN BELT 89
letter?” Quincy's tone was becoming more and
more eager.
“Yes, sir. It was marked Lurie, Vermont. I
handed it to Mr. Fenton when he returned that
evening and he put it in his pocket. I have never
seen it since.”
“And you have heard no bit of conversation
since that time that struck you as being peculiar
or worthy of note?”
“There was one remark I chanced to overhear.
It did not sound particularly strange at the time,
and I do not know whether it will seem significant
to you now; but you can judge for yourself. Late
in the afternoon before Mr. Fenton was killed, he
and Mr. Edgar were in the library together. From
the tones of their voices, and the way each ap-
peared to be talking for long intervals at a stretch,
I judged that they were arguing about something.
After a while Mr. Edgar started to leave the room
and, as he stood in the doorway, I heard him say:
‘Well, I'm going out tonight and settle it with
him.’ Mr. Fenton seemed worried, and he told
Mr. Edgar to look out because he, the man they
were talking about, was dangerous. Then Mr.
Edgar said: “You’re not going to give it up to him
are you?' When Mr. Fenton replied that he surely
had no such intention, Mr. Edgar answered: “I shall
have my revolver,’ and closed the door. That was


90 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
the only strange conversation I ever overheard,
sir.”
“Did you ever notice any peculiarity about their
belts?” Quincy continued, and Gates leaned for-
ward intently at the question.
“Yes, sir. They had one belt which was very
peculiar, and sometimes Mr. Fenton, and some-
times Mr. Edgar, wore it. One or the other of
them had it always. It was a very heavy belt with
a gold buckle, and it looked very old. I never saw
one like it anywhere else, and I imagine that it was
quite valuable because they guarded it with extreme
care. I am not certain who had it on the night of
the murder, but I think it was Mr. Fenton. The
belt was of brown leather, and the buckle was all
covered with queer marks that looked as though
they might have been letters of some strange for-
eign language. I could tell it anywhere if I should
see it again.”
“You say you do not know which of the men
had it on that particular night and, for that matter,
you cannot tell, can you, whether either was wear-
ing it?”
“No, sir. They had two other belts that looked
very much like it, and when one of them was wear-
ing the real belt the other always wore one of the
copies.”
“Oh, I see. Why didn't you tell us that in the


THE GOLDEN BELT 91
first place? There seems a strong possibility under
these circumstances that neither may have worn
it at that particular time.”
“I think one of them must have had it, sir, be-
cause I have found one of the copies upstairs in
Mr. Fenton's room. The other copy is gone, and I
think it very likely that the real belt is gone also.”
“Were the copies exact reproductions of the real
belt?”
“No, they were merely heavy belts with plated
buckles. At a distance, or to a person unfamiliar
with them, they looked much like the real belt; but,
if you were familiar with the real belt, you could
readily tell the difference when you were close to
the copies.”
For some time Quincy sat thinking deeply, while
Gates made notes in an abstracted manner and
Jones fidgeted about uneasily.
“You may go now, Jones,” Quincy finally re-
marked. “If you should chance to think of any
other bits of information which have slipped your
mind for the present, be sure and tell us of them.”
He remained silent until after Jones's departure and
then addressed Gates. “Did you ever hear of
Lurie, Vermont? If so, where is it?”
“I have never heard of the place nor have I
the faintest idea as to where it may be,” Gates re-
plied. “There must be an atlas somewhere in this


THE GOLDEN BELT 93
him, Gates, except for the fact that I think two
of us may be needed in Vermont. That village is
likely to be scattered and it may take time for us
to locate our clue. In that case, of course, we shall
be able to divide the work, and do it much more
rapidly. We must run down to Yokum today
before we go to Vermont. Brown's premises have
not been examined closely enough, and I shall be
uneasy until the work has been more carefully
attended to.”
“I have what I think is a good idea, Sawyer,”
Gates volunteered. “Suppose that, when we go
down today, I take along one of my men. Then,
after we have made our examination, we can leave
him behind to look wise and keep himself in the
public eye. That will serve two purposes. It will
keep Brown very much interested at home, pro-
vided he knows anything of the affair, and it will
also serve to distract attention from us when we
slip out to make our Vermont trip. We shall not
want any undue publicity to attend us to Lurie.”
“A good idea, Gates,” Quincy answered approv-
ingly. “That will provide for every detail, and
will leave us free to pursue whatever clues we may
hit upon. Now let us run down to Yokum and ex-
amine the ground as thoroughly as will be possible
in the short time allowed us. I do not think we
had best stay there later than the middle of the


THE GOLDEN BELT 95
why an assistant is being left here, Mr. Brown,”
Quincy stated somewhat ambiguously. “In fact,
the case is far more important than you realize.
I shall be continually at work on it, but I shall be
unable to spend my time here. My clues, you
know, will demand much of my time; but it is
necessary for me to be always reliably informed of
developments at this end.”
Brown seemed partially satisfied by the state-
ment, meaningless as it was, and glanced toward
Gates, whom Quincy carelessly introduced as an-
other assistant who would work outside the village.
“Now, Mr. Brown,” he continued, “have you
missed any farming tools from your barn or tool
house?”
“I can’t say whether any have been missed or
not,” Brown replied, openly mystified. “But I
have nothing to do with the tools. Wait a moment
until I call my farmer.”
When the farmer had been summoned, and had
appeared, Quincy repeated his question. For a mo-
ment the man seemed silenced by surprise, but he
quickly recovered his speech.
“No,” he replied, “there have been none miss-
ing. May I inquire why you ask?”
“Certainly,” Quincy replied courteously, recog-
nizing that the independence of a New England
farmer is not to be lightly disregarded. “I ask be-


96 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
cause of the fact that whoever buried the body
which was discovered here must necessarily have
had recourse to your tool house in order to have
procured the means with which to do the work.”
The force of the statement seemed to strike the
man at once, and almost before Quincy had finished
speaking he replied: “There have been no tools
missing; but, now that you mention it, I remember
finding a pick and a shovel thrown into one cor-
ner of the tool house yesterday morning. When
I picked them up to return them to their places I
noticed that there was fresh earth on them both.
And say —” He broke off abruptly to dig eagerly
into a back pocket — “I wonder if this thing is
connected with the affair,” and he produced an
automatic pistol.
“Where did you find that?” demanded Quincy
and Gates almost in a breath. -
“I found it this morning about twenty feet in
front of the tool house. I intended to turn it over
to Mr. Brown, but I forgot about it.”
“That pistol is mine,” Brown suddenly affirmed,
to the complete astonishment of all. “I lost it out
of my pocket last night when I went down toward
the hen houses thinking I heard a fox there.” He
held out his hand and the farmer, with doubt plainly
visible in his eyes, slowly relinquished the pistol.
Brown quietly dropped it in his pocket and, with-


THE GOLDEN BELT 97
out comment, Quincy and Gates turned away for
their investigation. Throughout the early portion
of the afternoon they searched the land imme-
diately surrounding the spot where the body had
been discovered, but their search proved fruitless.
Not a single clue could they discover, nor even a
circumstance which might be twisted into a clue.
At last they reluctantly abandoned the search and,
after carefully instructing Anderson, made their
way back to Boston.
Arriving in the city they made their way directly
to Quincy's rooms, where they proposed making
their final preparations before taking the early eve-
ning accommodation train which would drop them
at the railroad point nearest to Lurie. Once in the
rooms, Quincy, to the astonishment of Gates, im-
mediately threw open Edgar Fenton's suitcase and
produced therefrom the empty leather holster. He
then completely dumfounded his companion by
coolly drawing from his pocket the automatic pistol
which had been claimed by Brown that after-
11OO11. -
“How in the world did you get that?” Gates
gasped, when he had sufficiently recovered his
breath.
“Do you know, Gates?” Quincy replied with a
low chuckle, “that I sometimes think I have missed
my calling? I think I would have made an excel-


98 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
lent pickpocket if my abilities had only been prop-
erly developed early in life.”
He paused a moment with the pistol in his hand,
and then dropped it into the holster. To every
crease and line, which long use had worn in the
holster, the pistol exactly conformed.
“Whew ' " Gates whistled, after a brief pause,
during which he had grasped the full significance
of the facts. “Shall we go to Vermont?”
“We certainly shall,” Quincy replied with con-
viction. “This is important, but it does not close
the case by any means.”
The accommodation train for the minor stations
of Northern Vermont makes its way by easy stages,
which is perhaps one reason why its run is made at
night. For, as Gates impatiently pointed out, so
slow is it that its being placed on the tracks in
the daytime would completely tie up all traffic and
block the line from end to end. As it crept jerkily
over the rails on the particular run in question,
Quincy and Gates, sprawled sleepily over two seats
in the smoker, kept up a desultory conversation
on almost every subject imaginable except the object
of their trip. Frequently their eyes wandered lazily
over their fellow-passengers in the car, but these in-
termittent scrutinies seemed more the result of idle
curiosity than of professional interest. In fact, their
travelling companions presented anything rather


THE GOLDEN BELT 99
than an appearance liable to arouse interest, being
nearly all asleep, propped in various positions and
emitting the usual gamut of peculiar sounds. One
man only, an elderly gentleman in the forward por-
tion of the car, showed any signs of wakefulness,
and those only at rare intervals when he would
raise up to gaze hopefully through the window at
a station, only to invariably sink back again with a
resigned sigh.
“The old chap down front seems uneasy,” Gates
remarked, eyeing the man with quiet amusement.
“He probably isn't used to sleeping on the seats
of day coaches.”
“Well, we won't be obliged to perch on this one
much longer, glory be,” Quincy groaned, stirring
uneasily. “The next stop is ours.”
“Yes, and then ten miles by stage,” Gates re-
plied dismally. “Do we go there tonight?”
“We do not,” Quincy replied emphatically.
“We sleep in one of the hotels tonight and make
the stage trip tomorrow. But, come on. Here we
are, at last.” -
With much stretching of cramped muscles they
swung off the train, almost unconsciously taking
note of the other passengers who descended from
• their car. There were two; the restless old gentle-
man to whom their attention had been drawn and
a man of foreign appearance, both of whom imme-


100 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE."
diately disappeared, going in opposite directions.
Quincy and Gates did not tarry in the station, but
made their way immediately to the nearest hotel
where they engaged rooms, and within an incred-
ibly short time were both lost in the profound sleep
of complete weariness.
Toward morning, however, Quincy was sud-
denly brought out of his sleep by the sounds of a
terrific commotion which originated, apparently, in
Gates' room. As he sprang from his bed, and
groped hastily for his trousers, he could plainly
hear the sound of scuffling, followed by the crash
of overturned furniture and numerous grunts,
groans and exclamations. He rushed through the
door of his room, groping wildly for his revolver
and upbraiding himself for carelessness because it
was nowhere to be found. At the far end of the
corridor he could hear the sound of hastily opened
doors and startled conversation, but he paused for
neither questions nor explanations, covering the
distance between his own and Gates' doors with
two sharp bounds.
As he leaped into the inspector's room the sounds
increased in violence, and the utter darkness of the
place exaggerated them until it seemed as though
the room was filled with fighting men. Vainly
Quincy groped about in search of the combatants.
He could plainly hear them straining and tugging


THE GOLDEN BELT 101
at each other, could hear their laboured breaths and
now and then the crash of some unlucky piece of
furniture, but, small as the room was, he could not
seem to reach them.
“Gates, Gates,” he shouted, “where are you?”
“Over here in the corner,” came Gates' reply,
the words sounding jerky and disconnected through
his panting lips. “Look out, Sawyer!” he yelled,
almost immediately afterward. “He’s going to
shoot.”
Although unable to see, himself, Quincy took
no chances on the ability of the assailant to do
so, and dropped instantly to one knee. As he did
so there came the flash of a revolver, followed by
a crashing report, and he heard a bullet drone
sharply over his head and thud against the wall
behind him. The pistol shot, however, had given
him his desired information. He knew now where
the fight was progressing, and, with a single savage
leap, he was across the room and grappling with
the two struggling men, vainly endeavouring to pick
friend from foe.
From somewhere out of the darkness a heavy
fist leaped at him, striking him fairly in the face
and sending him reeling backward. He tripped
over an overturned chair and, as he fell, he heard
another pistol shot. Then his head came sharply
into contact with the floor and his senses left him.


THE GOLDEN BELT 103
the darkness. You can see where he carved the
pillow. Then I jumped at him and we mixed it
up all over the floor. It was about then that you
showed up and he tried to get away. We shot
at each other a couple of times, but he broke away
from me and disappeared, out of the window, I
guess, and I undertook to raise a light. That's all
there was to it. I don't know what he wanted;
but I have an idea,” he added, after a cautious
glance over his shoulder to see if any of the other
guests had yet appeared. “I think,” he continued
in a lowered voice, “that he came in to see if I
was wearing a badge. In other words, I have an
impression that our business up here is suspected.”
“Whew!” Quincy muttered. “If that's the case
it looks as though we are on the right track; but
our trail bids fair to be a rough one.”
Further conversation on the subject was impos-
sible because of the appearance of the landlord with
a small horde of guests at his heels, and, by the
time peace was once more restored, it was broad
daylight. A search of the premises and their sur-
roundings had been productive of nothing, nor had
any person seen a man of either strange or suspi-
cious character. Consequently, when the pair
started on their stage trip to Lurie, it was in a
still unenlightened state of mind.
“I wonder,” Quincy muttered, “whether that


104 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
visit was an advance greeting from Lurie or an
afterclap from Boston.”
No answer was forthcoming, however, and
Quincy was forced to content himself with a casual.
examination of his travelling companions. The
passengers consisted, aside from themselves, of two
salesmen, the old gentleman of the train, and three
women. To the salesmen Quincy and Gates paid
merely a passing glance; to the women, who were
conversing volubly in shrill tones, they accorded no
attention whatever; but at the old gentleman they
looked with interest. The question as to who he
might be, and what might be the object of his
journey, rose ever larger in their minds and their
concern regarding his presence furnished them with
considerable food for thought. At last, to their
gratification, one of the women addressed a trifling
remark to him, according him the title of “Doc-
tor.”
“The old village doctor,” Quincy whispered in
an aside to Gates. “He should be able to give us
information regarding our man. Get acquainted
with him, Gates, before we get to the village.”
In accordance with his instructions Gates suc-
ceeded in establishing friendly, relations with the
old man, and, by the time the stage came to a stop
in the straggling little village of Lurie, all three
were conversing freely with one another. As they


THE GOLDEN BELT 105
alighted, Doctor Barr — they had by this time in-
troduced themselves — turned toward them with a
slightly quizzical smile on his face.
“Our village, gentlemen,” he said, “boasts of
very poor accommodations for strangers. If you
care to accept, I shall be very pleased to have you
take your noon meal with me. My housekeeper is
an excellent cook and I am frankly of the opinion
that, if you propose visiting the village for any
length of time, you will find it advisable to start
well fortified against the meals of the local board-
ing house.” -
The two quickly accepted the invitation, a step
on which they congratulated themselves when they
were seated before the appetizing viands with which
the doctor's table was well laden. Throughout the
meal very little conversation was indulged in, all
three being too busy with the task in hand to think
of aught else. As the meal was finished, however,
and the men leaned back with expressions of com-
plete satisfaction on their faces, Quincy glanced
questioningly toward the doctor.
“Doctor Barr,” he inquired, “are you fairly
familiar with the various people who have lived in
this village during the last few years?”
The doctor glanced up interrogatively at the
question, but replied at once. “With every one of
them. I have been acquainted with every person


106 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
*
who has claimed residence in this place during the
last thirty years.”
“Then did you ever know any one named
Thomas Fenton?”
“Tom Fenton? Certainly. I was more or less
acquainted with him before he left this village. He
went to Boston and built up quite a fortune, I
understand. His father, Andrew, used to be quite
a crony of old Peter Blannett's, although Peter's
son, Ferdinand, and Tom never hitched to any ex-
tent.”
“Ferdinand and Peter Blannett,” Quincy re-
peated with rising interest. “Who are they?”
For a few moments the doctor toyed idly with a
teaspoon before replying. “You are now asking a
question which has puzzled this village for genera-
tions,” he said slowly. “ Who are the Blannetts?
You are in a strange community, gentlemen, and
one which possesses its deep mystery. We of Lurie
are a body of people unknown to the remainder of
our great country, for who out there takes the
trouble to locate the various minor units of the
single state in our great Union which grows stead-
ily smaller in population instead of larger? We
are more completely isolated here than is the most
remote frontier town of the west, so what is to
prevent our mystery from continuing through the
time to come as it has continued through the past?


THE GOLDEN BELT 107
“This little village, with its mere handful of in-
habitants, is divided into two factions, the
“Yankees' comprising one, and the ‘foreigners’
the other division. The Yankees need no explana-
tion, as they differ in no respect from the inhabi-
tants of the many rural communities in New Eng-
land; but the foreigners are truly a mystery. They
are made up of a strange body of people of perhaps
Spanish descent, there being now scarcely more than
half a dozen all told, although, according to tradi-
tion, the time was when they constituted practically
the entire population of this village. Where they
originally came from nobody, aside from them-
selves, can tell; but they are credited with having
been in this place many years. They have been
ever a race by themselves, and in their own homes
they speak a strange jargon which seems a mixture
of the language of several of the Latin countries.
Curiously enough, too, they have always acknowl-
edged the leadership and government of a sort of
chieftain, the present chief being Ferdinand Blan-
nett, who succeeded his father, Peter.
“Ferdinand, who is a man past sixty, differs
vastly from the other members of his class in that
he is well educated and a great student. You will
undoubtedly meet him if you remain here any
length of time. He lives in a huge old house on
the extreme edge of the township and with him, on


108 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
his large estate, live the other foreigners. The
house, so says tradition, has been the residence of
the chieftain of the band through many generations,
and the building is old enough in appearance to
bear out the statement. You will find Ferdinand
Blannett, when you meet him, a most entertaining
man and I feel certain that you will be delighted
with his conversation.
“But you asked me about Tom Fenton. The
Fentons, in some strange way which I cannot ex-
plain, were affiliated with the foreigners, although
they lived in the village, and not on the Blannett
estate. Fenton's father and Peter Blannett were
right hand men to one another and you seldom saw
one unless the other was near by. When Peter
died there was great dissension among the for-
eigners, it being rumoured at the time that Peter
had passed the leadership over to Fenton instead of
to his son, Ferdinand. A bitter feud broke out and
it looked for a time as though bloodshed would re-
sult; but such a catastrophe was prevented by the
death of Fenton, which occurred rather mysteri-
ously at an opportune moment.
“Shortly after his father's death, Tom Fenton
removed from Lurie, taking with him his young
son, and Ferdinand assumed the reins of govern-
ment among the foreigners. But dissatisfaction
was rampant, and, in the course of a few years,


THE GOLDEN BELT 109
the body, small even then, became depleted by re-
movals from the district until there were left merely
the half dozen or so who now remain on the estate.
Of Tom Fenton, since his removal, I have heard
little. That, gentlemen, is all that I can tell you
concerning either Fenton or Blannett.”
As the narration drew to a close Quincy and
Gates stared wonderingly at each other across the
table, Quincy being the first to break the brief
silence which settled.
“What do they do, these foreigners, to earn their
living?” he inquired.
“Oh, they work Blannett's farm, the income
from which seems to be a sort of co-operative affair
in which all share alike. As I told you, they are
a mystery and their mode of life is as mysterious
as their origin.”
The doctor rose as if to close the conversation,
thus cutting off the opportunity for further ques-
tioning. Quincy and Gates took their leave as
rapidly as the demands of courtesy would allow,
and, when once out of range of the doctor's house,
paused in the middle of the road to consider their
next step.
“This affair appears to grow more mixed and
uncertain with every hour,” Gates declared em-
phatically. “Where do all these different folks
come in, anyhow? If Brown killed young Fenton,


110 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
who killed the old man? And, if Brown didn't kill
the young fellow, who did? And why did Brown
claim that pistol P Why did that fellow tackle me
last night? What, if anything, has this man Blan-
nett and his gang to do with it? The farther we
go into this confounded thing, Sawyer, the more
questions we dig up which absolutely require an-
swers. I confess that I am all at sea, so, if you have
any suggestion, by all means trot it out.”
Quincy laughed in a puzzled and uncertain man-
ner. “I think, Gates,” he said, “that I begin to
glimpse daylight, although I'll admit that it is
merely an unsatisfactory glimmer, and one vastly
complicated with peculiar possibilities. I suggest
that we stroll out past Blannett's farm, and in that
way secure an idea as to Fenton's former associ-
ates.”
The trip to Blannett's farm entailed a much
longer walk than they had anticipated, and the after-
noon was well advanced before they reached it.
Even then their object was not attained, as no-
where could they catch so much as a glimpse of
either farmhouse or farm buildings. Nothing but
wild and wooded land surrounded them on either
side, not even a gate or opening of any sort being
visible through the rough stone walls which en-
closed the property. Unwilling to return to the vil-
lage without having secured at least a distant view


THE GOLDEN BELT 111
•of the farm buildings, they paused in the road and
viewed the unbroken walls with indecision.
“Suppose,” Gates suggested, “that we climb the
hill over there and see if we can't catch a glimpse
from its top.”
They accordingly ascended the hill, emerging
suddenly from the woods and underbrush to find
themselves almost at the door of the great farm-
house. No opportunity was given them in which
to reconnoitre, however, for, without any warning,
there suddenly burst from the rear of the house two
giant mastiffs. The dogs charged them with deaf-
ening uproar, and wide open, slavering jaws, which
presented anything other than an inviting appear-
ance. After a brief but comprehensive glance in
their direction, Quincy hastily pulled himself into
the nearest tree, while Gates paused with seeming
indecision, his hand fumbling nervously at his back
pocket.
“Don’t shoot!— Shin!” Quincy shouted from
his place of refuge and Gates, hastily abandoning
his plan of defence, “shinned ” with alacrity.
The degs, disappointed at the loss of their prey,
leaped wildly about the tree in which the two men
were perched, maintaining all the while a most
fiendish din. The racket soon brought results, for
the door of the house flew open, and a man carry-
ing a heavy cane strode through into the yard.


112 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
From the description given by Doctor Barr the man
was easily recognized as Ferdinand Blannett, his
iron gray hair, bulky frame and alert activity ren-
dering him a figure which would have been notice-
able anywhere. He advanced with quick, snappy
steps to the tree and stood gazing up, a slow smile
of intense amusement passing over his face.
“My dogs appear to lack in hospitality, gentle-
men,” he said at last, speaking in a slow voice.
“When, however, you take into consideration the
fact that they seldom see strangers, you will readily
understand that they have little opportunity for the
practice of social amenities. Be gone!” he snapped
in conclusion, at which the dogs slowly retreated,
their eyes still fixed on the strangers as though in
promise of additional hostilities when the oppor-
tunity should again be offered them. “Now, gen-
tlemen,” Blannett continued, “if you will descend I
shall attempt to offer you better treatment than that
which you have received from my dependents.”
The invitation in itself seemed friendly enough;
but there was that in the look and tone of Blan-
nett which caused Quincy to glance at him with
quick suspicion. The man's face was perfectly guile-
less, however, and he seemed actuated by nothing
other than a courteous impulse; but, nevertheless,
Quincy, for some reason he was unable to clearly
define, determined to keep a close watch so long as


THE GOLDEN BELT 113
he and Gates should remain on the premises. Fol-
lowing a pace or two behind Blannett and Gates, as
they walked toward the house, he was able to ex-
amine his host with minute care and was struck
with the huge bulk of the man.
Towering above even the tall Gates, and with
shoulders spreading to an unusual breadth, he was
beyond all doubt a man who would prove a most
formidable opponent in a purely physical contest.
His muscles bulged in great knots and ropes beneath
his soft shirt, where they slipped and slid sinuously
like those of a cat, instead of stretching with the
muscle-bound jerks which might have been ex-
pected in a man of his evident age. His step was
unusually quick and light and the lithe swing of
his body, which swayed gently from the waist with
each stride, betokened that, in spite of its size, the
great form would be capable upon occasion of sur-
prising bursts of speed. In fact, Quincy decided,
it seemed probable that, should Blannett ever be-
come thoroughly aroused, both he and Gates, though
powerful beyond the average as both were, would
find themselves entirely at his mercy. At that point,
however, his meditations were interrupted by their
arrival at the door of Blannett's house.
“Step within, gentlemen,” Blannett invited them
with genuine courtesy. “You will find that my
house is extremely old-fashioned, but I vastly pre-


THE GOLDEN BELT 115
tary start of surprise. On a small table in one
corner of the room rested a telephone. Noting
Quincy's expression of astonishment, and its cause,
Blannett again smiled in his peculiarly quiet and
deliberate manner.
“Do you not think, sir, that we on the out-
skirts of civilization are entitled to at least a few
of the conveniences of the world?” he questioned.
“Do not be too greatly surprised at the presence
of the telephone, for it belongs merely to a private
line connected with various parts of my farm. I
use it for the purpose of directing the farm work
and for calling my men when I require their pres-
ence.”
He settled back comfortably in his chair and,
after passing cigars to his guests, produced a
long-stemmed pipe which he lighted with evident
relish.
“You are sightseers?” he inquired, carelessly.
Quincy fancied that he was able to detect a pecul-
iar tone in the question, but gave no sign of his
suspicions as he replied briefly in the affirmative.
Blannett also refrained from mentioning the matter
again, branching off almost immediately into con-
versation which pertained merely to the country in
his immediate vicinity, and presenting them with
many interesting facts during his discourse. From
that point he cleverly led the conversation into


116 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
channels of learning and science, showing them in
the course of his remarks occasional flashes of know-
ledge that fairly staggered them. So great was the
range of his familiarity with almost every subject,
that Quincy soon recognized that, instead of a
rough provincial, he had to deal with a mind remark-
ably keen and well-stocked. For two hours or more
they maintained an animated conversation before
Blannett seemed suddenly to recall himself with a
Start.
“Why, gentlemen,” he exclaimed. “It is really
time for supper, or dinner as you would term the
meal. It is so seldom that I entertain callers with
whom I can converse on such subjects as we have
taken up that the passage of time has entirely es-
caped me. If you will pardon me a few moments I
shall give instructions for the serving of the meal.”
With an almost courtly bow he left them, and they
heard his quick stride echoing through the farther
rooms of the house.
No sooner had the sounds died away than Gates
was at the door through which Blannett had dis-
appeared. “It seems darned unmannerly to do it,”
he muttered, “but it's all in the day's work.”
Quincy nodded briefly, and, with Gates on guard
at the door, he began a hasty search of the room.
The first article of furniture to attract his attention
was a large, old-fashioned desk, to which he stepped


THE GOLDEN BELT 117
quickly. The desk, he had no doubt, was completely
honeycombed with secret drawers, but he felt that
he must rely on the strong possibility that Blannett,
should he chance to have been guilty, would have
relied on the safety of his isolation and become care-
less. He rapidly scanned drawer after drawer with-
out discovering anything of greater importance than
a vast accumulation of papers. He drew forth one
signed “Ferdinand Blannett" and compared the
handwriting with that of the note discovered in
Fenton's suitcase, a slight smile of satisfaction ap-
pearing on his face as he did so. He dropped the
paper back in the drawer, and was about to shove
it back in place, when a small parcel wrapped in cloth
struck his eye. He quickly lifted out the parcel and
unwrapped it, an exclamation escaping him as he
viewed the contents.
Wheeling about, he held up for the inspector's in-
spection two articles. One was an automatic pistol,
and the other a curved-bladed Damascus dagger,
and on the jewelled hilt of the dagger were several
dark smears.
“We’ve got him!” Gates exclaimed, starting for-
ward eagerly.
“Wait.” Quincy halted him with upraised hand.
“Get back in your chair and wait for him to come.”
With great care he placed the articles on the table
where they would be most likely to attract the im-


118 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
mediate attention of any person entering the room,
and then resumed his own seat.
They had not long to wait, for within a few mo-
ments Blannett's footsteps echoed in the next room
and he once more stood before them.
“I think, gentlemen — ” he began, pausing
sharply in the midst of his words as his eyes en-
countered the mute evidence on the table. For a
second only he stared at the articles and then,
whirling abruptly, he seized the telephone.
Crack! The telephone, shattered by a heavy bul-
let, dropped from his hand and reeled drunkenly
across the table, while Blannett himself leaped back
and glared savagely at his guests.
“I don't miss in the daytime at any rate,” Gates
affirmed with grim satisfaction, resting the smoking
barrel of his revolver on the arm of his chair, and
keeping it in position for instant service. “Please
be seated, Mr. Blannett.”
With cool deliberation Blannett complied, his
eyes flashing from one to the other of his guests,
although his face at once resumed its usual expres-
sion of calm immobility.
“I take it, gentlemen,” he observed quietly,
“that you are sightseers of a professional na-
ture.”
“We are,” Quincy avowed. “As much as I re-
gret, Mr. Blannett, to reward hospitality with seem-


THE GOLDEN BELT 119
ing treachery, it has been necessary in this particu-
lar case.”
Blannett made a gesture of dissent. “Do not
reproach yourself on that score, sir,” he remarked
courteously. “I suspected who and what you were
from the first. Francisco told me you were coming.
Francisco,” he added with dry humour, “is the man
with whom one of you experienced a slight alterca-
tion last night.”
He leaned forward in his chair and stared care-
lessly at Gates, who was now sitting with eyes nar-
rowed and forehead slightly puckered as though in
deep thought. His eyes then wandered slowly in
Quincy's direction, as though to indicate that he
awaited further questioning, but back of the quiet
eyes there lay a cool determination, a flash of which
Quincy caught as the head once more turned toward
Gates. The inspector flicked the ashes from his
cigar, a momentary relaxation of his faculties which
brought immediate results.
Like a flash Blannett whipped a revolver from a
hidden holster in the breast of his coat. The re-
volver leaped into position, and a triumphant Smile
played over his face, as the short, muscular finger
closed over the trigger. But Quincy was await-
ing the movement, and, even as Gates stared in
petrified silence at the blue muzzle, there came a
sharp crash and the revolver, torn out of Blan-


120 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
nett's hand, whirled away into a corner of the
room.
“You will notice, Mr. Blannett,” Quincy re-
marked coolly, “that we are both fair shots, and
quick shots as well.”
After an instant of startled astonishment, Blannett
tossed his hands in the air with a gesture of com-
plete surrender.
“I give it up, gentlemen,” he remarked, with no
trace of quiver or fear in his voice. “You are too
many for me.”
Quincy maintained his position with revolver
trained and, at a nod from him, Gates quickly ran
over Blannett's person in search of other arms. In
a moment he again resumed his seat with a shake
of his head.
“There are no more,” he stated briefly.
“Very well,” said Quincy, lowering his own re-
volver. “You are, of course, aware of our purpose
here, Mr. Blannett.”
“I am. You have come here in search of the
man who killed Tom Fenton.” He paused a mo-
ment, and then continued with emphatic delibera-
tion. “I killed him. Had not my plans miscarried
somewhat through the overzealousness of my as-
sistant, I doubt if you would have been able to
trace me so readily; but perhaps it would have
been possible. I did not count, when I left you,


THE GOLDEN BELT 121
on your possessing the nerve to search my room
during my brief absence, which is where I made an-
other mistake. Had the faintest inkling of your in-
tention been given me, I assure you that your task
would have been rendered far more difficult. How-
ever, I cannot make up my mind that I am sorry
to have the matter turn out in this way. I am,
after the teaching of my forebears, a fatalist, and,
according to my belief, of course, this event has
been foreordained since the ages began. My life
has been passed after a manner different from the
usual run, different by far from that of any man
you ever knew, and it is possible that my ideals are
sadly warped, but who can say? As you view my
deed, the killing of Fenton was vile murder; but,
according to my view, it was not only justifiable,
but laudable as well. It is all a matter of view-
point, you see. I am going to tell you a strange
story and afterward, I have no doubt, show you a
strange sight. Then you will understand the weird
peculiarities under which my life has been passed,
and the lives of others before me.”
As he paused a moment, Quincy again broke in.
“Francisco. Where is he?”
Blannett's slow smile crossed his face. “Fran-
cisco you will never catch. He is already far away
across the Canadian line and he is well supplied
with money.” He quietly filled his long-stemmed


122 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
pipe before continuing, and did not speak again
until the tobacco was burning to his satisfac-
tion.
“The story I am about to tell you,” he continued
at last, “is a peculiar mixture of antiquity and
modernity, and must therefore be handled in two
short sections. The first begins at a time about a
century and a quarter ago when my ancestor, Hugo
Blannett, plied his profession of piracy along the
South Atlantic coast of this country, and the north-
ern sections of South America. Had he lived in
these days he would perhaps have made as success-
ful a business man as he was a pirate, although it
is possible that a quiet business life would not have
appealed to a man of his active nature. He had a
settlement of his own on the western coast of
Florida where, so our traditions tell us, he and many
of his men kept wives and families, going to and
from their work as did the more peaceful sailors
of the time. His command was made up largely
of Spaniards, with a sprinkling of Italians and a few
Englishmen, one of the last named being his lieu-
tenant, a man called Black Fenton.
“At a time shortly before the Revolution, how-
ever, the band, partly because of the manner in which
they were being harried by British warships, and
partly on account of the increasing age of Hugo
Blannett, for they would follow no other leader, de-


THE GOLDEN BELT 123
cided to give up their calling and sail away to Spain,
where the immense fortune they had reaped would
enable all to live in a most luxurious manner during
the remainder of their lives. Therefore, they aban-
doned their colony, packed their spoils, consisting
of gold bullion and jewels, on board a large ship
which they had captured for the purpose, and set
sail for Spain. But misfortune attended them from
the start, coming first in the form of a gale which
blew their ship far out of its course and to the north-
ward.
“For days the ship struggled along through
heavy seas, far out of its course, and badly damaged
by heavy seas. At last, when the wind had some-
what abated, they found themselves in a seriously
crippled condition off the coast of one of the
Northern States. Then, to make matters worse,
they were sighted by a British frigate, which imme-
diately gave chase to them and, had it not been for
the fact that the frigate was also badly crippled by
the recent storm, the result would have been disas-
trous. As it was, they had no opportunity to set
their course; but were obliged to flee on up the
coast, the frigate following them all day. As night
was falling, they sighted a small river and ran up
it, the frigate following, but being forced to proceed
more slowly because of her greater draught. At
last the frigate gave up the chase for the night and


124 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
dropped anchor, well knowing that the pirates were
bottled up in the river and could not get out past the
frigate. But Blannett had no intention of yielding
to a pirate's fate even yet, and he fled up the river
until the lights of a small settlement gleamed far
ahead. Then the pirates paused for a council of
War.
“As the result of the discussion the men of the
party silently landed at a point below the settlement
and, advancing under cover of the darkness, fell
upon the settlers and massacred them. They then
took possession of all the horses and wagons to be
found, and there were many of them, and, being
used to quick work, they rapidly disembarked their
party from the ship, loaded their valuables on the
wagons and set off across the country in search of
a spot where they would be safe until an opportunity
should be given them in which to secure another
ship and again set sail.
“For days they moved inland until they finally
discovered this place which, located as it is in the
heart of the mountains, offered them a shelter such
as they desired. They immediately erected tem-
porary shelters, expecting that soon they would
be able to be off once more to the sea, but
misfortune still attended them. The Revolution
broke out just at that time, with the result that,
for years, the seas swarmed with British war-


THE GOLDEN BELT 125
ships and Yankee privateers, completely shattering
between them the hopes of Blannett's little band of
pirates.
“Blannett, quick to see the predicament in which
they were placed, at once began to put up houses of
a more durable nature than their first shelters and
to prepare for a long wait. This very house was
the one built for him. For a time all went well,
the men of the party securing sustenance for all
by frequent forays into the lower countryside, where
they harried Whig and Tory alike, after the man-
ner of guerrillas of the more Southern States.
Soon, however, dissension broke out among them,
one faction, under Black Fenton, desiring that the
treasure be divided and the band allowed to split
up according to the desires of its members, while
Blannett counselled the carrying through of the
original plans.
“The controversy waxed hotter and hotter until
Blannett suddenly settled the whole matter by
causing the treasure to be spirited away and hidden,
nobody knew where. He then announced that, so
long as the war lasted, the treasure would remain
hidden and that, should he die before the close of
the war, an event not unlikely, the wearer of his
belt was to succeed him and would, when the time
became ripe, produce the treasure and lead them
away. From necessity his edict was accepted and


126 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
when, a few months later, he died, his son, Hugo,
succeeded him.
“But the old pirate had either builded more
strongly than he knew, or had overlooked the fact
that he was better educated than his fellows, for
nobody, not even his son, was able to interpret the
directions he left for the discovery of the treasure.
They searched wildly for years, but without suc-
cess until, at last abandoning hope, they settled
down to wait until accident or some unforeseen
circumstance should divulge the hiding place.
“Years passed and the original members of the
band passed on after their fallen leader. Another
generation followed the first, and another; but
still there was no key to their secret, save the unin-
telligible directions which Blannett had left. The
country about them began to be built up, and the
little village of Lurie was founded. A century
passed away and the descendants of those same
pirates were still here, the story of the hidden
treasure having been passed on from generation to
generation. Even so you find them today, a little
group of unknown foreigners, despite their birth in
this land; little known to their neighbours, and rec-
ognizing no ruling authority save that of their own
chieftain. That, gentlemen, completes the ancient
history of our body. We shall now descend to
modern times.
*


THE GOLDEN BELT 127
“It is an utter impossibility to completely isolate
a given body of people through unlimited time, es-
pecially in restless America, no matter how power-
ful may be the bonds which hold them together.
This fact became strongly evidenced at about the
time when my father assumed the leadership of the
band. From the time when our people first took
up their residence here the different families inter-
married with one another, for, as I told you, many
of the men had families in their far-off Florida set-
tlement, and, of course, they brought their women
with them when they came away. Some few of
the men, in the earlier days, married women of this
country after it became decided that they were to
remain here indefinitely, and the descendants of
those unions were the first to be seized with the
spirit of unrest. The men were free to depart
whenever they desired to do so, but it was a law of
the settlement that whoever departed forfeited all
rights to any share in the treasure when it should
be discovered. For a time that fact acted as a de-
terrent to emigration, but at length the treasure be-
came more and more a tradition and less a reality
to the people, so that emigrations became more fre-
quent.
“Fully realizing that, unless the treasure should
be soon discovered, there would be nobody left to
claim it, my father devoted his life to a thorough


THE GOLDEN BELT 129
Daily I examined the directions which Blannett
had left, and which I shall show you later, but I
could make nothing of them because of a strange
break in the lines. -
“Years passed and my father died, turning over
to me on his deathbed his belt of leadership, and
with that belt came the greatest catastrophe our
little community ever suffered. For Andrew Fen-
ton, Black Fenton's descendant, influenced, I have
no doubt, by his son, Tom, contested my right to
the leadership. He stirred up dissension among
our members, all those who were of mixed foreign
and Yankee blood — and most of them were, by
that time — taking sides with him, while the few
straight descendants stood by me. For a time it
looked as though bloodshed would follow; but,
without any warning, Andrew Fenton suddenly
died. What caused his death I do not know, but
I have always believed that he was murdered by his
son, Tom, who believed that the dissension had
reached a point where he alone could lead the rebels
to victory. But in that he was mistaken. At the
death of Andrew the dissenters fell suddenly back
from their warlike attitude and turned, instead, to
emigration, so that, inside of two months, our land
was deserted save for Tom Fenton, his son, and
the few men who are now to be found on the
eState.


130 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“For a time Tom lived on in his village house,
but at last he, too, disappeared, and with him went
my golden belt of leadership, stolen I never knew
how.
“I was wild with rage for a day or two and,
could I have followed Fenton or had I known his
destination, I would have killed him. It may seem
like a trivial occurrence to you, but remember that
I had been taught from earliest childhood to revere
that belt as a king reveres his crown, and a king
cannot be lightly robbed of his crown. Then, per-
haps as the result of my life among outsiders, my
education or what-not, I regained control of myself
and allowed Fenton to remain in possession of the
belt; but I still kept watch over him, and knew al-
ways where he was to be found. I settled quietly
back with my little handful of followers and re-
sumed my study of the great problem. Years
passed in this manner and then, gentlemen, I
solved it!” *
With the words, he leaped to his feet and paced
excitedly back and forth across the room, his eyes
blazing and his mane of gray hair flying.
“I solved the problem, and I knew that I must
have that belt. Not only that, but I realized why
the belt had been designated as the seal of authority
and leadership. I believe Fenton suspected as much
when he took it, although I do not believe that he


THE GOLDEN BELT 131
understood the exact part which the belt played in
the mystery. This happened weeks ago, and I at
once sent to Fenton demanding the belt. He re-
turned a sneering reply and invited me to come and
take it. I sent once more, and demanded an inter-
view on neutral territory, little thinking that it
would be granted. Back came a reply, signed by
Edgar, to the effect that he would meet me at a
certain spot which he described in the village of
Yokum.
“I asked nothing better than to get them sepa-
rated, for then I knew that I would have the belt
sooner or later. I answered the note, accepting the
appointment and signing the initials of Hugo Blan-
nett, as was always our custom in the transaction
of official business. At the time appointed, I sent
Francisco to Yokum to meet Edgar, while I went
on to Boston. I was unfortunate, however, because
Fenton was not at home and, although I waited in
the vicinity until after Edgar had returned, he did
not put in an appearance.
“I then returned here and again demanded an
interview, which was granted me for the night on
which the events you are interested in occurred.
Once more I sent Francisco to Yokum; but on this
occasion the poor faithful fellow bungled. Edgar,
it seems, must have scented danger, for he ap-
proached the meeting place with an automatic pistol


132 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
clutched in his hand, a fact which both frightened
and enraged Francisco. Without pausing to con-
sider his deed, he caught up a club and struck Edgar
down, the blow proving fatal. Francisco then acted
on the instinct which has descended to him through
the generations succeeding the pirates. He buried
the body, as was always done in former times when
a member of the band was killed in any way. It
was instinct, gentlemen, and nothing else which
prompted such an act.
“In the meantime I had placed myself outside
Fenton's house in Boston. Fenton did not return
until early in the morning, and I watched him enter
the house and then waited until I saw a light on the
first floor. I crept around the building and, by peer-
ing through a window, discovered Fenton seated
at a table in his library. I softly raised the win-
dow and appeared before him. Was he frightened?
He most assuredly was not!
“I leaned over the table and demanded my belt
and he, with an oath, defied me to take it. I could
have crushed him in my bare hands, but I scorned
to overpower him without giving him at least a
chance for his life, so I ordered him to produce some
weapons and fight. A light of actual happiness
seemed to come into his eyes as he leaped to his feet
and drew those old Damascus daggers, that had
once been the property of Hugo Blannett, from a


THE GOLDEN BELT 133
drawer. He tossed them on the table and invited
me to choose. We immediately caught up our dag-
gers, stepped back into the clearest portion of the
room and fought, the fight lasting only a few sec-
onds. There is no need of my recounting the de-
tails. Suffice it to say that I killed him. I then
tossed his dagger on the table, took the belt and the
other dagger and escaped. I had not counted on
Francisco's returning with the pistol and belt be-
longing to Edgar, nor had I counted on the fact of
his discovering that two detectives were on my
trail. He waited in Boston until long after my de-
parture in order to watch developments and, board-
ing the same train with yourselves, he suspected
you. He entered your rooms to discover whether
or not you were wearing badges, so that he might
warn me if you seemed dangerous.
“The remainder of the story you well know,
without my repeating it. Francisco is well out of
your way for, as soon as I received his news, I sent
him out of the country, feeling that perhaps it was
Francisco and not myself you were tracking. I
have only a mere handful of followers, gentlemen,
but they are loyal. Ah, what would they not do if
they had the faintest inkling of the position in
which their chief is placed Do not be alarmed,
for I could have summoned them long ago had I so
desired. But what is the use? Why make them


134 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
all fugitives from justice, when no possible good
can come from so doing?”
He paused for a brief interval and stared silently
at the dagger lying on the table, then resumed his
rapid pacing of the room. As he walked, his step
seemed to become even more springy and catlike,
while his eyes burned with a yet wilder light.
“Gentlemen!” he exclaimed, coming to a sudden
halt, “by teaching and study I am not only a
fatalist, but also a believer in reincarnation. What
other explanation is there for the act of Francisco,
when he paused in his flight to bury the body of
Edgar Fenton, when the body would plainly have
been better left above ground? Was not that an in-
dication of the reincarnated member of old Blan-
nett's band? Witness again his fierce attack at the
hotel, when once more flight would have better
served his purpose! Witness, in Fenton, the staid
business man reverting to a hand-to-hand conflict
with the weapons of his forefathers! Can it be that
he was the reincarnation of the original Black Fen-
ton? Why not?
“Look at myself. According to tradition I have
not only the exact build, but also the features and
mind of Hugo Blannett. Can it be possible that
Hugo Blannett so cleverly hid his secret of the
treasure that only his own reincarnated mind could
rediscover it? Am I the reincarnation of Hugo


THE GOLDEN BELT 137
believe I could solve it. The key, of course, lies in
the Hebrew characters, which I am unable to
read.”
Blannett nodded gravely. “Do not be too greatly
cast down,” he remarked, “over failing to do in a
few minutes what it has cost over a century of hard
work to accomplish. Those Hebrew characters are,
as you say, the key to the situation, but in them the
key is doubly disguised. The word they spell is
not a Hebrew word, but is rather the simple Eng-
lish word “belt.” Do you now understand? You
are referred to the belt for the missing and most
important section of the directions. Now let us
examine the belt itself.”
From the same secret drawer he drew forth the
belt on which the entire story had so strangely
hinged. It was a heavy belt of yellowish leather,
but its most striking characteristic lay in the big
golden buckle with which it was adorned, and in
the large gold chains which ran back from the
buckle and completely encircled it. On the other-
wise smooth surface of the buckle could readily
be traced a series of strange words, engraved in the
same Hebrew characters which had already played
so important a part in the directions left by the
ancient pirate.
“Here we now have the complete key,” Blan-
nett informed them, laying the belt on the table


THE GOLDEN BELT 139
he flung open, disclosing a flight of rough stone
steps leading downward.
“The main vault referred to in the directions
lies below us,” he informed them briefly.
Without awaiting either question or comment, he
stepped through the door and slowly descended the
stairs, his two companions crowding close on his
heels. For perhaps twenty steps the stairs led
downward and at their foot the trio found them-
selves in a large stone cellar of tremendous dimen-
sions, the flickering lanterns throwing their light
barely to the farthest walls. Blannett at once
turned sharply to the left and led the way to a
dark corner, from where he proceeded to count five
stones, his task rendered easy by the fact that the
stones stood upright, the sides of each reaching
from top to bottom of the cellar wall. At the
corner designated he paused and rested his lantern
so that the light reflected squarely on the stone.
“Dig there,” he commanded, turning to Quincy.
Without a moment's hesitation Quincy sank on
one knee and industriously hacked at the mortar
which, rendered soft by age, easily crumbled away
beneath the strokes of his hatchet. As he chopped
he realized that the particular corner which he was
attacking had been chinked with an unusual quan-
tity of mortar, a fact which gave promise of a large
cavity behind. Slowly the mortar fell away until


140 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
his ears were at last greeted by the sharp clank of
steel on steel. Proceeding then more gingerly, he
carefully dug away the remaining particles of mor-
tar and was at last able to see in the dim lantern
light a round steel knob protruding from what
seemed to be the solid stone backing of the hole.
He reached in, seized the knob and pulled sharply.
Instantly the great stone before him swung noise-
lessly on invisible pivots, and disclosed a short cor-
ridor of dimensions sufficient for the passage of a
TT1a11.
Blannett unhesitatingly stepped through the
opening, followed by Quincy and Gates, both of
whom were deeply stirred by a rising sense of ex-
citement. The eyes of all were turned instantly to
the search for the smallest stone in the passage,
but it was Quincy who discovered it, and who fol-
lowed the next step in the directions by pressing
firmly against its centre. Again they witnessed the
phenomenon of a seemingly solid stone turning
automatically and silently. Another passage opened
before them, and again they crowded through; but
on this occasion they paused abruptly when just
within the opening and stared aghast at the spec-
tacle which was presented to their gaze.
The floor of the small subterranean chamber was
littered with human bones, intermingled here and
there with a rusted weapon or a tattered bit of


142 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Quincy automatically took the weapon and stared
at the spot on which Blannett's eyes had been fixed.
There, standing out dimly in the lantern light, he
read the single word “Fenton.” His eyes won-
deringly sought Blannett's, only to be met by a
shrug and a cool shake of the head.
“It is evident that Black Fenton's insurrection
ended with the disappearance of the treasure,” he
remarked coolly. “It is perfectly plain that what
took place here was for the purpose you mentioned.
Look at the bones. There are but four skulls among
them, and therefore it is certain that only four men
met their deaths here. How Fenton chanced to be
among them I suppose we must leave to conjecture.
Whether he was chosen to assist in the disposal of
the treasure, which seems decidedly unlikely, or
whether he accidentally stumbled on the hiding
place at the moment of the work's completion we
cannot say. We can guess what happened here;
but we shall never know for a certainty. Suffice
it that these men met their deaths as the toll of
secrecy. Now let us proceed with our own affair.”
He strode to the right hand corner of the room,
unceremoniously scraped away the bones and debris
which blocked his passage, and pressed his foot on
the square stone. At once a section of the floor
dropped away from almost under his feet, carrying
down a quantity of bones and revealing a stairway.
~


THE GOLDEN BELT 143
Blannett descended half-way and carelessly tossed
the bones out upon the floor of the room.
“By all the devils,” Gates muttered beneath his
breath, “I believe he told the truth when he said that
he was the reincarnation of that old pirate. Shall
we follow him, Sawyer? What is to prevent him
from playing a trick on us like the other fellow
played on these poor chaps? We never would be
found until he had his next round of life, a couple
of centuries in the future, and led some other poor
suckers here.”
“Then keep your hand on your gun,” Quincy
whispered, dropping into the hole after his wild
guide.
“I’ll keep my hand on it all right,” Gates
growled, as he drew his revolver from its accus-
tomed pocket and followed gingerly in the rear of
his companions. “And, if that chap tries any-
thing on, he's a dead pirate.”
The passage in which they found themselves pro-
ceeded in a straight line for a distance of about ten
feet before swinging abruptly to the right and en-
tering a low-studded chamber, which seemed to be
in reality a sort of sub-cellar beneath the great
vault into which they had first descended. As they
approached they perceived that the chamber was
well filled with merchandise of some sort, but it was
not until they were well within that the real nature


144 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
of their discovery appeared to them. Then, as the
light from the lanterns filled the place, they stared
in wild-eyed amazement.
Tier on tier, along one side of the chamber, were
piled solid gold bars which caught the light from
the lanterns and flashed it back at them in soft
yellow rays. Nor did the mass of bullion complete
the wonders of this veritable Aladdin's cave, for,
piled indiscriminately in a corner, were many gems
and jewels, some unset and others still in the rings,
necklaces or weapons which had originally con-
tained them. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in
gold and jewels lay spread about the three inves-
tigators, and it is scarce to be wondered at that
their breath came in quick gasps and their eyes
bulged with wonder. It was not until Blannett's
cool voice broke the stillness that the two detectives
were able to recall themselves to earth.
“You have seen what is before you, gentlemen,”
were his words. “Nobody knows of this place but
we three. Can you forget your quest, and my ex-
istence, if I offer you the entire treasure?”
For a moment the two were unable to regain their
senses, but almost immediately Quincy shook his
head with violent determination. It was Gates,
however, who spoke.
“I have always been a poor man,” he said slowly,
“ and I have always worked for every cent I have


THE GOLDEN BELT 145
possessed; but I have lived square and, by God!
I shall die square. I cannot be bought off.”
A look of admiration spread over Blannett's face,
and his head was flung back in pride of race.
“You are men!” he cried. “Men! Had you
accepted my offer I swear by all that's holy you
would never have left this place alive. In your
eyes, and in the eyes of the law, I am a criminal, a
murderer; but in my own soul I feel that I have
done no wrong. Be that as it may, however, for
I have but a short time in which to call myself a
free man, and as such I make a final request of you.
This treasure can never be returned to its original
owners, nor can the descendants of those owners
ever be located. Their claim is outlawed, anyway.
Therefore it belongs to my men, to my handful of
faithful followers, and I want your promise that you
will do all in your power to enable them to get it.
Do you promise?”
Silently the two nodded, too much overcome by
amazement to be really aware of what they were
promising, or why. At the sign Blannett stooped
suddenly and caught up at random two jewelled
daggers from the floor, placing them in the hands
of the detectives.
“Take these as a small token of my regard,” he
said with dignity. For a moment afterward he
paused, his eyes wandering silently over them and


146 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
then, suddenly and without any warning, he sprang
full on Gates. Whirling the inspector back as
though he had been nothing but a child, Blannett's
great hand closed on the revolver and jerked it into
his own grasp.
Quincy sprang sharply to one side, his own re-
volver in his hand; but only to find himself des-
perately handicapped. The revolver in Blannett's
hand was centred on Quincy's head with immov-
able steadiness, while Gates' body, used as a shield,
made a shot by Quincy hazardous in the extreme.
For a few seconds the tableau was maintained, with
Quincy and Blannett glaring at each other over
their revolvers, neither caring to precipitate hostili-
ties by a shot. At last Blannett, the savage light in
his eyes diminishing slightly, spoke in his cool even
toneS.
“I have the drop on you, Mr. Sawyer. Throw
down your revolver.”
There being no other course open to him, Quincy
did so, standing erect after the pistol had clattered
to the stone floor and staring quietly into Blannett's
face. Another brief interval of silence followed
and then Blannett spoke once more.
“Stand where you are and no harm will come to
you! I am willing to kill in fair fight, but I am
no murderer! I am a free man! My fathers were
free men before me! They fought and they died


THE GOLDEN BELT 147
with laughter on their lips, and their blood still
flows in my veins! I have your promise to see that
my people get what is theirs and I trust you! Now,
good-bye!”
His final words rang out proudly as he hurled
the helpless Gates from him, turned the revolver
against his own temple and pulled the trigger. The
report, muffled by the proximity of the revolver to
his head, sounded dully in the close chamber as he
sank quietly to the floor.
For several seconds Quincy did not stir, his
muscles rendered motionless by the deed which he
had seen enacted. Then, as Gates crawled from
the corner into which he had been flung, Quincy's
eyes rested automatically on the dagger in his
hands. “H. B.” he muttered dully, reading the
engraved initials. “There must have been several
of these.”
Gates arose and grimly eyed the silent figure on
the floor. “Well, Sawyer,” he muttered thickly,
“I guess this case is settled.” For a moment he
paused and then added, “But where do you sup-
pose Henry Brown came in?”
“He didn't come in,” Quincy replied briefly.
“But what of that pistol? Blannett had a pistol
which he said was young Fenton's, and Brown said
the one we found there was his. What do you
make of it?”


148 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“I make just this,” Quincy replied. “There is
one fact which we are prone to overlook in this
business. That is, that sometimes some men really
do tell the truth.”


III
THE AFFAIR OF UNREACHABLE ISLAND
INSPECTOR GATES poked his head through the
doorway of Quincy's office and watched the latter
scowlingly endeavour to unravel the kinks in the
legal phraseology of an official-looking document.
For several seconds he held his position before
Quincy became aware of his presence. Then,
glancing hastily up, Quincy greeted him with his
accustomed grin.
“Hello, Gates,” he called. “Come in and tell
me the news.”
Gates entered and, holding the door open with
one hand, beckoned for some unseen companion to
follow him. “I have here, Sawyer,” he said, “a
gentleman from out of the state who brings with
him an interesting case. I can't touch it, of course,
so I am introducing him to you.”
As the stranger entered Quincy hastily inventoried
his appearance. The man was patently from the
rural districts, his clothes being of that nondescript
pattern which serves the countryman as a “best
suit” through years of “Sunday services,” fune-
149


150 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
rals and similar dress occasions in the outlying com-
munities. The perfect neatness of every article of
clothing, however, together with the dark blue
colouring, indicated that the man was a careful
dresser, according to his own tastes, and that pre-
vailing styles meant little to him. The cut of the
clothes and a certain air of subconscious authority
which appeared in the stranger's manner caused
Quincy almost immediately to set him down as a
seaman, probably an officer, and this conclusion
Gates promptly verified.
“This is Captain Zebedee Orcutt,” Gates pro-
ceeded with the introduction, “and he desires to
secure your services, Sawyer.”
The stranger smilingly acknowledged the intro-
duction and accepted the chair which Quincy pushed
forward. Seating himself, his face almost at once
assumed a graver expression and for a few seconds
he stared reflectively at Quincy, unconsciously
smoothing with one hand his shaggy bush of white
whiskers as he did so. As he prepared to speak
again the pleasant little lines which netted his
face changed into an expression of troubled con-
Cern.
“Yes, my name is Orcutt,” he commenced,
speaking rapidly, as though anxious to get the
affair out of his own hands and into others more
capable of taking charge of it. “I hail from York


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 151
Village, Maine, where I have lived all my life and
where I am known to everybody. This story con-
cerns my daughter, Eleanor, and I want help right
away because I have reason to believe that she is in
grave danger. The story is a queer one, and I
hardly know how to begin it.
briefly, as though collecting his thoughts, while
Quincy waited with patient courtesy for him to
continue.
“My daughter,” and at the words a note of pride
crept into his voice, “is really a very beautiful girl,
one of the handsomest I have ever seen, and I’ve
been in every civilized country on the globe. She is
now twenty years old, and the trouble I am going
to tell you about originated two years ago. At that
time she was engaged to a young fellow in Ports-
mouth, a man of whom everybody spoke in the
highest of terms. Everything went fine with them,
and she was as happy as a clam at high tide, up to
a week before the day when the wedding was to
ſhave taken place.
“Then the young fellow, Harrison his name was,
came up from Portsmouth to take out the marriage
license. He stayed with Eleanor all day and they,
with her mother and me, put in most of the time
talking over plans for the wedding. She had al-
ways lived in York, and, as everybody in town is
acquainted with everybody else, she wanted a church
> *
He paused


152 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
wedding so all the neighbours could be invited.
Of course that took a lot of planning, as there has
to be more fuss on the day a girl is married than
there is during all the rest of her life.
“Young Harrison stayed to supper and they
talked during the early part of the evening. Then
he took his hired rig and set out to drive to Kittery,
from where he would cross to Portsmouth. That
was the last we ever saw of him alive, for his horse
turned up that night alone at the livery stable where
it had been hired, and it was three days later that
we found Harrison's body wedged between two
rocks off Cat Point. The back of his head had
been crushed in by a blow and his body thrown in
the water. It may have drifted around with the
tide a day or two before it finally lodged in the
rocks.
“Of course we hunted for the murderer, but
county sheriffs and town constables can't seem to
do work like that successfully. They are all right
in cases where physical courage is needed; but I
guess they don't get enough practice in the fancy
lines of their business to make them experts at it.
At any rate, we never found any trace of the man
who killed Harrison.
“Eleanor was completely prostrated by the oc-
currence and it was a year before she fully recov-
ered and once more appeared like her former self.


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 153
Then another young fellow, Oscar Silsby from
Kittery, fell in love with her. She was naturally
a bit stand-offish for a time, as she had not for-
gotten young Harrison; but I guess it is one of
the first laws of nature for young folks to fall in
love with each other, and so it wasn't long before
she came to me and told me that she was engaged
to Silsby.
“They were to have been married a week ago
yesterday, and Silsby had moved his things up from
Kittery because I had conditioned that they live
with us a year. You see, her mother and I kind of
wanted to get used to losing our daughter gradu-
ally, and we couldn't seem to spare her all at once.
After moving his things up he went back to Kittery
to make some final arrangements of his business
affairs, and was intending to drive back that eve-
ning in time for the wedding. This wedding was
to have been a private affair at the house, with a
reception to the neighbours afterward, and there
wern’t so many heavy arrangements as there had
been for the first one.
“Everything was ready that night, with the par-
son present and the few invited guests on hand, but
for some reason Silsby wasn't on time. We waited
for half an hour beyond the time set for the wed-
ding, and then Eleanor went into hysterics, fearing
that Silsby had met the same fate as had young


154 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Harrison, and the wedding guests were formed into
a hastily-organized searching party.
“We went down the road in the direction of
Kittery and, about a mile from the house, we found
his horse and buggy, the horse badly lamed, stand-
ing at the side of the road. There were no blood-
stains nor signs of violence that we could see, and
neither was there any sign of Silsby. We searched
all night, but discovered nothing, and it was not
until nearly noon of the next day that I accidentally
discovered his whereabouts.
“I had been down along the beach toward Kit-
tery, because the tide runs so strong near my place
that nothing is ever washed ashore. I had stayed
on the beach until the tide turned, looking with my
ships' glasses for his body, but had found no trace
of it. On my way back home I happened to glance
toward Unreachable Island, which lies well up
toward the York shore, and I caught a glimpse of
something lying on the island's beach well in
toward where the sand runs into grass land. I
trained my glasses on it, and sure enough it was a
man. It is impossible to reach the island from the
landward side, so I ran back to Kittery and hired
a tug.
“We went to the island and found Oscar lying
there bound hand and foot and unconscious. We
rushed him to York and into the nearest doctor's


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 155
office, where he was revived with much difficulty.
But even then he was unable to tell us much about
his recent experience.
“He said that the night previous had been very
dark and that, on his way to York, he had left the
work of keeping in the road largely to his horse's
instinct. Perhaps it was not altogether instinct,
for the horse had travelled the road so many times
that he must have known every foot of it by daylight
or dark. It may be that it would have been better
if the horse had not been so familiar with the way,
for the certainty of his footing caused him to trot,
and the first thing that Oscar knew the horse had
stumbled and fallen. Then, as Oscar jumped from
the buggy to raise the horse, something, he thinks
it must have been a man's fist, struck him a regular
knock-out blow, and he became unconscious, not
regaining his senses again until he was revived in
the doctor's office.”
“Pardon me a moment,” Quincy broke in.
“Did the doctor say that the man bore any indica-
tions of having been drugged?”
“He didn't say,” the captain responded slowly.
“Very well, then. Proceed with your story.
It seems hard to believe, however, that a man
merely knocked out by some person's fist should
have remained unconscious during all that period
of time.”


156 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Well,” the captain continued, “the whole af-
fair is a strange mystery. No clue was found at
the place where the assault was committed, except
for a piece of heavy fish line which had been tied
across the road to trip the horse. The line is worth-
less as a clue because lines exactly like it may be
found in every fisherman's outfit from Bath to
Gloucester. The whole affair is so strange, and I
have become so frightened for my daughter, that I
have come here to get what assistance I can. Now,
if you can help me, for God's sake do.”
The captain finished his narrative and leaned
back, looking from one to the other of his hearers
with an expression of hopeless bewilderment on
his face. Quincy spoke after a brief pause.
“Captain Orcutt,” he said, “I am wondering
concerning that island. In my experience I have
found that all those little islands off your coast
have been named with descriptive phrases. Does
“Unreachable' signify that the island cannot be
reached except in a tug?”
“The term is purely a nautical one,” the captain
informed him. “You see the term ‘reach ' means
to sail abeam, or at right angles to the way in which
the wind blows. To get to the island a boat could
not sail abeam, or reach, on account of the swift
tide, and, as the strip of water is sheltered on the
landward side, it would be impossible to sail in any


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 157
other way. A small boat such as a dory would be
carried away like a chip if it attempted to cross.
In regard to this particular instance, however, there
is a way, unknown to me, by which the island may
be reached at low tide over a series of stepping
stones which lie about two feet under water at that
time. I have never crossed them, nor have they
ever been crossed, to my knowledge, except by one
man.” As the captain paused in his story the
muscles of his jaws hardened perceptibly.
“Then you suspect somebody,” Quincy broke in
hastily.
“Yes, I do; but the strange part of the business
is that if the man whom I suspect is guilty of this
attempt it will leave the other affair as deep a mys-
tery as ever, for I do not think he could have been
connected with both. I may be wrong in this; but
for some reason I have formed a firm opinion that
these affairs are connected with each other.
“The man whom I suspect in this case is Ben-
jamin Silsby, Oscar's brother. You must under-
stand that it would take a powerful man to carry
a senseless body across those stones, and such a
man Benjamin is. Furthermore, he is the only
man I know of who has ever crossed those stones.
What is still more to the point is the fact that he
had the motive for the crime, and I believe the
motive is what you detectives always look for.


158 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
When the father of the two boys died, he left a
tidy little house and a fair amount of money. The
money was equally divided, but it was stipulated in
his will that the house was to go to the son who
was first married. Benjamin has never been on
friendly terms with his brother since Oscar's en-
gagement to Eleanor was first announced. He has
often accused Oscar of desiring to turn him from
his home, and the result is that a tremendous breach
has been opened between them. Of course Oscar's
marriage would turn Benjamin out, and I argue
that he may have done this thing with the intention
of removing Oscar from his path and securing an
incontestable right to the house. This supposition
is rendered still stronger by the fact that he dis-
appeared on the day set for the wedding and has
not been located since.”
“That is well argued, Captain,” Quincy thought-
fully agreed, “but there still remain other possibili-
ties, I suppose. I want to become familiar with
every one of them. Has your daughter any other
admirers, so far as you are aware?”
“No,” the captain replied. “I retired from
active service five years ago and she has never,
since I have been home, been sought by any man
other than the two to whom she has been engaged.
In fact, I have had her with me always, for she and
her mother used to accompany me on nearly every


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 159
trip. I was in the Trans-Atlantic passenger serv-
ice, which fact,” he added with a twinkle, “will ac-
count for my being able to talk in everyday English
and without such embellishments as ‘shiver my
timbers’ and ‘avast there,” with which novelists so
delight in endowing all seafaring men.”
“But, Captain,” Quincy persisted, “she must
have had other male acquaintances. What I want
is to discover as much as possible about her intimate
associates.”
“Of course she knew all the young men in our
vicinity,” the captain continued; “but I would
stake my reputation that none of them would com-
mit a crime such as this in order to clear the way
so that he might get her, if that is what you wish
to infer. The only other male acquaintance with
whom she has come in frequent contact is Lieu-
tenant Frederick Denham, stationed at the Ports-
mouth navy yard, and he is a friend of mine,
rather than of hers.”
“But couldn't he have been in love with her?”
Quincy questioned quickly.
“Lord bless you, no! Poor Denham was en-
gaged to a young woman who fell overboard in
some manner from my ship during the last trip I
made. He took her loss so much to heart that he
has hardly ever looked at any woman since. He
seems to be almost afraid of them. Then, too, he


160 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
was invited to both weddings and was to have
played an important part in each, an usher at the
first and best man at the second. He hated wed-
dings on account of the memories they brought him,
and he agreed to be present at Eleanor's only be-
cause we urged him so hard. He is an old friend
of Oscar's, and has passed weeks at his house on
several occasions. He is at my house now helping
to look after Oscar and assisting in every way he
can. You can safely put him out of your mind,
because he knows nothing of the approach to the
island nor has he the build to carry a man the size
of Oscar across those stones, even if he knew of
them.” -
Quincy nodded assent as the captain incontro-
vertibly disposed of Denham as a factor in the case,
and appeared to run over the case in his own mind.
The facts appearing to be fixed to his satisfaction,
he quickly put an end to the consultation.
“Captain,” he directed, “you go back to York
as quickly as you can get there and wait for me.
If your people do not know what your purpose was
in coming to Boston, tell them nothing of your
visit, or, if they do know of your purpose, give
them to understand that the results have been un-
satisfactory. I shall arrive in York very closely
behind you, and you are to treat me as a guest,
boarder, or whatever you please. Under no condi-


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 161
tion are you to tell the real purpose of my visit to
anybody, not even to your wife or daughter. Be
certain to obey this last direction to the letter, for
it is important. Now hurry back to York.”
The captain rose with alacrity and prepared to
depart. Unquestioning obedience to orders was a
part of his calling, and it made no difference
whether the orders were issued to him or by him.
With a hopeful smile on his face he bowed him-
self out of the door and was gone.
“Well, Gates,” Quincy questioned, as the captain
disappeared, “how does this case strike you?”
“It strikes me that I would like to be in on it,”
Gates replied somewhat enviously. “I only wish
that it had occurred in Boston.”
“There is one thing,” Quincy remarked thought-
fully, “that strikes me as being very strange in
this affair. Can you imagine, Gates, what motive
a man would have in overpowering another man
and then hiding him in plain sight on the landward
side of an island when he could just as easily have
disposed of him farther toward the interior? Or,
what is still more strange, when he could just as
easily have killed him outright and then have buried
the body on the island where, according to the cap-
tain's statement, the chances are strong that it would
never have been discovered?”
“The only answer I can think of,” Gates re-


162 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
plied, after a brief interval of thought, “is that he
may have wished merely to scare the man and fully
intended that he should be discovered.”
“Or,” Quincy supplemented, “that he had strong
reason to believe that the man would be dead before
morning, and wished the body to be found as a
warning to other men.”
Gates seemed somewhat mystified by the reply,
but made no comment other than to arch his eye-
brows and slightly shrug his shoulders, a motion
which was characteristic of him when strongly in
doubt. For a time he sat idly by, watching Quincy
with envious eyes while the latter completed his
preparations for making the trip to York.
“Gee, Sawyer,” he muttered, rising to depart,
“you free lances certainly do get all the fun out
of life, while we regulars scrape along on the sec-
ondaries.” He paused in the doorway a moment,
the envious look still in his eyes, and then with a
friendly grin turned on his heel and disappeared.
Captain Orcutt was seated on his front piazza
when Quincy lumbered up, seated in a decrepit old
depot wagon. At sight of him the captain bounded
from his chair and rushed forward with a shouted
greeting that sounded almost too fervent to be real.
“I told the folks,” he whispered, as Quincy
stepped from the rickety conveyance, “that you
was an old friend I met on one of my trips and that


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 163
you was going to pay us a short visit. I told them
they mustn't disturb you, and that you were to have
the whole run of the place just as you pleased.”
At the information Quincy started a trifle dis-
concertedly. “You weren't suspiciously urgent in
making the latter demand, were you, Captain?” he
questioned.
“Lord, I don't know,” said the captain seriously.
“I guess I never was cut out for an actor. Any-
how, nobody seemed to think there was anything
funny about it, so I guess it's all right. But come
right in.” -
They entered the house and Quincy had his first
view of the principal characters in the curious
drama. Eleanor he found, as the captain had de-
scribed her, a girl of striking charm, although her
recent experiences had deeply marked and drawn
her face, not so greatly, however, that its beauty
was permanently injured, and it was evident that
renewed ease of mind would return to her features
all that were rightfully theirs. Oscar Silsby still
lay stretched on a couch, recovering from his
recent adventure. He was a large-framed, power-
ful young man, whose main regret appeared to be
that he had not seen his assailant approaching, a
failure which had undoubtedly been conducive to
the continuing good health of the assailant.
Lieutenant Denham appeared in the person of a


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 165
contribute an occasional remark to the conversation.
Silsby and Eleanor, however, remained silent for
the most part, appearing to be fully occupied with
their own thoughts. -
When the party broke up at the usual early hour
of the country, Quincy seated himself before an
open window in his room and prepared to consider
the matter in hand with the aid of his battered old
briar pipe. During the entire evening he had been
covertly watching every member of the household
and, so far as he had been able to observe, not a
single false or suspicious move had been made.
According to his usual custom he set about his task
of careful elimination and revolved the case slowly
in his mind as he stared out into the moonlight.
Theory after theory he mapped out, only to have
each carefully erected idea come crashing down as
the weak spot in its structure became apparent.
For nearly an hour he had been busy with the task
in hand when suddenly he was brought out of his
reveries with a start as some small missile struck
him in the face with stinging force.
The missile bounded back from his face and
rolled slowly along the window sill, being identified
as a pebble before its progress had been arrested.
Staring sharply out into the open, Quincy was able
dimly to make out the figure of a man crouching
in the shadow of a large lilac bush and apparently


166 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
beckoning wildly to attract his attention. For a
moment he hesitated and then, swinging lithely for-
ward, he let himself over the sill and dropped easily
to the ground. Running forward he was almost
immediately at the side of the mysterious figure,
eager to discover who the visitor might be.
“What do you want?” he questioned, as he drew
up in the shade of the bush. -
“I want a little of your fun, that's all,” came
the cool reply.
“Gates!” Quincy exclaimed in astonishment.
“What the deuce are you doing here?”
Gates settled comfortably back on his heels be-
fore replying. “I’m sick of routine work, Saw-
yer,” he complained. “I’ve been chasing through
pawn shops for weeks, doing nothing more impor-
tant than discovering the thieves of fake diamonds
and cheap watches, until I'm sick and tired of it
all. I felt as though I was entitled to a little change
so, when this case came up, I wheedled the old man
into giving me a leave of absence, and came up here
to place myself under your orders. Now, if you
undertake to send me back and keep me out of this
case, I’ll simply run amuck and pull you to pieces.”
Quincy grinned at the fervency with which the
last words were uttered, and then sank slowly by
Gates' side. “You need have no fear on that
score,” he said. “I am of the opinion that I shall


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 167
need help on this case, and I am not only willing
to have you here, but intensely pleased to see you.”
He paused abruptly, as he made the remark, and,
whirling half around, listened intently, while Gates
drew farther into the shadow of the bush, and lis-
tened with equal attention. From the direction of
the house had come a faint click, followed by the
sound of soft footfalls across the floor of the piazza.
Then the sounds ceased, and the two were able to
see the figure of a man step from the piazza to
the lawn and steal swiftly off into the night. As
the man passed over a narrow strip of moonlit lawn
Quincy gave vent to a startled exclamation, for the
man was unquestionably no other than Captain
Orcutt himself.
Without pausing to argue with each other the
probable purpose of the captain's strange trip,
Quincy and Gates bent low over the ground and
ran carefully forward, their feet making no sound
in the thick grass. When they drew up again they
were but a few yards in the captain's rear, and they
studiously maintained that distance until, when well
within the woods, which proved to be little more
than a scattered grove, the captain paused and gazed
stealthily about. Apparently satisfied with his ob-
servation of the surroundings, he emitted a low
whistle which was almost immediately answered
from a point somewhat to one side.


168 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Dropping flat on the earth, Quincy and Gates
strained eyes and ears to gather whatever informa-
tion they could from this strange affair, watching
intently as a second figure detached itself from the
shadows and came forward to meet the captain.
They saw the two men come together, heard the
dim hum of their voices, pitched in too low a tone
for them to catch the words, and then distinctly
saw something passed from one to another of the
two, but because of the poor light they were unable
to tell which man had done the passing.
With as much stealth as they had employed in
meeting, the two men drew apart, the second figure
slinking off into the shadows, while the captain
faced about and came directly toward where the
two watchers were partially concealed. With
bated breath they held their positions, not daring
to move hand or foot for fear of discovery; but,
to their intense relief, the captain passed without
appearing to catch sight of them and they noted
that beneath one arm he carried a parcel. Again
the game of chase was on, the detectives this time
maintaining a distance farther in the captain's rear
than that which they had kept on the outward trip.
But their caution appeared unnecessary, for the
captain, seeming to feel less need for care now that
his purpose, whatever it had been, was accomplished,
strode straight for the house. He did not at once


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 169
re-enter, however; but, instead, skirted along the
outer wall until he reached the side of a little shed
somewhat to the rear. The two did not follow, but
remained hidden in the long grass, from where they
watched the old man at a distance. Captain Orcutt
stooped a moment at the side of the shed, drew out
two or three large stones from its foundation and
quickly thrust his package through the opening thus
formed. Then, replacing the stones, he once more
made for the house and quickly disappeared within.
“What do you make of that?” Gates questioned
in a whisper. -
Quincy chuckled softly as he replied: “I don't
make anything of importance of it. In fact, I think
we have wasted our time in so carefully stalking
the captain while we might have been engaged in
hunting more interesting game.” -
“But that package,” Gates persisted. “Don’t
you think we had better discover what it contains?”
“Oh, very well. Do so if you like,” Quincy re-
plied nonchalantly. “But, before you investigate,
Gates, let me caution you to remember where you
are.” The last words were accompanied by a low
chuckle and Gates stared questioningly at the sound.
“I’m going to look, anyway,” he declared,
making off toward the shed.
Quincy followed after, still chuckling audibly,
and appearing to hugely enjoy the anticipation of


170 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Gates’ discovery. Provoked at Quincy's behaviour,
Gates stubbornly held to his course, and proceeded
directly to the spot where they had seen the package
concealed. Hastily pulling out the three stones, he
plunged his hand into the opening where it at once
closed on the mysterious parcel. He drew it forth,
feeling through the paper that it contained a hard,
heavy object. Quickly breaking the twine, he tore
off the paper and paused in amazement, his eyes
blinking with the suddenness of the surprise and the
blood rising angrily to his face at the renewed
sound of Quincy's chuckles. In a twinkling the
meaning of Quincy's command to remember where
he was flashed over him. The paper contained a
quart bottle of whisky.
“Remember where I am,” Gates muttered, dis-
gustedly. “Sure. In Maine, a “dry” state. The
captain was merely out to smuggle in his regular
supply of wet goods. Bah!”
Feeling like a criminal caught red-handed, he
quickly rewrapped the parcel and returned it to its
hiding place, his feelings in no way rendered more
serene by the sound of Quincy's continued chuckles.
“Well, what shall we do now?” he snapped,
when the parcel had been reconsigned to its original
resting place.
At the words Quincy's gravity returned, and he
carefully consulted his watch before replying. “I


172 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
within or without, and it was with a feeling of un-
easiness that he finally relinquished his tour of the
premises and started to return slowly to where he
had left Gates. Before he had reached the entrance
to the small yard, however, he was startled by the
sound of somebody approaching and instantly he
flattened himself among the shadows.
Hardly had he done so before a man appeared
in the roadway, coming, apparently, from the direc-
tion along which he and Gates had recently trav-
elled. The man turned in at the gate and slowly
approached the house, Gates following stealthily
behind him and joining Quincy after the newcomer
had passed. Silently they watched the man walk
directly to the door and pause while he produced a
key and gained entrance to the house. Then, al-
most as soon as he had entered, a light appeared
behind one of the shaded windows and they could
dimly hear the sound of subdued voices.
“Do you know him?” Gates whispered.
“I certainly do,” came Quincy's response. “It’s
Oscar Silsby, the man who's supposed to be lying
helpless at Orcutt's. Let's get nearer to that win-
dow, and perhaps we may be able to catch a few
words of their conversation. This particular de-
velopment is something I had not bargained on,
although it does not differ greatly from what I
really did expect.”


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 173
Carefully they approached' the house, and knelt
below the window, through which they were able to
catch the dull hum of voices. As the voices rose
a trifle and the tones became more distinguishable
Gates started violently.
“A woman!” he exclaimed.
Quincy merely nodded in reply, and pressed his
ear more firmly to the window pane. The develop-
ment was by no means unexpected by him, al-
though he was not as yet certain as to what might
be the result of the discovery. So intent the pair
became in striving to fathom the new circumstance
that their usual vigilance became somewhat relaxed,
a fact which brought them a tremendous surprise.
“Gentlemen,” said a quiet voice close beside
them, “you seem deeply interested.”
Both men sprang to their feet and whirled toward
the speaker. It needed but a single look, however,
to tell them that, whatever was the desire of the new-
comer, they were powerless to resist it at the mo–
ment, for the muzzle of a heavy revolver pointed
unwaveringly in their direction.
The man with the revolver surveyed them care-
fully from head to foot before again speaking.
“Now, if you please,” he continued, “step inside
the house. You may be able to better satisfy your
curiosity in that manner.”
Quincy and Gates, having no option in the mat-


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 175
nodded and Quincy continued. “This is your
Wife?”
“Yes, we were married on the evening preceding
the time set for Oscar's wedding. So, you see, that
disposes of the motive I am supposed to have pos-
sessed for desiring Oscar's death.” He watched
Quincy narrowly for a brief interval before again
speaking. “I should have looked you up tomor-
row, Mr. Sawyer, had you not been so kind as to
pay me this visit, because I have one or two details
to add to the story you are working out.
“You see, in this vicinity Oscar and I are sup-
posed to be bitter enemies, our hatred of each other
being laid to that clause in my father's will which
gave this house to the first of us who married. As
a matter of fact, we are and always have been the
best of friends, and our supposed enmity of the
present time is nothing more nor less than a hoax.
You know, of course, of the death of Bob Harrison
just previous to the time set for his wedding with
Eleanor Orcutt, so it will be unnecessary for me to
go into details in that direction.
“When Oscar became engaged to her, however,
I was seized with an overpowering fear for his
safety. He was inclined to laugh at me at first,
and said that, because Bob Harrison had met his
death in that tragic manner, it was no sign that he
would repeat the tragedy. But, in spite of his argu-


176 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
ments, I was possessed of a deep-seated conviction
that Harrison's death was the result of no mere co-
incidence, and that the same power which had killed
him would soon be turned on Oscar. I finally
brought him to a point where he would consider the
matter more gravely and the result was that we
patched up this fake quarrel.
“My idea was that if we became apparently bit-
ter enemies there might be a chance of his would-be
murderer dropping a hint in my hearng. When-
ever we were in public after that, or when there
was anybody within hearing, we would glare and
snarl at each other as though but the slightest oc-
currence would be necessary to precipitate an actual
combat between us. But at home our lives pro-
ceeded as quietly as ever, and we were constantly
making plans for the apprehension of Oscar's pos-
sible assailant. As time went on, though, I believe
Oscar became careless, his mind being filled with
the details of his wedding, and at the very last he
did not seem to give even a thought to the possi-
bility of danger.
“We had arranged that I was to be married on
the evening preceding his own wedding, so that the
farm would come to me, and I had already pur-
chased his half interest in it so that the arrange-
ment would be entirely fair. Consequently I was
away at the time he was assaulted, and did not learn


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 177
of his attempted murder until after he had been
found. I then hurried back here and set about
searching for the assailant, but my search up to the
present has been unavailing. I learned that Cap-
tain Orcutt had a stranger visiting him, and I made
up my mind that the man must be a detective, and
also that I would interview him at the first oppor-
tunity and offer him whatever assistance I might
give. That completes the story of my connection
with the affair, and Oscar will readily verify all
that I have told you.
“I have, however, one detail of the affair which
I would like to give you, and on which I should
like your opinion. Captain Orcutt, I know, is of
the opinion that Oscar's body was conveyed to the
island over the stepping stones, because the captain
persists in holding to the belief of the older resi-
dents of this place that the island is absolutely un-
reachable from the landward side except by means
of those stones. That idea is true so far as a sail-
ing boat or a dory is concerned, but I cannot un-
derstand why they should so persistently overlook
the fact that it might be easily reached by a motor
boat, and I am positive that Oscar's body was con-
veyed in that manner. I draw that conclusion be-
cause on the back of his coat I found a large grease
stain.”
As he paused to allow the significance of his state-


178 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
ment to be grasped Quincy interjected a ques-
tion.
“Could not the stain have been formed by axle
grease from the buggy?”
“No, I do not think so,” Silsby replied at once.
“Axle grease leaves not only a stain, but also a
thin coating of the grease, while this mark was
merely an oily stain. Furthermore, had it been
axle grease, there would have been only a small
mark to show the point where he had struck against
the buggy when falling, probably on the side or
front of his coat. This stain was as large around
as a saucer, was in the middle of his back and gave
every indication of having been formed by Oscar's
lying in a small pool of oil which had gathered in
the bottom of a boat. No boat would need oil ex-
cept a motor boat, or at least no boat that would
have been employed for the purpose of taking him
across to the island.”
“You argue your case like a veteran,” Quincy
complimented. “Now have you any suspicion as
to who the criminal may have been P”
Silsby shook his head. “None in the least. I
think that I have successfully accounted for every
motor boat in this vicinity on the night in question,
put there is, of course, nothing to have prevented a
boat from some other portion of the coast running
in for the purpose on that night. I have searched


180 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
he said reproachfully. “Why don't you take me
in on it?”
Quincy chuckled, but made no immediate reply,
and in the half light thrown by the moon Gates was
unable to see his face. “Are you certain that your
observation is not at fault, Gates?” Quincy replied
finally. “Your deduction may lead merely to an-
other bottle of whisky.”
Gates snorted disgustedly. “Don’t rub it in,
Sawyer,” he protested. “I don't make every mis-
take that occurs when we're working a case together.
But, look here, I haven't worked with you on numer-
ous cases without being able to read by your expres-
sion when you have settled the matter in your own
mind. Loosen up now and — Great Jehoshaphat!”
The exclamation was caused by the sudden sharp
crack of a pistol. Simultaneously Gates' hat leaped
from his head and Gates himself dropped to earth
and scuttled for the shelter of the nearest stone
wall like a startled chipmunk. Quincy made the
wall with two bounds and, by the time Gates ar-
rived, was already crouching with drawn revolver
while he awaited some sound that would give him
the direction of their enemy's position. The sound
came in the shape of a fusilade of pistol shots, all
so accurate as to make the position taken up by the
two men decidedly uncomfortable. As soon as the
bail of bullets died away, however, both men re-


|UNREACHABLE ISLAND 181
plied in kind as rapidly as they could work their
revolvers, but with little hope of doing damage as
the attacker was in the shadow and they were con-
sequently forced to shoot blindly.
“Is it one man or a dozen?” Gates whispered,
as he paused to reload his revolver.
“One man with an automatic pistol I should
say,” Quincy replied. “And this piece of craziness
forms another link in my chain of evidence. But,
come! We must drive him out of there or he will
keep us here all night.”
He cautiously raised his head above the wall and,
meeting with no opposition, slipped over himself
and crept into the shelter of a clump of bushes.
Gates followed, and almost immediately the man in
the woods again opened fire. That he was an ex-
cellent shot they needed no witnesses to prove, for
the bullets clipped through the leaves about them
in a most uncomfortable manner and it was only
by lying flat on the earth that they escaped unhurt.
When a temporary cessation of the firing seemed
to indicate that the man's magazine had again be-
come exhausted, the two slipped forward a few
more feet and gained shelter in the edge of the
woods. They were now in hostile territory, in-
deed, and fully realized that extreme caution must
be exercised to prevent them from stumbling on
their enemy in the darkness, with results probably


182 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
disastrous to themselves. With an almost agonizing
caution lest a breaking twig betray them, they
crept among the trees. Every dark shadow held
a hidden threat and, for aught they knew, from
behind any tree in their vicinity there might sud-
denly break a rain of steel-jacketed bullets.
Suddenly, from a bit to one side of their posi-
tion, there sounded a faint rustling among the
leaves and with one accord the pair cuddled tight
against the earth and stared vainly into the dark-
ness with eyes straining and hands tensely clutch-
ing their revolvers. Again came the rustling and,
joined with it, there sounded a single shot, a shot
that appeared to have been fired at random in the
hope of discovering their position. Gates raised
his revolver to reply, but Quincy sharply drew it
back and clung tenaciously to the hand to prevent
a recurrence of the movement.
Silence reigned for several minutes, but at last
there came another sound of rustling, this time in
a direction still different. Both men turned their
faces toward the sound, and silently awaited de-
velopments. The rustling, soft and cautious, con-
tinued, seeming to work constantly nearer and
nearer to the road. At last came a momentary
pause and then, slowly and gradually, the outline
of a man formed against the open sky indicating the
roadway.


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 183
At the sight Gates shook his hand gently free
from Quincy's grasp, and bent forward to stalk the
strange assailant. Now that he had the drop on
the man Gates had no doubt of his ability to secure
his prisoner, either dead or alive. But he was
doomed to disappointment. Before he had taken
two stealthy steps forward the air was rent by two
reverberating crashes, joined so closely as to be
almost a single report.
“It's Silsby,” Quincy muttered aside to Gates,
“and he has a shotgun. Let's rush the place, and
see what the result has been.”
As with a single impulse, they were over the
wall and tearing in the direction from which the
shots had come, their revolvers ready for instant
use and their eyes straining forward for the faint-
est sign of danger. Nothing appeared, however,
and, not until they ran headlong into Silsby, who
was charging from another direction, did they real-
ize that their bird had flown.
“He kind of got you fellows with your eyes
shut, didn't he?” Silsby grinned. “When I first
heard him shoot I had an idea as to what must
have happened. Pretty work, isn't it, for a civilized
country community like this?”
“Did you see him?” Ouincy questioned.
“No, he heard me coming and I had to shoot be-
fore I could get near enough to see him. I gave


184 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
him something to remember me by, though, unless
he escaped by a miracle. I didn't have anything
bigger than number eight shot, but a quantity of
number eight spread around through a man's per-
son will give him a heap to think about.”
To the surprise of his companions Quincy seemed
suddenly infused with a tense seriousness that bor-
dered almost on alarm. “Gates,” he ejaculated
sharply, “the quicker we get back to Orcutt's the
better it will be all around. Come quick. If that
man steals our horse I am afraid of the results.
Don't stop to ask questions. Come.” And with-
out further words he set off on a run, the astonished
Gates stumbling along at his heels.
The horse was where they had left it and, leap-
ing into the buggy, Quincy applied the whip with
a vigour that startled the aged animal into what
was for him a tremendous burst of speed. Gates
was unable to comprehend the sudden turn of
events, but he well knew that it would be useless to
ask questions at the present time, so he merely sat
tight and awaited developments. They came with
a vengeance.
Dashing into the Orcutt's yard at full speed,
Quincy reined the horse almost back on his haunches
and, not pausing to tether him, rushed into the
house, Gates still hanging close to his heels. The
commotion stirred up by their entrance aroused


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 185
Captain Orcutt and, as they rushed through the
dining-room, Gates could hear his gruff voice
shouting a challenge from above. Quincy did not
pause, however, but ran straight to the room where
Silsby was sleeping, switched an electric flashlight
on the bed and stared eagerly at the silent form.
To his evident relief the man's breast rose and
fell with the regularity of healthy sleep, and im-
mediately the flashlight whipped along the bed,
carefully avoiding Silsby's face, but lighting up
with deliberate care the breast and arms.
“I smell it, Gates, but where the deuce is it?”
Quincy spoke in a voice rendered hoarse by sus-
pense. “Ah!” The light came to a pause at a
point on the pillow almost under Silsby’s head,
where a peculiar little object seemed fastened to
the pillow slip. Watching closely, Gates saw
Quincy's hand creeping slowly across the pillow
with a steadiness and care that betokened the need
of the utmost caution. For an instant the hand
seemed to pause above the object, and then slowly
and carefully it passed on until it came to a stop
immediately beneath and almost touching Silsby's
head. Gates saw the cords in the wrist draw taut,
the fingers stiffen for action and then, with a sharp
jerk, the hand flashed up, throwing Silsby’s head
clear of the pillow and dropping it fully three feet
away from the strange little object. Gates heard


186 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Silsby’s snort of startled awakening, heard the bed
creak as Quincy leaped on the man, and held him
prostrate, and then heard Quincy's voice, still tense
with excitement, whisper:
“Go outside quick, Gates, and see if there are
bicycle tracks in the roadway. Look carefully, and,
above all, hurry!”
Gates vanished and almost at the same instant
a wavering stream of light appeared in the door-
way, growing ever stronger as it approached, until
the room was fully lighted by the entrance of Cap-
tain Orcutt bearing a streaming and smoking lamp.
At sight of Quincy, calmly seated astride Silsby’s
back, the captain paused with open mouth as though
inclined to doubt the evidence of his own eyes, but,
after a moment of hesitation, he set the lamp on a
stand and circumspectly approached the bed.
“Are you fully awake, Silsby?” Quincy inquired
quietly. -
“I should be after all this,” came the reply, some-
what muffled by the pillow into which Silsby's face
was pressed.
“Then don't move. You've had a mighty nar-
row escape and you are not fully out of danger yet,
unless you follow my directions.”
Quincy slowly raised himself from his position
and stepped to the floor, jerking the pillow on which
the curious object was fixed after him.


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 187
“Now, Silsby,” he said, “you may move as much
as you please.”
Silsby rolled slowly over on his back, and stared
amazedly at Quincy, as the latter carefully shoved
the pillow beneath the bed. Hardly had he done so
before Mrs. Orcutt and Eleanor appeared in the
doorway behind him, both in a state of dishabille
rendered excusable on account of the sudden alarm
which had brought them to the spot. Behind them
appeared Gates and, looking across their shoulders,
Quincy caught Gates' silent nod in answer to the
questioning look in his eyes. The nod appeared to
satisfy him, for he turned at once toward the cap-
tain.
“Where is Lieutenant Denham?” he demanded.
“Right here,” came the immediate response, as
Denham elbowed his way into the room. “What
has happened?”
“What has happened?” Quincy repeated scorn-
fully, looking straight at Denham and, to the sur-
prise of Gates at least, working himself up to a high
pitch of anger. “There has been another attempt
made on Oscar Silsby's life, and it is through no
thanks to you that the attempt has failed. What
were you doing up-stairs when you were supposed
to be watching this man and guarding against such
attempts?”
Denham's eyes flashed with savage fury at the


188 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
condemnation. “Who are you that you question
me in this manner?” he demanded. “How was
I to suppose that an attempt would be made inside
this very house? I thought things had quieted
down so that it was safe to leave Oscar, and, the
Lord knows, I needed rest after the events of the
last week.”
“Bah,” Quincy replied in heated tones. “No
man has a right to suppose anything in a case of
this nature. He should be always on the watch.”
As he concluded he pushed Denham roughly aside,
as though in complete disgust at the man's ineffi-
ciency. Then, to the surprise of everybody, he
stepped coolly back and stood surveying Denham
with a quiet smile.
“I thought so, Lieutenant Denham,” he said
slowly and significantly. “I expected that you
would cringe if a sudden pressure should be ap-
plied to your body. Benjamin Silsby's number
eights did their work, I see. Watch out, Gates!”
His shout of warning came too late for, before
Gates had time in which to act, Denham stood with
his back to the wall, a gleaming automatic pistol in
his hand. This pistol wavered here and there in
threatening gestures, and the eyes behind it told
plainly that the first move on the part of any
person present meant sudden death. The lieuten-
ant's eyes seemed to scintillate with a strange


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 189
light, and he gave vent to a wild, mocking
laugh. "
“So you butted in,” he exclaimed in the high,
wild voice of a madman. “Aren't you sorry? I
would have let you live if you had kept out, but
now I am going to kill you. I am going to kill you
all and, while the house burns over your bodies, I
shall sit outside and revel in the sight.”
The words were followed by another mocking
laugh that fairly froze the blood of his listeners,
and Quincy, on whom the lieutenant's fury seemed
to centre, cursed himself fervently. It was his own
fault that this had happened, he told himself. Why,
fool that he was, had he not given Gates warning,
or why had he, himself, stepped back out of reach
before making his accusation? Their only chance
of life seemed to be in a quick leap on his part
toward the madman. Perhaps he should be success-
ful and perhaps he should not, but it formed the
only possibility. But, even as he gathered his
muscles for the spring, help came from an unex-
pected source.
Mrs. Orcutt, who had been listening motionlessly
from a little to one side of the lieutenant, suddenly
launched her muscular frame at him, flung his pis-
tol hand into the air, and wrapped her powerful
arms about him. The lieutenant struggled fiercely
and yelled mad curses at her for a second, but, al-


190 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
most before he was able to realize what had hap-
pened, he was thrown to the floor by the sudden
rush of Quincy and Gates from opposite directions.
His pistol was whipped from his hand and the in-
spector's arms were about him before he was able
to gather himself for resistance.
“God, Sawyer!” Gates growled hoarsely, as he
regained his feet, dragging the lieutenant after
him, “that was the worst break I ever knew you
to make.”
“I admit it, Gates,” Quincy muttered contritely.
“He was quicker than I gave him credit for being.
But he is our man, anyhow, and the dangers sur-
rounding this household are over with his capture.
Look out!”
As on the first occasion, his warning came too
late and, even though Quincy leaped toward Den-
ham at the very moment of his shout, he was not
quick enough to be of assistance. With a sudden
sharp twist and a jerk, rendered irresistible by rea-
son of the exaggerated strength of a madman, Den-
ham had squirmed out of Gates' grasp and, striking
right and left, made the door, through which he
disappeared with the speed of a frightened rabbit.
Neither Quincy nor Gates paused for words, but
with one accord leaped after him, plunging through
the door and out through the remainder of the
house until they stood again in the open air. In


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 191
the middle distance they could see Denham running
with long, powerful strides toward the carriage
shed, into which he disappeared.
“He’s after his bicycle,” Gates yelled, as the
pair tore along after him. “If he gets it we may
as well bid him good-bye for the present.”
Denham indeed succeeded in securing his bicycle,
but Quincy and Gates, approaching on either side
of the road, felt certain that he would never be
able to get past them without one or the other being
able to drag him to earth. To their complete sur-
prise, however, Denham made no attempt to turn
in their direction, but instead, swinging directly
out of the road, struck off across the fields, pedalling
with all his might, and at regular intervals giv-
ing vent to one of his fearful blood-curdling
yells.
Quincy and Gates, astonished though they were
by this strange maneuvre, did not hesitate an in-
stant, but struck off across the fields in pursuit,
feeling certain that it was now merely a matter of
a short time before they would be able to apprehend
their man. On and on the rider went, avoiding
rocks and hidden hollows by what seemed miracles,
and after him ran the panting detectives.
“He’s headed for the cliffs,” Quincy shouted
after a time. “He’ll get himself in a pocket soon
and we can get him there.”


192 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Across the broad field, and well into the broken
land at the landward end of the cliffs, the chase
continued, the two pursuers now gaining with every
stride as the rough going retarded the progress of
Denham. But, by what seemed almost superhuman
means, Denham succeeded in crossing the broken
ground and at last reached the smooth cliff tops.
There, instead of slacking speed and gradually
coming to a stop as they had expected, he bent
lower over his handle bars and increased his
efforts.
The bicycle, even though one tire had been punc-
tured by the trip across the rough field, quickly
responded to the increased exertions of the rider,
and picked up speed across the smooth rocks to an
astonishing degree. In a space of time covering
but a few seconds at the most Denham reached the
outer limits of the cliffs and the pursuers breathed
easier as they ran forward, expecting momentarily
to see him dismount and turn at bay. But in that
expectation they were disappointed.
Instead of slacking speed as the water loomed
before him, Denham redoubled his efforts and at
last, on the very edge of the rocks, rose erect in his
saddle, gave vent to a single wild yell of defiance,
and coasted over the edge to the certain death
which awaited him below. Plainly revealed, he
stood against the sky line for an instant and then,


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 193
as if snatched away by some unseen hand, he dis-
appeared, just as Quincy and Gates tore across the
slippery rocks to the point where he had last been
Seen.
“God!” Gates muttered, pausing in awed horror
at the edge of the rocks, and gazing into the tum-
bling breakers below. “He’s gone now, sure
enough.”
Quincy nodded assent. “Yes, he's gone,” he
said quietly. “And, everything considered, I think
it is as well that he is.”
There was no use in searching for the body, for
they well knew that the swift current would bear
it away until such a time as it might be washed
ashore, as had the body of young Harrison two
years before. Silently they turned about and made
their way slowly back to the house. As they en-
tered alone the eyes of all were turned questioningly
on them, and Quincy's grave nod was readily in-
terpreted.
“Is he gone?” Captain Orcutt questioned sol-
emnly.
“He’s gone,” Quincy repeated, and then added:
“Over the cliffs.”
“Too bad,” the captain muttered with a slow
shake of his head. “He was a fine man once.”
“But how did you settle on him?” Silsby de-
manded, from where he lay propped on one elbow.


194 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“I suppose you men are detectives, but how did
you work the case out in so short a time?”
“As for that,” Quincy replied quietly, “I had
already determined before coming here that the
deeds described must have been done by a madman,
and Denham was the only person present who gave
any indication of being such. When I first took
up the case my suspicions were directed strongly
toward Benjamin Silsby, but the events of this
night promptly turned them in another direction.
All the evening I watched Lieutenant Denham, but
failed to detect any symptom of definite insanity,
although his manner at various times led me to
believe strongly that his mind was not thoroughly
right. Our visit to Benjamin Silsby, and the
events following it, firmly settled his guilt for me,
but of that visit I shall tell you later, Captain. Now
let me trace the matter up from my own starting
point.
“In the first place I was obliged to proceed, of
course, on the events of this case alone, as the other
occurred so long ago as to be absolutely useless for
reference at the present time. There was, however,
the single circumstance of Denham's having been
present on each occasion. As I said previously, I
had determined that this assault on Silsby was the
work of a madman, because no sane man would
have placed Silsby, after having, I feel certain,


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 195
taken steps which led him to believe that Silsby
would soon die, in a spot where his discovery was
an absolute certainty. -
“A sane man would either have made certain
that Silsby was dead, and then have secreted the
body, or, if doubt existed, he would have stowed
the unconscious form of his victim farther toward
the interior of the island, knowing full well that in
all probability the man would die before he could
be discovered. Furthermore, at the time of his
assault, Denham used a very virulent and almost
unknown poison which, the chances are, would
never have been discovered by a medical examiner.
A sane man, probably, would have merely applied
the poison, left the body in the buggy and then
have allowed the horse to jog along to its destina-
tion, where the chances are that Silsby's death would
have been attributed to natural causes.
“All this is, of course, merely supposition, for
it is practically impossible to determine what either
a sane or an insane man will do under given cir-
cumstances, but the probabilities were such, how-
ever, that I strongly favoured the theory of in-
sanity. Now as to the poison. It is a peculiar In-
dian poison known to the police as the ‘devil's
necktie,’ because it is always applied either in the
neck or head. It is practically unknown, but was
used a year ago in the Mansell case, and Denham


196 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
probably secured his information concerning it
from the careful descriptions written by the press at
that time. There is one thing about it, however,
which renders it unsatisfactory as a criminal me-
dium. If applied in too great quantities at the first
injection, it acts as its own antidote and, after a
week or two, the effects of it will pass off.
“When I arrived I could not believe that a man
of Silsby’s physique could be laid up so long simply
as the result of assault and exposure. Then, when
I learned of his long period of unconsciousness, I
at once jumped to the conclusion that this strange
poison had been used. I did not, however, expect
that a repetition of the attack would occur so shortly
after the first assault, and it was not until we were
attacked at Benjamin Silsby's that I grew alarmed
over Oscar's safety.
“I suspected that it was Denham who fired on us,
and that act plainly forged another link in the chain
of circumstances marking him as insane. I rushed
back here with all speed and discovered that his
trap had been well laid. Before proceeding, I must
state, in connection with the poison, that its second
injection, in no matter what quantity, is invariably
fatal. Here is the arrangement for its second in-
jection, and you will readily see that it would prob-
ably escape suspicion even had it been successful,
should not the examiner chance to notice the pres-


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 197
ence of the peculiar odour which always surrounds
the poison.”
As he finished speaking, he stooped and drew
from under the bed the pillow which he had
snatched from Silsby's side. On the pillow was
caught an ordinary green burdock burr.
“There is the trap,” Quincy stated. “That burr
has been soaked in the poison, and then placed on
the pillow. Silsby would in all probability have
rolled on to it during the night, the burr would
have caught in his head or neck, and who would
have paid attention to so trivial a matter as a bur-
dock burr or such minor wounds as it might have
made in the skin? It is needless for me to call to
your attention the fact that the poison in this case
would have been fatal.
“You saw Denham's act when I accused him,
and you no doubt noticed the involuntary start he
gave when I roughly handled one or more of the
raw wounds which Benjamin Silsby's shot left in
his body. His was not a case of feigned insanity,
but was an incontrovertible fact. Your daughter's
wedding, Captain, can now, I think, proceed with-
out further interruptions of a tragic nature.”
“But I don't understand,” the captain stam-
mered. “Why should Denham, even if he was
insane, harbour such a fearful grudge against my-
self or any member of my family?”


198 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Quincy replied with a slight shrug. “Who can
fathom the mental processes of a madman?” he
questioned. “It may be that he lost his reason at
the time the young woman to whom he was engaged
lost her life on your ship. It may be that, in his
twisted reasoning, he held you responsible for her
loss and determined to wreak his vengeance on your
family and on yourself for the suffering he had
been caused. It may be that he insanely desired
your daughter himself, as a recompense for his own
loss, and, in his warped sense of justice, took the
means he did to remove other suitors from his path.
Who can tell? I think, Captain,” he concluded,
“that the skeleton has now been removed from
your feast.”
“But, Sawyer,” Gates interrupted, “what was
there about that bicycle? I saw the tracks, but
what of them?”
“Oh, I had forgotten,” Quincy replied. “I saw
a bicycle here when I first arrived, and, when we
were fired on, I surmised that Denham had ridden
down on it. I wanted you to look for the tracks
so that I might judge whether or not my surmise
was correct.”
“Yes, but one more question. How was Silsby
carried to the island?”
“Another surmise, Gates, and one which it will
not be necessary now to substantiate. In that par-


UNREACHABLE ISLAND 199
ticular direction Benjamin Silsby's theory is doubt-
less correct, except that he did not carry it far
enough. As he said, Silsby must have been con-
veyed to the island in a motor boat, but you will
remember that he added that he had accounted for
every boat in the vicinity. That was probably true,
except that he accounted for them so far as the
owners knew. A man as familiar with the neigh-
bours as was Denham undoubtedly knew which of
them were so careless as to leave their boats in such
a manner that they might be run out by anybody
who chose to do so, and he simply borrowed a boat
for the occasion. Thus, you see, he had his tracks
successfully covered, except for the fatal mistake
of leaving his victim in a position where he might
be discovered from the shore. That led to the dis-
covery by Benjamin of the grease stain on his coat,
and the consequent abandonment of the theory that
only a man knowing the stepping stones to the
island could have so disposed of the victim.
“There now remains nothing, Captain, except
the recovery of Denham's body, and with that, of
course, Inspector Gates and I have no part. Our
work is finished and there remains nothing for us
save to return to the city.”


IV
THE AFFAIR OF THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK
QUINCY laid aside his evening paper and stared
dismally at the small table in the corner of his den
where stood his telephone. The 'phone was now
silent and he lingered in his original position, a
vague, though he well knew groundless, hope in his
mind that its ringing would not be renewed.
Again came the shrill summons, longer and more
insistent than on the first occasion, and with a re-
signed groan Quincy dragged himself out of the
great leather chair which had belonged to his grand-
father before him and reluctantly crossed the room.
He paused a moment, telephone in hand, while he
listened to the rain which the cold east wind was
driving against the window. Then, with an in-
voluntary shiver at the thought that he might soon
be called forth into the unfriendly weather, he un-
hooked the receiver.
“Hello!” A note of increasing irritation
seemed to be in the word. “That you, Sawyer?
You've been long enough in answering my ring.”
“Oh, hello, Gates,” replied Quincy, immediately
200


THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 201
recognizing the voice as that of his friend of police
headquarters. “I was hoping that this call would
prove nothing more than an inquiry or, at worst,
an invitation; but I see my hopes are blasted.
What's the trouble?”
“Nothing that need disturb your home-loving
instincts,” came the sarcastic reply. “The Tri-
mountain Bank has been robbed; its president,
Gorham Edgerly, chloroformed; and a few minor
occurrences of a similar nature have been pulled
off, that’s all.”
Quincy grinned at the telephone. “Much
obliged for the trouble you have taken to call me
up and tell me about it,” he called. “Will you
allow me to return to my paper now?”
“Paper nothing! Edgerly wants you to come
down and help out on the case. He thinks that the
larger his pack of hounds the more likelihood there
is of their bagging the game. Get down as quickly
as you can, please, because he won't talk until you
are here.”
“Won't, eh?” Quincy's voice betokened surprise.
“He’s the first robbed and assaulted man I ever
heard of who wasn't ready to tell his story a dozen
times to everybody within reach.”
Twenty minutes later Quincy was admitted to
the president's office of the Trimountain Bank. As
he entered he cast a quick glance about at the


202 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
men already assembled. Inspector Gates he rec-
ognized with a friendly nod, and then turned his
attention toward the others, who were, he judged,
connected with the bank. The man with the weary,
spent face who was seated in a corner he decided
must be Edgerly, while the other, from his uni-
form, was undoubtedly the night watchman of the
building.
Before asking any questions or allowing any op-
portunity for the story, he bent over what appeared
to be the main exhibit of the office, a heavy arm-
chair placed squarely in the middle of the room.
and about which hung numerous folds of strong
rope. Beside the chair lay a crumpled white hand-
kerchief which, on closer examination, gave off a
pungent odour, instantly recognized as that of chlo-
roform. Those articles seemed to embody the en-
tire plot of the story which was to be told and
Quincy hardly needed to glance toward the open
safe in the corner to acquaint himself in a general
way with all the facts that Gorham Edgerly might
relate. Stepping back from the chair, he gazed
questioningly at Gates, who, in turn, nodded toward
Edgerly.
“Mr. Edgerly,” he said, “we are now ready for
your story. This is Mr. Sawyer, if you will be
satisfied with so informal an introduction.”
At the words the bank president stirred slowly and


204 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
thirty, but I was delayed beyond my regular time
today. My daughter left the city to visit friends in
Springfield early in the afternoon, and I went to the
station to see her aboard the train. I then returned
to my office and, as my trip to the station had de-
layed some important work, I determined to stay
here and finish it. The employees had all left by
shortly after three, and I was the only person in
our rooms, as the watchmen change at three and,
after the first round of the building, the night man
is busy in the basement until early in the eve-
ning.
“I was seated in that big chair, looking over the
papers which at present lie there on my desk, and
just what happened I am not certain. My impres-
sion is that somebody sneaked up behind me and
applied the chloroform, afterward tying me in my
chair and making away with the money which is
missing. When I regained consciousness, I found
myself tied to the chair, and, twist as I would, I
could not get free. I shouted myself hoarse in an
attempt to attract the attention of the watchman,
but he was unable to hear me, and it was not until
he entered the room at eight o'clock that he dis-
covered me and set me free. My first act then was
to notify the police, and after that to have you, Mr.
Sawyer, summoned, as I wished to be personally
represented in the hunt. That, I believe, is the


THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 205
entire story. Now, I presume, you wish to question
me.”
“In the first place, Mr. Edgerly,” Quincy in-
quired, “how much money is missing, and how
did it chance to be here in your safe instead of in
the vault?”
“The sum of fifty thousand dollars is missing.
It was in my safe because it was my personal prop-
erty, negotiated today by a loan. I have been
robbed, not the bank.”
“Then you undoubtedly have an idea as to who
may have taken it, for I presume that the knowl-
edge of the money did not extend far beyond your-
self. And in this same connection I wish to ask
whether the safe door was open or closed when you
last remember it.”
“The safe door is never open. It is a rule which
has become a habit with me to always close it im-
mediately after removing whatever I wish from
the safe. As to my having suspicions in regard
to the culprit, I must reply that I have a very strong
suspicion, — not only a suspicion, but almost a
certainty. The knowledge of the money extended,
beyond myself, to nobody but my secretary, Herbert
Jay, who is also the bank's paying teller. He knew
of the money because he placed it in my safe for
me, and, furthermore, he is the only person, aside
from myself, who knows the combination of the


THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 207
“No, the doors are equipped with double spring
locks, which are easily opened from the in-
side.”
“Now allow me to seemingly digress a trifle, Mr.
Edgerly. Were you acquainted with Jay, or with
any of his habits, outside the bank?”
“Yes, he has frequently been to my house.”
Quincy permitted a momentary expression of
surprise to flit across his face at the information.
“Oh, then you received him socially? Of course,
then, he was acquainted with your daughter?”
“Not at all!” Edgerly appeared to snap out
the words with more vehemence than was entirely
called for. “His visits to my house were of a
purely business, and not a social, nature. We were
frequently obliged to spend entire evenings over
various phases of the bank's business. He was, as
you say, acquainted with my daughter; but not in
the manner which you intimate. My daughter has
few male acquaintances, as she is engaged to marry
Jabez Rhodes, the capitalist.”
Once more Quincy allowed a brief expression
of surprise to appear on his face. “But is not Mr.
Rhodes a bit — er— elderly? I was not aware of
his engagement.”
“His age has nothing to do with the matter,”
Edgerly responded stiffly. “He has the wealth
with which to give my daughter a good home, and


210 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
time comes. Now suppose we go home out of the
rain.”
The following morning, in response to a tele-
phone call, Quincy entered Gates' office, to discover
the inspector seated with his feet resting on the
window ledge and a scowl of deep thought on his
face.
“Well, Gates, did you locate our man?” Quincy
inquired, dropping into a chair without awaiting an
invitation to do so.
Gates turned an odd glance in his direction before
replying. “Oh, yes, we located him all right,” he
remarked very slowly.
“Good enough, so far as it goes, but where is
he P”
Again Gates prefaced his reply with the same
odd glance, then, jerking his thumb over his
shoulder in the general direction of the interior of
the building, he remarked: “In there. He was
picked up last night just after his return from some
place he would not mention. He called up Edgerly
to report that he had returned early and would be at
his place at the usual time in the morning. Then
Edgerly passed the word to us, swore out a warrant
for Jay's arrest, and we have him here.”
Quincy maintained a thoughtful silence for some
little time. “Why do you think he returned,” he
asked finally, “bluff or ignorance?”


212 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
money, so I don't see what harm your questions can
do me.”
Quincy nodded gravely. “Where were you last
evening after leaving the bank?” he inquired.
“I was in Worcester at the home of my aunt.”
“Was it personal business that took you
there?” The word business was strongly accented,
and Jay's eyes narrowed slightly.
“I was there looking after personal affairs,
yes.”
“In your capacity of private secretary to Mr.
Edgerly you frequently worked at his house, did
you not?”
“Yes, on an average of two or three evenings a
week.”
“And, of course, whether he knew it or not, you
became acquainted with Miss Edgerly.”
Jay's eyes gave forth a flash of anger at the
words, and his manner stiffened perceptibly. “I
hardly see why Miss Edgerly's name should be
dragged into this,” he said coldly.
“I do not propose to drag it in any further,”
Quincy answered him; “but it was necessary for
me to learn at least that much of your private life.
Now, Mr. Jay, if you went to Worcester immedi-
ately after leaving the bank, are you able to produce
a witness or two who can swear to having seen
you in that city early in the evening?”


THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 213
“I am able to produce witnesses,” Jay responded
unhesitatingly.
“Now, as a final question, why did you return
last night, instead of this morning as you originally
proposed?”
“Because my affairs in Worcester were quickly
arranged and I hurried back so as to be at my desk
without any unnecessary loss of time.”
As Quincy rose to terminate the interview an-
other thought appeared to strike him. “Oh, just
a moment, Mr. Jay,” he remarked, turning quickly.
“Do you chance to know what security Mr. Ed-
gerly offered Jabez Rhodes when borrowing that
money?”
Jay's eyes flashed angrily. “I can imagine,” he
snapped in a tone that precluded further questioning
on the subject.
Back in the inspector's office once more, Quincy
seated himself, lighted a cigar and appeared for
some time to be buried in deep thought. He seemed
scarcely to notice the fact that Gates was busy at
the telephone and was carrying on an apparently
important conversation. -
“Another development,” Gates announced, hang-
ing up the receiver and whirling about in his
chair.
“Well, what is it?” Quincy inquired mildly after
a pause of several seconds.


214 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Edgerly's daughter is not with her friends in
Springfield, and they know nothing, whatever, as
to her whereabouts.”
“Huh ! I expected that. You don't mean to tell
me, Gates, that you haven't placed your finger on
that particular detail previous to this time.”
“You mean that you think she has eloped with
Jay?”
“I don't think, Gates; I know. I dropped into
the city clerk's office on my way over here today
and discovered that Jay and Miss Edgerly had been
granted a marriage license. Has Miss Edgerly's
probable location now been made beautifully plain
to you?”
“She is in Worcester with Jay's aunt?”
“Surely, and she is now Mrs. Jay. Can you not
now figure out a theory in regard to the robbery
that will be a little different from the one you have
been following?”
Gates regarded him with a puzzled face. “Do
you know, Sawyer,” he said at last, “that you em-
ploy such confoundedly queer methods I can never
be sure whether you are joking me or whether you
are in earnest. I have had a theory all along, and
I thought you were working on the same one; but
this piece of information opens up an entirely new
possibility.”
“And that possibility is what?”


THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 215
For a few moments Gates sat idly drumming on
his desk with a pencil while he appeared to be care-
fully revolving the matter in his mind. Then he
said slowly: “Well, this theory seems simple enough
in conception. Edgerly was determined that his
daughter should marry Jabez Rhodes, a man whom
we can easily forgive her for despising. On the
other hand she was in love with Jay and was deter-
mined to marry him at any hazard. They arranged
their plans, secured their license and slipped away
to Worcester, where they were married. Before
going, however, Jay, who knew of the money in
Edgerly's safe, determined to take it and thus en-
rich himself by fifty thousand dollars, and to take
revenge on Edgerly for numerous injuries, at one
blow. When Edgerly left the bank to see his
daughter on the train for Springfield, Jay slipped
back into the bank, secured the money and made
away with it. He then got on board the same train
for Springfield that carried Miss Edgerly, and they
left the train together at Worcester. Jay then hur-
ried back, prepared to work the old bluff of being
on hand when the loss was discovered, and thus
avoid suspicion.”
When Gates had finished speaking Quincy stared
incredulously at him for some time. “Great Scott,
Gates,” he said finally; “that isn't worthy of you.
Really it isn't. Here you've worked out a theory


216 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
that the poorest amateur would despise utterly be-
cause you have completely lost sight of the most
important details of the case. If this theory is true
as you have mapped it out, then who choloroformed
Edgerly and worked the other high jinks at the
bank? That took place, you know, after he had
returned from the train. No, Gates, I am afraid
we must discard this theory as being worthless.”
“Just a moment, Sawyer,” Gates interposed with
a grin. “I did not intend the latter part of that
theory of mine to be taken seriously. But, aside
from that, so long as Edgerly was chloroformed
early in the evening, is it not possible that Jay
may have followed Miss Edgerly on a later
train?” -
“Yes, but what would have been his object? He
would hardly have gone to all the trouble entailed
in chloroforming Edgerly if he could have merely
taken the money and walked out of the building
while Edgerly was absent.”
“There are still two possibilities, Sawyer. One
is that he may not have dared to walk out of the
building while the other clerks were there, for fear
of being noticed, and the other possibility is that
he may have looked upon the chloroform method
as being safer. The average person would argue,
as you do, that Jay would not have taken all the
trouble entailed, and that, therefore, somebody else


THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 217
must be responsible. Have you a different theory,
Sawyer?”
“Why, yes, one which varies somewhat from
yours. It will be necessary for me to talk with
Edgerly again, though, before I can demonstrate
it, or even fully explain it. Suppose you arrange
with Edgerly to give us an appointment for the
latter part of this afternoon, and to have Jabez
Rhodes present also. You might fix it by telling
him that we have found his daughter and will
bring her home at that time. In the meanwhile I
shall run out to Worcester and see if I can induce
Mrs. Jay to return with me.”
At four o'clock that afternoon Inspector Gates
was ushered into Gorham Edgerly's library, to find
present both Edgerly and Jabez Rhodes. Edgerly
greeted him with a somewhat cool bow, but had
nothing to say, seeming, as Gates noted, much agi-
tated. In fact, so great was his evident perturbation
that he seemed unable to remain seated in any par-
ticular spot, but was continually jumping to his feet
and striding to one of the windows, from which he
would eagerly search the faces of all persons within
range of his vision. Rhodes, on the other hand,
remained utterly motionless, his shiny black clothes,
shrunken limbs and short neck giving him much
the appearance of a venerable cricket crouched in
an out-of-the-way corner. His piercing gray eyes,


218 QUINCY ADAMS SAwYER, DETECTIVE
which peered through the lenses of his spectacles,
were the only indications of life to be found about
him.
It was nearly half an hour later that Quincy ap-
peared at the house, coming alone, to Edgerly's un-
questionable disappointment.
“Didn't you find her?” Edgerly's voice betrayed
the first sign of emotion that Quincy had noticed
in it.
“Yes, she returned with me. She is at present
in one of the hotels down town and will come here
a little later. You see, there are certain complica-
tions which I wished to smooth over before bring-
ing her home.”
At the words Edgerly looked up sharply, and
even Rhodes appeared to take an increased interest
in the subject.
“Your daughter, Mr. Edgerly,” said Quincy,
carefully studying the effect of the information,
“returns as Mrs. Herbert Jay. She does not yet
know that her husband is in jail.”
Edgerly collapsed into a chair, his face gone sud-
denly white and his eyes staring strangely. Rhodes,
however, maintained his impassivity, not a single
muscle of his face appearing to twitch with either
surprise or concern.
“Don’t you think, Mr. Edgerly,” Quincy con-
tinued, “that your daughter's husband should be
*


THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 219
released from jail, and that the charges you are
pressing against him should be dropped 2 ” -
Edgerly appeared to hesitate, and it was evident
that his love for his daughter and some other pow-
erful force were contending for the mastery. Be-
fore he could fight the matter out with himself, how-
ever, Rhodes interrupted with the first words he
had spoken since Gates entered.
“You must remember, Edgerly,” came his hard,
chilly tones, “that your daughter disobeyed you in
refusing to marry me, and, therefore, I hardly see
why she should expect either mercy or help from
you. Furthermore, it was my money which was
stolen, and I shall feel it my duty to press the case
against Jay, even if you don't.”
At the conclusion of the words Quincy whirled
on him. “No, you will not press the charge, Mr.
Rhodes, for the simple reason that Jay did not steal
your money and you know it! Furthermore, your
money was never stolen at all; and, to cap the
whole business, I strongly doubt if there was ever
anything other than slips of worthless paper in the
package which Mr. Edgerly's safe contained' "
The words brought Edgerly half out of his chair,
with face purpling and the cords of his neck swell-
ing, while even Rhodes temporarily lost his poise
and glared, craftily at Quincy.
“May I ask, Mr. Sawyer, why you think we


220 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
should perform such a strange prank?” Rhodes's
voice maintained its icy quality.
“The reason is very simple, sir! You wished to
marry Mr. Edgerly's daughter, and you wished to.
get Jay out of your way in order that you might
do so. You, therefore, conceived the scheme — I
say you, because the whole idea savours of your
principles — of having Jay convicted of robbery
and thus removing him from your path and break-
ing Miss Edgerly's, spirit at the same time. By a
lucky coincidence Jay got ahead of you, and was
married to Miss Edgerly just as you prepared to
spring your trap. The conception of the scheme,
Mr. Rhodes, was all right; but its enactment was
horribly crude! Bah! Two schoolboys could have
arranged a better chain of circumstances than those
which you and Mr. Edgerly presented. It was evi-
dent from the very first that this entire robbery was
a hoax.
“See here, Mr. Rhodes; did you ever watch a
physician while he was administering an anaesthetic?.
Did you ever note the length of time necessary to
produce complete anaesthesia? And, if you ever
have seen those things, do you imagine for a mo-
ment that one man could sneak up behind another
man and chloroform him in the simple manner
which Mr. Edgerly claims? It might, perhaps,
have been accomplished if Mr. Edgerly had been


THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 221
asleep; but never, you may rest assured, while he
was awake. Consequently, after hearing Mr. Ed-
gerly's account of the chloroforming, I made up
my mind that the story was false throughout.
“Then, too, Mr. Edgerly told of having shouted
repeatedly for the watchman after he had regained
consciousness. Did you notice, Mr. Edgerly, how
easily Gates summoned me, later in the evening,
when he stood in your office and I was in the very
place that had previously been occupied by the
watchman? My examination of that room was a
pretence arranged for making that very discov-
ery.
“Just which of you took the package from the
safe I am not prepared to say, although I have an
idea that you took it, Mr. Rhodes. Mr. Edgerly
must have had help in tying himself to his chair,
and it consequently seems probable that he admitted
you to the bank, and then, after you had carried out
your plans, you let yourself out. You have not
one single leg to stand on, if you undertake to
press your case against Jay, and the inevitable result
will be that the entire affair will come back to perch
on your shoulders. Now, then, what are you going
to do about it?”
At the conclusion of Quincy's remarks Rhodes
fidgeted uneasily in his chair for a moment. Then,
rising on his thin, tottering legs, he strode across


== ==========—
ARED INTO THE TERROR - STRICKEN EYES.”
“JAMMING RHODES FORCIBLY AGAINST THE WALL . . . HE
ST





THE TRIMOUNTAIN BANK 223
tempt anything whatsoever against Jay, I swear
by all that's holy that I shall drive you into your
last ditch and see to it that you end your days be-
hind prison bars. And I solemnly assure you that,
should such an occasion ever arise, your money will
be of no avail to you, even though your riches are
as great as those of Croesus. Now, go!” he com-
manded, suddenly loosing his hold and stepping
back. “Go, before I forget myself entirely and —
and — er — spank you!”
Rhodes needed no second invitation. With an
alarmed glance over his shoulder, he squirmed out
of Quincy's reach and scuttled through the door,
while Quincy, completely overcome by the spec-
tacle, sank into the nearest chair and shook with
explosive laughter. After a time, however, he re-
gained his composure, and turned once more to
Edgerly.
“My suggestion to you, Mr. Edgerly,” he said,
“is this. Drop your absurd charge against Jay at
once before the affair becomes noised abroad. Re-
instate him in your bank, receive your daughter as
you should receive her, and break off whatever
friendship you may have with Rhodes.”
For a moment only Edgerly hesitated, gripping
the arms of his chair until the backs of his hands
showed white. Then, leaping to his feet, he ex-
tended his hand.


224 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“I’ll do it, sir. By Jove, I'll do it,” he ex-
claimed. “I would never have consented to this
thing in the first place if I had been in my right
mind; but I needed the money that Rhodes agreed
to hand over to me, and he influenced me in that
way.”
Quincy ignored the extended hand. “You can-
not justify your act, sir,” he said coldly. “All you
can do now is to make restitution in so far as it lies
in your power. In fact, I am not certain but what
you need the treatment given Rhodes as badly as
he needed it himself, but we can let that pass if you
will immediately get Jay out of the station house.
Then we can go to your daughter.”


W
THE AFFAIR OF LAMSON'S COOK
QUINCY sauntered slowly along the street, enjoy-
ing the sunny warmth of an early June morning.
Few cases had been presented to him of late, and
the resulting inactivity had served to stock him, both
mentally and physically, with unusual energy. His
keen eyes, restless with inaction, flashed hither and
thither over the small throng of hurrying pedes-
trians, as though in search of something on which
to exercise his peculiar talents. But the people sur-
rounding him seemed productive of anything other
than mysteries. They comprised mainly the usual
throng of hurrying clerks, stenographers and other
employees, all rushing toward their individual desks
or stations, and whatever secrets might be buried
in their minds were for the present, at least, success-
fully forgotten or covered. With a deep sigh at
the possibility of another day of quiet and solitude,
Quincy turned slowly in the direction of his own
office, but paused sharply as the sound of a call
reached his ears.
“Sawyer? Oh, I say, Sawyer!” came the half-
225


226 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
suppressed shout, and Quincy's eyes, flashing
sharply over the street, instantly picked out the
source of the call.
Slowly bearing down on him, through the press
of market wagons, trucks and other early morning
vehicles, came a handsome touring car. At the
wheel sat an impassive French chauffeur and in the
tonneau a fat, puffy little man danced frantically
about for all the world like a huge bullfrog in a
net. Quincy recognized the man as Herbert Lam-
son, prominent clubman, first-nighter, and society
leader in general, and wondered vaguely what un-
seemly occurrence could have brought Lamson out
at that early hour of the morning. He halted and
stood smiling interrogatively as the machine drew
up at the curb.
“Oh, I say, Sawyer!” Lamson puffed, as soon
as the car had been brought to a halt. “It’s lucky
I found you, you know. I want you to come right
out to my house without a moment's delay. We've
had a frightful occurrence there. Frightful!”
“Which house?” Quincy inquired, ignoring the
door which Lamson held invitingly open.
“My country house, Sawyer. The one at
Beverly. Come right away, won't you? It's an
awful thing and I simply must have help!”
“But, what is it? What has happened?” Quincy
questioned, not relishing the idea of being dragged


LAMSON'S COOK 227
down to Beverly to discover who had thrown a
pebble through one of Lamson's plate glass win-
dows, which possibility, knowing Lamson as well
as he did, Quincy deemed not improbable.
“It’s murder, Sawyer, murder!” Lamson splut-
tered, spitting out the word as though it choked
him and gazing helplessly at Quincy through his
round, sheep-like eyes. “Somebody brutally mur-
dered my cook last night — and she could cook the
best fish dinners I ever tasted.”
Quincy barely suppressed a desire to laugh at
the incongruity of the two statements, knowing well
that the only method of endearing oneself to Lam-
son was through the medium of the latter's digest-
ive system. For a moment only he hesitated, then,
swinging into the car beside Lamson, he settled
back for the ride to Beverly.
“Now, Lamson,” he said, when the car had
drawn away from the midcity tumult, “give me
some of the details of this case so that I may be
prepared to act when we arrive. Just when, so far
as you can tell, did the murder take place?”
“I can't say just when,” Lamson informed him.
“I was away from the house from five o'clock in
the afternoon until late last night. It might have
been done while I was away, or after I returned,
because she was not discovered until early this
morning. One of the maids, according to custom,


228 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
went to call her in time to prepare breakfast, and
found her dead. I was immediately notified and,
not knowing what else to do, I hurried up after
you. I'll catch that murderer, Sawyer, if it costs
me my entire fortune,” he broke off savagely.
“That woman was a downright shrew, but she
could cook, - Lord bless you! she could cook!
And now I must spend a year or two hunting an-
other cook, and I shall probably be obliged to live
on all manner of horrible dishes during my search.
I know I can never find another who will be able
to cook fish the way she could !” He seemed sad-
dened, almost to the point of breaking down, at the
last thought.
“I understand, Lamson,” said Quincy, after a
protracted coughing fit behind his hand. “But I
want to get the facts of the case itself, the murder.
How was she murdered, and do you suspect any-
body? Now, give me something of that sort to
work on. First, what was her name, where did
she come from, and how long had she been with
you?”
“Her name,” said Lamson in a saddened voice,
apparently engendered by the thought of the fish
dinners which were to be his no more, “was Mrs.
Elizabeth Buck. She had been with me as cook for
about twelve years, but I have no idea where she
came from originally. You see, I was obliged to


LAMSON'S COOK - 229
hire her rather hastily at a time when I was giving
a dinner and my other cook — ”
“Yes, yes,” Quincy hurriedly interrupted, “but
had she any relatives or friends who wrote to her,
or with whom she visited 2 ”
“Nobody of whom I ever heard. In fact, from
the time when I first engaged her, I do not believe
she has been away from my house a single day.
Her sharp temper would rather preclude the possi-
bility of her having any friends, and I doubt if there
was a person in the world, outside myself, in whom
she felt the slightest interest.”
“Now,” said Quincy approvingly, “you are
started right. Give me all the details you can up
to the time when the body was discovered.”
“Well, she was a woman who, as I said, appar-
ently had neither friends nor acquaintances. There-
fore, I do not think that the affair occurred because
of some old grudge a previous associate may have
owed her. Since I have been talking with you a
possibility, which hitherto had not occurred to me,
has come into my mind. I paid her well, very well,
and, as I never knew of her spending much money
at a time, she must have been able to lay by quite
a bit in the last twelve years. Of course she may
have kept her money in a savings bank, but it is
equally possible that her distrustful nature led her
to hide it somewhere about her house. She did not


LAMSON'S COOK 231
a dead faint. I was at once called, and, by the time
the maid had regained her senses, I was on the spot.
As soon as she had told her story I looked hastily
into the woman's house to verify the facts, and
hurried to Boston to secure your services. You
are, of course, to do whatever you think best in the
matter, and I give you full authority to act in
any way you may deem necessary on my prem-
ises.”
For a few moments, following the recital, Quincy
was silent, knowing well that little further informa-
tion was to be gained until he should arrive at the
grounds and be able to examine the premises in
person.
“How did you come to employ the woman when
you had absolutely no knowledge of her, or of her
previous state of life?” he asked, after a time.
“Why, I told you that I was obliged to have a
cook in great haste at that time,” Lamson pro-
tested. “She was well recommended as a cook by
the employment agency, and consequently I hired
her with very little question. I have never had any
trouble whatever with her and, in the twelve years, I
had come to look on her as being scrupulously
honest and trustworthy in every way. But wait,
we are nearly there now, and you will soon have
an opportunity to judge this matter at first hand.”
Quincy stared unseeingly at the low and dirty


LAMSON'S COOK 233
returned with a detective, and they consented to
wait. They are down under the tree by the house
now.”
“All right, Higgins,” Lamson replied, turning
once more toward Quincy. “Now, Mr. Sawyer, if
you will come right down we can all examine the
rooms together. I am somewhat surprised that the
police consented to await my return. They are usu-
ally little inclined to await the convenience of a
private detective, are they not?”
“Unfortunately, they are,” Quincy replied with a
dry smile. “The police in a large city would not
have done so, under any circumstances; but it is
probable that in these smaller towns the police and
all other municipal officials are more ready to pay
heed to the wishes of their wealthy residents. It is
out of respect to you, and through no regard for me,
that they are waiting.”
Quincy carefully examined the exterior of the
cook's former place of residence as they approached.
It was a pretty little cottage, painted a conservative
white and standing in a location considerably re-
moved from the residence of Lamson himself. The
cottage was of fair dimensions, containing, he
judged, about six rooms; but it appeared dwarfed
because of the giant horse-chestnut trees which
towered above it on every side. From beneath one
of these trees three men arose, and came forward to


236 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Lord!” muttered Lamson, repressing a shud-
der. “She surely didn't die with any love of man
in her heart.”
The medical examiner grimly held up the knife.
“From here on it’s your work, gentlemen,” he ob-
served. “Make what you can of this.”
The chief took the knife, and all stared curiously
at it. It was an ordinary wooden-hilted knife of the
kind to be found in any market and, from the thin-
ness of the blade, it had evidently known long serv-
ice and many grindings. After nodding his head
over it several times, the chief passed the knife on
to Quincy with the air of a man wishing to be cour-
teous, although hardly recognizing the possibility of
any value in the act. To Quincy, judging from his
expression, the knife meant much or nothing. He
glanced at it keenly, turned it over several times and
then, without comment, returned it to the chief.
The search for clues then started in earnest, the
two members of the regular force burrowing amidst
the debris in the room like terriers after a rat. They
pulled open every drawer, peered under or through
every article of furniture, and minutely examined
every square inch of space in the room. Now and
then the chief would pause to glance speculatively at
Quincy, as though in fear that the private detective
might stumble on a clue that the regulars had over-
looked. After each scrutiny, however, he invariably


LAMSON'S COOK 239
pecially when the woman's chamber had been
reached.
Once within the chamber his aimless wandering
ceased, and his every movement appeared to take on
a definite purpose. He glanced sharply over the
walls, carefully scrutinizing the few pictures with
which they were adorned, after which he stepped
briskly to the bureau, where he conducted a most
minute examination of the contents of every drawer.
Once he paused and held up a small packet before the
gaze of Lamson, grinning as he did so.
“I imagine our friends down-stairs would be in-
terested in this,” he remarked.
“What are they?” Lamson questioned eagerly.
“Bank books. Your late cook evidently patron-
ized several savings banks, instead of hoarding her
money as has been suspected. I’ll place them back
where they were, and let the police discover them
when they reach this point in their search. At their
present rate of speed they should reach this room
in a day or two.”
For some little time, after the discovery of the
books, he remained before the bureau, searching
every nook and cranny of it. At last, appearing
vastly dissatisfied with the result, he arose and stood
meditatively in the middle of the room, allowing his
eyes to run rapidly over first one article of furniture
and then another.


240 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Did your cook have a trunk when she came
here?” he questioned abruptly.
“I don't think so,” said Lamson slowly, as he
strived to remember the event of twelve years previ-
ous. “No, I am sure she brought with her one of
those old-fashioned canvas extension bags. It must
be around here somewhere.”
Quincy's interest appeared to renew itself at the
information, and he was immediately deep in his
search again. At last, with much shuffling and scuf-
fling of his feet, he emerged backward from a dark
nook in the closet, dragging after him the described
bag. Placing it on the floor, he arose and stared at
Lamson through eyes shining with eagerness.
“Lamson,” he said, “I expect to find the clue I
want in that bag. There is one thing that no woman,
and few men for that matter, regardless of station
in life, is without in these days. It may be only the
most tantalizing of clues which I shall be able to
make nothing of, but I’ll stake my reputation that
it's there.” -
With no further explanation he threw back the
cover of the bag, dropped on his knees before it,
and dug into its contents. For several moments
there was no sound save his eager breathing, echoed
by the puffing breaths of Lamson, and the swishing
of articles being hastily overturned in the bag. Then,
with an almost explosive exhalation, he started back


LAMSON'S COOK 241
and sprang to his feet, three small articles in his
hand.
“I have it, Lamson,” he exclaimed. “I have it.
Now, what can we make of it?”
He strode to the nearest window, with Lamson
scuttling at his heels, and held up to the light three
small, unmounted photographs. “You see, Lam-
son,” he said, “every woman has a certain degree
of sentiment in her makeup. Consequently, in these
days of plentiful photographs, there is scarcely a
woman anywhere who does not possess photographs
of her early home, or associations surrounding it.
Here we have the photographs, but, as they are not
mounted, and bear no photographer's seal, their
value to us will depend on our ability to recognize
the places represented.”
Lamson stared incredulously. “But my dear
Sawyer,” he protested, “those photographs may
represent scenes hundreds or thousands of miles
from here. How are we to recognize them?”
Quincy lowered the photographs and turned im-
pressively. “Lamson,” he said, “I have not yet
looked at those photographs closely, but mark my
words when I tell you that they will represent scenes
within a radius of fifty miles. That woman was
not a traveller.”
Without further comment he raised the photo-
graphs once more and studied them carefully.


242 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
The first depicted a woman, beyond doubt Mrs.
Buck at a period much earlier in her life, standing
before a small cottage of the style of architecture
most frequently seen among the houses of the ocean
fishermen. The second showed a large open boat,
a trawler, fully manned, and lying just below a
wharf with the wharf's buildings visible in the
background. The last showed two fishermen stand-
ing on the steps of a hotel, and holding between
them a strange monster of the deep, while, from
above, curious guests peered down from over the
balcony rail. -
“There, Lamson, I think we have our clue.”
“But how? What in the deuce is there to all
that stuff that shows you anything?” Lamson was
fairly staggered with bewilderment.
“Look here!” Quincy flipped the second photo-
graph into view. “That trawler indicates, as do all
three photographs, a fishing community. Now look
at the buildings in the background. On the central
building you can dimly distinguish the sign of the
fishing company; The Bay State Codfish Com-
pany. Now look at this third photograph. Above
the fishermen's heads is the sign of the Puritan
Hotel. By coupling those two names we have our
clue. Both the Bay State Codfish Company and
the Puritan Hotel are located in Gloucester. In the
photograph of Mrs. Buck herself we find her stand-


LAMSON'S COOK 243
ing before a typical fisherman's cottage. There-
fore, does our clue not point toward Gloucester as
a starting-point in our search for the woman's
identity and that of her murderer? I also have
another clue, but I shall leave that out of the mat-
ter for the present.”
“Then you will go to Gloucester?” Lamson
questioned.
“At once, although I would suggest that you
do not mention the fact to the police. It might
only serve to further muddle their brains, and they
are sufficiently at sea in regard to this case already.”
“You may use my car for the trip if you want
to,” Lamson volunteered immediately.
“No, I thank you. I prefer to go in the train.
I shall be pleased to have your car take me to the
station, though, if that will not inconvenience you.”
As the pair descended the stairs they paused a
moment to gaze at the activities of the police. The
room remained in much the same condition as when
they had originally viewed it, except for the fact
that the body had been removed, thus doing away
with the most gruesome feature of the case. See-
ing them, the chief paused for a moment.
“Giving up so early in the game, Mr. Sawyer?”
he inquired, a slightly sneering accent in his voice.
“Not exactly giving up, Chief,” Quincy replied,
ignoring the tone. “But my business temporarily


LAMSON'S COOK 247
“I notice that you have gained considerable noto-
riety, Lamson,” he said.
“Notoriety!” Lamson snorted the word furi-
ously. “Notoriety? Yes, I certainly have; thanks
to the press and its representatives outside! Look
at the headlines which have been running. ‘Wealthy
Epicurean's Cook Murdered,” “Lamson's Elysium
Wrecked by Murderer,' and so on without end
Why in the world must I be dragged into the case
in that manner?”
Quincy allowed himself a smile at Lamson's ex-
pense before proceeding. “You are merely the vic-
tim of circumstances, Lamson; but that was not
what I intended to tell you. I wish to warn you
that you are to receive still more notoriety because
this case is about to produce one of the greatest
sensations the press has had for years.”
Lamson paled at the words, and his agitation in-
creased perceptibly. “You don't mean,” he stam-
mered, “that you suspect me of the murder?”
“Oh, no, Lamson, great Scott, no!” Quincy ha-
stened to assure him. “I have the murderer, and
he has confessed. I merely wished to warn you that
Mrs. Buck, regardless of her own identity, will still
continue in the eyes of the public to be Lamson's
cook, and as such she will be handled by the press.
But sit down, man, nobody suspects you. I'll tell
you my story at once, so that your mind may be


250 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
sembled Mrs. Buck in figure, although their fea-
tures were vastly dissimilar, and their dispositions
were as far separated as the poles. The cousin
proved to be a pleasant, even-tempered woman, and
she showed every desire to alleviate the constant
friction between Buck and his wife.
“Her attempts at intervention only added to
Mrs. Buck's fury, and within a few. weeks Mrs.
Buck had developed a hatred for both her husband
and his cousin that was almost inhuman in its in-
tensity. The demeanour of his wife at last had its
effect on Buck himself, and, instead of meekly sub-
mitting to her verbal assaults, as he had done in
the past, he soon commenced to reply in kind, with
the result that the house became a veritable inferno.
This continued until one day Buck's temper, grown
ragged from the constant warfare, gave way entirely
and he struck his wife, knocking her down. Then,
overcome by the deed, and by the scenes which had
led up to it, he rushed from the house to his favour-
ite haunt in a cheap saloon.
“Although naturally a reticent man, his tongue
soon became loosened by liquor and, when one of
his associates pointed to a fresh cut on the side of
Buck's head, inquiring as to its origin, he replied
that his wife had made it, but that he had fixed her
so she wouldn’t do it again. The savage look with
which he accompanied the words, and the dark hint


LAMSON'S COOK 251
which seemed to be contained in them, caused the
speech to be remembered. Shortly afterward Buck
purchased a quart of raw rum and disappeared, go-
ing nobody knew where.
“The next morning he was aroused by the chief
of police from the drunken slumber into which he
had sunk behind the sheltering piles of a lumber
wharf. The rough handling by the chief, together
with the black looks and muttered threats of the
small body of men who accompanied him, com-
pletely sobered Buck, and he demanded the reason
of his arrest. The reply was unsatisfactory, being
merely a gruff, ‘Guess you know,” from the chief,
and a volley of threats from the crowd, which was
constantly growing larger.
“To Buck's surprise he was taken directly to his
own house and, when led indoors, the last trace of
liquor was driven out of him, and his surprise was
turned to horror. The main room of the cottage
was indeed in a terrible state, its floor and walls
being covered with blood, its meagre furnishings
broken and scattered, and its every appearance be-
ing as if a terrific battle had been waged within it.
To make the nature of the crime which had been
committed doubly sure, a blood-stained axe lay at
one side of the room, where it had evidently been
thrown by the fleeing murderer. But, whatever
hopes the chief may have had of securing a confes-


254 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
employed by a rich man as a cook. For days Buck
brooded over that information, striving to make
himself realize that he had not only been sent to
prison for a crime which he had never committed,
but also for one which, possibly, had never been
committed at all.
“At last he could stand the strain no longer, and
so set out one night for Beverly, to prove for him-
self the truth or falsity of the weird rumour. Be-
fore starting, moved by some instinct which even
he himself cannot define, he secreted one of
the company's knives in his coat, giving it no
more thought after his departure from Glouces-
ter.
“On his arrival in Beverly he had no difficulty in
locating Lamson's estate and, proceeding here at
once, he slipped about in the darkness, searching
for the woman who might or might not prove to be
his wife. He soon stumbled on the cook's cottage,
and, peering through one of the lighted windows,
he was able to clearly view the woman within and
his feelings cannot be described when he realized
that she was indeed his wife. Overcome by a blind,
insensate fury, he made his way quickly to the front
of the house, burst open the door, and confronted
her. -
“According to his story the woman showed no
Surprise at seeing him, but merely sat staring into


VI
THE AFFAIR OF THE PLYMOUTH RECLUSE
THE door of Quincy's office was presided over by
no two-headed Cerberus, and consequently it was
possible for almost anybody to gain admittance at
almost any time. Thus it was no surprise to Quincy
when, glancing up through the smoke of his first
cigar of the day, he discovered an early-morning
caller standing in his doorway.
“Mr. Sawyer?” inquired the stranger politely.
Quincy replied in the affirmative and indicated a
chair, into which his guest sank with seeming relief.
“I have come,” said the man, “to speak with you
concerning last night's murder.”
Quincy arched his eyebrows a trifle. “I have not
yet had time to read the papers thoroughly,” he said;
“but it is highly possible that there have been sev-
eral murders in one place or another during the
night. Please be more explicit.”
“I mean the Dobell murder,” the stranger sup-
plemented promptly.
“Oh,” Quincy replied. “I have read of that
case, at any rate. The murdered man was Sidney
257


260 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Italians, brothers named Francisco and Leo San-
tuzzi. When they discovered what we were about,
they came up post-haste, claimed that we were
driving stakes in their land, and produced a map to
prove their statement. According to their map we
really were on their land, but according to mine,
which was the official map of the section, the pro-
posed opening was well within our own boundaries.
We argued the question for some time, the argu-
ment growing hotter and hotter, for Dobell, much
to my surprise, proved himself to be a regular
fire-eater, and refused to withdraw his stakes an
inch.
“Then, before I had time to realize what was
happening, Leo leaped for Dobell with a knife and,
like a flash, Dobell drew a revolver and shot the
Italian dead. Of course, Dobell was arrested by the
sheriff, but he was quickly released, as it was easy
to prove that he had acted in self-defence. For some
unaccountable reason the news of the fight was
spread broadcast, and that fact seemed to have a
bad effect on Dobell. He grew melancholy and
wished to leave the country as soon as might be pos-
sible. That desire became strengthened by Fran-
cisco, who threatened him openly and swore to have
his life in payment for Leo's. Then, one evening,
somebody shot at him, and that proved the last
straw. He left the next day, bringing me with him,


THE PLYMOUTH RECLUSE 261
as I was obliged to come east to purchase some ma-
chinery for the new work.
“On our arrival we went directly to his house in
Plymouth, and there I made my headquarters while
I was looking after the necessary purchases, run-
ning up to Boston daily while the shipments were
being made. Yesterday marked the end of the third
week of my stay in Plymouth, and I had made all
arrangements for returning west today.
“Yesterday morning I came here to Boston to
look after a few final details, not returning to Plym-
outh until late in the evening. I walked up from
the station to the house, and was surprised not to
find Dobell awaiting me, as he well knew that there
were many important matters to be discussed. Miss
. Traill was there, as was the housekeeper; but neither
of them could tell me anything of Dobell's where-
abouts.
“I did not wait for him to return, but set out over
his favourite walk in search of him, carrying a lan-
tern, as it was very dark in the woods. I had gone
some distance into the woods when I stumbled
against an object a little to one side of the path and,
on looking up, was horrified to discover that it was
Dobell's body, suspended by the neck from a tree.
“I immediately started to take the body down
and, finding that Dobell was unquestionably dead, I
did so without disturbing the rope, which still hangs


262 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
in its original position. And now comes the most
significant part of the story. That rope was a lariat
such as cattlemen use, and I am morally certain that
Dobell did not bring any such rope with him when
we came back from the west. Therefore, it seems
likely to me that Santuzzi must have followed us
here, watched his chance, and then killed Dobell by .
means of the lariat.”
As the man paused at the conclusion of his story,
Quincy was able to ask his first question. “You
know nothing whatever of Dobell's former his-
tory?”
Armitage shook his head. “Nothing. He has
never told me a word concerning himself in other
than a business way. The girl, I feel certain, knows
little or nothing of his history, either. What his
housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, or his man of all work,
known as Thomas, may know I cannot say, for they
are as silent and uncommunicative as he always was
himself. That it was his ward's fortune which had
been invested in the mine, and that he would use all
means in his possession to save her money, he told
me himself; but, outside of that item, he has never
trusted me with any of his personal history or busi-
ness.”
“Have you told your story to the police?” Quincy
inquired. -
“Yes, to the medical examiner and to the state
*


264 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
hold goods that were rapidly falling into decay.
Nor did the many peculiarities of the establishment
fail to communicate themselves to the inmates, as
Quincy soon discovered.
Miss Traill he found to be a young woman of
rather careless appearance, who gave evidence of
possessing a naturally charming and vivacious per-
sonality which had been dwarfed and subdued by
her surroundings. That she was grieved at her
guardian's death was evident; but her features
maintained a strict impassivity beneath which it was
impossible to look in any effort to fathom her
thoughts. Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper, was a
middle-aged woman of a quiet and retiring de-
meanour, and Quincy passed her by with hardly
more than a glance. But on Thomas, the man
of all work, he focussed his attention strongly.
Thomas, he decided, was entirely out of his ele-
ment, and what mysterious tie held the man in the
place he could not, for the time being, fathom. The
man's quick, piercing eyes betokened anything other
than a staid gardener or choreman, his bowed legs
argued in favour of a familiarity with horses, and
his lithe movements indicated unusual strength and
agility. Thomas, Quincy decided, would bear in-
vestigation.
Armitage hurried the preliminary introductions
as much as was possible, and then conducted Quincy


266 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
work without commenting on the case. Quincy,
however, forestalled that purpose.
“I see that you have a strong suspicion as to the
identity of the criminal,” he remarked casually.
The officer turned his cold eyes full on Quincy
for several seconds, while he seemed to consider the
import of the statement. “Well, perhaps,” he at
last admitted, grudgingly.
Quincy smiled and stepped to the side of the body,
where he rapidly ran his eyes over the numerous
minor details of the man's clothing. He carefully
examined the shoes, going over them with minute
care, but not appearing to find that for which he
sought. He then raised the hands and commenced
a lengthy investigation of their palms, seeming in
this case to meet with success, as he nodded his head
slowly at the close of the scrutiny and finally laid
them back with an air of satisfaction. He then
leaned sharply over the body, and withdrew a pin
from the breast of the coat.
“What was fastened there?” he demanded
abruptly of Armitage and the state officer collect-
ively.
The state officer merely shook his head to signify
his total ignorance of the matter, while Armitage's
mouth popped open with astonishment. “Nothing,
so far as I know,” the latter replied, fairly stuttering
with astonishment. “Even if there had been any-


THE PLYMOUTH RECLUSE 267
thing there I was so excited when I found the
body that I would not have noticed anything like
that.”
“How did you bring it in, – drag it?” was the
next question. -
“Well, half dragged and half carried it. You
see he wasn't such a very big man.”
Quincy appeared satisfied with the reply, for he
returned at once to his work of investigation and
his next question was addressed to the medical ex-
aminer.
“Doctor, why do you suppose Dobell chose this
lonely spot for a place of abode?”
“He hated people,” was the doctor's brief reply.
“He was here when I first moved to this vicinity,
and I have met him on countless occasions since;
but never have I known him to directly address any
person of the village. He would never go near a
man if he could possibly avoid a meeting, and, even
when he was forced into interviews, he would ter-
minate them as quickly as he might.”
“Do you think he was insane?” The question
was asked carelessly, but there was a gleam of deep
interest in Quincy's eyes.
“No, sir,” the doctor replied with emphasis.
“There was nothing insane about Sidney Dobell.
I have no idea as to his reason for becoming a re-
cluse; but you may be sure that the reason was well


268 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
formed in his mind, and that the reason was not
a fanciful one, either.”
“You do not know where he came from, I sup-
pose?”
“No, I have no idea, nor do I think that anybody
in this neighbourhood can tell you, unless, perhaps,
it might be some member of his household. He
appeared suddenly, bought this house, fixed it up to
his liking and retired into it, remaining here ever
since, like a bear hibernating in a cave.”
“He must have been fairly familiar with fire-
arms, Armitage, to be able to draw his revolver
and shoot Santuzzi so quickly. Did he keep in prac-
tice through fear of some secret enemy?”
“Blessed if I know,” Armitage replied slowly.
“I never even knew that he carried a gun until he
pulled it on Santuzzi.”
“I never knew of his having been seen with a
revolver about here,” the doctor supplemented. -
Quincy turned away and thoughtfully regarded
the body. Dobell was a man of small stature and
with a frame that seemed wasted, either by disease
or hardship. His features were regular, and might
once have been rugged; but now, not only did the
face appear to be wasted, but it also bore indications
of weakness, a condition which appeared to be more
the result of a gradual decline than of natural
origin. Had the man hidden himself through fear,


THE PLYMOUTH RECLUSE 269
he wondered, or had there been some other reason
which had gradually grown, through one cause or
another, into a chronic state of fear? At last, un-
able as yet to satisfactorily answer his own question,
he turned away and addressed Armitage.
“I believe I shall look over the grounds now,
Armitage. I hardly expect that anything of par-
ticular advantage is to be gained in the house.”
“You will be near at hand, will you not, so that
we may call you in case we receive news of San-
tuzzi: ” the doctor interjected quickly.
Quincy smiled and glanced toward Burr as he
replied. “You can safely put Santuzzi out of your
thoughts, Doctor. He had no hand whatever in the
killing of Dobell. In fact, to pursue the question
a little farther, I think I can safely say that Dobell
was killed by a member of his own household.”
“You mean Thomas?” the doctor gasped in-
credulously.
Before replying Quincy glanced covertly at Burr,
and smiled inwardly as he beheld the state officer
staring at him fixedly, and with every indication
of intense interest in his face.
“I did not say that it was Thomas,” Quincy re-
plied carelessly, smiling over his shoulder as he
strode out of the room.
“Now, Armitage,” he continued, as they stood
in the corridor, “I want first to see the spot where


274 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
tinued. “Now, why should you continue to keep
the secret buried? Dobell is dead, and cannot be
injured by whatever story there may have been in
his past life. Your telling the story can harm no-
body, while your keeping silent may be the means
of fastening the crime on an innocent man.”
“Why so?” Thomas demanded coolly. “You
detectives are so doggoned bright that you should
be able to settle a small matter like this without any
help of mine.”
Quincy ignored the sarcasm, but his reply brought
a sudden gleam of interest into the man's eyes.
“Oh, I know how Dobell came to his death,” he
stated with conviction. “That part of the affair is
a mystery no longer.” Then, noting an expression
of mocking incredulity in Thomas' eyes, he bent
forward and whispered a single word in the man's
ear.
In an instant Thomas' entire attitude changed,
and his expression of mockery gave way to one of
deepening respect. “I reckon I may as well tell
you what there is,” he remarked. “If you savvied
the other thing so quick, it would be only a matter
of time before you got hold of the whole thing,
anyway. Come into the house. It ain't such an
awfully complicated affair, when you get right
down to brass tacks on it.”
Quincy was shortly ushered into the room which


276 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Thinking over the case?” he inquired.
“No,” Quincy replied easily. “The case is all
settled, so far as I am concerned.”
The examiner stared incredulously. “You mean
that you have discovered the murderer?” he de-
manded.
Quincy thoughtfully blew a smoke ring, and
watched it disappear. “Yes, I've found the mur-
derer — and a few other things,” he remarked
cryptically.
The examiner was silent for a moment, and then
he advanced his choicest bit of information. “Of-
ficer Burr has found the murderer, also, and has
him up-stairs,” he announced.
Quincy started abruptly. “Has him up-stairs!”
he exclaimed. “The deuce he has Why the
blundering —” He interrupted himself to laugh
heartily at some huge joke, which was utterly lost
on the examiner.
“I don't see anything so strikingly funny,” the
latter interrupted, pointedly. “Officer Burr has the
murderer up-stairs, and sent me down here to in-
vite you up. He thought you might be interested
in hearing the examination and a tracing of the
final steps in the case.”
“Oh, I should be,” Quincy muttered incoher-
ently, rising to his feet. “I shall be most inter-
ested and attentive. If he has succeeded in pen-


THE PLYMOUTH RECLUSE 277
ning the murderer up, he has done a piece of work
that will be well worth the careful attention of any
man.”
The examiner regarded him with cold disfavour,
but said nothing as he led the way slowly up-stairs
to a large room where, as Quincy entered, it seemed
that the entire household had been assembled.
Thomas grinned cynically in a corner, and tugged
at his moustache, as was his inevitable custom.
Miss Traill sat coldly indifferent to her surround-
ings, and stared silently at the ceiling; but Quincy
noted that her face was pale and that her hands
trembled. The crowning exhibit, however, was
Armitage, who was perched on the edge of the
centre table, and, to judge from his red face
and flaming eyes, was suppressing with diffi-
culty a desire to wax overwhelmingly pro-
fane.
Quincy said nothing as he entered, limiting his
inquiries to a mute glance of question which he
directed toward Officer Burr. The officer, puffed
with importance, motioned toward a chair with con-
descending politeness, and Quincy silently assumed
the position assigned to him.
“You will undoubtedly be interested to know,
Mr. Sawyer,” the officer announced ponderously,
“that I have succeeded in sifting this matter out,
and have settled on the guilty persons.”


278 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
Quincy nodded respectfully, and elevated his eye-
brows with an air of polite interrogation.
“Yes,” the officer continued, “I have appre-
hended them and I thought that, before going into
details, I would invite you up, as you will undoubt-
edly be interested in learning my methods of pro-
cedure. These persons,” and a wide sweep of his
hand included everybody in the room, with the ex-
ception of Quincy and the examiner, “are the
criminals.”
Quincy gazed solemnly at the accused trio. “It
required an unusual number of them to do the work,
don't you think?” he inquired meekly.
“No,” Burr replied, proceeding briskly with his
remarks. “Two of them are merely accomplices.
Only one, the ex-cow puncher, did the actual work.
It's very simple, you see. That man, Armitage,
knew the value of Dobell's mine, while the woman
was well acquainted with his personal affairs and
his financial standing. They wanted to get him out
of the way. Perhaps they intended to be married
with the proceeds of their crime, or it may be that
the three would merely have divided the money be-
tween them. It is probable, also, that the woman
may have had personal reasons for wishing Dobell
removed. I have not learned that, as yet. You
will notice, however, that she wears a wedding
ring.”


THE PLYMOUTH RECLUSE 279
“Confound you, sir,” Armitage roared, leaping
from his seat on the table and facing Burr. “Miss
Traill has already told you that the ring was her
mother's and that she wears it out of sentiment.
She and I have absolutely no — ”
“That will do,” Burr yelled, advancing on Ar-
mitage in a threatening manner. “You are further
incriminating yourself every time you open your
mouth. Sit down, or take the consequences.”
Instead of dropping quietly back into his chair
Armitage seemed to welcome the “consequences,”
whatever they might be. Seizing the hand which
Burr had thrust truculently against his breast, he
whirled the astonished officer about and sent him
reeling against the table. With a vicious growl
Burr was back again almost at once, his fists swing-
ing and the light of battle in his eyes. As soon as
he came within reach of the engineer, one fist shot
out, only to be lightly parried by Armitage, who re-
plied in kind with a blow that floored Burr in a
most decisive manner.
“If you want to fight,” he growled, “I’m ready
for you.”
Before the conflict could be continued, however,
Quincy had seized Armitage and forced him more
or less gently into the corner beside Thomas, who
sat grinning with delight at the discomfiture of
Burr.


280 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Be quiet, you fool,” Quincy growled. “Do you
want to ruin yourself entirely?”
At a sign from Quincy, Thomas coolly reached
out a powerful hand, and closed over Armitage's
coat with a grasp that could not be broken, an as-
surance that further hostilities of a like nature
would not be resumed.
“Your decision in this case has been reached, of
course, after your having accepted as a fact the
probability that Dobell was murdered, was it not,
sir?” Quincy inquired of Burr, after the latter had
somewhat regained his composure.
Burr stared at him as though unable to compre-
hend the reason for the question. “Such was most
assuredly my conclusion,” he replied.
“Well, but he wasn’t murdered, you know,”
Quincy continued meekly.
At the words all present seemed too startled for
immediate response, contenting themselves with
merely staring in Quincy's direction as though
doubtful of his sanity.
“By what reason do you make any such remark-
able statement as that?” Burr demanded, finally,
in a tone of angry disgust. “You admitted your-
self earlier in the day that he was killed by a mem-
ber of his own household.”
“And so he was,” Quincy persisted with quiet
assurance. “He was killed by a member of


282 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
sister then took up her residence at his ranch; but,
when her daughter was less than two years of age,
she died, leaving the daughter to Dobell's care.
“Dobell, not knowing what else to do, came East
in search of a place where his niece could receive
a proper bringing up, and his partner accompanied
him. They bought this place and settled down here,
Dobell becoming a recluse and misanthrope, while
his partner was looked upon as merely a man of all
work, although in reality he was operating in the
Eastern cattle market. As time went on Dobell be-
came seized with a disease which gradually wasted
his vitality, and reduced him from a once strong
man to a cowardly, fussy invalid. His partner re-
mained with him, first because of the progress he
was making in the market, and later through loy-
alty, not wanting to desert his old friend in the
hour of his need. Thus things led gradually up to
the present climax, when Dobell, unable longer to
stand the strain of his disease, committed suicide,
with what results you already know. Thomas, gen-
tlemen, is really a wealthy man and a skilful stock
operator. His presence here, in the capacity which
he has been supposed to hold, is a matter which only
he himself can explain, and I doubt if he will con-
sider it necessary to do so,”
“A very pretty story,” Burr sneered, “but where
is your proof of it.”


THE PLYMOUTH RECLUSE. 283
“Right here,” Quincy replied with unruffled calm,
laying a package of papers on the table. “The
story of Dobell's past life will be found in these
papers as I have related it in brief. You may read
the tale when you please.”
“But you are not through yet,” Burr continued.
“Where is your proof that Dobell committed sui-
cide?”
“Oh, as for that,” Quincy remarked easily, “I
established that fact almost immediately after my
arrival this morning. Here are the steps by which
I proceeded.
“Now, Burr, if you were going to murder a man
by hanging him, and were an expert in the use of a
lariat, you would have the choice in this case of two
positions from which you could throw your rope.
One would be to climb a tree and drop the noose
over your man's head as he walked beneath; but
you would hardly choose the darkness of a dense
wood, at night, for the performance of the feat.
The other method would be to first drape your
rope across a limb, leaving plenty of slack, and
then to lasso your man from the ground; but in
that case you must need be very quick, or he would
escape you while you were getting rid of your slack
and drawing him up.
“Now Dobell wasn’t caught by a man up a tree,
because, if he had been, the man would have tied


THE PLYMOUTH RECLUSE 285
regarding a pin which I found in Dobell's coat. I
guessed from the pin that there must have been
some sort of a message fastened to that particular
spot. The pin was placed in such a position that
whatever it had fastened must have been concealed
by the lapel of his coat. That shows he did not
intend to have the message found until his body was
brought into the house. Armitage, however, in
bringing the body here, was so unfortunate as to
lose the note. I found it this afternoon and here
it is.”
He produced the note and read the brief message.
“DEAR ToM: This is the last. I can’t stand this
infernal wasting away any longer. Take the girl
out of that hole you're living in, and send her to a
good school. I’ve left her my money and you can
have the house, to live in or to burn down, which-
ever you please. Good-bye. — SID.”
“If you will compare the writing contained in
the note to that of any of Dobell's private papers
you will find that it is Dobell's,” Quincy stated in
conclusion. -
“But I don't fully understand yet,” Burr pro-
tested in bewilderment. “I could have sworn that
my evidence was correct.”
“My dear Burr,” Quincy stated, “by a peculiar


286 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
coincidence there were two complete sets of evi-
dence in this case, one leading to a false theory
and one to the true. You chanced to follow the
false clue. The whole affair merely furnishes an-
other case where things are not what they seem.”


VII
THE AFFAIR OF WILLIAM BAIRD, P. B.
QUINCY rose lazily and took the card which the
doorboy handed in. “Thomas Selfridge,” he read,
glancing up to face the client who appeared almost
on the heels of the boy. The man, he noted, was
slender, and was well-dressed, almost to the point
of fastidiousness, which, together with his gold-
rimmed spectacles, gave him the appearance of a
scholar, although his twinkling eyes and the hu-
mourous curves of his mouth belied any supposi-
tion that he might be a “bookworm.”
“In what way can I serve you, Mr. Selfridge?”
Quincy inquired, shoving forward a chair.
The man quietly removed his gloves and seated
himself before replying. Then, turning his twin-
kling eyes fully on Quincy, he replied smilingly:
“By catching a burglar for me.”
Quincy nodded gravely. “I had surmised some-
thing of that nature. Now, if you will tell me your
story, we shall, perhaps, be able to secure your
man.”
287


WILLIAM BAIRD, P. B. 291
first place, I meddled, and without satisfactory re-
sults. You argue well when you say that com-
paratively few collectors would hesitate in imme-
diately complying with Baird's demands, rather
than to contest the matter with him. I would have
sent him the money at once had it not been for my
wife. She is of the old Puritan stock, and is a born
fighter when she thinks that her rights are being
transgressed. I talked the matter over with her,
and we decided to try out Mr. Baird and see if we
could not gain some clue as to his identity. First
I sent him a check for the amount, having previ-
ously arranged, of course, that the bank would not
honour the check. My reply was a postal from
Providence, which read: “Read the P. S. on your
circular.” -
“I then had my wife write a letter to Baird,
while I went to Providence and watched the General
Delivery window, but nobody called for the letter
so far as I could tell. Finally I did so myself, and
the clerk told me there was nothing for William
Baird. The question that then confronted me was
where the letter had disappeared, in Boston, Provi-
dence or on the way. I made the acquaintance of a
railway mail clerk, had another letter sent on his
train, and paid him to make sure that it reached
Providence. He reported to me by telegraph, after
his train had passed through the city, telling me


298 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, DETECTIVE
“Not only that, but it is also arranged for him to
call for a registered package. If we are on hand,
we should be able to get our man or one of his
confederates, between us all. Will you come?”
“Of course I will. There is nothing else for me
to do. I'll get the captain, and we'll meet you at
the South station. You can telephone me when you
are ready to start.”
After the inspector had departed Quincy called
up Mr. Selfridge on the telephone, advised him of
the proposed addition to their party, and made
several changes in the plans that had previously
been laid. At the conclusion of the interview he
smoked silently and abstractedly for many minutes,
appearing to arrive at no definite conclusion. When
Selfridge appeared, however, he startled that
worthy gentleman by abruptly declaring:
“It isn't possible. No, sir, it couldn't have been
done. But what logical reason can Gates have for
denying that he saw the man enter?”
The client blinked his eyes rapidly for a few
moments, as though undecided whether to stand
or to retreat. “I’m sure I can’t tell, Mr. Sawyer,”
he ventured at last. “Perhaps, if I knew what you
were talking about, I might hazard an opinion.”
Quincy grinned. “Pardon my incoherent re-
marks, please,” he said quietly. “The question is
this: Can two inanimate objects remove themselves


WILLIAM BAIRD, P. B. 305
to come closer. The words from the other room be-
came distinguishable as they approached, but the
tongue was one which neither could understand.
Baldwin eyed them disgustedly as they drew
near. “I made an ass of myself,” he announced in
a low whisper, “and followed the wrong man.
Don't be afraid to whisper. They can't hear you
above all that racket.”
“But how do you know you followed the wrong
man?” Gates demanded.
“There were two at the window at the same
time, and I couldn't crowd close enough to make
certain which one signed for Baird's package. I
followed this fellow, the one who's doing so much
talking. He's talking Dutch and I understand it.
Just now he's explaining to the landlord why he
can't pay his room rent. I made a mess of things,
that's all.”
Gates glared at him with savage disgust.
“You’re a bird of a police captain, you are,” he
blurted, utterly forgetting the need for caution.
“Followed the wrong man! How do you know
you did? Why don't you nab that fellow, and
pluck him, if you can talk his rank jabber. He
may be only stalling his landlord and may know
more about this than you give him credit for.”
For a moment the captain, seemingly stung by
Gates' remarks, hesitated uncertainly, his hand on


*…