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MEMORIAL LIBRARY
WILLIAM Bouuou DIXON |9|5
|~'-’-T LT. |5l‘--T BRIGADE EA.
KILLED IN ACTION
NEAR THIAUCOURT FRANCE
OCTOBER I7TT' l9l8


Emma


rt
lb'l‘}
1‘ g"
~
9 .
I ‘ 1"‘MI


T/ze Omnibu:
FLEMING STONE


The Omnibus
FLEMING STONE
consisting of
VICKY VAN
SPOOKY HOLLOW
THE MYSTERY of the SYCﬂMORE _
CURVED BLdDES
by
CAROLYN LLS
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON


Copyright, 1916, 1918, 1921, 1923, by
Carolyn W ell:
Manufactured
in the
United States of America
..("~u‘<*l IS (lav-"‘0


1 4’Y
VICKY VAN
(RECAP);


VICKY VAN
CHAPTER I
VICKY VAN
VICTORIA VAN ALLEN was the name she signed
to her letters and to her cheques, but Vicky Van,
as her friends called her, was signed all over her
captivating personality, from the top of her dainty,
tossing head to the tips of her dainty, dancing feet.
I liked her from the ﬁrst, and if her “small
’ were said to be so called because they
were timed by the small and early numerals on the
Clock dial, and if her “little” bridge games kept
in active circulation a goodly share of our country’s
and earlies ’
legal tender, those things are not crimes.
I lived in one of the polite sections of New York
City, up among the East Sixties, and at the insist-
ence of my sister and aunt, who lived with me, our
home was near enough the great boulevard to be
designated by that enviable phrase, “ Just off Fifth
Avenue.” We were on the north side of the street,
and, nearer to the Avenue, on the south side, was
the home of Vicky Van.
Before I knew the girl, I saw her a few times,
9


10 VICKY VAN
at long intervals, on the steps of her house, or
entering her little car, and half-consciously I noted
her charm and her evident zest of life.
Later, when a club friend offered to take me
there to call, I accepted gladly, and as I have said,
I liked her from the ﬁrst.
And yet, I never said much about her to my
sisterr I am, in a way, responsible for Winnie, and
too, she’s too young to go where they play Bridge
for money. Little faddly prize bags or gift-shop
novelties are her stakes.
Also, Aunt Lucy, who helps me look after Win,
wouldn’t quite understand the atmosphere at Vicky’s.
Not exactly Bohemian—and yet, I suppose it did
represent one compartment of that handy-box of a
term. But I’m going to tell you, right now, about
a party I went to there, and you can see for your-
self what Vicky Van was like.
“ How late you’re going out,” said Winnie,
as I slithered into my topcoat. “ It’s after eleven.”
“ Little girls mustn’t make comments on big
brothers,” I smiled back at her. Win was nineteen
and I had attained the mature age of twenty-seven.
We were orphans and spinster Aunt Lucy did her
best to be a parent to us; and we got on smoothly
enough, for none of us had the temperament that
rouses friction in the home.


VICKY VAN 11
“ Across the street? ” Aunt Lucy guessed, raising
her aristocratic eyebrows a hair’s breadth.
“Yes,” I returned, the least bit irritated at the
implication of that hairbreadth raise. “ Steele will '7
be over there and I want to see him ”
This time the said eyebrows went up frankly'inv
amusement, and the kind blue eyes beamed as she-
said, “All right, Chet, run along.”
Though I was Chester Calhoun, the junior part--
ner of the law ﬁrm of Bradbury and Calhoun, and
held myself in due and consequent respect, I didn’t
mind Aunt Lucy’s calling me Chet, or even, as she
sometimes did, Chetty. A man puts up with those
things from the women of his household. As to
Winnie, she called me anything that came handy,
from Lord Chesterton to Chessy-Cat.
Ipatted Aunt Lucy on her soft old shoulder and
Winnie on her hard young head, and was off.
True, I did expect to see Steele at Vicky Van’s
~he was the club chap who had introduced me there
~but as Aunt Lucy had so cleverly suspected, he
was not my sole reason for going. A bigger reason
was that I always had a good time there, the sort
0f a good time I liked.
I crossed the street diagonally, in deﬁance of
much good advice I have heard and read against
such a proceeding. But at eleven o’clock at night


12 VICKY VAN
- the trafﬁc in those upper side streets is not sufﬁcient
to endanger life or limb, and I reached Vicky Van’s
house in safety.
It was a very small house, and it was the one
nearest to the Fifth Avenue corner, though the long
side of the ﬁrst house on that block of the Avenue
lay between. .
The windows on each ﬂoor were brilliantly
lighted, and I mounted the long ﬂight of stone steps
sure of a merry welcome and a. jolly time.
I was admitted by a maid whom I already knew
well enough to say _“ Evening, Julie,” as I passed
her, and in another moment, I was in the long, nar—
row living-room and was a part of the gay group
there.
“Angel child!” exclaimed Vicky Van herself,
dancing toward me, “ did he come to see his little
ole friend? ” and laying her two hands in mine for
an instant, she considered me sufﬁciently welcomed,
and danced off again. She was a will 0’ the wisp,
always tantalizing a man with a hope of special at-
tention, and then ﬂying away to another guest, only
to treat him in the same way.
I looked after her, a slim, graceful thing, vibrant
with the joy of living, smiling in sheer gayety of
heart, and pretty as a picture.
Her black hair was arranged in the newest style,


VICKY VAN 13
that covered her ears with soft loops and exposed the
shape of her trim little head. It was banded with
a jeweled ﬁllet, or Whatever they call those Oriental
things they wear, and her big eyes with their long,
dark lashes, her pink cheeks and curved scarlet lips
seemed to say, “ the world owes me a living and I’m
going to collect.”
Not as a matter of ﬁnancial obligation, be it
understood.
Vicky Van had money enough and though noth—
ing about her home was ostentatious or over ornate,
it was quietly and in the best of taste luxurious.
But I was describing Vicky herself. Her gown,
the skirt part of it, was a sort of mazy maize-colored
thin stuff, rather short and rather full, that swirled
as she moved, and ﬂuttered when she danced. The
bodice part, was of heavily gold-spangled material,
and a kind of overskirt arrangement was a lot of
long gold fringe made of beads. Instead of a yoke,
there were shoulder straps of these same beads, and
the sleeves weren’t there.
And yet, that costume was all right. Why, it
was a rig I’d be glad to see Winnie in, when she
gets older, and if I’ve made it sound rather—er—
gay and festive, it’s my bungling way of describing
it, and also, because Vicky’s personality would add
gayety and festivity to any raiment.


14 VICKY VAN
Her little feet wore goldy slippers, and a lot of
ribbons criss-crossed over her ankles, and on the
top of each slipper was a gilt butterﬂy that ﬂuttered.
Yet with all this bewildering effect of frivolity,
the ﬁrst term I’d make use of in describing Vick’s
character would be Touch-me-not. I believe there’s
a ﬂower called that—noli me tangere—or some such
name. Well, that’s Vicky Van. She’d laugh and
jest with you, and then if you said anything by way
of a personal compliment or ﬂirtatious foolery, she
was off and away from your side, like a thistle-down
in a summer breeze. She was a witch, a madcap,
but she had her own way in everything, and her
friends did her will without question.
Her setting, too, just suited her. Her living
room was one of those very narrow, very deep rooms
so often seen in the New York side streets. It was
done up in French gray and rose, as was the die-
tum of the moment. On the rose-brocaded walls
were few pictures, but just the right ones. Gray
enameled furniture and deep window—seats with rose-
‘colored cushions provided resting-places, and soft
rose—shaded lights gave a mild glow of illumination.
Flowers were everywhere. Great bowls of roses,
jars of 'pink carnations and occasionally a vase of
pink orchids were on mantel, low bookcases or
piano. And sometimes the odor of a cigarette or a


VICKY VAN 15-
buming pastille of Oriental fragrance, added to the
Bohemian effect which is, oftener than not, discerni-
ble by the sense of smell.
Vicky herself, detested perfumes or odors of any
kind, save fresh ﬂowers all about. Indeed, she de-
tested Bohemianism, when it meant unconventional
dress or manners or loud-voiced jests or songs.
Her house was dainty, correct and artistic, and
yet, I knew its atmosphere would not please my
Aunt Lucy, 01' be just the right place for Winnie.
Many of the guests I knew. Cassie Weldon
was a concert singer and Ariadne Gale an artist of
some prominence, both socially and in her art circle.
Jim Ferris and Bailey Mason were actors of a good
sort, and Bert Garrison, a member of one of my
best clubs, was a fast rising architect. Steele hadn’t
come yet.
Two tables of bridge were playing in the back
part of the room, and in the rest of the rather
limited space several couples were dancing,
“ Mayn’t we open the doors. to the dining room,
Vicky? ” called out one of the card players. “ The
calorics of this room must be about ninety in the
shade.”
“ Open them a little way,” returned Miss Van
Allen. “ But not wide, for there’s a surprise sup-
per and I don’t want you to see it yet.”


16 VICKY VAN
They set the double doors a few inches ajar
and went on with their game. The dining room, as
I knew, was a wide room that ran all across the
house behind both living-room and ha-ll. It was
beautifully decorated in pale green and silver, and
often Vicky Van would have a “ surprise supper,"
at which the favors or entertainers would be well
worth waiting for.
Having greeted many whom I knew, I looked
about for further speech with my hostess.
“ She’s upstairs in the music room,” said Cassie
Weldon, seeing and interpreting my questing glance.
“Thank you, lady, for those kind words,” I
called back over my shoulder, and went upstairs.
The front room on the second ﬂoor was dubbed
the “ music room,” Vicky said, because there was a
banjo in it. Sometimes the guests brought more
banjos and a concert of glees and college songs
would ensue. But more often, as to—night, it was
a little haven of rest and peace from the laughter
and jest below stairs.
It was an exquisite white and gold room, and
here, too, as I entered, pale pink shades dimmed the
lights to a soft radiance that seemed like a breaking
dawn.
Vicky sat enthroned on a white divan, her feet
crossed on a gold—embroidered white satin foot-


VICKY VAN 17
cushion. In front of her sat three or four of her
guests all laughing and chatting.
“ But he vowed he was going to get here some-
how,” Mrs. Reeves was saying.
“ VVhat’s his name?” asked Vicky, though in a
voice of little interest.
“ Somers,’ returned Mrs. Reeves.
“ Never heard of him. Did you, Mr. Calhoun? ”'
and Vicky Van looked up at me as I entered.
“ N0; Miss Van Allen. Who is he? ”
“ I don’t know and I don’t care. Only as Mrs.
)
Reeves says he is coming here to-night, I’d like to
know something about him.”
“ Corning here! A man you don’t know?” I
drew up a chair to join the group. “ How can he? ”
“ Mr. Steele is going to bring him," said Mrs.
Reeves. “ He says—Norman Steele says, that Mr.
Somers is a ﬁrst-class all-around chap, and no end
of fun. Says he’s a millionaire.”
“ What’s a millionaire more or less to me?”
laughed Vicky. “I choose my friends for their
lovely character, not for their wealth.”
“ Yes, you’ve selected all of us for that, dear,”
agreed Mrs. Reeves, “but this Somers gentleman
may be amiable, too.”
Mrs. Reeves was a solid, sensible sort of person,
3


18 VICKY VAN
who acted as ballast for the volatile Vicky, and some-
times reprimanded her in a mild way.
“ I love the child,” she had said to me once,
“ and she is a little brick. But once in a while I
have to tell her a few things for the good of the
community. She takes it all like an angel.”
“ Well, I don’t care,” Vicky went on, “ Norman
Steele has no right to bring anybody herewhom he
hasn’t asked me about. If I don’t like him, I shall
ask some of you nice, amiable men to get me a
long plank, and we’ll put it out of a window, and
make him walk it. Shall we? ”
We all agreed to do this, or to tar and feather
and ride on a rail any gentleman who might in any
way be so unfortunate as to fall one iota short of
Vicky Van’s requirements. '
“And now,” said Vicky, “if you’ll all please
go downstairs, except Mrs. Reeves and Mr. Garri-
son and my own sweet self, I’ll be orﬁy obliged to
you.”
The sweeping gesture with which she sought to
dismiss us was a wave of her white arms and a
smile of her red lips, and I, for one, found it im-
possible to obey. I started with the rest, and then
after the gay crowd were part way down stairs I
turned back.
“' Please, mayn’t I join your little class, if I’ll


VICKY VAN 19
be very good?” I begged. “I don’t want Bert
Garrison to be left alone at the mercy of two such
sirens.”
Miss Van Allen hesitated. Her pink-tipped fore-
ﬁnger rested a moment on her curved lip. “ Yes,”
she said, nodding her head. “ Yes, stay, Mr. Ca1-
houn. You may be a help. Are you any good at
getting theatre boxes after they’re all sold? ”
“ That’s my profession,” I returned. “ I learned
it from a correspondence school. Where’s the
theatre? Lead me to it!”
“ It’s the Metropolis Theatre,” she replied.
“And I want to have a party there to-morrow
night, and I want two ’boxes, and this awful, dread-
ful, bad Mr. Garrison says they’re all sold, and I
can’t get any! What can you do about it? ”
“ Oh, I’ll ﬁx it. I’ll go to the people who bought
the boxes you want, and—I don’t know what I’ll
say to them, exactly—but I’ll ﬁx up such a yarn that
they’ll beg me to take the boxes off their hands.”
“ Oh, will you, really?” and the dazzling smile
she gave me would have repaid a much greater
Herculean task than I had undertaken. And, of
course, I hadn’t meant it, but when she thought I
did, I couldn’t go back on my word.
“ I’ll do my best, Miss Van Allen,” I said, seri-
ously, “and if I can’t possibly turn the trick, I’ll


20 VICKY VAN
—-well, I’ll buy the Metropolitan Opera House, and
put on a show of my own.”
“ No,” she laughed, “ you needn’t do that. But
if you try and 'fail—why, we’ll just have a little
.party here, a sort of consolation party, and—0h,
let’s have some private theatricals. Wouldn’t that
be fun! ”
“ More fun than the original program? ” I asked
quickly, hoping to be let off my promise.
“ No, sir! ” she cried, “decidedly not! I want
especially to have that theatre party and supper
afterward at the Britz. Now you do all you can,
won’t you? ”
I promised to do all I could, and I had a partial
hope I could get what she wanted by hook or crook,
and then, as she heard a specially favorite fox—trot
being dashed off on the piano downstairs, she
sprang from her seat, and kicking the satin cushion
aside, asked me to dance. In a moment we were
whirling around the music room to the zipping
music, and Mrs. Reeve and Garrison followed in
our steps.
Vicky danced with a natural born talent that is
quite unlike anything acquired by lessons. I had
no need to guide her, she divined my lead, and
swayed in any direction, even as I was about to
indicate it. I had never danced with anyone who


VICKY VAN 21
danced so well, and I was profuse in my thanks
and praise.
“ I love it,” she said simply, as she patted the
gold fringes of her gown into place. “ I adore dan-
cing, and you are one of the best partners I have
ever had. Come, let us go down and cut into a
Bridge game. l/Ve’ll just about have time before
supper.”
Pirouetting before me, she led the way, and
we went down the long steep stairs.
A shout greeted her appearance in the doorway.
“ Oh, Vicky, we have missed you! Come over
here and listen to Ted’s latest old joke! ”
“ No, come over here and hear this awful gossip
Ariadne is telling for solemn truth. It’s the very
worst taradiddle she ever got off! ”
“ Here’s a place, Vicky Van, a nice cosy corner,
’tween Jim and me. Come on, Ladygirl.”
“ No, thanks, everybody. I’m going to cut in
at this table. May I? Am I a nuisance?”
“ A Vicky—nuisance! They ain’t no such ani-
mal! ” and Bailey Mason rose to give her his chair.
“ No,” said she, “ I want you to stay, Mr. Mason.
’Cause why, I want to play wiz you. Cassie, you
give me your place, won’t you, Ducky-Daddles?
and you go and ﬂirt with Mr. Calhoun. He knows
the very newest ﬂirts! Go, give him a tryout.”


22 VICKY VAN
Vicky Van settled herself into her seat with the
happy little sigh of the bridge lover, who sits down
with three good players, and in another moment
she was breathlessly looking over her hand. “ With-
out,” she said, triumphantly, and knowing she’d say
no word more to me for the present, I walked away
with Cassie Weldon. -
And Cassie was good fun. She took me to the
piano, and with the soft pedal down, she showed me
a new little tone picture she had made up, which
was both picturesque and funny.
“ You’d better go into vaudeville!” I exclaimed,
as she ﬁnished, “your talent is wasted on the con-
cert platform.”
“ That’s what Vicky tells me,” she returned.
“ Sometimes I believe I will try it, just for fun.”
“ You’ll ﬁnd it such fun, you’ll stay in for earn-
est,” I assured her, for she had shown a bit of in-
ventive genius that I felt sure would make good in
a little musical turn. ’


CHAPTER II
MR. SOMERS
IT was nearly midnight when Steele came, and
with him was a man I had never seen before, and
whom I assumed to be the Mr. Somers I had heard
about.
And it was. As Steele entered, he cast his eye
around for Vicky, and saw her at the bridge table
down at the end of the room. Her back was
toward us, and she was so absorbed in the game she
did not look round, if, indeed, she heard the noise
of their arrival.
The two men stopped near the group I was with
and Steele introduced Mr. Somers. ‘
A little curiously I looked at him, and saw a
large, self-satisﬁed looking man wearing an expan-
sive smile and expensive apparel. Clothes the very
best procurable, jewelry just inside the limits of
good taste—he bore himself like a gentleman, yet
there was an unmistakable air of ostentatious wealth
that repelled me. A second look made me think Mr.
Somers had dined either late or twice, but his greet-
ngS were courteous and genial and his manner
sociable, if a little patronizing. He seemed a stranger
as


24 VICKY VAN
to all present, and his eye roved about for the charm—
ing hostess Steele had told him of.
“ \Ve'll reach Miss Van Allen presently,” Steele
laughed, in answer to the glance, “if, indeed, we
dare interrupt her game. Let’s make progress
slowly.”
“ No hurry,” returned Somers, affably, beam—
ing on Cassie Weldon and meeting Ariadne Gale’s
receptive smile. “ I’m anchored here for the
moment. Miss \Veldon? Ah, yes, I’ve heard you
sing. Voice like a lark—like a lark.”
Clearly, Somers was not much of a purveyor of
small talk. I sized him up for a lumbering oldster,
who wanted to be playful but didn't quite know how.
He had rather an austere face, yet there was a
gleam in his eye that belied the austerity. His
cheeks were fat and red, his nose prominent, and he
was clean shaven, save for a thick white mustache,
that dr00ped slightly on either side of a full-lipped
mouth. His hair was white, his eyes dark and deep-
set, and he could easily. be called a handsome man.
He was surely ﬁfty, and perhaps more. Had it not
been for a certain effusiveness in his speech, I could
have liked him, but he seemed to me to lack
sincerity.
However, I am not one to judge harshly or


MR. SOMERS 25
hastily, and I met him half way, and even helped
him in his efforts at gay affability.
“You’ve never been here before?” I asked;
" Good old Steele to bring you to-night.”
“ N 0, never before,” and he glanced around ap-
preciatively, “but I shall, I hope, come often.
Charming little nest; charming ladies!” a bow in-
cluded those nearest.
“ Yes, indeed,” babbled Ariadne, “fair women
and brave men.”
“ Brave, yes," agreed Somers, “ to dare the
glances of such bright eyes. I must protect my
heart! ” He clasped his fat hands pretty near where
his heart was situated, and grinned with delight as
Ariadne also “protected” her heart.
“ Ah,” he cried, “ two hearts in danger! I feel
sure we shall be friends, if only because misery
loves company.”
“Is it really misery with you?” and Ariadne’s
sympathy was so evidently profound, that Cassie
Weldon and I walked away.
“ I’ll give Ariad her innings,” said the vivacious
Miss Weldon, “and I’ll make up to the Somers kid
later. VVhere’d Vicky pick him up? ”
“ She doesn’t know him at all. Norman Steele
brought him unbeknownst.”


26 VICKY VAN
“ No! Why, Vick doesn’t allow that sort of
thing.”
“ So I’m told. Any- way, Steele did it.”
“Well, Vicky’s such a good-natured darling,
maybe she won’t mind for once. She won’t, if she
likes the little stranger. He’s well-meaning, at any
rate.”
“ So’s Ariadne. From her smile, I think she'
well means to sell him her latest ‘Autumn In The
Adirondacks,’ or ‘ Lady With A Handbag ’.”
“Now, don’t be mean!” but Cassie laughed.
“And I don’t blame her if she does. Poor Ad
paints above the heads of the public, so if this is
a high-up Publican, she’d better make sales while
the sun shines.”
“ What’s her work like?”
“You can see more of it in this house than
anywhere else. Vicky is so fond of Ariadne and
so sorry her pictures don’t sell better, that she buys
a lot herself.”
“Does Miss Gale know Miss Van Allen does '
it out of ”
“Don’t say charity! No, they’re really good
stuff, and Vicky buys ’em for Christmas gifts and
bridge prizes.”
“ Does she ever play for prizes? I thought she

liked a bit of a stake, now.”


MR. SOMERS 27
“ Yes, at evening parties. But, often we have
a dove game of an afternoon, with prizes and pink
tea. Vicky Van isn’t a gay doll, you know. She’s
—sometimes, she’s positively domestic. I wish she
had a nice husband and some little kiddies.”
“ Why hasn’t she? ”
“ Give it up. She’s never seen any man she
loved, I s’pose.”
“ Perhaps she’ll love this Somers person.”
“ Heaven forbid! Nothing less than a crown
prince would suit Vicky Van. Look, she’s turn-
ing to meet him. Won’t he be bowled over!”
I turned, and though there were several people
between us, I caught a glimpse of Somers’ face as
he was presented to Miss Van Allen. He was
bowled over. His eyes beamed with admiration and
he bowed low as he raised to his lips the dainty,
bejeweled hand.
Vicky, apparently, did not welcome this old-time
greeting, and she drew away her hand, saying, “ not
allowed. Naughty man! Express proper compunc-
tion, or you can’t sit next me at supper! ”
“Forgive me,” begged Somers. “I’m sorry!
I’ll never do it again—until after I sit next you
at supper!”
“ More brains than I thought,” I said to Cassie,


28 VICKY VAN
who nodded, and then Vicky Van rose from her
chair.
“Take my place for a moment, Mr. Somers,”
she said, standing before him. “ 1—” she dropped
her eyes adorably, “I must see about the arrange-
ment of seats at the supper table.” With a merry
laugh, she ran from the room, and through the long
hall to the dining-room.
Somers dropped into her vacant chair, and con—
tinued the Bridge game with the air of one who
knows how to play.
In less than ﬁve minutes Vicky was back. “ No,
keep the hand,” she said, as he rose. “ I’ve played
long enough. And supper will be ready shortly.”
i“ Finish the rubber,— I insist,” Somers returned,
and as he determinedly stood behind the chair,
Vicky, perforce, sat down.
He continued to stand behind her chair, watch-
ing her play. Vicky was too sure of her game to
be rattled at his close scrutiny, but it seemed to me
her shoulders shrugged a little impatiently, as he
criticized or commended her plays.
She had thrown a light scarf of gauze or tulle
around when she was out of the room, and being
the same color as her gown, it made her seem more
than ever like an houri. She smiled up into Somers’
face, and then, coyly, her long lashes fell on her


MR. SOMERS 29
pink cheeks. Evidently, she had concluded to be-
witch the newcomer, and she was making good.
I drew nearer, principally because I liked to look
at her. She was a live wire to-night! She looked
roguish, and she made most brilliant plays, tossing
down her cards with gay little gestures, and doing
trick shufﬂes With her twinkling ﬁngers.
“You could have had that last trick, if you'd
played for it,” Somers said, as the rubber ﬁnished.
“I know it,” Vicky conceded. “I saw, just
too late, that I was getting the lead into the wrong
hand.”
“ Well, don’t ever do that again,” he said, lightly,
“never again.”
As he said the last word, he laid his ﬁnger tips
on her shoulder. It was the veriest touch, the
shoulder was swathed in the transparent tulle, but
still, it roused Vicky. She glanced up at him, and
llooked at him, too. But Somers was not in ﬂirta—
tious mood. He said, “ I beg your pardon,” in most
correct fashion. Had he then, touched her inadvert-
ently? It didn’t seem so, but his speech assured it.
Vicky jumped up from the table, and ignoring
Somers, ran out to the hall, saying something about
looking after the surprise for the supper. To my
surprise, Somers followed her, not hastily, but
rather deliberately, and, quelling an absurd impulse to


80 VICKY VAN
go, too, I turned to Norman Steele, who stood near.
“ Who’s this Somers? ” I asked him, rather ab-
ruptly. “ Is he all right? ”
“You bet,” said Steele, smiling. “ He’s a top-
notcher.”
“ In what respects?”
“ Every and all.”
“ You’ve known him long? ”
“ Yes. I tell you Cal, he’s all right. Forget it.
What’s the surprise for supper? Do you know?”
“ Of course not. It wouldn’t be a surprise if
we all knew of it.”
“ \Vell, Vicky’s surprises are always great fun.
Why the grouch, old man? Can’t you chirrup? ”
“Oh, I’m all right,” and I felt annoyed that he
read in my face that I was put out. But I didn’t
like the looks of Somers, and I couldn’t say so to
the man who had brought him there.
“Oh, please! Oh, please!” shouted a hoarse,
strange voice, and one scarcely to be heard above the
hum of gay voices and peals of gay laughter, “ 0h,
somebody, please! ”
I looked across the room, and in the wide hall
doorway stood a man, who was quite evidently a
waiter. He was white-facedyand staring-eyed, and
he fairly hung on to a portiére for support, as he
repeated his agonized plea.


MIR. SOMERS 31
“ What is it?” said Mrs. Reeves, as everybody
else stared at the man. “ What do you want?”
She stepped toward him, and we all turned to look.
“ Not you—n0, Madame. Some man, please—
some doctor. Is there one here? ”
“ Some of the servants ill? ” asked Mrs. Reeves,
kindly. “ Doctor Remson, will you come? ”
The pleasant-faced capable-looking woman
paused only until Doctor Remson joined her, and
the two went into the hall, the waiter following
slowly.
In a moment I heard a shriek, a wild scream.
Partly curiosity and partly a foreboding of harm to
Vicky Van, made me rush forward.
Mrs. Reeves had screamed, and I ran the length
of the hall to the dining room. There I saw Somers
on the ﬂoor, and Remson bending over him.
“ He’s killed! He’s stabbed!” cried Mrs.
Reeves, clutching at my arm as I reached her. “ Oh,
what shall we do? ”
She stood just in the dining-room doorway,
which was at the end of the long hall, as in most
city houses. The room was but dimly lighted, the
table candles not yet burning.
“ Keep the people back! ” I shouted, as those in
the living-room pressed out into the hall. “ Steele,
keep those girls back!”


82 ' VICKY VAN
There was an awful commotion. The men urged
the women back, but curiosity and horror made them
surge forward in irresistible force.
“Shut the door,” whispered Remson. “This
man is dead. It’s an awful situation. Shut that
door! ”
Somehow, I managed to get the door closed be-
tween the dining-room and hall. On the inside were
Remson, Mrs. Reeves, who wouldn’t budge, and‘
myself. Outside in the hall was a crowd of hys-
terical women and frightened men.
“ Are you sure? ” I asked, in a low voice, going
nearer to the doctor and looking at Somers’ fast—
glazing eyes.
“ Sure. He was stabbed straight to the heart
with—see—a small, sharp knife.”
Her hands over her eyes, but peering through
her ﬁngers, Mrs. Reeves drew near. “ .Not really,”
she moaned. “ Oh, not really dead! Can’t we do
anything for him?”
“No,” said Remson, rising to his feet, from
his kneeling position. “ He’s dead, I tell you. Who
did it?”
“That waiter—” I began, and then stopped.
Looking in from a door opposite the hall door, prob-
ably one that led to a butler’s pantry or kitchen, were
half a dozen white-faced waiters.


MR. SOMERS 33
“Come in here,” said Remson; “ not all of you.
Which is chief? ”
“I am, sir,” and a head waiter came into the
room. “ What has happened?”
“ A man has been killed,” said the doctor,
shortly. “ Who are you? Who are you all? House
servants?”
“ No sir,” said the chief. “ We’re caterer’s men.
From F raschini’s. I’m Luigi. \Ve are here to serve
supper.”
“ What do you know of this?”
“ Nothing, sir,” and the Italian looked truthful,
though scared.
“Haven’t you been in and out of the dining-
room all evening? ”
“ Yes, sir. Setting the table, and such. But
now it’s all ready, and I was waiting MissVan
Alien’s word to serve it."
“ Where is Miss Van Allen?” I broke in.
“ I—I don’t know, sir," Luigi hesitated, and
Doctor Remson interrupted.
“ We mustn’t ask these questions, Mr. Calhoun.
We must call the police.”
“The police!” cried Mrs. Reeves, “oh no! no!
don’t do that.”
“It is my duty,” said the doctor, ﬁrmly. “ And
110 one must enter or leave this room until an ofﬁ-
3


34 VICKY VAN
cer arrives. You waiters, stay there in that pantry.
Close those doors to the other room, Mr. Calhoun,
please. Mrs. Reeves, I’m sorry, but I must ask you
to stay here——”
“ I won’t do it! ” declared the lady. “ You’re
not an ofﬁcer of the law. I’ll stay in the house, but
not in this room.”
She stalked out into the hall, and Doctor Rem-
son went at once to the telephone and called up
headquarters.
The guests in the living room, hearing this, ﬂew
into a panic.
Of course, it was no longer possible, nor, as I
could see, desirable to keep them in ignorance of
what had happened.
After calling the police, Doctor Remson returned
to his post just inside the dining-room door. He
answered questions patiently, at ﬁrst, but after being
nearly driven crazy by the frantic women, he said,
sharply, “ You may all do just as you like. I’ve
no authority here, except that the ethics of my pro-
fession dictate. That does not extend to jurisdic-
tion over the guests present. But I advise you as a
matter of common decency to stay here until this
affair is investigated.”
But they didn’t. Many of them hastily gath-


MR. SOMERS 35
ered up their wraps and went outof the house as
quickly as possible.
Cassie Weldon came to me in her distress.
“I must go, Mr. Calhoun,” she said. “Don’t
you think I may? Why, it would interfere greatly
with my work to have it known that I was mixed
up in a ”
“You’re not mixed up in it, Miss Weldon.” I
began to speak a little sternly, but the look in her
eyes aroused my sympathy. “ Well, go on,” I said,
“I suppose you will testify if called on. Every-
body knows where to ﬁnd you.”
“Yes,” she said, slowly, “but I hope I won’t
btcalled on. Why, it might spoil my whole career.”
She slipped out of the door, in the wake of some
Other departing guests. After all, I thought, it
couldn’t matter much. Few, if any, of them were
implicated, and they could all be found at their
homes.

And yet, I had a vague idea that we ought all
to stay. '
“I shall remain and face the music,” I heard
Mrs. Reeves saying. “Where is Vicky? Do you
suppose she knows about this? I’m going up in the
music room to see if she’s there. You know, with
all the excitement down here, those upstairs may
know nothing of it.”


36 VICKY VAN
“ I shall remain, too,” said Ariadne Gale. “ Why
should anyone kill Mr. Somers? Did the caterer’s
people do it? What an awful thing! Will it be in
the papers? ”
“Will it!” said Garrison, who was standing
near. “ Reporters may be here any minute. Must
be here as soon as the police come. Where is Miss
Van Allen? ”
“ I don’t know,” and Ariadne began to cry.
“ Stop that,” said Mrs. Reeves, grufﬂy, but not
unkindly. “ Stay if you want to, Ariadne, but be-
have like a sensible woman, not a silly schoolgirl.
‘ This is an awful tragedy, of some sort.”
“What do you mean, of some sort?” asked
Miss Gale.
“I mean we don’t know what revelations are
yet to come. \Vhere’s Norman Steele? Where’s
the man who brought this Somers here?”
Sure enough, where was Steele? I had for-
gotten all about him. And it was he who had in—
troduced Somers to the Van Allen house, and no
one else present, so far as I knew, was previously
acquainted with the man now lying dead the other
Side of that closed door.
I looked over the people who had stayed. Only
a handful—perhaps half a dozen.
And then I wondered if I’d better go home


- MR. SOMERS 37
myself. Not for my own sake, in any way; indeed,
Ipreferred to remain, but I thought of Aunt Lucy
and Win. Ought I to bring on them any shadow
of trouble or opprobrium that might result from my
presence in that house at that time? Would it not
be better to go while I could do so? For, once the
police took charge, I knew I should be called on to
testify in public. And even as I debated with my—
self, the police arrived.


CHAPTER III
THE WAITER’S STORY
DOCTOR REMSON’S police call had been impera-
tive, and Inspector Mason came in with two men.
“What’s this? What’s wrong here?” the big
burly inspector said, as he faced the few of us who
had remained.
“ Come in here, inspector,” said the doctor, from
the dining-room door.
And from that moment the whole aspect of the
house seemed to change. No longer a gay little
bijou residence, it became a court of justice.
One of the men was stationed at the street door
and one at the area door below. Headquarters was
notiﬁed of details. The coroner was summoned,
and we were all for the moment under detention.
“ Where is Miss Van Allen? Where is the lady
of the house? ” asked Mason. “ Where are the ser-
vants? Who is in charge here? ”
Was ever a string of questions so impossible of
answers!
Doctor Remson told the main facts, but he was
reticent. I, too, hesitated to say much, for the case
was strange indeed.
38


THE WAITER’S STORY 39
Mrs. Reeves looked gravely concerned, but said
nothing.
Ariadne Gale began to babble. That girl didn’t
know how to be quiet.
“I guess Miss Van Allen is upstairs,” she vol-
unteered. “ She was in the dining-room, but she
isn’t here now, so she must be upstairs. Shall I go
and see? ”
“ N0! ” thundered the inspector. “ Stay where
you are. “ Search the house, Breen. I’ll cover the
street door.”
The man he called Breen went upstairs on the
jump, and Mason continued. “ Tell the story, one
of you- Who is this man? Who killed him? "
As he talked, the inspector was examining
Somers’ body, making rapid notes in a little book,
keeping his eye on the door, and darting quick
glances at each of us, as he tried to grasp the
situation.
I looked at Bert Garrison, who was perhaps the
most favored of Miss Van Allen’s friends, but he
Shook his head, so I threw myself into the breach.
“ Inspector,” I said, “ that man’s name is Somers.
Further than that I know nothing. He is a stranger
to all Of us, and he came to this house to-night for
the ﬁrst time in his life.”


40 VICKY VAN
“ How'd he happen to come? Friend of Miss
Van Allen? " .
“ He met her to-night for the ﬁrst time. He
came here with—” I paused. It was so hard to
know what to do. Steele had gone home, ought I
to implicate him?
“ Go on—came here with whom?” The truth,
I!
now.
_ “ I usually speak the truth,” I returned, shortly.
f‘ He came with Mr. Norman Steele.”
“ Where is Mr. Steele?”
“ He has gone. There were a great many people
here, and, naturally, some of them went away when
this tragedy was discovered.”
“ Humph! Then, of course, the guilty party
escaped. But we are getting nowhere. Does no-
body know anything of this man, but his name? ”
Nobody did; but Ariadne piped up, “ He was a
delightful man. He told me he was a great patron
of art, and often bought pictures.”
Paying little heed to her, the inspector was en—
deavoring to learn from the dead man’s property
something more about him.
“ No letters or papers,” he said, disappointedly,
as he turned out the pockets. “ Not unusual—in
evening togs—but not even a card or anything per-
,7

sonal—looks queer


THE WAITER’S STORY 41
“Look in his watch,” said Ariadne, bridling
with importance.
Giving her a keen glance, the inspector followed
her suggestion. In the back of the case was a pic-
ture of a coquettish face, undoubtedly that of an
actress. It was not carefully fastened in, but
roughly cut out and pressed in with ragged edges.
“ Temporary,” grunted the inspector, “and re-
cently stuck in. Some chicken he took out to sup-
per. He’s a club man, you say? ”
“ Yes, Mr. Steele said so, and also vouched for
his worth and character.” I resented the inspector’s
attitude. Though I knew nothing of Somers, and
didn’t altogether like him, yet, I saw no reason to
think ill of the dead, until circumstances war—
ranted it.
Further search brought a thick roll of money.
some loose silver, a key-ring with seven or eight
keys, eyeglasses in a silver case, handkerchiefs, a
gold pencil, a knife, and such triﬁes as any man
might have in his pockets, but no directly identifying
piece of property.
R. S. was embroidered in tiny white letters on
the handkerchiefs, and a monogram R. S. was on
his seal ring.
His jewelry, which was costly, the inspector did
not touch. There were magniﬁcent pearl studs, 2.


42 VICKY VAN
watch fob, set with a black opal and pearl cuff-
links. Examination of his hat showed the pierced
letters R. S., but nothing gave clue to his Christian
name.
“ Somers,” said the inspector, musingly. “ What
club does he belong to?”
“ I don’t know,” I replied. “ Mr. Steele belongs
to several, but Mr. Somers does not belong to any
that I do. At least, I’ve never seen him at any.”
“ Call in the servants. Let’s ﬁnd out something
about this household.”
As no one else moved to do it, I stepped to the
door of the butler’s pantry, and summoned the head
waiter of the caterer.
“ Where are the house servants? ” I asked him.
“ There aren’t any, sir,” he replied, looking
shudderingly at the grisly form on the ﬂoor.
“ N o servants? In a house of this type! What
do you mean? ”
“ That’s true,” said Mrs. Reeves, breaking her
silence, at last. “ Miss Van Allen has a very capa-
ble woman, who is housekeeper and ladies’ maid in
one. But when guests are here, the suppers are
served from the caterer’s.”
“ Then call the housekeeper. And where is Miss
Van Allen herself? ”


THE WAITER’S STORY 43
“ She’s not in the house,” said the policeman
Breen, returning from his search.
“ Not in the house! ” cried Mrs. Reeves. “ Where
is she?”
“ I’ve been all over—every room—every ﬂoor.
She isn’t in the house. There’s nobody upstairs at
all.”
“ No housekeeper or maid?” demanded Mason.
“ Then they’ve got away! Here, waiter, tell me all
you know of this thing.”
The Italian Luigi came forward, shaking with
terror, and wringing his ﬁngers nervously.
“ I d—don’t know anything about it,” he began,
but Mason interrupted, “ You do! You know all
about it! Did you kill this man?
“ No! Dio mio! No! a thousand no’s! ”
“ Then, unless you wish to be suspected of it,
tell all you know.”
A commotion at the door heralded the coroner’s
arrival, also a detective and a couple of plain clothes
men. Clearly, here was a mysterious case.
The coroner at once took matters in his own
hands. Inspector Mason told him all that had been
learned so far, and though Coroner Fenn seemed to
think matters had been pretty well bungled, he made
no comment and proceeded with the inquiries.
“ Sure there’s nobody upstairs? ” he asked Breen.


44 VICKY VAN
“ Positive. I looked in every nook and cranny.
I’ve raked the whole house, but the basement and
kitchen part.”
“ Go down there, then. and then go back and
-search_upstairs again. Somebody may be hiding.
Who here, knows Miss Van Allen the most
intimately? " _
“ Perhaps I do,” said Mrs. Reeves. “ Or Miss
Gale. We are both her warm friends.”
“I’m also her friend," volunteered Bert Garri-
son. “ And I can guarantee that if Miss Van Allen
has ﬂed from this house it was out of sheer fright.
She never saw this man until to-night. He was a
stranger to us all.”
“ Where's the housekeeper? ” went on Fenn.
“I think. she must be somewhere about,” said
Mrs. Reeves. “ Perhaps in the kitchen. Julie is an
all round capable woman. \V hen there are no guests
she prepares Miss Van Allen’s meals herself. When 7
company is present the caterer always is employed.”
“And there are no other servants?”
“ Not permanent ones,” replied Mrs. Reeves.
“ I believe the laundress and chore boy come by the
day, also cleaning women and such. But I know
that Miss Van Allen has no resident servant besides
the maid Julie.”
“ This woman must be found,” snapped the cor-


THE WAITER’S STORY 45
oner. “ But we must ﬁrst of all identify the body.
Mason, call up the principal clubs on the telephone,
and locate R. Somers. Also ﬁnd Mr. Norman
Steele. Now, Luigi, let’s have your story.”
The trembling waiter stammered incoherently,
and said little of moment.
“ Look here,” said Fenn, bluntly, “ is that your
knife sticking in him? I mean, is it one belonging
to Fraschini’s service? Don’t touch it, but look at
it, you can tell.”
Luigi leaned over the dead man. “ Yes, it is one
of our boning knives," he said. “ We always bring
our own hardware.”
“ Well, then, if you want to clear yourself and
your men of doubt, tell all you know.“
“ I know this,” and Luigi braced himself to the
ordeal. “ I was waiting in the pantry for Miss Van
Allen to send me word to serve supper, and I peeped
in the dining-room now and then to see if it was
time. I heard, presently, Miss Van Allen’s voice,
also a man’s voice. I didn’t want to intrude, so
waited for a summons. After a moment or two I
heard a little scream, and heard somebody or some—
thing fall. I had no thought of anything wrong, but
thought the guests were unusually—er—riotous.”
“Are Miss Van Allen’s guests inclined to be.
riotous? ”


46 VICKY VAN
“ No, sir, oh, no,” asseverated the man, while
Mrs. Reeves and Ariadne looked indignant. “ And
for that reason, I felt a little curious, so I pushed
the door ajar and peeped in.”
“What did you see? ”
1' “I saw,” Luigi paused so long that I feared
he was going to collapse. But the coroner eyed him
sternly, and he went on. “ I saw Miss Van Allen
standing, looking down at this—this gentleman on
the ﬂoor, and making as if to pull out the knife. I
could scarcely believe my eyes, and I watched her.
She didn’t pull the knife, but she straightened up,
looked around, glanced down at her gown, which—
which was stained with blood—and then—she ran
out into the hall.”
“ Where did she go?”
“ I don’t know. I couldn’t see, as the door was
but on a crack. Then I thought I ought to go into
the dining-room, and I did. I looked at the gentle—
man, and I didn’t know what to do. So I went into
the hall, to the parlor door, and called for help, for
a doctor or somebody. And then they all came out
here. That’s all I know.”
Luigi’s nerve gave way, and he sank into a
chair with a sob. Fenn looked at him, and con—
siderately left him alone for the time.
“ Can this be true? ” he said, turning to us. " Can
you suspect Miss Van Allen of this crime?”


THE WAITER’S STORY e 47
“ No! ” cried Bert Garrison and the women, at
once. And, “ N0! ” said I. “ I am positive Miss
Van Allen did not know Mr. Somers and could not
have killed an utter stranger—on no provocation
whatever.”
“ You do not know what provocation she may
have had,” suggested Fenn.
“ Now, look here, Mr. Coroner,” said Mrs.
Reeves very decidedly, “I won’t have Miss Van
Allen spoken of in any such way. I assume you
mean that this man, though a stranger, might have
said or done something to annoy or offend Miss
Van Allen. Well, if he had done so, Victoria Van
Allen never would have killed him! She is the
gentlest, most gay and light-hearted girl, and though
she never tolerates any rudeness or familiarity, the
idea of her killing a man is too absurd. You might
as well suspect a clove or a butterﬂy of crime! ”
“ That’s right, Mr. Coroner,” said Garrison.
“That waiter’s story is an hallucination of some
sort—if it isn’t a deliberate falsiﬁcation. Miss Van
Allen is a dainty, happy creature, and to connect
her with anything like this is absurd!”
“ That’s to be found out, Mr. Garrison. “ Why
did Miss Van Allen run away? ”
“ I don’t admit that she did run away—in the
sense of ﬂight. If she were frightened at this thing


48 - VICKY VAN
——if she saw it—she may have run out of the door
in hysterics or in a panic of terror. But she the
perpetrator! Never!”
“Never!” echoed Mrs. Reeves. “The poor
child! If she did come out here—and saw this awful
sight—why, I think it would unhinge her mind!”
“ Who is Miss Van Allen? ” asked Fenn. “ What
is her occupation? ” .
“ She hasn’t an occupation,” said Mrs. Reeves.
“ She is a young lady of independent fortune. As
to her people or immediate relatives, I know noth-
ing at all. I’ve known her a year or so, and as she
never referred to such matters I never inquired.
But she’s a thorough little gentlewoman, and I’ll
defend her against any slander to my utmost
powers.”
“And so will I,” said Miss Gale. “I’m sure
of her ﬁneness of character, and lovely nature——”
“ But these opinions,,ladies, don’t help our in-
quiries,” interrupted Fenn. “What can you men
tell us? What I want ﬁrst, is to identify this body,
or, rather to learn more of R. Somers, and to ﬁnd
Miss Van Allen. I can’t hold an inquest until these
points are cleared up. Mason, have you found out
anything? ”
“No,” said the inspector, returning from his
long telephone quest. “I called up four clubs.


THE WAITER‘S STORY . 49
Norman Steele belongs to three of them, but this
man doesn’t seem to belong to any. That is, there
are Somerses and even R. Somerses, but they all
have middle names, and, too, their description
doesn’t ﬁt this Somers.”
“Then Mr. Steele misrepresented him. Did you
get Steele, Mason? ”
“No, he wasn’t at any of the clubs. I found
his residence, a bachelor apartment house, but he
isn’t there, either.”
“Find Steele; ﬁnd Miss Van Allen; ﬁnd the
maid, what’s her name—Julia? ”
“Julie, she was always called,” said Mrs. Reeves.
“If Miss Van Allen went away, I’ve no doubt Julie
went with her. She is a most devoted caretaker of
her mistress.”
“ An oldish woman?”
“No. Perhaps between thirty-ﬁve and forty.”
“ What’s she look like? ”
“ Describe her, Ariadne, you’re an artist.”
“Julie,” said Miss Gale, “ is a good sort. She’s
medium-sized, she has brown hair and rather hazel
eyes. She wears glasses, and she stoops a little in
her walk. She has perfect training and correct
manners, and she is a model servant, but she gives
the impression of watching over Miss Van Allen,
4


50 VICKY VAN
whatever else she may be engaged in at the same
time.”
“ Wears black? ”
“ No; usually gray gowns, or sometimes white.
Inconspicuous aprons and no cap. She’s not quite
a menial, but yet, not entirely a housekeeper.”
“ English? ”
“English speaking, if that’s what you mean.
But I think she’s an American. Don’t you, Mrs.
Reeves?”
“American? Yes, of course.”


CHAPTER IV
SOMERS, REAL NAME
DETECTIVE LOWNEY, who had come with the
coroner, had said little but had listened to all. Occa-
sionally he would dart from the room, and return
a few moments later, scribbling in his notebook.
He was an alert little man, with beady black eyes
and a stubby black mustache.
“ I want a few words with that caterer’s man,”
he said, suddenly, “ and then they’d better clear away
this supper business and go home.” /
We all turned to look at the table. It stood in
the end of the dining—room that was back of the
living-room. The sideboard was at the opposite end,
back of the hall, and it was directly in front of
the sideboard that Somers’ body lay.
Lowney turned on more light, and a thrill went
through us at the incongruity of that gay table and
the tragedy so near it. As always at Vicky Van’s
parties, the appointments were dainty and elaborate.
Flowers decorated the table; lace, silver, and glass
were of ﬁnest quality; and in the centre was the
contrivance known as a “ Jack Horner Pie.”
“ That was to be the surprise,” said Mrs. Reeves.
51


52 VICKY VAN
“ I knew about it. The pie is full of lovely trinkets
and little jokes on the guests.”
“I thought those things were for children’s
parties,” observed Fenn, looking with interest at the
gorgeous confection.
“ They’re really for birthdays,” said Mrs.
Reeves, “ and to-day is Vicky’s birthday. That was
part of her surprise. She didn’t want it known,
lest the guests should bring gifts. She’s like a child,
Vicky is, just as happy over a birthday party as a
little girl would be.”
“ What does Miss Van Allen look like? ” asked
the detective.
“She’s pretty,
pretty, but not a raving beauty. Black hair, and
)7
replied Mrs. Reeves, “ awfully
,)

bright, fresh colorin
“ How was she dressed? Giddy clothes? ”
“ In an evening gown,” returned Mrs. Reeves,
who resented the detective’s off-hand manner. “A
beautiful French gown, of tulle and gold trimmings.”
f‘ Low-necked, and all that? Jewels?”
“ Yes,” I said, as Mrs. Reeves disdained to
answer. “ Full evening costume, and a necklace
and earrings of amber set in gold.”
“ Well, what I’m getting at is,” said Lowney, “a
woman dressed like that couldn’t go very far in the
streets Without being noticed. We’ll surely be able


SOMERS’ REAL NAME 53
to trace Miss Van Allen. Where would she be
likely to go? ”
“ I don’t know,” said Mrs. Reeves. “ She
wouldn’t go to my home, I live ’way down in Wash-
ington Square.”
“ Nor to mine,” chirped Ariadne, “ it’s over on
the west side.”
“ I don’t believe she left the house,” declared
the coroner.
“ Tell us again, Luigi,” asked Lowney, “just
where did the lady seem to go, when you saw her
leave this room?”
“ I can’t say, sir. I was looking through a small
opening, as I pushed the door ajar, and I was so
amazed at what I saw, that I was sort of paralyzed
and didn’t dare open the door further.”
“ Go back to the pantry,” commanded F enn, and
look in, just as you did.”
The waiter retreated to the post he had held,
and setting the door a few inches ajar, proved that
he could see body by the sideboard, but could not
command a view of the 'hall.
“ Now, I’ll represent Miss Van Allen,” and
Lowney stood over the body of Somers. “Is this
the place? ”
“ A little farther to the right, sir,” and Luigi’s
earnestness and good faith were unmistakable.
“ Yes, sir. just there.”


54' VICKY VAN
“ Now, I walk out into the hall. Is this the way
she went?”
“ Yes, sir, the same.”
Lowney went from the dining-room to the hall,
and it was clear that his further progress could not
be seen by the peeping waiter.
“ You see, Fenn,” the detective went on, “ from
here, in the back of this long hall, Miss Van Allen
could have left the house by two ways. She could
have gone out at the front door, passing the parlor,
or, she could have gone down these basement stairs,
which are just under the stairs to the second story.
Then she could have gone out by the front area
door, which would give her access to the street. She
could have caught up a cloak as she went.”
“ Or,” said Fenn, musingly, “ she could have run
upstairs. The staircase is so far back in the hall, that
the guests in the parlor would not have seen her.
This is a very deep house, you see.”
It was true. The stairs began so far back in the
long hall, that Vicky could easily have slipped up—
stairs after leaving the dining-room, without being
seen by any of us in the living-room, unless we were
in its doorway, looking out. Was anybody? So
many guests had left, that this point could not be
revealed.
“ I didn’t see her,” declared Mrs. Reeves, “ and


SOMERS’ REAL NAME 55
I don’t believe she was in the dining-room at all. I
don’t care what that waiter says! ”
“ Oh, yes, Madame,” reiterated Luigi. “ It was
Miss Van Allen. I know her well. Often she comes
to F raschini’s, and always I take her orders. She
came even this afternoon, to make sure the great
cake—the Jack Horner, was all right. And she
approved it, ah, she clapped her hands at sight of it.
We all do our best for Miss Van Allen, she is a
lovely lady.”
“ Miss Van Allen is one of your regular
customers? ”
“ One of our best. Very often we serve her,
and always she orders our ﬁnest wares.”
“ You provide everything? ”
“ Everything. Candles, ﬂowers, decorations—
all.”
_ “ And she pays her bills? ”
“ Most promptly.”
“ By cheque?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ And there are no servants here but the maid
Julie? ”
“ I have often seen others. But I fancy they do
not live in the house. Madame Julie superintends
and directs us always. Miss Van Allen leaves much
to her. She is most capable.”


56 VICKY VAN
1 “ When did you see this woman, this Julie, last? ”
“ A short time before—before that happened.”
Luigi looked toward the body. “ She was in and
out of the pantries all the evening. She admitted the
guests, she acted as ladies’ maid, and she arranged
the favors in the pie. It was, I should say, ten
minutes or so since she was last in the pantry, when
I peeped in at the door.”
“ Where was Julie then? ”
“I don’t know. I did not see her. Perhaps
upstairs, or maybe in the front of the hall, waiting to
bring me word to serve supper.”
" Tell me something distinctive about this maid‘s
appearance. Was she good-looking? ”
“ Yes, a good-looking woman. But nothing es-
pecial about her. She had many gold ﬁllings in her
teeth ”
“ That’s something,” and Lowney noted it with
satisfaction. “ Go on.”
But Luigi seemed to know nothing else that dif-
ferentiated julie from her sisters in service, and
Lowney changed his questions.
“How could Miss Van Allen get that knife of
yours?” he asked.

. v “ I don’t know, sir. It was, I suppose, in the
pantry, with our other knives.” -
“ \Vhat is its use?”


SOMERS’ REAL NAME 57
“ It is a boning knife, but doubtless one of our
men used it in cutting celery for salad, or some such
purpose.”
“ Ask them.”
Inquiry showed that a man, named Palma, had
used the knife for making a salad, and had left it
in the butler’s pantry an hour or so before the crime
was committed. Any one could have taken the
knife without its being missed, as the salad had been
completed and put aside.
“ In that case, Miss Van Allen must have secured
the knife some little time before it was used, as
Luigi was in the pantry just previously,” observed
Fenn. “ That shows premeditation. It wasn’t done
with a weapon picked up at the moment.”
“ Then it couldn’t have been done by Miss Van
Allen!” exclaimed Mrs. Reeves triumphantly, “ for
Vicky had no reason to premeditate killing a man
she had never seen before.”
“ Vicky didn’t do it,” wailed Ariadne. “ I know
she didn’t.”
“ She must be found,” said Lowney. “ But she
will be found. If she’s innocent, she will return
herself. If guilty, we must ﬁnd her. And we will.
A householder cannot drop out of existence un-
noticed by any one. Does she own this house?”
“ I think so,” said Mrs. Reeves. “ I’m not posi-


58 VICKY VAN
tive, but it’s my impression that she does. Vicky
Van never boasts or talks of her money or of her-
self. But I know she gives a good deal in charity,
and is always ready to subscribe to philanthropic
causes. I tell you she is not the criminal, and I
don’t believe she ever left this house in the middle
of the night in evening dress! That child is scared
to death, and is hiding—in the attic or somewhere.”
“ Suppose, Mrs. Reeves,” said the coroner,
“ you go with Mr. Lowney, and look over the house
again. Search the bedrooms and store-rooms."
“I will,” and Mrs. Reeves seemed to welcome
an opportunity to help. She was a good-hearted
woman, and a staunch friend of Vicky Van. I was
glad she was on hand to stand up for the girl, for I
confess things looked, to me, pretty dubious.
“ Come along, too, Mr. Calhoun,” said Mrs.
Reeves. “There’s no telling what we may ﬁnd.
Perhaps there’s further—tragedy.”
I knew what was in her mind. That if Vicky
had done the thing, she might have, in an agony of
remorse, taken her own life.
Thrilled with this new fear, I followed Lowney
and Mrs. Reeves. We went downstairs ﬁrst. We
examined all the basement rooms and the small,
city back yard. There was no sign 'of Vicky Van
or of julie, and next we came back to the ﬁrst ﬂoor,
hunted that, and then on upstairs. The music room


SOMERS’ REAL NAME 59
was soon searched, and I fell back as the others
went into Vicky’s bedroom.
“ Come on, Mr. Calhoun,” said Lowney, “ we
must make a thorough job of it this time.”
The bedroom was, it seemed to me, like a fairy
dream. Furniture of white enameled wicker, with
pink satin cushions. Everywhere the most exquisite
appointments of silver, crystal and embroidered
fabrics, and a bed ﬁt for a princess. It seemed
profanation for the little detective to poke and pry
around in wardrobes and cupboards, though I knew
it must be done. He was not only looking for
Vicky, but noting anything that might bear on her
disappearance.
But there was no clue. Everything was in order,
and all just as a well-bred, reﬁned woman would
have her belongings.
The bedroom was over the dining-room, and
back of this, over the pantry extension, was Vicky
Van’s dressing—room.
This was a bijou boudoir, and dressing-table,
chiﬂ'onier, robe-chests, and jewel-caskets were all in
keeping with the personality of their owner. The
walls were panelled in pale rose color, and a few
ﬁne pictures were in absolute harmony. A long
mirror was in a Florentine gilt frame, and a chaise
longue, by a reading table, bespoke hours of ease.
Ruthlessly, Lowney pried into everything, ran


60 ’ VICKY VAN
his arm among the gowns hanging in the wardrobe,
and looked into the carved chests.
Again no clue. The perfect order everywhere,
showed, perhaps, preparation for guests, but noth—
ing indicated ﬂight or hiding. The dressing-table
boxes held some bits of jewelry but nothing of really
great value. An escritoire was full of letters and
papers, and this, Lowney locked, and put the key in
his pocket.
“ If it’s all right,” he said, “ there’s no harm done.
And if the lady doesn’t show up, we must examine
the stuff.”
On we went to the third ﬂoor of the house. The
rooms here were unused, save one that was evi—
dently Julie’s. The furnishings, though simple, were
attractive, and showed a thoughtful mistress and an
appreciative maid. Everything was in order. Sev-
eral uniforms of black and of gray were in the
cupboard, and several white aprons and one white
dress. There were books, and a work-basket and
such things as beto-kened the life of a sedate, busy
woman.
We left no room, no cupboard unopened. No
hall or 10ft unsearched. We looked in, under and
behind every piece of furniture, and came, at last,
to the unescapable conclusion that wherever Vicky
Van might be, she was not in her own house.
Downstairs we went, and found Coroner Fenn


SOLIERS’ REAL NAME 61
and’Inspector Mason in the hall. They had let Doc-
tor Remson go home, also Garrison and Miss Gale.
The waiters, too, had been sent off.
“ You people can go, if you like,” Fenn said, to
Mrs. Reeves and myself. “ I’ll take your addresses,
and you can expect to be called on as witnesses.
If we ever get anything to witness! I never saw
such a case! No criminal to arrest, and nobody
knows the victim! He must be from out of town.
We’ll nail Mr. Steele to-morrow, and begin to get
somewhere. Also we’ll look up Miss Van Allen’s
credits and business acquaintances. A woman can’t
have lived two years in a house like this, and not
have somebody know her antecedents and relatives.
I suppose Mr. Steele brought his friend here, and
then, when this thing happened he was scared and
lit out.”
“ Maybe Steele did the killing,” suggested
Lowney. ’ i
“ N0,” disagreed Fenn. “I believe that Dago
waiter’s yarn. I cross—questioned him a lot before
Ilet him go, and I’m sure he’s telling what he saw.
I’ll see Fraschini’s head man to-morrow—or, I sup-
pose it’s to-morrow now—hello, who’s that?”
Another policeman came in at the street door.
“ What’s up? ” he said, looking about in amaze-
ment. “You here, Mr. Fenn? Lowney? What’s
doing? ”


62 VICKY VAN
It was Patrolman Ferrall, the ofﬁcer on the beat.
“ Where you been? ” asked the coroner. “ Don’t
you know what has happened?”
“N0; ever since midnight I been handling a
crowd at a ﬁre a couple blocks away. This is Miss
Van Allen’s house.”
“ Sure it is, and a friend of hers named Somers
has been bumped off.”
“What? Killed?”
“ That’s it. What do you know of Miss Van
Allen?”
“ Nothing, except that she lives here. Quiet
young lady. Nothin’ to be said about her. Who’s
the man? ”
“ Don’t know, except named Somers. R.
Somers.”
“ Never heard of him. Where’s Miss Van
Allen?”
“ Skipped.”
“ What! That little thoroughbred can’t be
mixed up in a shootin’! ”
“ He isn’t shot. Stabbed. With a kitchen
knife.”
“ Let’s see him.”
The coroner and Ferrall went toward the dining
room, and, on an irresistible impulse of curiosity, I
followed.


SOMERS’ REAL NAME 63
“ Him! ” exclaimed Ferrall, as he caught sight
of the dead man’s features. “ That ain’t no Somers.
That’s Randolph Schuyler.”
“ \Vhat! ”
“ Sure it is. Schuyler, the millionaire. Lives
on Fifth Avenue, not far down from here. Who
killed him? ”
“ But look here. Are you sure this is Randolph
Schuyler?”
“ Sure? Of course I’m sure. His house is on
my beat. I see him often, goin’ in or comin’ out.”
“Well, then we have got a big case on our
hands! Mason!”
The inspector could scarcely believe Ferrall’s
statement, but realized that the policeman must
know.
“ Whew! ” he said, trying to think of a dozen
things at once. “Then Steele knew him, and in-
troduced him as Somers on purpose. No wonder
the clubs didn’t know of R. Somers! R. S. on his
handkerchiefs and all that. He used a false name
’cause he didn’t want it known that Randolph
Schuyler came to see Miss Van Allen! Oh, here’s a
mess! Where’s that girl? Why did she kill him?”
“ She didn’t!” Mrs. Reeves began to cry.
“ She didn’t know it was Mr. Schuyler. She doesn’t
know Mr. Schuyler. I’m sure she doesn’t, because


64 VICKY VAN
we were making lists for bazar patrons and she
said she would ask only people she knew, and we
tried to ﬁnd somebody who knew Randolph Schuy-
ler, to ask him, but we didn’t know anybody who
was acquainted with him at all. Oh, it can’t be the
rich Schuyler! \Nhy would he come here?”
“ We must get hold of Mr. Steele as soon as
possible,” said Fenn, excitedly. “ Breen, call up his
home address again, and if he isn’t there, go there
and stick till he comes. Now, for some one to
identify this body. Call up the Schuyler house—no,
better go around there. Where is it, F errall? ”
“ Go straight out to the Avenue, and turn down.
It’s No. — only part of a block down. Who’s
going?”
“You go, Lowney.” said Fenn. “Mason, will
you go? ”
“ Yes, of course. Come on, Lowney.”
The coroner gave Mrs. Reeves and myself per—
mission to go home, and I was glad to go. But
Mrs. Reeves declared her intention of staying the
night, what was left of it, in Miss Van Allen’s
house.
“It’s too late for me to go down alone,” she
said, in her sensible way. “ And, too, I’d rather be
here, in case—in case Miss Van Allen comes home.
I’m her friend, and I know she’d like me to stay.”


CHAPTER V
THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD
As for me, I began to collect my senses after the
shock of learning the true identity of the dead man.
Though I had never met him, Randolph Schuyler
was a. client and friend of my partner, Charles Brad-
bury, and I suddenly felt a sort of personal responsi—
bility of action.
For one thing, I disliked the idea of Mr. Schuy-
ler’s wife and family receiving the ﬁrst tidings of
the tragedy from the police. It seemed to me a
friend ought to break the news, if possible.
I said as much to Coroner Penn, and he agreed.
“ That’s so,” he said. “ It’ll be an awful errand.
In the middle of the night, too. If you’re acquainted,
suppose you go there with the boys, Mr. Calhoun.”
“ I’m not personally acquainted, but Mr. Schuy-
ler is my partner’s client, though there’s been little
business of his with our ﬁrm of late. But, as a
matter of humanity, I’ll go, if you say so, and be of
any help I can.”
“ Go, by all means. Probably they’ll be glad of
your advice and assistance in many ways.”
I dreaded the errand, yet I thought if the police
5 65


66 VICKY VAN

had had to go and tell Winnie and Aunt Lucy any
such awful news, how glad they’d be to have some-
body present of their own world, even of their own
neighborhood. So I went.
As we had been told, the Schuyler house was
only a few doors below the Avenue corner. Even
as Mason rang the bell, I was thinking how strange
that a man should go to a house where he desired to
conceal his own name, when it was so near his own
dwelling.
And yet, I knew, too, that the houses on Fifth
Avenue are as far removed fro-m houses just off
the Avenue, as if they were in a different town.
Mason’s ring was answered by a keen-eyed man .
of imperturbable countenance.
“ What’s wanted? ” he said, gazing calmly at the
policemen.
“Where is Mr. Schuyler? ” asked the inspector,
in a matter-of-fact way.
“ He’s out,” said the man, respectfully enough,
but of no mind to be loquacious.
“ Where? ”
“ I don’t know. He went to his club after dinner
and has not yet returned.”
“ Are you his valet? ”
“ Yes, I wait up for him. He comes in with his
key. I’ve no idea when he will return.”
“ Is his wife at home?”


THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD 67
“ Yes, Mrs. Schuyler is at home.” Clearly, this
man was answering questions only because he recog-
nized the authority that asked them. But he volun-
teered no information. .
“ Who else is in the family? Children?”
“ No, Mr. Schuyler has no children. His two
sisters are here, and Mrs. Schuyler. That is all.”
“ They are all in bed? ”
“ Yes, sir. Has anything happened to Mr.
Schuyler? ”
“ Yes, there has. Mr. Schuyler is dead.”
“ Dead!” The imperturbable calm gave way,
and the valet became nervously excited. “ What do
you mean? Where is he? Shall I go to him? ”
“ We will come in,” said Lowney, for until now,
we had stood outside. “ Then we will tell you. Are
any of the other servants about?”
“ No, sir, they are all in bed.”
“ Then—what is your name? ”
“ Cooper, sir.”
“ Then, Cooper, call the butler, or whoever is in
general charge. And—summon Mrs. Schuyler.”
“ I’ll call jepson, he’s the butler, sir. And I’ll
call Schuyler’s maid, Tibbetts, if she’s in.
And the maid, Hester, whovwaits on the Misses
Schuyler. Shall I?”


68 VICKY VAN
“ Yes, get things started. Get Jepson as soon as
you can.”
“ This is an awful affair,” said Mason, as Cooper
went off. We were in the hall, a great apartment
more like a room, save that a broad staircase curved
up at one side. The furnishings were magniﬁcent,
but in a taste heavily ornate and a little old- fashioned.
There were carved and upholstered benches, but none
of us cared to sit. The tension was too great.
“Keep your eyes open, Lowney,” he went on.
“ There’s lots to be picked up from servants, be-
fore they’re really on their guard. Get all you can
about Mr. Schuyler’s evening habits from the man,
Cooper. But go easy with the ladies. It’s hard
enough for them at best.” '
The valet reappeared with Jepson. This butler
was of the accepted type, portly and important, but
the staggering news Cooper had evidently told him,
had made him a man among men.
“ What’s this? ” he said, gravely. “ The master
dead? Apoplexy? ”
“ N o, Jepson. Mr. Schuyler was killed by some
one. We don’t know who did it.”
“ Killed! Murdered! My God! ” The butler
spoke in a strong, low voice with no hint of dra-
matic effect. “ How will Mrs. Schuyler bear it? ”
“ How shall we tell her, Jepson? ” Mason


THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD 69
showed a consultant air, for the butler was so evi-
dently a man of judgment and sense.
“ We must waken her maid, and let her rouse
Mrs. Schuyler. Then the other ladies, Mr. Schuy—
ler’s sisters, we must call them.”
“ Yes, Jepson, do all those things, as quickly as
you can.”
But the wait seemed interminable.
At last the butler came back, and asked us up to
the library, the front room on the ﬂoor above. Here
a footman was lighting a ﬁre on the hearth, for the
house had the chill of the small hours.
First came the two sisters. These ladies, though
not elderly, were middle—aged, and perhaps, a few
years older than their brother. They were austere
and prim, of aristocratic features and patrician air.
But they were almost hysterical in their excite-
ment. A distressed maid hovered behind them with
5211 volatile. The ladies were fully attired, but caps
on their heads and woolly wraps ﬂung round them
bore witness to hasty dressing.
" What is it?” cried Miss Rhoda, the younger
0f the tWO. “ What has happened to Randolph? ”
I introduced myself to them. I told them, as
gently as I could, the bare facts, deeming it wise to
make no prevarication.
So raptly did they listen and so earnestly did I


70 VICKY VAN
try to omit horrible details, and yet tell the truth,
that I did not hear Mrs. Schuyler enter the room.
But she did come in, and heard also, the story as I
told it.
“ Can it not be,” I heard a soft voice behind me
say, “ can it not yet be there is some mistake? Who
says that man is my husband? ”
I turned to see the white face and clenched hands
of Randolph Schuyler’s widow. She was holding
herself together, and trying to get a gleam of hope
from uncertainty.
If I had felt pity and sorrow for her before I
saw her, it was doubly poignant now.
Ruth Schuyler was one of those gentle, appeal-
ing women, helplessly feminine in emergency. Her
frightened, grief-stricken eyes looked out of a small,
pale face, and her bloodless lips quivered as she
caught them between her teeth in an effort to pre-
serve her self-control.
“ I am Chester Calhoun,” I said, and she bowed
in acknowledgment. “I am junior partner in the
ﬁrm of Bradbury and Calhoun. Mr. Bradbury is
one of your husband’s lawyers and also a friend, so,
as circumstances brought it about, I came here, with
Inspector Mason, to tell you—to tell you—”
Mrs. Schuyler sank into a seat. ‘ Still with that
air of determination to be calm, she gripped the


THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD 71
chair arms and said, “ I heard you tell Miss Schuy-
ler that Randolph has been killed. I ask you, may
it not be some one else? Why should he be at a
house where people called him by a name not his
own?”
She had heard, then, all I had told the older
ladies. For Mrs. Schuyler was not old. She must
be, I thought at once, years younger than her hus-
band. Perhaps a second wife. I was glad she had
heard, for it saved repeating the awful narrative.
“ He has not been identiﬁed, Mrs. Schuyler,” I
said, “ except by the policeman of this precinct, who
declares he knows him well.
I was glad to give her this tiny loophole of pos-
sibility of mistaken identity, and she eagerly grasped
at it.
“You must make sure,” she said, looking at
Inspector Mason.
“ I’m afraid there’s no room for doubt, ma’am,
but I’m about to send the man, the valet, over to see
him. Do you wish any one else to go—from the
house?”
Mrs. Schuyler shuddered. “Don’t ask me to
go,” she said, piteously. “ For I can’t think it is
really Mr. Schuyler—and if it should be ”
“ Oh, no ma’am, you needn’t go. None of the


72 VICKY VAN
family, ‘ should say.” Mason looked at the elder
ladies.
“ No, no,” cried Miss Sarah, “ we couldn’t think
of it! But let Jepson go. He is a most reliable
man.”
“ Yes,” said Mrs. Schuyler, “send Cooper and
Jepson both. Oh, go quickly—I cannot bear this
suspense! ” She turned to me, as the two men who
had been hovering in the doorway, came in to take
Mason’s orders. “ I thank you, Mr. Calhoun. It
was truly kind of you to come. Tibbetts, get me a
wrap, please.”
This was Mrs. Schuyler’s own maid, who went
on the errand at once. More servants had gathered;
one or two footmen, a silly French parlor-maid or
waitress, and from downstairs I heard the hushed
voices of others.
Tibbetts returned, and laid a ﬁeecy white shawl
about her mistress’ shoulders. Mrs. Schuyler wore
a. house dress of dull blue. Her hair of an ash-
blonde hue, was coiled on top of her head; and to
my surprise, when I noticed it, she wore a string
of large pearls round her throat, and on her hands
were two rings, each set with an enormous pearl.
I must have been akaard enough to glance at
the pearls, for Mrs. Schuyler remarked, “ I dressed


THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD 73
so hastily, I kept on my pearls. I wearéihem at
night sometimes, to preserve their luster.”
Then she apparently forgot them, for without
self-consciousness she turned to the detective and be-
gan asking questions. Nervously she inquired con-
cerning minutest details, and I surmised that side by
side with her grief at the tragedy was a very human
and feminine dismay at the thought of her husband,
stabbed to death in another woman’s house!
“ Who is Miss Van Allen?” she asked over
and over again, unsatisﬁed with the scant informa—
tion Lowney could give.
4“ And she lives near here? Just down the side
street? Who is she? ”
“ I don’t think she is anyone you ever heard of,”
I said to her. “ She is a pleasant young woman,
and so far as I know, all that is correct and proper.”
“ Then why would she have Randolph Schuyler
visiting her?” ﬂashed the retort. “Is that correct
and proper? ”
“It may be so,” I said, for I felt a sort of
loyalty to Vicky Van. “You see, she was not
acquainted with- Mr. Schuyler until this evening.”
“ Why did he go there, then? ”
“ Steele brought him—Norman Steele.”
“ I don’t know any Mr. Steele.”
I began to think that Randolph Schuyler had


'74 VICKY VAN -
possessed many acquaintances of whom his wife
knew nothing, and I concluded to see Bradbury be-
fore I revealed any more of Schuyler’s affairs.
And then, Lowney began adroitly to put ques-
tions instead of answering them.
He inquired concerning Mr. Schuyler’s habits and
pursuits, his recreations and his social life.
All three of the women gave responses to these
queries, and I learned many things.
First, that Randolph Schuyler was one manner
of man at home and another abroad. The house-
hold, it was plain to be seen, was one of most con-
servative customs and rigidly straightbacked in its
conventions.
Mrs. Schuyler was not a second wife. She had
been married about seven years, and had lived the
last ﬁve of them in the house we were now in.
She was much younger than her husband, and he
had, I could see, kept her from all knowledge of or
participation in his Bohemian tastes. They were the
sort of people who have a box at the opera and are
patrons of the best and most exclusive functions of
the highest society. Mrs. Schuyler, after the ﬁrst
shock, recovered her poise, and though now and then
a tremor shook her slight frame, she bore herself
'with dignity and calm.


THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD ’75?
The two maiden ladies also grew quieter, but we‘
all nervously awaited the return of the butler.
At last he came.
“It’s the master, Madame,” he said, simply, to
his mistress as he entered the room. “ He is. dead.”
The deferential gravity of his tone impressed me
anew with the man’s worth, and I felt that the
stricken wife had a tower of strength in the faithful
servitor. ’; _
“I left Cooper there, Madame,” he went on.
“ They—they will not bring Mr. Schuyler home to-
night. In the morning, perhaps. And now, Madame,
will you not go to rest? I will be at the service of
these gentlemen.” ’ I
It seemed cruel to torture them further. that
night, and the three ladies were dismissed by
Lowney, and, attended by their maids, they, left us.’
“ Now, jepson,” Lowney began, “ tell us‘all you
know about Mr. Schuyler’s doings. I daresa'y you
know as much as the valet does. Was Mr. scliuy-
ler as a man of the world, different from his life
in this house? ” ‘
Jepson looked perturbed; “ That’s “no‘t’for me
tosay, sir.” 11"“! '"1‘ ~
“ Oh, yes, it is, my I’rnan. The 'lav'v‘hsksiyou, and
it is for you to tell all you know.” 1.! 1' ‘ I
“ Well, then,” and the butler weighed his words;


76 VICKY VAN
“ my master was always most strict of habit in his
home. The ladies are very reserved, and abide by
rules and standards, that are, if I may say so, out of
date to-day. But, though Mr. Schuyler was by no
means a gay man or a member of any fast set, yet
I have reason to think, sir, that at times he might
go to places where he would not take Mrs. Schuyler,
and where he would not wish Mrs. Schuyler to know
he had been himself.” -
“ That’s enough,” said Lowney. “I’ve got his
number. Now, Jepson, had your master any
enemies, that you know of? ”
“ Not that I know of. But I know nothing of
Mr. Schuyler’s affairs. I see him go out of an even-
ing, and I may notice that he comes in very late, but
as to his friends or enemies, I know nothing at all.
I am not one to pry, sir, and my master has always
trusted me. I have endeavored not to betray that
trust.”
This might have sounded pharisaical in a man
of less sincerity of speech. But Jepson’s clear,
straightforward eyes forbade any doubt of his
honesty and truth.
Again I was glad that Mrs. Schuyler had this
staunch helper at her side, for I foresaw troublous
times in store for her.


THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD 77
“ And you never heard of this Miss Van Allen?
Never was in her house before? ”
“Never, sir. I know nothing of the houses on
the side blocks.” I winced at this. “ Of course, I
know the people who come to this house, but there is
among them no Miss Van Allen.”
“ Rather not! ” I thought to myself. And then
I sighed at the memory of Vicky Van. Had she
killed this millionaire? And if so, why?
I was sure Vicky had never met Randolph Schuy-
ler before that evening. I had seen their meet-
ing, and it was too surely the glance of stranger
to stranger that had passed between them, to make
a previous acquaintance possible. Vicky had been
charming to him, as she always was to every one,
but she showed no special interest, and if she did
really kill him, it was some unguessable motiv'e that
prompted the deed.
I thought it over. Schuyler, at the club, dined
and wined, had perhaps heard Norman Steele extol
the charms of Vicky Van. Interested, he had asked
to be taken to Vicky’s house, but, as it was so near
his own, a sense of precaution led him to adopt
another name.
Then the inexplicable sequel!
And the mysterious disappearance of Vicky
' herself. ' '


78 VICKY VAN
Though, of course, the girl would return. As
Mrs. Reeves had said, doubtless she had witnessed
the crime, and, scared out of her wits, had run
away. Her return would clear up the matter.
Then the waiter’s story?
Well, there was much to be done. And, as I
suddenly betho-ught me, it was time I, myself went
home!
As I passed Vicky Van’s house, on my way
home, I saw lights pretty much all over it, and was
strongly tempted to go in. But common sense told
me I needed rest, and not only did I have many
matters to attend to on the morrow, but I had to
tell the story to Aunt Lucy and Winnie!
That, of itself, would require some thought and
tactful management, for I was not willing to have
them condemn Vicky Van entirely, and yet, I could
think of no argument to put forth for the girl’s
innocence.
Time alone must tell.


CHAPTER VI
VICKY’S WAYS
“CHEs-TER CAL-HOUN! Get up this minute!
There’s a reporter downstairs! A reporter!"
My sleepy eyes opened to ﬁnd Winnie pounding
my shoulder as it humped beneath the blanket.
“Hey? What?” I grunted, trying to collect
my perceptions.
“ A reporter!” If Winnie had said a Bengal
tiger, she couldn’t have looked more terriﬁed.
"Great Scott! Win—I remember! Clear out,
I’ll be down in a minute.”
I dressed in record time and went downstairs in
three leaps. I
In the library, I found Aunt Lucy, wearing an
expression that she might have shown if the gar-
bage man had asked her to a dance.
But Winnie. was eagerly drinking in the story
poured forth by the said reporter, who was quite
evidently enjoying his audience.
“ Oh, Chet, this'is Mr. Bemis of The Meteor.
He’s telling us all about the—you know—what
happened.”
Winnie was too timid to say the word murder,
79


80 VICKY VAN
and I was sorry she had to hear the awful tale
from any one but myself. However, there was no
help for it now, and I joined the group and did all I
could to bring Aunt Lucy’s eyebrows and nose
down to their accustomed levels.
But it was an awful story, make the best of it,
and the truth had to be told.
“ It is appalling,” conceded Aunt Lucy, at length,
“‘ but the most regrettable circumstance, to my mind,
is your connection with it all, Chester.”
“ Now, Auntie, have a little heart for poor Mrs.
Schuyler, and those old lady sisters. Also for the
7,

man himself
“Oh, I have, Chet. I’m not inhuman. But
those things are in the papers every day, and while
one feels a general sympathy, it can’t be personal if
one doesn’t know the people. But, for you to be
mixed up in such matters ”
“ I wasn’t mixed up in it, Aunt Lucy, except as I
chose to mix myself. And I’ve no doubt I should
have gotten into it anyway. Mr. Bradbury will
have a lot to do with it, I’m sure. I’m no better
than he to mix in.”
“In a business way, yes. But you were there
socially—where a murder was committed ”
Aunt Lucy c0uld have shown no more horror of
it all, if I had been the convicted criminal.


VICKY’S WAYS 81
“ And, I’m glad I was}! ” I cried, losing pa-
tience a little. “ If I can be of any help to the
Schuyler people or to Miss Van Allen, I shall be
willing to do all I can.
“But Miss Van Allen is the—the murderer! ”
and Aunt Lucy whispered the word.
“ Don’t say that! ” I cried sharply. “ You don’t
know it at all, and there’s no reason to condemn the
girl ”
I paused. Bemis was taking in my every word
with a canny understanding of what I said, and also
of what I didn’t say.
“ Where do your suspicions tend, Mr. Calhoun? ”
he said smoothly. 1
“ Frankly, Mr. Bemis, I don’t know. I am an
acquaintance of Miss Van Allen and I cannot-recon-
cile the idea of crime with her happy, gentle nature.
Nor can I see any reason to suspect the waiter who
ﬁrst told of the matter. But might not some person,
some enemy of Mr. Schuyler, have been secreted in
the house—-——”
“ A plausible theory,’ agreed Bemis, “ even an
obvious one, but almost no chance of it. I’ve seen
the caterer’s people, and they were in charge of the
basement rooms and the dining-room all the even-
ing. Unless it were one of the guests at the party, I
think no intruder could have gotten in.”

,
6 .


82 VICKY VAN
f§.\!Vell,’__’ I returned, uneasily, for I wished he
would go, “‘ it isn’t up to us to invent theories or to
defend them. I will answer your necessary ques-
tions, but pardon me, if I remind you that ‘I am a
busy man and I haven’t yet had my breakfast.”
Bemis took the hint,‘v and after a string of deﬁnite
and pertinent questions, he left.
Winnie tried to detain him, but my curt courtesy
made it difﬁcult for him to linger.
“ Oh, Chessy,” cried my sister, as soon as Bemis
had gOne, “ it’s awful, I know, but isn’t it exciting? ”
“ Hush, Winnie,” reproved Aunt Lucy. “ A
girlof your age should know nothing of these things,
and I want you to put it out of your mind. You
can be of no help, and I do not want your nerves
disturbed by the harrowing details.”
" That’s all right, Aunt Lucy,” I put in, “but
this is going to be a celebrated case, and Winnie
can’t be kept in ignorance of its developments. Now
‘be a good sort, Auntie—accept the inevitable. Try
to realize that I must do what seems to me my duty,
and if that brings us more or less into the limelight
of publicity, it is a pity, but it can’t be helped.”
“ I agree to all that, Chester, dear. But you are
so mixed in it socially. Why did you ever get into
that set? ”


VICKY’S WAYS 83
“ It isn’t a bad set, Aunt Lu. It isn’t a fast set,
by any means.” ‘ -
“ You wouldn’t see Winnie or megthere.”
“ No, but a decent man goes to places where he
wouldn’t take his women people. Now, let up,
Auntie. Trust your good-for-nothing nevvy, and
just do all you can to help—by doing nothing.”
“ I’ll help you, Chessy-Cat. I’ll do exactly as
you tell me, if you’ll only let me know about it, and
not treat me like a baby,” said Winnie, who was
wheedlesomely assisting my breakfast arrangements.
She sugared and creamed my cereal, and, as I dis-
patched it, she buttered toast and poured coffee and
deftly sliced off the top of a soft-boiled egg.
I managed to eat some of these viands between
answers to their rapid-ﬁre volley of questions and
at last I made ready to go down town.
“ And remember,” I said, as I departed, “ if a lot
of gossippy old hens come around here to-day—or
your chicken friends—Winnie, don’t tell them a
thing. Let ’em get it from the papers, or apply to
information, or any old way, but don’t you two give
out a line of talk! See? ”
I kissed them both, and started off.
Of course, I went over to Vicky Van’s ﬁrst. I
had been on the proverbial pins and needles to get
there ever since I woke to consciousness by reason


84 VICKY VAN
of the sisterly pounding that brought me from the
land of dreams.
The house had an inhabited look, and when I
went in, I was greeted by the odor of boiling coffee-
“Come right down here,” called Mrs. Reeves
from the basement.
I went down, passing the closed dining-room
door with a shudder. Two or three policemen were
about, in charge of things generally, but none whom
I knew. They had been relieved for the present.
“ You’re still here? ” I said, a little inanely.
“ Yes,” returned Mrs. Reeves, who looked tired
and wan. “ I stayed, you know, but I couldn’t sleep
any. I lay down on the music-room couch, but I
only dozed a few minutes at a time. I kept hearing
strange sounds or imagining I did, and the police
were back and forth till nearly daylight. Down-
stairs, they were. I didn’t bother them, but they
knew I was in the house, if—if Vicky should come
home.”
Her face was wistful and her eyes very sad. I
looked my sympathy.
“ You liked her, I know,” she went on. “ But
everybody ’most, has turned against her. Since
they found the man was Randolph Schuyler, all
sympathy is for him and his widow. They all con-
demn Vicky.”


VICKY ’S WAYS 85
“ You can scarcely blame them,” I began, but she
interrupted.
“ I do blame them! They’ve no right to accuse
that girl unheard.”
“ The waiter ”
“ Oh, yes, I know, the waiter! Well, don’t let’s
quarrel about it. I can’t stay here much longer,
though. I made coffee and got myself some break-
fast—but, honest, Mr. Calhoun, it pretty nearly
choked me to eat sandwiches that had been made for
last night’s surprise supper! ”
“ I should think it would! Didn’t any rolls come,
or milk, you know? ”
“ I didn’t see any. Well, I’ll go home this morn-
ing, but I shall telephone up here every little while.
The police will stay here, I suppose.”
“Yes, for a day or two. Do you think Vicky
will come back? ”
“I don’t know. She’ll have to, sooner or later.
I tried to make myself sleep in her room last night, A
but I just couldn’t. So I stayed in the music room.
Ithought—I suppose it was foolish—but I thought
maybe she might telephone.”
“ She’d hardly do that.”
“I don’t know. It’s impossible to say what she
might do. Oh, the whole thing is impossible! Think
0! it, Mr. Calhoun. Where could that girl have


86 VICKY VAN
gone? Alone, at midnight, in that gorgeous gown,
no hat or wrap—”
“ How do you know that? ”
“ I don’t—not positively. But if she had put on
wraps and gone out by either door she would surely
have been seen by some one in the house. I’m just
sure she didn’t go out by the front street door, for
we in the living-room must have noticed her. And
she couldn’t have gone out by the area door, for
there were waiters all about, down here.”
We were sitting in the front basement room, a
pleasant enough place, evidently a servants’ sitting
room. Before Mrs. Reeves, on the table, were the
remnants of her scarce tasted breakfast. As she
had said, the tiny sandwiches and rich salad, which
she had “procured from the unused stores of the
caterer’s provision, did seem too closely connected
with the tragedy to be appetizing.
“ The kitchen is back of this?” I asked.
“Yes, and dumb waiters to the dining-room.
Ii-EOIlfCSS I’ve looked about a bit. I’m not a prying
woman—but I felt I was justiﬁed.” .
“You certainly are, Mrs. Reeves,” I said,
warmly, for she was thoroughly good-hearted, and
a-staunch friend of Vicky Van. “ Have you learned
anything illuminating? ”


VICKY’S WAYS 87
“ No; but things are queer.”
“ Queer, how? ”
“ Well, you wouldn’t understand. A man
couldn’t. But it’s this way. Lots of potted meats
and jars of jam and cans/of tea and coffee and
cocoa in the pantry, but no fresh meat or green vege-
tables about. No butter in the icebox, and no eggs
or bacon.”
“ Well, what does that imply? I’m no house-
keeper, I admit.”
“ It looks to me as if Vicky was leaving this
morning—I mean as if she had expected to go away
to-day, and so had no stuff on hand to spoil.”
“ Perhaps this is her market day.”
“ No; it’s queer, that’s what it is. You know
sometimes Vicky does go away for days at ’a time.”
“ Hasn’t she a right to? ”
“ Of course she has. I’m thinking it out. Where
does she go? And wherever it is, that’s where she
is now! ” _'
Mrs. Reeves’ triumphant air seemed to settle the:
question. 1
“ But all that isn’t queer, my dear lady,” I said.
“ We all know Vicky Van gads about a lot. I’ve
telephoned her myself twice, and she wasn’t here.
Once, Julie answered, and once there was no re-
sponse of any sort.”


88 VICKY VAN

“ Yes, I suppose that’s the case. She was going
away on a visit to—day, maybe, and so had little
food on hand to be disposed of. A good house-
keeper would look after that. Of course, it wouldn’t
be Vicky’s doing, but Julie’s. That housekeeper is
a treasure. She could run a hotel if she wanted to.”
“ Then, perhaps,” I mused, aloud, “Vicky ran
away and went to the place, wherever it is, that she
expected to visit to-day.”
“Oh, I don’t know. This is all merely con-
jecture. And, too, how could she, in that dress?
No, she has gone to some friend in town. She
must have done so. A hotel wouldn’t take her in—
why,” Mrs. Reeves’ voice broke, “you know that
waiter said there—there was blood on Vicky’s
gown! ”
“ Do you believe that?”
“ If we believe him at all, why shouldn’t we be-
lieve the whole tale? I don’t know Vicky Van, you
understand, except as a casual friend. I mean, I
know nothing of her family, her past, or her person—
ality, except as I’ve seen her in a friendly way. I
like her, thoroughly, but I can’t honestly say that I
know her.” '
“ Who does? ”
“ Nobody. All her friends say the same thing.
She is lovely and dear, but never conﬁdential, or
communicative regarding herself.”


VICKY ’S WAYS 89
“Wherever she went, Julie must be with her,”
I suggested.
“I don’t know. I dare say that is so, but how
on earth could two women get out of this house
without its being known?”
“ And yet, they did. Whether alone or_together,
they both got away last night. You don’t think
they’re still concealed in the house? ”
“Oh, no, of course not; after the search we
made.” ‘
“I can’t help thinking they’ll turn up to-day.
Julie, anyway. Why, Miss Van Allen must come
back or send back for her valuables. I saw jewelry
and money in the dressing—room.”
“Yes; but, of course, they’re safe enough.
They’re all in care of the police.”
We were interrupted by the entrance of a police-
man and a woman who had come to work.
“She says,” the policeman addressed Mrs.
Reeves, “ that she was expected here to-day to clean.
Now, we can’t let her disturb things much, but she’d
better wash up a little, and throw away some of the
supper stuff that won’t keep.”
Everybody seemed to look to Mrs. Reeves as a
sort of proxy housekeeper, and I wondered what
lhey would have done without her. Though I sup-
POSe they would have managed.


90 ' VICKY VAN -
“. Yes, indeed,” was her glad response. “' Let
her tidy up these breakfast things I’ve used, and
there’s some cups and plates in the kitchen, for I
gave those poor policemen some food ’long ’bout
three o’clock this morning. And she can throw out
the melted ice cream, it’s no good to anybody, and
it surely isn’t evidence!”
I determined to ask the working-woman some
questions, but the police forestalled me.
Ferrall came down and' joined us, and spoke to
her at once.
“ Good morning, Mrs. Flaherty. Don’t you do
anything now, but just what you’re told to do. And
ﬁrst, tell us a thing or two. How often do you come
here? I’ve seen you in and out, now and again.”
“ Yes, I do be comin’ whin I’m sint for; not of a
reg’lar day. Maybe wanst a week, maybe of’ner.
Thin agin, not for a fortnight.”
“ Just as I said,” declared Mrs. Reeves. “ Vicky
often goes away for days at a time.”
“ Shure she does that. Miss Van Allen is here
to-day an’ go-ne to-morrow, but Miss Julie she looks
after me wurruk, so she does.”
“She engages you when you are needed?” I
asked. 1
“ Yes, sir. They’s a tillyphone in me husband’s
shop, an’ if anny wan calls me, he lets me know.”q


VICKY ’S WAYS 91
“ When did they‘tell you to come here t01-day? ”
“’Twas yisterday, sir. Miss Julie, she sinds
wurrud for me to come this marnin’ to clane’,‘as they
do be havin’ a party last night. Ach, that this
thmbble should come!”
“There, now, Mrs. Flaherty, never mind your
personal feelings. We’re in a hurry.” Ferrall was
busy making notes of the information he was get-
ting, and I could well understand, that any side-light
0n Vicky’s home life was of importance. So I
tarried to listen.
“How long have you worked for Miss Van
Allen?”
“ A matther av a year or more.”
“ You clean the rooms upstairs, sometimes?”
“ All over the house. Manny’s the time I’ve
Sbwept an’ vacuumed Miss Van Allen’s own bed-
room an’ boodore. An’ likewise the music room an’
parlure an’ all. Yis, sor, I’m here frekint.”
“What other servants does Miss Van Allen em-
Ploy? ”
“Nobody that lives in, ’ceptin’ Miss Julie. But
there’s the laundry woman, as comes—though more
often the wash goes out. Thin, there’s a chore boy,
as runs arrants; an’ sometimes a sewin’ woman; an’
Often the caterer man’s dagoes; Yis, an’ a boy, a
Buttons you know, to open the dure for, say, an


92 VICKY VAN
afternoon party. You see, Miss Van Allen is off
visitin’ so much, she don’t want steady help.”
“ Where does she visit? ”
“ That I dunno. But go, she does, an’ I’m
thinkin’ it’s good times she has. For she comes back,
chipper an’ merry an’ glad to see her friends—an’
thin, all of a suddint, up an’ off agin.”
I knew that was Vicky Van’s habit. All that
the woman said corroborated my idea of the little
butterﬁy’s frivolous life. So, why should she keep
permanent servants if she was at home only half
the time? I knew the troubles Aunt Lucy had with
her menials, and I approved of Vicky’s wisdom.
“ And that explains the empty icebox,” Mrs.
Reeves was saying, nodding her head in satisfaction.
“ Vicky meant to go off to-day, after the house was
put in order, and she didn’t want a lot of food left
to spoil.”
“ Yis, mum,” agreed Mrs. Flaherty. “ Shall I
wash thim dishes now, mum?”
And she was allowed to set to work.


CHAPTER VII
RUTH SCHUYLER
THERE were many calls on Vicky Van’s tele-
phone that morning. It seemed to me that the bell
rang almost continually. The police people answered
it, and one time, I was surprised to learn that the
call was for me.
I took up the receiver and heard Mr. Bradbury’s
voice. ’ _
“I called up your home,” he said, “ and your
sister told me to try this number. Now, look here,
Calhoun, I wish you’d go to see Mrs. Schuyler.
I’ve talked with her over the telephone, and she asked
me to come up there, but I’ve got the Crittendon
case on this morning, and I can’t get away very
well. So you go and see what you can do for her.
She told me you were there last night, and she’s
willing to have you in my place.”
I agreed, feeling rather flattered that the rich
man’s widow should so readily accept me as Mr.
Bradbury’s substitute.
“ I’m sorry you’re going there,” said Mrs.
Reeves, her eyes ﬁlling with tears, as I took leave
0! her. “ Of course, the Schuylers will pump you
05


94 VICKY VAN
about Vicky, and try to make you say that she
killed that man!” .
“ I must tell Mrs. Schuyler the truth,” I said.
“ Yes, but can’t you give Vicky the beneﬁt of
the doubt? For there is a doubt. Why should she
kill a man she never had seen before?”
“ Perhaps he wasn’t a stranger to her, after all.”
“ Why, I heard her say, before he came, that she
didn’t know him.”
“ You heard her say she didn’t know Mr.
Somers,” I corrected. “ I’ve been thinking this thing
‘ over. Suppose Vicky did know Mr. Schuyler, and
when Steele proposed bringing a Mr. Somers ”
“ No, you’re all wrong!” she exclaimed. “ I
saw them when they met, and I’m sure they had
never laid eyes on each other before. There was
not the least sign of recognition. Besides, that isn’t
like Vicky—to have a millionaire and a married man
for her friend. That girl is all right, Mr. Calhoun,
and I don’t want you to let Mrs. Schuyler think she
isn’t.”
“ Perhaps Mrs. Schuyler knows something about
her.”
“ I doubt it. Anyway, you stand up for Vicky,
as far as you can do so honestly. Won’t you? ”
“ I can surely promise that,” I replied, as I started
on my errand.


RUTH SCHUYLER 95
Approaching the Fifth Avenue residence, I looked
at the house, which I had been unable to see clearly
the night before.
It was large and handsome, but not one of the
most modern mansions. Four stories, it was, and as
I glanced up I noticed that all the window shades
were down. The ﬂoral emblem of death hung at
one side of the wide entrance, and as I approached,
the door silently swung open.
A footman was in charge, and I was ushered
at once to the library where I had been some hours
earlier. It was not a cheerful room; the appoint-
ments were heavy and somber, though evidently the
woods and fabrics were of great value. A shaded
electrolier gave a dim light, for the drawn blinds
precluded daylight.
A soft step, and Mrs. Schuyler came into the
room. V
Black garb was not becoming to her. The night
before, in her blue house-dress, she had looked al-
most pretty, but now, in a black gown, without even
a bit of relieving white at her throat, she was plain
and very pathetic.
Her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes
showed dark shadows, as of utter weariness. She
greeted me simply and glided to a nearby chair.
“ It is kind of you to come, Mr. Calhoun,” and


96 VICKY VAN
the ﬁne quality of her voice and inﬂection betokened
New England ancestry, or training. “ As you were
here last night—you seem more like a friend than
a mere business acquaintance.”
“I am very glad, Mrs. Schuyler,” and I spoke
sincerely, “ that you look on me like that. Please
tell me anything you wish to, and command me in
any way I can serve you.”
The speech sounded a little stilted, I knew, but
there was something about Ruth Schuyler that
called for digniﬁed address. She had the air of
bewildered helplessness that always appeals to a
man, but she had, too, a look of determination as to
one who would do the right thing at any cost of
personal unpleasantness.
“ It is all so dreadful,” she began, and an in-
suppressible sob threatened her speech. But she
controlled it, and went on. “ There is so much to
be gone through with and I am so ignorant of—of
law and—you know—of police doings.”
“ I understand,” I returned, “ and anything that
you can be spared, rest assured you shall be. But
there is much ahead of you that will be hard for
you—very hard, and perhaps I can help you get
ready for it.”
“ Will there be an inquest, and all that?” she
whispered the word half fearfully.


RUTH SCHUYLER 97
“Yes, there must be; though not for several
days, probably. You know they can’t ﬁnd Miss Van
Allen.”
“ No. Where can she be? I don’t suppose they
will ever ﬁnd her. Why should she kill my hus-
band? Have you any theory, Mr. Calhoun? How
well did you know this—this person? ”
“Only fairly well. By which I mean, I have
met her some half a dozen times.”
“Always in her own house? ”
“Not always. I’ve attended studio parties
where she was present ”
“Oh, Bohemian affairs? "'
“ Not exactly. Miss Van Allen is a delightful
girl, bright and of merry spirits, but in no way fast
- 0r of questionable habits.”
“That’s what they tell me; but pardon me, if I
Cannot believe a really nice, correct young woman
would have a married man visiting her.”
“ But remember, Mrs. Schuyler, Miss Van Allen
did not invite Mr. Schuyler to her house. As near
as We can make out, Mr. Steele brought him, with-
out Miss Van Allen’s permission. And under an
assumed name.”
A blush of shame stained her face.
“I realize,” she said, “ how that reﬂects against
my husband. Must all this be made public, Mr.
Calhoun?”

'7


98 VICKY VAN
“I fear it must. The law is inexorable in its
demands for justice.”
“ But if they can’t ﬁnd Miss Van Allen, how
can they indict her? or whatever the term is. Why
can’t the whole affair be hushed up? Personally,
I would far rather never ﬁnd the girl—never have
her punished, than to drag the Schuyler name
through the horrors of a murder trial."
“I quite understand your position, but it will
not be possible to evade the legal proceedings. Of
course, if Miss Van Allen is never found, the affair
must remain a mystery. But she will be found. A
lady like that can’t drop out of existence.”
’ “No, of course not. Why, her bills must be
paid, her household effects looked after; is she in
a house or an apartment?” .
“ A house. I understand she owns it.”
“ Then she must communicate with her busineSs
people—lawyer, vbank or creditors. Can’t you trace
her that way? ”
“We hopev to. As you say, she must surely
return to attend to such matters.”
“ And her servants? What do they say? ”
I described the unusual menage that Vicky Van
supported, and Mrs. Schuyler was interested.
“How strange,” she said. “She sounds to
me like an adventuress! ”


RUTH SCHUYLER 99
“ No, she isn’t that. She has money enoug .”
“ Where does she get it? ”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. But she is a quiet,
self-reliant little person, and not at all of the ad-
venturess type.”
. “ It doesn’t matter,” and Mrs. Schuyler sighed.
“ I don’t care anything about her personality. She
must be bad or she wouldn’t have killed my husband.
I’m not defending him, but men don’t go to the
houses of complete strangers and get murdered by
them! And I hope she will never be found, for it
might bring out a story of scandal or shame that
will always cling to Mr. Schuyler’s memory. But,
of course, she will come back, and she will plead
innocence and lay all blame on Mr. Schuyler. Can’t
we buy her off? I would pay a large sum to keep
her story from the world.” _
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Schuyler, but that can’t be
done.”
“I thought you would help me—I’m so dis-
appointed.”
Tears gathered in her eyes, and her voice trem-
bled. I wished Bradbury had had this job instead
of myself, for I am soft-hearted where feminine
appeal is concerned, and I didn’t know quite what
to say.


100 VICKY VAN
But just then the two Schuyler sisters came into
the library and I rose to greet them.
“Oh,” cried Miss Rhoda, “it’s all too awful!
We can’t believe it! I wish I had that girl here!
You must ﬁnd her, Mr. Calhoun—you must!”
“Yes,” chimed in Miss Sarah; “she must be
brought to judgment. An eye for an eye and a life
for a life. That’s the Scripture law.”
“ Don’t talk so, Sarah,” pleaded Ruth Schuyler.
“ It won’t bring Randolph back, to punish his mur—
derer. And think of the awful publicity!”
“ I don’t care for that. Murder has been done
and murder must be avenged. I’m ashamed of you,
Ruth, if you let any idea of personal distaste stand
in the way of righteous law and order.”
“I, too,” agreed Rhoda. “Spare no effort or
expense, Mr. Calhoun, to ﬁnd that wicked girl and
have her arrested.”
“I daresay you are right,” and Mrs. Schuyler’s
acquiescence showed her to be more or less under
the iron hand of the family opinion. “ Of course,
if you feel that way, I shall raise no obstacle to the
law’s progress. Whatever you advise, Rhoda, I
agree to.”
“ Certainly you do. You are young, Ruth, and
you are not a Schuyler. Why, the very name de-
mands the strongest powers of the law. I only fear


RUTH SCHUYLER 101
that the most desperate efforts may not succeed.
What is your opinion, Mr. Calhoun? Can they ﬁnd
that woman?”
The scorn of the last two words, as uttered by
Rhoda Schuyler’s sharp tongue, is not to be repro-
duced in print:
“I think most probably, yes, Miss Schuyler. I
think she must return sooner or later.”
“ Don’t wait for that!” exclaimed Sarah. “ Send
people to search for her. Scour the country. Don’t
let her get away beyond retrieval. Offer a reward,
if necessary, but get her! ”
“ A reward!” repeated Rhoda. “ Yes, that’s
it. Put it in the paper at once; a large reward for
any information of Miss Van Allen.”
“Stay,” I urged; “ don’t decide on such meas-
ures too hastily. Might you not defeat your own
purpose? Miss Van Allen doubtless will see the
papers, wherever she may be. If she learns of the
reward, she will hide herself more securely than
ever.”
“ I think so, too,” said Ruth, in her gentle voice.
“I am sure, Rhoda, we oughtn’t to do anything like
that just yet. Oh, how hard it is to know what
to do.” - '
“ Yes, we’ve always deferred everything to Ran-
dolph. How can we get along without him?”


102 VICKY VAN
“ We must,” and Mrs. Schuyler set her pale lips
together in an evident determination to be brave and
strong. “Now, Mr. Calhoun, what is there to be
discussed in a business way? I mean regarding Mr.
Schuyler’s business with you or Mr. Bradbury? ”
“ Nothing at present,” I returned, feeling sure
the. poor woman had quite enough on her mind.
“ The will can be examined at your convenience, and
any questions of securities or money can rest over
for a time. Do you wish any ready cash? Or shall
we look after any money matters?”
‘2 Thank you, no. Such things are systematic-
ally arranged in the household. Jepson attends to
bills and tradesmen. My greatest wish is for a
secretary or some person to write notes and look
after the ﬂood of letters and telegrams that has
already begun.”
I felt surprised, for I had assumed that the rich
man’s wife had a social secretary of her own.
“I’ve no one,” she said, in response to my
glance, “ Mr. Schuyler didn’t wish me to have a
secretary, and indeed I didn’t need one. But now
Y!

“ Of course, it is necessary now.”
“ Not at all,” interrupted Miss Rhoda. “I am
surprised at-you, Ruth! You know how Randolph


RUTH SCHUYLER 103
objected to such things, and now, as soon as he is
gone, you begin to—”
“ Hush, Rhoda,” said Ruth, with gentle dignity.
“ It was not necessary before, but it is now. You’ve
no idea what a task it will be. All our friends and
many of Randolph’s acquaintances will call or send
messages and they must be acknowledged
“ And, pray, what else have you to do, but
acknowledge them? Sarah and I will attend to our
own. A great many, doubtless, but not too much
of a task for us, when it is in memory of our dear
brother! ”
“Very well,” and Ruth spoke calmly, “ we will
wait for a day or two, Mr. Calhoun, and then, if, as I
believe, the matter requires further consideration,
’7

we will discuss it again.”
Clever woman, I thought to myself. She isn’t
altogether chummy with those old maid sisters, and
yet she knows better than to have any open dis—
agreement. I’ll bet she gets her secretary when she
gets ready for one! I’ll be on the lookout for the
right girl for her. '
“ When will they bring my husband home?”
she continued, without waiting for comment on her
decision about the secretary.
“Some time to-day,” I returned, looking com-
miseratingly at the harassed white face. “ Prob-


104 ' VICKY VAN
ably this afternoon. Can I take any message re-
garding the funeral arrangements?”
“ Not yet,” and Ruth Schuyler shuddered.
“ Those details are so terrible—”
“ Terrible, yes,” said Miss Sarah, “ but they must
be looked after. We will see the undertaker’s men,
Ruth. I think Rhoda and I will know better what is
ﬁt and proper for Randolph’s burial ceremonies than
you possibly can.”
I began to realize that the sisters had a family
pride which did not include their brother’s wife in
their councils. Apparently she was, or they deemed
her, of lesser birth or social standing. Personally,
however, I greatly preferred the gentle kindliness
of the widow to the aristocratic hauteur of the
sisters.
Ruth Schuyler made no objection to the propo-
sition, and seemed relieved that her advice would
not be required. _
“ Who is in the house where Mr. Schuyler was
--where he died?” she asked, hesitatingly.
“Only the police,” I answered, “unless Miss
Van Allen has returned.”
“Were——¥were there many people there—last
night?”
Clearly, she wanted to know more details of the
occasion, but didn’t like to show curiosity.


RUTH SCHUYLER 105
“Yes,” I informed her, “quite a number. It
was Miss Van Allen’s birthday, and so, a sort of
little celebration.”
“ Her birthday? How old was she? ”
“ I’ve no idea. I should guess about twenty-two
or twenty-three.”
“ Is she—is—what does she look like?”
The eternal feminine wanted to ask “is she
pretty?” but Ruth Schuyler’s dignity scarcely per-
mitted the question. I noticed, too, that the sisters
listened attentively for my reply.
“Yes,” I said, truthfully, “she is pretty. She
is. small, with very black hair, and large, dark gray
eyes. She is exceedingly chic and up-to-date as to
costumes, and is of vivacious and charming manner.”
“ Humph! ” sniffed Miss Rhoda, “ an actress?”
“ Not at all! Victoria Van Allen is a well-bred
lady if there ever was one.”
“ You are a staunch friend, Mr. Calhoun,” and
Mrs. Schuyler looked her surprise.
“ I speak only as I feel; I can’t say surely that
Miss Van Allen did not commit this crime, for I
know there is evidence against her. But I can’t
reconcile the deed with her character, as I know it,
and I, for one, shall wait further developments be-
fore I condemn her. But, of course, Mrs. Schuyler,
my personal feelings in the matter have no weight in


106 VICKY VAN
law, and I stand ready to obey whatever orders you
may give in connection with a search for the missing
girl.”
“ I don’t know exactly what I do want done, yet,
Mr: Calhoun,” and Ruth Schuyler glanced defer-
ringly toward the sisters.
“ No, we don’t.” For once Sarah agreed with
Ruth. “ After the funeral, we can set our minds to
the ﬁnding of the criminal. Of course, the police
will do all they can, meantime, to trace.her? ”
“ Of course. And such a plan is best. She may
5’

return
“ To a house guarded by police?” asked Ruth.
“ Possibly. If she is innocent, why not? ”
“ Innocent! ” exclaimed Miss Rhoda with utmost
scorn.
“ Some of her friends think her so,” I observed.
“ Mrs. Reeves, a lady who was at the party, stayed in
the house all night, and is, I think, there still.”
“ Why did she do that?” asked Mrs. Schuyler,
looking puzzled.
“ She hoped Miss Van Allen would return, and
she waited there to look after her.”
“ That was kind. Who is this lady? ”
“ She lives down on Washington Square. I only
know her slightly, but she is a warm-hearted and a


RUTH SCHUYLER 107
most capable and sensible one. She refuses to be-
lieve that Vicky Van ”
“What do you call her?”
“ Her friends call her Vicky Van. It—it sort of
suits her.”
“ From what you say, I judge she is not the
terror I thought her at ﬁrst; but, all the same, she
murdered my husband, and I cannot look on her as

you seem to.”
“ Nor can I blame you. Your feelings toward
her are entirely just, Mrs. Schuyler.”


CHAPTER VIII
THE LETTER-BOX
“ IT’s a queer case,'” said Mr. Bradbury to me,
when I reached the ofﬁce that afternoon. “Of
course, I know Randolph Schuyler was no saint, but
I never supposed he was deep enough in any affair
to have a woman kill him. And so near his own
home, too! He might have had the decency to choose
his lady acquaintances in more remote sections of
the city.”
“ That isn’t the queerest part to me,” I returned.
“ What I can’t understand is, why that girl stabbed
him. She didn’t know him—-”
“Now, now, Calhoun, she must'have known
him. She didn’t know any Somers, we’ll say, but
she must have known Schuyler. A murder has to
have a motive. She had provided herself with that
knife beforehand, you see, and she got him out to
the dining-room purposely.”
“ I can’t think it,” I said, and I sighed. “ I know
Vicky Van fairly well, and she wouldn’t ”
“ You can’t say what a woman would or wouldn’t
do. But it’s not our business to look after the
criminal part of it, we’ve got all we can handle,

108


THE LETTERBOX 109
attending to the estate. And here’s another thing.
I wish you’d do all that’s necessary up at the house.
I always got along all right with Randolph Schuyler,
but I can’t stand those sisters of his. His wife I
have never met. But those old Schuyler women get
on my nerves. So you look after them. You’re
more of a ladies’ man than I am, so you go there and
talk pretty when they want legal advice.”
“I’m willing,” I agreed. “I don’t care such a
lot for the sisters myself, but Mrs. Schuyler is a
young thing, ignorant of her own rights, and those
old maids boss her like fury. I’m going to see that
she has her own way in some few things, at least.
She inherits half the fortune, you know.”
“Yes, and the sisters a quarter each. That is,
after some minor bequests and'charitable donations
are settled. Schuyler was a good sort—as men go.”
“ Then men go pretty badly! He was a brute to
his wife; I’ve been told he ruled her with a rod of
iron, and what he didn’t bother her about, the old
sisters did.”
“That’s neither here nor there. Don’t you try
to be a peacemaker in that family. I know those two
old ladies, and they’d resent anything in the way of
criticism of their treatment of their sister-in-law.
And, if Schuyler didn’t treat his wife handsomely,
she’s rid of him now, at any rate.”


110 VICKY VAN
“ You’re a cold-blooded thing, Bradbury,” I in-
formed him, “ and I am going to do all I can for that
young widow. She’ll have a lot of unpleasant pub-
licity at best, and if I can shield her from part of it,
so much the better.”
“All right, Calhoun. Do what you like, but
don’t get in on the detective work. I know your
weakness for that sort of thing, and I know if you
begin, you’ll never let up.”
Bradbury was right. I have a fondness for de-
tective work—not the police part, of it, but the in-
quiry into mystery, the deduction from clues and the
sifting of evidence. I had no mind to miss the in-
quest, and I had a burning curiosity to know what
had become of Vicky Van. This was not only curi-
osity, either. I had a high respect and a genuine
liking for that little lady, and, as Mrs. Reeves had
put it, I was only too willing to give her the beneﬁt
of the doubt.
Though I couldn’t feel any real doubt that she
had killed Schuyler. As Bradbury said, she didn’t
know a Mr. Somers, but she may have known the
millionaire Schuyler. I had never seen anything of
a seamy side to Vicky’s character; but then, I
didn’t know her so very well, and the man was dead,
and who else could have killed him?
I went around to the caterer’s on my way uptown


THE LETTER-BOX 111
that afternoon, and asked him as to the reliability of
Luigi and the probable truth of his story.
“ That man,” F raschini told me, “ is as honest
as the day. I’ve had him longer than any of my
other waiters, and he has never said or done any-
. thing to make me doubt his accuracy. I believe,
Mr. Calhoun, that Luigi saw exactly what he said
he saw.”
“ NIight he not have been mistaken in the identity
of the woman?”
“ Not likely. I’ll call him, and you can ques-
tion him.” '
This was what ’I wanted, to question the waiter
alone, and I welcomed the opportunity.
“ I know it was Miss Van Allen," was the quiet
response of the Italian to my inquiry. “ I cannot be
mistaken. -I had seen her many times during the
evening. I, therefore, recognized the gown she
wore, of light yellow gauzy stuff and an over-dress
of long gold bead fringes. I saw her stand above the
fallen body, looking down at it with a horriﬁed face.
I saw stains of blood on her gown ”
“ Where?” I interrupted. “What part of her
gown?”
Luigi thought a moment. “On the lower
ﬂounces, as if her skirts had brushed against the—
the victim, when she stooped over him.”
“ Did she herself observe these stains? ”


112 VICKY VAN
“Yes; she looked at them, and looked fright-
ened and then she ran to the hall.”
“ And you saw no other person near? ”
“ None.”
“ And heard nobody? ”
“ I heard only the voices from the parlor. There
was much noise of laughter and talk there.”
N 0 amount of questioning could change or add
to Luigi’s story. It was quite evident that he was
telling just what he saw, and had no interest in
coloring it to make it appear different in any way.
He admired Miss Van Allen, he said she was a
pleasant lady and not hard to please if her orders
were faithfully carried out. He expressed no per-
sonal interest in the question of her guilt or in-
nocence, he simply told what he had seen. I didn’t
altogether like his stolid indifference, it seemed im-
possible there should be so little humanity in a
fellow~being, but I knew he was a good and con-
scientious waiter, and I concluded he was nothing
more.
I went home, and, of course, was met by Aunt
Lucy and Winnie with a perfect storm of questions.
“ After dinner,” I begged. “ Let me get a little
rest and food, and then I’ll tell you all I know.”
But after a few spoonfuls of soup, Winnie de—
clared I was too nervous to eat and I might as well
talk.


THE LETTER-BOX 113
“Well, I will,” I said. “But, look here, you
two. To begin with, I want you to understand that
I’m involved in this matter in a business way, and
I’m also interested in a personal way. And I don’t
want any silly talk about it’s being unfortunate or
regrettable that I should be. It’s a business case,
Aunt Lucy, as far as the settlement of Mr. Schuyler’s
estate is concerned, and it’s a personal affair that I’m
acquainted with Miss Van Allen; and I propose to
make more or less effort to ﬁnd some trace of that
girl, and to see if there is any possible chance that
she may not be the guilty one after all.”
“ Good for you, Lord Chesterton! ” cried
Winnie. “I always knew you were the soul of
chivalry, and now you’re proving it! What are you
going to do-—t0 ﬁnd out things, I mean? ”
“ I don’t know yet, Win. But if you want to
help me, you can do a lot.”
“ Indeed, she won’t! ” declared Aunt Lucy. “ If
you have to do these things as a matter of business,
I can’t object. But I won’t have Winnie dragged
into it.”
“ No dragging, Aunt Lu, and nothing very des-
perate for Winnie to do. But, I’d be jolly glad if
both of you would just glance out of the window
occasionally and see if you see anything going on
at the Van Allen house, that’s all.”
s


114 VICKY VAN
“ Oh, I’ll do that!” Winnie cried. “ Nobody can
see me, I’ll keep behind our curtains, and I can see
that house perfectly well.”
“ I don’t mean all the time, child. But I do feel
sure that Vicky Van will come back there, and if
you glance out now and then, you might see her go
in or out.”
“ But it’s dark,” said Aunt Lucy, who was be-
coming interested, in spite of her scruples.
“I don’t mean to—night, or any night. But in
the daytime. She’s likely to come, if at all, in broad
daylight, I think.”
“ Aren’t the police keeping guard on the house? ”
inquired my aunt.
“ Only the regular patrolman. He passes it
every few hours, joggles the doorknob, and goes on.
If Vicky is as clever as I think she is, she’ll time
that policeman, and sneak into the house between
his rounds. It’s only a chance, you know, but you
might see her.”
And then I told them all I knew myself of the
whole affair. And seeing that I was deeply into the
turmoil of it all, and had grave responsibilities,
Aunt Lucy withdrew all objections and sympathized
with me. Also, she was impressed with my impor-
tant business connections with the Schuyler family,
and was frankly curious about that aristocratic


THE LETTER-BOX - 115
household. I was asked over and over again as to
their mode of living, the furniture and appoint-
ments of the house, and the attitudes of the widow
and the sisters toward each other.
It was late in the evening before I remembered
some important papers Mr. Bradbury had given me
to hand to Mrs. Schuyler, and as soon as I thought
of them I telephoned to know if I might then bring
them over.
“ Yes,” came back Ruth Schuyler’s soft voice.
“I wish you would. I want to consult you about
some other things also.”
The interview was less trying than that of the
morning had been. Several matters of inheritance,
insurance, and such things were discussed, and Mrs.
Schuyler was more composed and calm.
She looked better, too, though this was doubt-
less due, in part, to the fact that she wore a white
house dress which was far more becoming than
black to her colorless face and light hair.
“ I don’t know,” she said, at length, “ whether
what I want to say should be said to you or to the
detective.”
“Tell me ﬁrst,” I said, “ and I may be able to
advise you. In any case, it will be conﬁdential.”
“ You are kind,” she said, and her grateful eyes
smiled appreciatively. “It’s this. I’d rather not


116 VICKY VAN
have that—that Miss Van Allen traced, if it can be
prevented in any way. I have a special reason for
this, which I think I will tell you. It is, that, on
thinking it over I have become convinced that my
husband must have known the young woman, and
the acquaintance was not to his credit. For some
reason, I think, she must have forbidden him the
house, and that is why he went there under an
assumed name. Mr. Lowney succeeded in getting
Mr. Steele on the long distance telephone ”
“ Why, where is Steele?” 7
“ In Chicago. Mr. Lowney says that he had to go
there on the midnight train, and that is why he left
the lady’s house—Miss Van Allen’s house, so
suddenly.”
“ Really? Well, I am surprised. But, go on,
what else did Steele say?”
“ He said that Mr. Schuyler was with him at the
club, and that he, Mr. Steele, said he was going to
Miss Van Allen’s party and Mr. Schuyler begged
him to take him along, and introduce him as Mr.
Somers. It seems he had asked Mr. Steele before
to do this, but this time he was more insistent. So
Mr. Steele did it. Of course, Mr. Calhoun, I asked
Mr. Lowney minutely about all this, because I want
to know just what circumstances led up to my hus—
band’s going to that house.”


THE LETTER-BOX 117
“ Of course, Mrs. Schuyler, you have every right
to know. And did Steele say that was Mr. Schuyler’s
ﬁrst visit there or merely his ﬁrst visit as Mr.
Somers ? ”
“ Mr. Steele thought Mr. Schuyler had never been
to the house before at all. But may he not have
been mistaken? May not Mr. Schuyler have known
the lady previously—oh, it is such a moil! But, in
any case, Mr. Calhoun, it seems to me that further
probing and searching will only pile up opprobrium
on the name of Schuyler, and—I can’t stand it. I
am so unused to notoriety or publicity I can’t face
all the unpleasantness that must follow! Do help me
to avoid it, won’t'you? ”
“I certainly will, if I can. But I fear you ask
the impossible, Mrs. Schuyler. The law will not be
stopped in its course by personal inclinations.”
“ No, I suppose not. What is it, Tibbetts? ”
The last question was addressed to her maid,
who appeared at the doorway. The sad-faced woman
looked at her mistress with a mingled air of defer-
ence and commiseration.
“ The telephone, ma’am,” she said. “ I said you
were busily engaged, but it is some young woman
who begs to speak to you a moment.”
Mrs. Schuyler excused herself and left the room,
and Tibbetts, smoothing down her trim white apron,
followed.


'118 VICKY VAN
“ Another would-be secretary,” my hostess said.
as she returned. “ I don’t know how a report that I
wanted one travelled so quickly, but I’ve had three
offered since noon.”
“ Do the Schuyler ladies still object?”
“ No; at least, they are willing. But I don’t
want any except a capable one. Not so much ex-
perienced, as quick—witted and intelligent. You may
as well know, Mr. Calhoun, since you are to look
after my affairs, that my late husband was of strictly
plain habits. He was almost frugal in‘his ideas of
how little womankind should be indulged in any
luxuries or unnecessary comforts. This did not in-
commode his sisters for they were of the same mind.
But I desired certain things which he saw ﬁt to deny
me. I make no complaint, I bear his memory no ill
will, but I feel that now I may have some of these
things. I am my own mistress, and while I have no
wish to cast any reﬂection on Mr. Schuyler’s man-
agement of his own house, yet, it is now my house,
and I must have the privilege of ordering it as I
choose.”
It had come already, then. Ruth Schuyler and
her Puritanical sisters-in-law had met the issue, and
Ruth had stood up for her rights. I felt that I knew
the woman well enough to know she would not have
taken this stand so soon after her husband’s death


THE LETTER-BOX 119
except that some discussion or disagreement had
made it necessary for her to assert herself. I bowed
in acquiescence, and said, “ I am sure, Mrs. Schuyler,
there can be no objection to your doing exactly as
you please. This house is entirely your own, half
Mr. Schuyler’s fortune is yours, and you are re-
sponsible to nobody for your actions. If not in-
trusive, I will offer to look you up a suitable secre-
tary. I have a young woman in mind, whom I think
you would like.”
“I am not easy to please,” she said, smiling a
little; “ I have a very deﬁnite idea of what I want.
Who is your friend? ”
“ Not a friend, exactly. An acquaintance of my
sister’s, who is eligible for the post, if she suits you.
Shall I send her round to see you to-morrow? ”
“ Yes, please. Your mention of her is enough
recommendation. I want, Mr. Calhoun, to do more
or less charitable work this winter. That was
another of Mr. Schuyler’s whims, to attend to all
charities himself, and to object to my giving any-
thing personally. As I shall be quiet and unoc’
cupied this winter, I plan to do some systematic
work in a benevolent way. I know this sounds
strange to you, that I should be planning these things
so soon. But the truth is, I do plan them, purposely,
because I don’t want to think about the present


120 VICKY VAN
horror. I need something to keep my mind from
thinking of the awful tragedy or I shall go mad. It
seemed to me not wrong to think about some work
that should beneﬁt others; and to do this, will give
me an outlet for my energies and be helpful to the
poor and suffering.”
Ruth Schuyler looked almost beautiful as her
face glowed with enthusiasm on her subject. I
realized how the nervous, highstrung woman must
be torn with agony at the revelations of her hus-
band’s defects and the uncertainty of his honor and
morality, and all in addition to the terrible experi-
ences she was undergoing and must yet encounter.
I went home ﬁlled with a desire to help her in
every way I could, and though I went to my room at
once, I could not think of sleep. I felt like planning
ways to put the police off the track or ﬁnding some
method of making them cease their hunt for Vicky
Van.
I went down to the library, and sat down for a
smoke and a revery. And I sat there until very late,
after two o’clock, in fact, without getting any nearer
a plan than I was at the start.
It was nearly three, when I concluded that I
could sleep at last. I stood by the front window a
moment, looking over at Vicky Van’s house, across
the street, and a few doors from our own.


THE LETTER-BOX 121
As I looked at the darkened dwelling, I saw the
front door slowly open. There was no one outside,
it was being opened from inside. As I knew the
body of Mr. Schuyler had been taken away, and the
house had been deserted by all who had been there,
and that it was in custody of the police, I looked
curiously to see what would happen next.
Out of the door came a slight, small ﬁgure. It
was, I felt positive, Vicky Van herself! I couldn’t
mistake that sleek, black head—she were no hat—or
those short, full skirts, that she always wore. She
looked about cautiously, and then with swift motions
she unlocked the letter-box that was beside her front
door, took out several letters, relocked the box and
slipped back into the house again!
\Vithout stopping to think I opened my front
door. and ﬂew across the street. Mounting her steps,
I rang the doorbell hard. There was no response,
and I kept on ringing—a veritable bombardment.
Then the door opened a very little bit—I could see
it was on a night-chain—and Vicky’s voice said,
“Please go away.”
“ No, I won’t,” I said, “ let me come in.”
“ I can’t let you come in. Go away, please.”
And then the door closed, in my very face, and
though I pleaded, “ Vicky, do let me in! ” there was
no response.


CHAPTER IX
THE SOCIAL SECRETARY
I sroon staring at the closed door. What did it
mean? Why was Vicky in there and why wouldn’t
she let me come in?
Then, as I collected my wits, I laughed at my-
self. I knew why she was there—to get her mail.
Doubtless there were important letters that she must
have, and she had dared discovery to come at dead
of night to get them. The patrolman was not in
sight. She had looked out for this, of course. It
was the merest chance that I had seen her, other—
wise she would have escaped all observation. At
three in the morning there are almost no people
abroad in the quieter streets of the city, and Vicky
had timed her visit well. Of course, she had her
own keys, and I felt sure she had stealthily entered
at the basement door, and waited her time to secure
the letters from the mail-box. ..
I lobked at the mail-box, an unusual appendage to
a private residence, but Vicky was away from home
so much, it was doubtless necessary. I tried to look
in at a window, but all shades were down and there
were no lights inside. I wanted to ring the doorbell
IQQ


THE SOCIAL SECRETARY 1%
again, but a sense of delicacy forbade me. I was not
a detective, and if I persisted, I might attract the
attention of a passer-by or of the returning police-
man, and so get Vicky into all sorts of trouble. I
wasn’t tracking the girl down. If she was a criminal,
let the police ﬁnd her, I had no desire to aid
their efforts, but I did want to see Vicky Van. I
wanted to offer her my help—not in escaping justice,
exactly—but I wondered if I mightn’t do some little
errands or favors that would show my friendliness.
I went slowly toward home, when I had an in-
spiration. Hastening into my own house, I ﬂew to
the telephone and called Vicky’s number, which I
knew well.
“ I waited some time for a response, but at last
lheard Vicky’s voice say, “ Who is it, please?”
An impulse of protection for her, not for myself,
led me to withhold my name. Nor did I speak hers.
I said, “ This is the man who just left your house.
I called up to offer help, if I can render you any.”
“ That’s good of you,” she returned, in a heart—
felt way. “ I appreciate such kindness, but you can
do nothing—nothing, thank you.”
“At least, talk to me a few minutes. I’m so
anxious about you. You are not implicated in the—
in the matter, are you? ”
“ Don’t ask me,” she murmured, in such a seri-


124 VICKY VAN
ous voice, that my heart sank. “What I did—or
didn’t do-——must always remain a mystery. I cannot
tell you—anything- Don’t ask. And, if you would
help me, try your best to have inquiries stopped.
Can you do this? ”
“.I fear not. But can’t I see you—somewhere—
and we can talk plainly? ”
“ Do you want to? ”
“ Indeed I do.”
“ Then you do believe in me? Do you hold me
blameless?”
I hesitated at this. I couldn’t 'lie to her, nor
could I rid my mind of the conviction of her guilt.
I said, “ I will, if you assure me that is the truth.”
“ I—I can’t do that—good-bye.”
“ Wait a minute. Did you know the expected
guest was coming under an assumed name? ”
“ I did not.”
“ Did you know any Somers? ”
“ N o.”
“ Did you know—the real man? ”
“ I had met him once, at a dance.”
“ Did you like him?”
“I neither liked nor disliked. He was an ob-
ject of utter indifference to me.”
“ Then why did' you ”
“ Hush! You can never know. I can’t tell


you
’1


THE SOCIAL SECRETARY 125
“ Then don’t. Please believe I want to befriend
you.” The agony and fear in Vicky’s voice thrilled
me, and I desired only to shield and protect her.
She was so young and alone.
“ It is good to have a friendly voice speak to me.
But you can only forget me.”
“ No, let me do something deﬁnite. Some errand
of trust, some matter of conﬁdence—”
“ Do you mean it? Will you? ”
“ Gladly! What is it? ”
“ Then if you will collect my mail from the box
at the door, after a few days—say, three days—and
put it aside for me. You saw me get it to-night, I
suppose, and it is a dangerous thing for me to do.”
“ Where are you—I mean, where are you
staying? ”
“ Don’t ask. I am safe. I see the newspapers
and I know I am to be hunted down. So I must
hide. I cannot face the inquiries—I fear arrest and
—and punishment ” /
Her tones betrayed guilty fear, and I shuddered
at the conﬁrmation of my suspicions. But I would
do what I could for her.
“ How shall I get your letters? ” I asked, and I
honestly tried not to disclose my sudden knowledge
of her guilt But her quick ears caught my changed
inﬂection. _


126 VICKY VAN
“You believe me guilty!” she said, and she
stiﬂed a sob. ,“ Yet, still, you will help me! God
bless you! Listen, then, for I must stop this talk-
ing, it is too desperately dangerous. I will leave the
' key of the mail box—no, I will send it to you by
mail, that will be the safest. Then will you get the
letters and put them—where shall I say?”
“ I’ll mail them to you.”
“ No, that would never do. You can get into
this house, can’t you? The police will let you in at
any time? ”
“ Yes, I can probably manage that.”
“ Then bring them with you, all of the three days’
mail at once, you understand, and put them in that
great Chinese jar, in the music room. The one with
the gold dragon on the cover. No one will look
there for them. I will manage to come and get them
very soon. Please don’t spy on me, will you,
Chester?”
The use of my ﬁrst name was, I knew, inadvert-
ent and unconscious. It thrilled me. There was a
marvellous fascination always about Vicky Van,
and now, at the end of this my mysterious night tele-
phone conversation, I felt its thrill and I agreed to
her plea.
“ No, dear,” I said, and not till-afterward did I
realize the term I had used, “ I will not spy. But


THE SOCIAL SECRETARY 127
promise me that you will call on me for any help
you may need. And tell me—are you alone or is
julie with you?”
“Julie is with me,” she returned. “ She helps
protect me, and with your friendship, too, I am
blessed indeed. But this is good—bye. I shall leave
New York in a few days never to return. I must
have that mail, or I would go at once. If you will
help me get that, you will do all there is left for any
one to do for me in the world.”
Her tone frightened me. “ Vicky! ” I cried, for-
!’

getting all caution. “ Don’t—my dear, don’t
but I could not put in words the fear that had sud—
denly come to me, and even as I stammered for
Speech, the click came that told me she had hung
up the receiver.
I cursed myself for my stupidity in speaking her
name. Such a blunder! Why, it might have
been overheard by anybody on the line. No wonder
she left me. Doubtless I had driven her fro-m her
house.
I ﬂew to the window. Then I remembered I had
promised not to spy, and I turned quickly away.
If she were about to disappear silently and stealthin
from that house, I must not know it.
I went to my room, but not to sleep. Clearly, I


128 VICKY VAN
was not to know untroubled slumber again very soon.
I sat up and thought it all over.
How strange that I should have “ spied ” on her
just at the moment she was secretly getting her let-
ters. But, I realized, I had looked at the house so
often it would'be stranger still if I had missed her!
And she was to send me her box key, and I
was to secrete her letters for her. Important in-
deed, those letters must be, that she should go to
such lengths to get them. Well, I had constituted
myself her knight errant in that particular, and I
would fulﬁl the trust.
Beneath the thrilling excitement of the night’s
occurrence, I felt a dull, sad foreboding. All Vicky
had said or done pointed to guilt. Had she been in-
nocent, she would have told me so, by word or by
implication. She would have given me a tacit assur-
ance of her guiltlessness, or would have cried out at
the injustice of suspicion.
But none of these things entered into her talk,
or even into her voice or intonations. She had
sounded sad, hopeless, despairing. And her last
words made me fear she contemplated taking her
own life.
Poor little Vicky Van. Light-hearted, joy-lov-
ing Vicky. What was the mystery back of it all?
What could it be? Well, at least, I would scrupu-


THE SOCIAL SECRETARY 129
lously perform the task she had set me, and I would
do it well. I knew I could manage to get into the
house by making up some story for the police. But
lmust wait for the promised key.
With a glimmer of hope that the mailed parcel
containing the key might give me a clue to Vicky’s
whereabouts, I at last went to sleep.
Next morning at breakfast I said nothing of my
night experiences. I told Winnie, however, that she
needn’t watch the Van Allen house, as I had heard
that Vicky had left it permanently.
“ However could you hear that? ” exclaimed my
wideawake sister. “ Have you had a wireless from
the fugitive? ”
“Something of the sort,” I said, smilingly. “And
now, listen here, Win. How do you think that friend
0! yours, Miss Crowell, would like to be a social
secretary for Mrs. Schuyler?”
“ She’d love it!” cried Winnie. “Does Mrs.
Schuyler want one?”
“Yes, and she wants her mighty quick. From
what you’ve said of the Crowell girl, I should think
she’d be just the one. Can you get her on the
telephone? ”
“Yes, but not so early as this. I’ll call her
about ten.”
“ All right, you ﬁx it up. I expect Mrs. Schuyler
9


130 VICKY VAN
will pay proper salary to the right secretary Of
course, Miss Crowell is experienced?”
“ Oh, yes,” assured Win, and I’m sure she’ll love
to go. Why, any secretary would be glad to go
there.”
“ Not just now,” I should think,” observed Aunt
Lucy. “The amount of work there must be some-
thing fearful.”
“It will be heavy, for a time,” I agreed, “but
it is only for Mrs. S’chuyler’s personal correspond-
ence and business. I mean, the other two ladies
would not expect to use her services.” a
“ All right,” said Winnie, “ I’ll ﬁx it up with
Edith Crowell, and if she can’t go, I’ll ask her
to recommend somebody. Shall I send her there
to-day? ”
“ Yes, as soon as she will go. And let me know
—telephone the ofﬁce about noon.”
“Yep,” Winnie promised, and I went away, my
head in a whirl with the various and sundry matters
I had to attend to.
I don’t think I thought of the secretary matter
again, until at noon, Winnie telephoned me that it
was all right. I thanked her, and promptly forgot
the episode.
And so it was, that when I reached home that
night, I had one of the surprises of my life.


THE SOCIAL SECRETARY 181
Winnie came to dinner, smiling, and rather ex-
cited-looking.
“ What’s up, Infant? ” I asked. “ Have you ac-
cepted a proposal from a nice college lad? ”
“ Huh! ” and Win’s head tossed. “ I guess you’ll
open your eyes when I tell you what I have
accepted! ”
“ Tell it out, Angel Child. Relieve your own
impatience.”
“ Well, if you please, I have accepted the post of
social secretary to Mrs. Randolph Schuyler.”
“ Winifred Elizabeth Calhoun! You haven’t! ”
“I thought I’d arouse some slight interest,” she
said, and she calmly went on with her dinner.
I looked at Aunt Lucy, who sat with a resigned
expression, toying with her unused oyster-fork.
“What does she mean?” I asked.
“ She has done just what she says,” replied Aunt
Lucy. “ But only for a few days. Miss Crowell
’7
“ Let me tell!” interrupted Winnie. “ It’s my
party! You see, Chet, Edith Crowell is wild to have
the place, and is going to take it, but she can’t go
until the ﬁrst of next week. And she doesn’t want
to lose the chance, so I went over and told Mrs.
Schuyler about it. And then as she was simply


132 VICKY VAN
swamped with letters and telegrams and telephones
and callers, and goodness knows what all, I offered
to help her out till Edith can get there. And she
was so grateful—oh, I think she is a darling. I
never saw anyone I liked and admired so much at
ﬁrst sight.”
“She is charming,” I conceded, “but what a
crazy scheme, Win! How did you persuade Aunt
Lucy to agree?”
“ I managed her,” and Winnie bobbed her wise
young head, cannily.
It came to me in a moment. Though not exactly
a tuft hunter, Aunt Lucy was deeply impressed by
real grandeur and elegance. And it came to me at
once, that Winnie’s tales of the great house and the
aristocratic people, had a strong inﬂuence on our
aunt’s views and had brought about her permission
for Win to go there for a few days. And it was no
harm. It wasn’t as if Winnie were a regular secre-
tary, but just to hold the place for Miss Crowell,
was simply a kindly deed.
And so, after dinner, I settled myself in our cosy
library for a comfortable smoke, and bade Winnie
tell me every single thing that had happened through
the day.
“ Oh, it was thrilling!” Winnie exclaimed.


THE SOCIAL SECRETARY 133
“Part of the time I was at the desk in the library,
and part of the time upstairs in Mrs. Schuyler’s very
own room. She was so kind to me, but she is nearly
distracted and I don’t wonder! The undertakers’
men were in and out, and those two old maids—his
sisters, you know—were everlastingly appearing and
disappearing. And they don’t like Mrs. Schuyler
an awful lot, nor she them. Oh, they're polite and
all that, but you can see they’re of totally different
types. I like Mrs. Schuyler heaps better, but still,
there’s something about the old girls that’s the real
thing. They’re Schuylers and also they’re Salton-
stalls, and farther back, I believe they’re Cabots or
something.”
“ And Mrs. Schuyler, what is she? ” I asked, as
Win paused for breath.
“I don’t know. Nothing particular, I guess.
Oh, yes, I learned her name was Ellison before she
was married, but the sisters don’t consult her about
family matters at all. They do about clothes,
though. And she knows a lot. \Vhy, Chess, she’s
having the lovelist things made, if they are mourn-
ing, and the sisters, they ask her about everything
they order—to wear, I mean. And, just think!
Mrs. Schuyler never wears any jewels but pearls!
It’s a whim, you know, or it was her husband’s


134 VICKY VAN
whim, or something, but anyway, she has oceans of
pearls, and no other gems at all.”
“ Did she tell you so?”
“ Yes; but it came in the conversation, you know.
She is no boaster. No sir—eel She’s the modestest,
gentlest, sweetest little lady I ever saw. I just love
her! Well, I answered a lot of letters for her, and
she liked the way I did it, and she liked me, I guess,
for she said she only hoped Miss Crowell would
suit her as well.”
“ She knows you’re my sister?”
“Of course. But that isn’t why she likes me,
old bunch of conceit! Though, I must admit, she
likes you, Chet. She said you were not only kind,
but you have a fair amount of intelligence—no, she
didn’t use those words, exactly, but I gathered that
was what she meant. The funeral is to be to—
morrow evening, you know. I had to write and
telephone quite a good deal about that, though the
sisters tended to it mostly.”
“ Was there much said about—about the actual
case—Winnie? ”
“ You mean about the murder?” Win’s clear
eyes didn’t blink at the word; “ no, not much in my
hearing. But Mrs. Schuyler wasn’t in the room all
the time. And I know Mr. Lowney—isn’t he the
detective ?—was there once, and I think, twice.”


THE SOCIAL SECRETARY 135
“ Did you see anyone else? ”
“Only some of the servants. Mrs. Schuyler’s
own maid, her name is Tibbetts, is the sort you read
about in English novels. A nice, motherly woman,
with gray hair and a black silk apron. I liked her,
but the maid who looks after the old sisters, I
didn’t like so well.”
“ Never mind the maids, tell me more about Mrs.
Schuyler. Does she think Vicky Van killed Mr.
Schuyler? Since you’re in this thing so deep Win,
there’s no use mincing matters.”
“ I should say not! Yes, of course, she thinks
the Vicky person did the killing. How could she
think anything else? And the two sisters are madly
revengeful As soon as the funeral is over, they’re
going’to work to ﬁnd that girl and bring her to
justice! They say the inquest will help a lot. When
will that be, Chess? Can I go to it?”
“ No, of course not, Winnie? ” This from Aunt
Lucy. “ It’s one thing for you to help Mrs.
Schuyler out in an emergency, but you’re not to
get'mixed up in a murder trial
“ An inquest isn’t a trial, Auntie,” and Win
'7’
looked like a wise owl, as she aired her new and
suddenly acquired knowledge. “ Can’t I go, Chess? ”
“ We’ll see, Infant. Perhaps, if Mrs. Schuyler


136 .VICKY VAN
needs your services she may want you there with
her.”
“ Oh, in that case—” began Aunt Lucy, but
Winnie was off again on one of her enthusiastic
descriptions of the grand ways of the Schuyler house-
hold, and Aunt Lucy was quite willing to listen.
As for me, I wanted the beneﬁt of every possible
sidelight on the whole business, and I, too, took in
all Winnie’s detailed narrations.


CHAPTER X
THE INQUEST
THE inquest was in progress. In the coroner’s
courtroom inquiry was being made in an endeavor
to discover who was responsible for the death of
Randolph Schuyler. The funeral of the millionaire
had taken place, and the will had been read, and
now the public awaited news of the action of the
police in placing the crime and producing the
criminal.
The case had become a celebrated one, not only
because of the prominence of the victim, but be-
cause of the mystery surrounding the young woman
suspected of the deed of murder.
Many voluntary witnesses had come forward
with additional information regarding Victoria Van
Allen, but none of these knew anything more of
her relatives or progenitors than I did myself.
Some of these were asked to testify at the in-
quest, but more were not so called on, as their testi-
mony was in no way material or vital.
I did not propose to attend all the sessions, my-
self, but I wanted to hear the opening queries and
learn just how the case was to be managed.
137


138 VICKY VAN
Doctor Remson told of his examination of Mr.
Schuyler’s body and testiﬁed that death was prac-
tically instantaneous as a result of a single stab of
the short, sharp knife. The knife was produced and
identiﬁed. It had been carefully taken care of and
had been photographed to preserve the faint ﬁnger-
marks, which were on its handle, and which might
or might not be the prints of the murderer’s ﬁngers.
The caterer Fraschini told of his orders for the
party supper, and of the sending of his best and most
faithful waiters to attend to the feast. ’
Luigi, the head waiter, again went over his story.
I had heard this twice before, but I listened with
deep interest, and I realized, that, granting, the truth
of his recital, there was no room for doubt of Vicky
Van’s guilt.
I hadn’t of course, told of seeing her take her
mail from the box that night, nor of her talking to
me over the telephone. Should absolute law and
justice call for that information, I might give it up,
but at present, I was awaiting developments.
Vicky had sent me her mailbox key, and I had
received it duly, by mail. It was not sent by parcel
post, nor was it registered—these would have called
for the sender’s address—but, sent by ordinary ﬁrst-
class letter post, the ﬂat little key came duly and
promptly.


THE INQUESTv 139
I had not used it yet, the time was not ripe until.
that same night, and I intended to say nothing of it,
until I had fulﬁlled my promise, if, indeed, I ever"
told of it. .
But Luigi’s story as I heard it again made me-
shiver with apprehension. Surely, since he saw
Vicky right there at the moment, bending over the
victim, blood stains on her gown, there could be no}
loophole of innocence. Had the murderer been some
one else, and had Vicky known it, she must have
made an outcry—must have accused the guilty party.
There was no one whom Vicky loved well enough
to wish to shield. And, too, the guests were all in
the big living-room; there was no one unaccounted
for. If Luigi himself, or any of the caterer’s men
had by chance done the deed, Vicky wouldn’t have
run away! There was no sense in that. So I
could see no possible theory but that of Vicky’s
actual guilt. Why she did it, was another- story.
She may have known Schuyler before, might have
known him a long time, might have had her own
reasons for wishing him dead; but all that was out~
side the issue of her criminality. There was no eye
witness of the stabbing itself, but Luigi’s presence
on the scene an instant later, left no room for ques-
tion as to the hand that had held the knife.
The jury seemed to think this. Gravely the


140 VICKY VAN '
men listened to what the Italian told, and their faces
showed what they believed.
Then came the guests of the party. One after
another, they told the same story. All knew Vicky
fairly well, as a pleasant acquaintance; all liked her
s a good friend; all enjoyed her as a delightful
hostess; and many told individual instances of
Vicky’s kind heart and helping hand. Not infre-
quently had she lent assistance, both ﬁnancial and
in other ways, to these friends of hers. Never, they
all said, had they known her to do a mean or de—
ceitful act or to say an unkind or malicious word.
The men spoke of her as a gay, light-hearted
butterﬂy girl, who was a coquette, but who stopped
short of a real ﬂirtation; the women gave her such
commendation as is rarely given them to their own
sex, and declared that Miss Van Allen was a simple,
kindly, generous nature without a trace of the dis-
position which causes a woman to be dubbed a cat.
Norman Steele was present. He explained his
sudden departure from the party by the fact that he
had to catch an owl train for Chicago. He said,
further, that Randolph Schuyler had asked him to
take him around to Vicky Van’s, as he wanted to
meet her. But he had asked Steele, especially, to
introduce him as Mr. Somers. He had given no
reason for this, and Steele had thought little of it.


THE INQUEST 141
Randolph Schuyler was a man whom his friends
obeyed, often without question. I understood this.
Steele was no more of a toady to the millionaire than
most men would be; but a request of Randolph
Schuyler’s was not to be thoughtlessly refused, so
Steele acquiesced.
He was reticent in further dilating on Schuyler’s
character. Said he often called on ladies who could
not be called exclusive, but denied knowledge of
deﬁnite cases or names.
On the whole, Steele’s evidence didn’t get us
anywhere. We already knew that Schuyler had
gone to Vicky Van’s under an assumed name. The
reason for this had little, if anything, to do with
what had followed. A connection of some sort, be—
tween Vicky and Mr. Schuyler must be traced, in
order to arrive at her possible motive. A woman
does not stab to kill a chance guest whom she has
never met before!
Bert Garrison came next. His talk ran mostly
to eulogies of Vicky. The poor fellow was dead in
love with her, and had been for many moons, but
though Vicky favored him more than some others,
yet she gave him no deﬁnite encouragement, as he
himself ruefully admitted. But he made a desper—
ate effort to show that a girl of Victoria Van Allen’s


142 VICKY VAN
high character and ﬁne qualities would be incapable
of a base deed.
The coroner smiled a little at Garrison’s vehem-
ence, and let him run on for a time, in praise of the
absent Vicky.
At last, he said, “ And, why, then, Mr. Garrison,
in your opinion has Miss Van Allen disappeared? ”
“ The disappearance is not of her own volition,”
declared Garrison; “ she has been taken away by
somebody and held against her will, in order to
make her appear guilty.”
This was a new theory. I might have given it
serious consideration had I not had speech with the
girl herself. It couldn’t be that Vicky was held
captive, since she was at her own house two nights
after the crime. But I could see that the jury, and
even the coroner and detectives were interested in
this idea.
“ By whom could she possibly, or theoretically,
he thus held? ” the coroner asked.
“I don’t know. But assuming some intruder
effected an entrance and stabbed Mr. Schuyler, if
surprised during or after the act by the sudden ap-
pearance of Miss Van Allen in the dining room, he
might in some way have gotten her out of the
house, and still be keeping her in a hiding-place.”
It was perhaps, a possibility, but I didn’t see how


THE INQUEST 143
any intruder could do all that, without being seen
by the waiters. Unless, perchance, the waiters had
been bribed to silence. And that, in the face of
Luigi’s earnest, and convincing testimony, I could
not believe.
It was a fantastic theory, evolved in the brain
of Garrison, for the purpose of diverting suspicion
from Vicky Van. However, it seemed to impress
the coroner, and he made notes as he dismissed the
witness.
Cassie Weldon added one bit of new informa-
tion. She said, though with evident reluctance, that
she had caught a mere glimpse of somebody running
upstairs, just before the waiter had come to call for
help.
Cassie had not wanted to testify at all. As she
had intimated to me, it was detrimental to her work
as a concert singer to be mixed up in this affair.
But since she had to give her testimony, she appar-
ently felt it her duty to tell the whole truth.
“ How could you see the stairs from the living-
room?” asked the interested coroner.
“I was near the door, and though I was not
looking out into the hall, I had a vague, ﬂeeting im-
pression of somebody running upstairs. I paid no
attention to it, of course, but I am sure somebody
did.”
“ A man or a woman? ”


144 VICKY VAN
“A woman. That is, I was conscious of a
ﬂutter of skirts, but I am not sure it was Miss Van
Allen. I didn’t see her clearly enough even to notice
the color of her gown. It was merely a glimpse of
some one ﬂying round the newel post and up the
stairs. It might have been a stranger.”
“ You mean, if there were some intruder, it may
have been a woman, and not a man?”
“I don't know, I tell you. I can only say I
know somebody ran upstairs. Further than that,
I’ve no idea concerning. it.”
“It must have been Miss Van Allen,” said the
coroner, decidedly; “ had it been any other woman,
and had she stabbed Mr. Schuyler, Mis-s Van Allen
would not have disappeared. Now, if this woman
who ran upstairs was Miss Van Allen, she effected
an escape from the upper stories. Is there a sky-
light exit?”
No one seemed to know, as no one had thought
of Vicky Van leaving her house by such means.
But to me, the idea was ridiculous. A girl, in
elaborate evening gown, clambering out of a sky—
light trap-door, to where? Not to a neighbor’s, for
Vicky Van knew none of the nearby residents. I
had heard her say so, myself. And had she de-
scended into a strange household, and begged for
shelter, it would have become known before this.


THE INQUEST 145
Well, anyway, the detective Lowney immediately
sent an order to have the skylight matter looked into,
and the proceedings went on.
Ariadne Gale was closely questioned as to how
she knew of the picture in the back of Randolph
Schuyler’s watch. But she declared that he had
shown it to her during their conversation that
evening.
“ I never saw the man before,” said Ariadne, who
unlike Cassie Weldon, rather enjoyed the publicity
of the occasion. “I chanced to be about the ﬁrst
girl he was introduced to, when he came into the
house. And we had a chat, and when I chaffed him
a bit on his dignity and awe-inspiring presence, he re-
futed it by showing me the picture in his watch
He said it was a little chorus girl he had taken out
to supper the night before. I could see the picture
had been merely tucked in temporarily, it wasn’t
neatly pasted in, as a watch-case picture usually is,
and then I chaffed him on his ﬁckleness. Our con-
versation was the merest foolery, and a moment
after, he went over to be presented to Miss Van
Allen.” ’
“You think they had never met before?”
“I’m sure they had not. They looked at each
other with the conventional politeness of strangers.
I know Miss Van Allen well, and she is not one to
10


146 VICKY VAN
dissemble or pretend. I am sure she had never
laid eyes on that man before. She simply couldn’t
have killed him!” '
Ariadne’s further evidence amounted to nothing,
nor did that of several other of the party guests
who were called on.
Except Mrs. Reeves. She knew more of Vicky’s
home life than any of the rest of us, but even she
knew nothing of the girl’s origin.
She had ﬁrst met her at one of Miss Gale’s
studio parties, and had taken a fancy to her at once.
“ Where did you ﬁrst meet her, Miss Gale,” the
coroner interrupted to ask.
“ She came to my studio to look at my pictures,”
was the reply. “ She admired them, and bought one.
She was so pleasant and so interested in my work
that she came two or three times, and then I invited
her to one of my little studio affairs. She quickly
made friends, and she invited us to her house. I
went there ﬁrst about two years ago.”
“ So did I,” Mrs. Reeves resumed. “ And since
then, I have been there frequently, and every timc
I saw the girl I liked her better. But she was always
a bit of a mystery. I confess I tried at times, to
learn something of her previous life. But she
adroitly evaded my questions, and cleverly changed
the subject. I think, however, from chance hints


THE INQUEST 147
she let drop, that her home was somewhere in the
Middle West.”
“An indeﬁnite term,” observed Coroner Fenn.
“It’s all I know.”
“ Where did Miss Van Allen go on her frequent
absences from her home?”
“That I don’t know, either. Often she’d be
away a week, and on her return would tell of a gay
house party down on Long Island or a week-end
trip up Westchester way, but I don’t remember any
deﬁnite place she visited.”
“ I do,” piped up Ariadne. “ She often goes to
Greenwich, Connecticut, and to Bronxville. I’ve
heard her tell of these trips. She has a wide circle
of acquaintances and, of course, she’s a favorite with
all who know her.”
“ I have a piece of evidence,” resumed Mrs.
Reeves, “ which I daresay I ought to exhibit. It is
a letter from Miss Van Allen, which I received only
this morning.” ‘
This caused a sensation. A letter from Vicky
Van! Just received! I found myself trembling
in my shoes. And I asked myself why. Was I
afraid the girl would be caught? Did I want to
shield a felon? And I had to admit to myself that I
did. I wasn’t in love with Vicky Van, but I had a
tremendous interest in her, and I didn’t want that


1418’ VICKY VAN
little lone, helpless person haled before a court of
justice. Vicky did seem terribly alone. Hosts of
friends she had, but no one who was in any way re-
sponsible for her, or in a position to help her. Well,
if she ever returned, voluntarily or perforce, she
would ﬁnd a friend and champion in one Chester
Calhoun, of that I was certain!
Mrs. Reeves handed her letter over to the cor-
oner, and he read it out. It ran:
MY DEAR MRS. REEVES:
You have always been such a good friend to me that I’m
writing you just a line. You are everything that is good and
kind, and now I’m going to ask you as a ﬁnal favor to forget
Vicky Van at once and forever. I am going away and I shall
never return. Don’t think of me any more hardly than you
must, but if you can keep any loving little memory of the
hours we spent together, I want you to do so. And as a
remembrance, I want you to have my little electric coupé. It
is in Rennard’s garage, and I have written him to turn it over
to you. I shall miss our happy times together, but—I can
never come back. Do not worry about me, I am safe.
And I am your affectionate
VICKY VAN.
"‘ You are sure this is from Miss Van Allen?”
asked Fenn.
“ Oh, yes,” replied Mrs. Reeves. “There’s no
mistaking that writing.”
Nor was there. I knew Vicky’s penmanship,
and it was most peculiar. Never have I seen such


THE INQUEST 149
a hand. Angular, slightly backhanded, and full of
character, it would be difﬁcult to imitate it, and, too,
no one would have any reason to forge that letter
to Mrs. Reeves. She had veriﬁed Vicky’s state-
ment, and found that a letter to the garage owner
had instructed him to give up the car to Mrs. Reeves,
and he had already done so, that very morning.
The letters had both been mailed in New York
the night before, the postmark showing that they
were mailed in the district that included Vicky’s
residence.
Was she, then, even now in hiding near her
home? Or, had she sent the letters to be mailed by
some one else? By julie, perhaps, who, I felt sure,
was with her mistress, wherever that might be.
My leaping thoughts took in all this, and by
degrees the slower going coroner, put it in words.
Lowney, the detective, bristled with interest. A
clue, he had, he thought, but what a clue! Two
letters posted in the city. What did they show of
the whereabouts of the missing girl?
Lowney scrutinized the one to Mrs. Reeves.
Ordinary paper, such as might be bought in any
stationery or department store, no monogram or
initial on it, nor was there any maker’s name under
the ﬂap.
But a dozen people present testiﬁed to Vicky’s


150 VICKY VAN
handwriting, and the coroner eagerly took posses-
sion of the letter.
Sherlock Holmes, I thought to myself, would
read that letter, look at it through his good old lens,
smell it, and then walk out, and return in a half
hour, with Vicky Van in tow!
But for my part, I could see nothing illuminat-
ing in that plain paper and envelope, and the letter
in the well-known penmanship.
All I gathered was, that wherever Vicky was,
she was not only safe but comfortable. The tenor
of the note breathed leisure and composure. Clearly,
she was not breathlessly hurrying from one place to
another, or vigilantly eluding pursuit. She was at
ease, with opportunity to indulge in thoughtful kind-
ness to a friend, and to write at length about herself.
At length, yes, but with no hint of her hiding-
place nor any clue to it. Poor little Vicky! She
seemed so alone—and yet—how did I know? She
may have gone to friends or—somehow I hated to
think that she had any man who was her legal——or
even willing protector.
Yet she said she was safe, and her letter showed
no fear of the future. And then again I was stabbed
by the thought that perhaps there was no earthly
future for Vicky Van. I didn’t want her to kill her-
self—I didn’t want her to be found and arrested-—


THE INQUEST 151
what did I want? I wasn’t sure in my own mind,
save that I wanted her'safety above all else. I sup-
pose I believed her guilty—I could believe nothing
else, but even so, I didn’t want her brought to bay.
I gave my own testimony, which was all true,
and all frank, except that I said nothing of my
nocturnal visit to Vicky’shouse or of our telephone
conversation. If my conscience smote me I com-
bated it with my chivalry, which would not allow
me to betray a woman into the hands of the law.
The later witnesses, who were mostly the work-
ing people whom Vicky employed by the day, told
nothing of her or of her home life. They all spoke
of her as a kind lady to work for, though, as a rule,
they had not seen her, but had been engaged, di-
rected and paid by the maid, julie.
It seemed to be tacitly assumed that wherever
Vicky was Julie was with her. I had had this in-
formation from Vicky herself, but others took it for
granted, in the absence of any reason to think the
contrary.
The whole day’s session, to my mind, achieved
little of useful information. Mrs. Reeves’ letter
proved conclusively that Vicky was aware of the
search being made for her, and showed her determi-
nation not to be found. It was Saturday, and when
the inquest was adjourned until Monday morning, I


152 VICKY VAN
couldn’t help feeling that it might as well have been
permanently adjourned, for all the further con-
clusions it would lead to.
I went home at last, thrilling with the thought
that that night I was to get Vicky’s mail from her
box and hide it Where she had directed. I secretly
hoped she might be in the house herself, waiting
for it, but scarcely dared believe this would be the
case.


CHAPTER XI
A NOTE FROM VICKY
NOR was it. I had secured a latch-key to the
house, from the police, who were willing enough for
me to search for possible clues, as I had told them I
would do.
At their wits’ end to locate Vicky Van, they
welcomed my help and felt that as a friend of hers,
I might learn more than a disinterested policeman
could.
So, well after midnight, watching my chance
when the patrolman had just passed on his regular
round, I went across the street.
Easily I opened the mailbox and extracted a
quantity of letters.
Quietly, then, I opened the house door and
went in.
I had provided myself with a pocket ﬂashlight,
as I didn’t want .to illuminate the house, and I went
at once to the music room, to perform my errand.
How strange it seemed! The lovely room, with
dainty white and gold furnishings, reminded me so
forcibly of the bewitching girl who owned it all. A
thousand questions rose in my mind. What would
153


154 VICKY VAN
become of that bijou residence? The bric-a-brac
and pictures, the rugs and furniture, while not mag—-
niﬁcent, were of the best, and many of them costly.
The great Chinese vase, into which I was to drop the
letters was a gem of its kind, though not anything a.
connoisseur would covet.
I raised the dragon-topped lid, and let the letters
fall in. Replacing the lid, I still lingered. My errand
was done, but I felt an impulse to stay. Everything
spoke to me of Vicky Van. Where was she now?
Making sure that the opaque blinds were drawn, I
dared to turn on one tiny electric lamp. The faint
light made the shadowed room lovelier than ever.
Could a girl of such cultivated tastes and such re-
ﬁnement of character be a—a wrong-doer? I
couldn’t say murderer even to myself. Then my
common sense ﬂared up, and told me that crime is
no respecter of persons. That women who had slain
human beings were not necessarily of this or that
walk of life. Granted a woman had a motive to
kill a man, that motive lay in the impulses of her
feminine nature, and revenge, jealousy, fear, love or
hate—whatever the motive, it was of deep and over-
powering and might ﬁnd its root in equal likeliness
in the breast of queen or beggarmaid. I could not
say Vicky was incapable of crime—indeed, her gay,
volatile manner might hide a deeply perturbed spirit.


A NOTE FROM VICKY 155
She was an enigma, and 1—1 must solve the riddle
I felt I should never rest, until I knew the truth, and
if Vicky were a martyr to circumstances, or a victim
to F ate, 1 must know all about it.
Alone there, in the midnight hours, I resolved to
devote my time, all I could spare, my energies, all I
could command, and my life, so far as I might, to
the discovery of the truth, and I might or might not
reveal my ﬁndings as seemed to me best.
Leaving the music room, I went back through
the long hall, and passed the door of Vicky’s bed'
room. Reverently I looked inside. The very walls
seemed crying for her to come back. Would she
ever so do? I wandered on through the bedroom,
and even looked in the dressing room. I felt nc
compunction. It was not from idle curiosity, rather.
I walked as one at a shrine. The exquisitely femi-
nine boudoir was a~mute witness to a love of beauty
and art. I used only my ﬂashlight, but on an im-
pulse, I turned on one light by the side of the long
mirror. I looked in it, as Vicky must often have
done when dressing for her parties, as, indeed, she
must have done, when dressing that last fatal night.
and seeing my own grim reﬂection, I gravely nodded
my head at myself, and whispered, “ \Ve’ll ﬁnd the
truth, old man, you see if we don’t! ”
In the ornate Florentine frame, with its branch'


156 VICKY VAN
ing arabesques, was a strand of the gold beads that
had adorned Vicky's gown that night. I visualized
her, whirling her skirts about before the mirror,
with that quick, lithe grace of hers, and catching the
ﬂuttering fringe in the gilt protuberance. Perhaps
she exclaimed in petulance, but, more likely, I
thought, she laughed at the trivial accident. That
was Vicky Van, as I knew her, to laugh at a mis-
chance, and smile good-naturedly at an accident.
I lifted the strand of little beads from the en-
tangling frame, and put it away in my pocketbook,
as a dear and intimate souvenir of the girl I had
known. Then, with a ﬁnal glance that was a sort
of farewell, I glimpsed the pretty, cosy nest, and
went downstairs.
Here I paused again. Cassie \Veldo-n had said
she could see the staircase from the door of the
living-room. I tried it. She was right. A person
standing just inside the living-room door, could
catch sight of a person on the stairs. And, as
Cassie, said, she was not looking that way, but was
partly conscious of some one running up the stairs.
It might well be. She would naturally give the inci-
dent no thought at the moment—it was strange she
had even remembered it. And it may have been
Vicky. Then she might have descended by the rear
staircase, there probably was one, I didn’t know.


A NOTE FROM VICKY 157
And anyway, what mattered it how she had left
the house? She had left it, and had not returned.
I remembered the allusion to the skylight. In a
jiffy, I had run upstairs clear to the highest story.
There was a skylight, or scuttle, rather, and it was
bolted on the inside.
That settled that. Vicky Van had not climbed
out that way, and I for one, never supposed she had.
Strangely reluctant to leave the house, I went
downstairs again, looked into the living-room, and
passed on to the dining-room. I contemplated the
sideboard, in front of which Randolph Schuyler had
met his death. Many pieces of silver and glass stood
upon it, and all was in order, as if it had been care—
fully looked after for the party occasion.
Without consciously noting details, I chanced to
observe that a small silver-handled carving fork, was
lacking its knife. I had no knowledge of Vicky
Van’s table appurtenances, but the way the fork
lay looked to me as if the knife had lain across it,
and had been removed. ..
I had no concern over it, for I knew the knife
that had stabbed Schuyler was now in possession of
the police, and this one had doubtless been used in
preparation of the supper, if indeed, there was a
knife belonging to the fork.
It was a matter of no moment, but somehow it


158 VICKY VAN
stuck in my mind. If Vicky or rather, if Julie had
straightened up things on the sideboard in the proc-
1:58 of tidying up for the party, would she not have
laid the fork a different way, unless there had been
a matching knife to lay,across it? I suppose the
whole question came into my mind, because at home,
we had a beefsteak carving set that always lay crossed
on the sideboard. A man gets accustomed to the
sight of such household details, and they are photo—
graphed on his memory.
Well, anyway, I looked for that knife. I even
went to the butler’s pantry and looked, but I didn’t
see it. The pantry had been hastily evacuated by
the caterer’s men, and though tidied, it was not in
spick and span condition. You see, having lived
so long with two such homey bodies as Aunt Lucy
and Win, I was not utterly unversed in domestic
matters. The pantry was well equipped with modern
utensils and implements, and all its appointments
spoke of the taste and efﬁciency of its mistress.
“ Poor Vicky,” I sighed to myself, “ poor, dear
little Vicky Van!” and then 1 went softly out of
the front door and down the steps.
I went slowly, and looked back several times, in
a vague hope that Vicky might emerge from some
nearby shadow and go into the house for her letters.
But I saw no sign of such a happening, and went


A NOTE FROM VICKY 159
on home, my heart full of a gloomy foreboding that
I would never see her again.
“ Going to work on Sunday, Winnie? ” I asked,
as next morning, my sister appeared, garbed for the
street.
“ Not regularly to work, but Mrs. Schuyler wants
me to look after some matters of conﬁdence.”
“Oho, how important we are!” I chaffed her.
“ When does the Crowell lady come into her own? ”
“ Not for another week. She isn’t quite ready
to come, and Mrs. Schuyler is willing to keep me on
a while longer.”
“ I don’t blame her,” and I looked at my pretty,
bright-faced sister with approval. “I say, old girl,
s’pose I stroll over with you.”
“ Come along. Though I’m not sure Mrs.
Schuyler will see you. She usually sends me to
receive callers.”
“ Vell, Little Miss Manage-It, I could even live
through that. And perhaps I’ll get a look-in with
the fair sisters-in-law.”
“ That, surely, if you wish. They’re ready and
eager to see visitors. I believe they love to go over
the details of the whole affair with anyone who will
listen.”
“ Oh, come now, Win, not as bad as that.”
“ They don’t think it’s bad. They’re bound to


160 VICKY VAN
track down the Van Allen girl, and they hold the
opinion that everybody they get hold of may be an
important witness. They go over the reports from
the inquest all the time, and can hardly wait till to—
morrow to see what will come out next.”
“' Me for them,” I responded. “ I’d like a good
chat on the subject.”
We went over to the Fifth Avenue house, and
were admitted by the solemn and wise—eyed butler.
I was shown to the library, while \Vinnie was di—
rected to go to Mrs. Schuyler’s room.
But it was not long before we were all together
in the library

widow, sisters, and all, for Lowney
had made a discovery and he proposed to tell the
family of it.
’vVin and I were allowed to be present, and the
detective showed his new ﬁnd.
It seems he had been searching the papers and
letters of the late Mr. Schuyler. This had been not
only permitted by the wife, but had been urged by
the sisters, who hoped it might result in some further
light on the mysterious Miss Van Allen. And it
did. In the desk, in a secret compartment—which
was not so secret but that the detective could open
it—were a number of letters from feminine pens.
and a number of receipted bills for jeweled trinkets.
presumably sent to these or other ladies, for they


A NOTE FROM VICKY 161
were not of a sort affected by Ruth Schuyler or the
two sisters. A blue enameled watch bracelet, and a
rhinestone tiara were representative purchases en-
tered on these bills.
But the pile of letters sank into insigniﬁcance,
when we learned the fact that there was a letter
from Vicky Van among them!
Regardless of Mrs. Schuyler’s feelings, Lowney
read the letter aloud. This was it:
MY DEAR MR. SCHUYLER:
I enjoyed your supper party, and it was good of you
to give me inside information about the stocks. But I must
beg of you to cease your further attentions to me, as I
cannot number on my list of calling acquaintances the husband
of another woman. I am, perhaps, rather prudish in my view
of life, but this is one of my inviolable rules.
Very truly yours,
VICTORIA VAN ALLEN.
I knew that before. Vicky Van, living alone
and unchaperoned, save for the ubiquitous Julie.
tlouted convention in many ways, but it was as she
said, her inviolable rule to receive no married man
without his wife at her parties. Nor was there
often occasion for her to use this stipulation. The
young people Whom I had met at her house, had
always been maids and bachelors, and now and then,
a young married couple who playfully enacted a
chaperon part. Mrs. Reeves, a widow, was prob-
ably the oldest of the crowd, but she was well under
forty.
11


162 VICKY VAN
It was quite true, no married man, and indeed,
no man of the type or age of Randolph Schuyler,
had ever, to my knowledge, enjoyed the friendship
of Vicky Van. But not for a minute, did I think
that she would go so far as to kill him for daring
to enter her house! That was unthinkable.
And yet, it seemed so to Lowney, and, appar-
ently, to the sisters of the dead man.
She declared that the letter proved that Ran-
dolph had intruded on her acquaintance, and she
had objected from coyness or coquetry; and that
when he persisted, she was so enraged that she ﬂew
into a passion and wilfully ended his life.
“ I can’t think that,” said Ruth Schuyler,
wearily. “It seems more to me as if that letter
exculpates the girl. She was quite evidently not in
love with my husband, and she honestly tried to
make him understand her scruples. So I can’t think
she killed him. I did think so at ﬁrst, of course, but
on thinking things over, and in the light of this
letter, I begin to believe her innocent. What date
does the letter bear? ”
“ There’s no date,” said Lowney, looking at the
paper. “ It was not in an envelope
“ Then how did it reach my husband? ”
“ Oh, of course, it came in an envelope, I sup;
pose, but I found none with it. So we can’t tell
7,


A NOTE FROM VICKY 163
where it was sent, here or to one of his clubs or to
his ofﬁce address.”
“ Not here, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Schuyler.
" Probably to his club. You are quite welcome to
the letter, Mr. Lowney. Make what use you think
best of it. If it serves to establish Miss Van Allen’s
innocence, I shall be rather glad. But if it seems to
throw further suspicion on her, then justice must
be done.”
“ Of course, it throws suspicion on that woman! ”
declared Miss Rhoda Schuyler, with a vindictive
glance at the letter in Lowney’s hand. “ The hussy,
to write to Randolph at all!”
“ But,” I interposed, unable to stand this unjust
speech, “ Mr. Schuyler must have made advances
to her ﬁrst.”
“She lured him on. I’ve heard you say your-
self, Mr. Calhoun, that this Van Allen person is a
7!

siren, a
“ Now, now, Miss Rhoda,” I began, but the
other sister chimed in.
“ Of course she is! Of course, the wrong was
mostly hers. And she killed Randolph, I know it!
Why, the waiter man saw her! Go ahead, Mr.
Lowney, hunt her down, and bring her to'account.
I never shall sleep peacefully until my brother’s
death is avenged! I cannot understand, Ruth, how
you can be so indifferent.”


164 VICKY VAN
A ﬂush rose to Ruth Schuyler’s cheek, and, en-
lightened anew to her husband’s character by that
letter, I began to feel a different sort of sympathy
for the widow.
Randolph Schuyler had been unfaithful, he had
been domineering and tyrannical, and I knew he had
not allowed his wife to have the comforts and
luxuries she desired, although he was enormously
wealthy.
A social secretary, for instance. Most women of
Ruth Schuyler’s rank in society had that necessary
assistant, yet, during Schuyler’s life his wife was
forbidden the favor.
Winnie had told me this, and had told me much
more, that proved how unjust and unkind Randolph
Schuyler had been. The sisters, too, shared his
views, and as a consequence, the household was run
on old-fashioned lines that ill accord with the ways
of to-day.
Mrs. Schuyler had in no way complained, Win
' told me, but it was easily seen how matters stood.
It fell to Winnie’s lot to order many things from
the shops—stationery, mourning apparel, and house
needs. These, my sister said, were ordered with the
most perfect taste, but with a lavishness, which was
indubitably unusual to Ruth Schuyler.


A NOTE FROM VICKY 165
The sisters exclaimed at the extravagance, but
Ruth, though listening politely, serenely went her
own way, and carried out her own plans. In the
matter of fresh ﬂowers, she was like a child, Win
said, and she enjoyed the blossoms she ordered as if
she had hungered for them for years. \Vinnie was
growing deeply attached to her employer, if that
word is applicable, and Ruth Schuyler was fond of
Win.
But I am digressing. Mrs. Schuyler replied to
her sister-in-law’s speech by saying, gently, “I am
not indifferent, Sarah, but it seems to me we have
no real evidence against the girl, and ”
“ N 0 real evidence! When she was caught red-
handed! Or nearly caught! If that stupid waiter
had had sense enough to jump and grab her, we
would have had no search to make at all!”
“ It may be so, Sarah, you may be right. But
until you do ﬁnd her don’t condemn her utterly.
From what Mr. Calhoun has told me of her and
from the tone of that letter she wrote to Randolph,
Ican’t make it seem possible that she killed a. man
she knew so slightly. And yet, it may be she did.”
“Well,” remarked Lowney, “the note provesv
that she had seen Mr. Schuyler before, anyway.
Then, when he came to her house as Mr. Somers,
she was naturally annoyed, as she had asked him not


166 VICKY VAN
to do so. And all that is against the girl, I say. But
it remains to be seen what the coroner’s jury will
think of it.”
“ They’ll see it in its true light,” declared Rhoda
Schuyler. “ Of course, she was angry when he came
to her house after being forbidden, unless the sly
thing wrote the note just to lure him on, but in any
case, she was alone with him, she used the knife on
him and she ran away. What more evidence do
you need? Now, to ﬁnd her. That’s a task I shall
never give up or neglect until I’ve accomplished it.”
“ And you are right, Rhoda,” said Rut , “ if
the girl is guilty. I hope she will be found, for I’m
sure the truth could then be learned, whether she is
guilty or not.”
“ Will you come, now, Mrs. Schuyler,” said
Tibbetts, from the doorway. “The ﬂowers have
arrived.”
Ruth, beckoning to Winnie, rose, and the two
left the room.
“Perfectly idiotic,” said Sarah, “the way she
orders ﬂowers! Fresh ones every day!”
“ But hasn’t she a right to spend her own money
as she likes?” I defended. ‘
“ A legal right, perhaps,” was the retort, “but
not a moral right to disregard her husband’s wishes
so utterly ”


CHAPTER XII
MORE NOTES
NEXT morning at breakfast, there was but one
topic of conversation. Indeed, little else had been
talked of for days but the Schuyler case and all its
side issues.
Winnie held forth at length on the martyrdom
Ruth Schuyler had suffered because of the cruelty of
her late husband.
“He wasn’t really ugly, you know,’ explained
Win, “ and I don’t say she’s glad he’s dead. But
he thwarted her in every little way that she wanted
to enjoy herself. They had a box at the opera, and -
a big country house and all that, but he wouldn’t
let her go to matine'es or have a motor of her own
or buy anything until he had passed judgment on it.
She even had to submit her costume designs to him,
and if he approved the dressmaker made them up.
And he wouldn’t let her have fashionable clothes.
They had to be plain and of rich heavy materials,
such as the sisters wear. Mr. Schuyler was under
the thumb of those two old maids, and Rhoda, espe-
cially, put him up to all sorts of schemes to bother
Ruth.”
“ Do you call her Ruth? ” I asked, in surprise.
,
167


168 VICKY VAN
“ Yes, she told me I might. She's lovely to me,
and I’m so glad to do all I can for he1. Honest,
Chet, she lived an awful life with that man.”
“I’d like to see her,” said Aunt Lucy. “ All
you’ve said about her, Winnie, makes me a bit
gurious.”
“ So you shall, Auntie, some time. She’s a real
friend of mine now, and even after Edith Crowell
goes there as secretary, she says I must often go to
see her as her friend.”
“ She’s charming,” I declared. “Every time I
see her I’m more impressed with her gentle dignity.
And I don’t know how she can be so decent to those
two old women.”
“ Nor I,” agreed Win, as Aunt Lucy asked, “ Is
she pretty?”
“Is she, Winnie?” I said.
“ Well, she is and she isn’t. She’s so colorless,
you know. Her hair is that ﬂat ashy blonde, and
she’s so pale always. Then her eyes and lashes are
so light, and—well, ineffective. But her expres-
sion is so sweet, and when once in a while she
laughs outright, she’s very attractive. And she’s
such a thoroughbred. She never errs in taste or
judgment. She knows just what to reply to all the
queer letters of condolence that come to her, and just
how to talk to the people who call. And that’s


MORE NOTES 169
another thing. She hasn’t any friends of her own
age. She knows only the people who belong to the
most exclusive set, and they’re nearly all the age
of the old sisters. But Mrs. Schuyler is lovely to
them. And in her soft pretty black gowns she looks
a whole lot better than she ever did in the ones she
wore while he was alive. I’ve seen them in her
wardrobe, and I’ve seen her try on .some that she
was going to give away, and they’re sights! Elegant,
you know, but not the thing for her. Now, that she
can select her own, she has beauties.”
“ She certainly must be glad, then, to be freed
from such a tyrant,” said Aunt Lucy.
“ Now don’t you think that!” insisted Winnie,
earnestly. “ She may feel, so, ’way down in her
deepest heart, but she won’t admit it, even to her—
self. And, of course, no matter how much she
didn’t love him, she wouldn’t want him taken off
that way! No, she’s perfectly all right, and she
mourns that man just as sincerely as any woman
could mourn a man who didn’t understand her.”
I looked at Win in amazement. Little sister was
growing up, it seemed. WVell, the experience would
do her no harm. Ruth Schuyler’s inﬂuence could
work only for good, and a taste of real life would
give a wider outlook than Win could get at home.
I went dOWn to the coroner’s courtroom. The


£70 VICKY VAN
inquest was proceeding in its usual discursive way,
and I sat down to listen for a while. The coroner
was hearing reports from detectives who had inter-
viewed the market men and shopkeepers where Vicky
Van had bought wares.
It was just what might be expected from any
householder’s record. Vicky had always paid her
bills promptly, usually by check on a well-known
bank. Sometimes, if the bills were small they were
paid in cash. In such case Miss Van Allen herself
or the maid brought the money; if checks, they were
sent by mail. The garage man reported a similar
state of affairs. His monthly bills were promptly
paid, and Miss Van Allen had found no fault with
his service. She was away from home frequently,
but when at home, she used her motor car often and
was kind to the chauffeur who drove her. This
chauffeur told of taking her to the shops, to the
theatre, to friends’ houses and to picture galleries—
but had never been directed to any place where a
lady might not go.
The bank people said that Miss Van Allen had
had an account with them for years, but as their de-
positors were entitled to conﬁdential dealings they
would say little more. They stated, however, that
Miss Van Allen was a most desirable patron and
never overdrew her account or made trouble of any
sort.


MORE NOTES 171
There was nothing to be gleaned from this kind
of testimony. We all knew that Vicky was a good
citizen and all this was merely corroboration.
What was wanted was some hint of her present
whereabouts.
Lowney had tried to get at this by the use of
an address book he had found in Vicky Van’s desk.
He had telephoned or called on many of the people
whose addresses were in the book, but all said over
and over what we already knew.
Personally, I felt sure that Vicky wasstaying
with some friend not far from her own house. It
could well be, that somebody cared enough for the
girl to hide her from the authorities. This, however,
argued her guilty, for otherwise, a true friend would
persuade her that the wiser course would be to dis-
close herself to the public.
However, nothing transpired to bear out my
opinion, and as the list of witnesses dwindled, no
progress was made toward a solution of the mystery.
And so, when at last, an open verdict was returned,
with no mention of Vicky’s name, I was decidedly
relieved, but I didn’t see how it could have been
otherwise.
I- dropped in at the Schuyler house on my way
home. I was beginning to feel on a very friendly
footing there, and, partly owing to Winnie’s graphic


172 VICKY VAN
powers of narration, I took an increasing interest in
Ruth Schuyler.
As Win had said, she looked charming, although
pathetic in her black robes. She permitted herself a
touch of white at the turned-in throat, and a white
flower was tucked in her bodice. .A contrast, in-
deed, to the severe garb of the spinster sisters, who
looked like allegorical ﬁgures of hopeless gloom.
But their manner was more of militant revenge,
and, having heard the verdict of the coroner’s jury,
they were ready to take up the case themselves.
“Come in, Mr. Calhoun,” they called out, as I
entered the library, “ you’re just the man we want to
see. Now, that the coroner has ﬁnished his task, we
will take the matter up. Mr. Lowney, I suppose,
will continue the search for Miss Van Allen, but we
fear he will not be successful. So, we have de-
termined to send for the great detective, Fleming
Stone.”
“Stone!” I cried, “ why, he won’t work with
the police.”
“ Then he can work without them,” declared
Rhoda, with asperity. “ I’ve heard wonderful
stories of that man’s success, and we’re going to
engage him at once.”
“ He’s very expensive,” I began.


MORE NOTES 17$
“ No matter. \/Ve’re going to ﬁnd our brother’s
murderer if it takes every penny of our fortune.”
“ \Vhat do you think of this plan, Mrs. Schuy-
ler’? ” I asked.
’ “ I’ve not been consulted,” she said, with a slight
smile. “ Since Mr. Randolph’s sisters choose to
adopt it, I have no reason to object. I know noth-
ing of Mr. Stone, but if he is really a great detec-
tive, he will not condemn that girl unheard. And if
she is proved guilty, of course the claims of justice
must be met. Do you know him, Mr. Calhoun?”
“ Not personally. I’ve often heard of him,
and he’s a wonder. If you want to ﬁnd Miss Van
Allen, you can’t do better than to get him on the
trail. If he can’t ﬁnd her, nobody can.”
“ That’s what I say,” put in Sarah. “ And if he
doesn’t ﬁnd her, at least we’ve the satisfaction of
knowing we’ve done all we could.”
“ We thought of offering a reward for informa-
tion of Miss Van Allen,” added Rhoda, “but if
we’re going to get Mr. Stone, wouldn’t it be better
to consult him about that? ”
“ I think it would,” I judged.
Just then Winnie came into the room. She had
been writing notes, and she held a lot of unopened
letters in her hand.
“Oh, Ruth,” she cried, “what do you think!


174 VICKY VAN
Here’s the mail, Jepson just gave it to me, and
there’s a letter for you from Miss Van Allen!”
“ What!” cried everybody at once.
“ Yes,” declared Winnie, “ I know the hand, it’s
the same as was on that letter to Mr. Schuyler. It’s
such a queer hand, you can’t forget it.”
She handed all the letters to Ruth, the one she
referred to on top.
Mrs. Schuyler turned pale as she looked at the
envelope. I glanced at it, too, and without doubt, it
was Vicky Van’s writing.
It had been mailed in New York that same morn-
ing, and delivered just now, about ﬁve o’clock.
“ You open it, Mr. Calhoun,” said Ruth, as if
she shrank from the task.
I took it gravely, for it seemed to me to portend
trouble for little Vicky. Was she giving herself up,
or what?
Win handed me a letter-opener, and I slit the
envelope.
As they breathlessly awaited my words, I read:
To Mas. RANDOLPH SCHUYLERI
Dear Madam: It is useless to look for me. To-day I am
leaving New York forever. The mystery of Mr. Schuyler’s
death will never be solved, the truth never learned. I alone
know the secret and it will die with me. You may employ
detectives from now till doomsday but you will discover noth-
ing. So give up the search, for you will never ﬁnd
VICTORIA VAN ALLEN.


MORE NOTES 175
There was a pause as I ﬁnished reading. My-
self, I was thrilled by a certain phrase in the letter.
Vicky said, “ the secret will die with me.” Again,
I felt that she was intending to bring about her own
death, and that speedily. Would we know it if she
did? I was thinking deeply, when Miss Rhoda
spoke:
“ I believe that girl means to kill herself, and I
should think she would!”
“ Why do you think that? ” and Ruth looked up
with a startled face.
“It sounds so, and it would be the natural out-
come of her remorse at her dreadful deed.”
“ I think she must be guilty,” said Winnie, her
dear little countenance drawn with grief, as she
studied the letter for herself.
’ None of us said much more. We all were
stunned in a way, by this unexpected development,
and had to readjust our theories.
“Well,” Miss Rhoda said, decidedly, “ I shall
consult Mr. Stone, anyway. I’ve written him, and
though I’ve not mailed the letter yet, I shall send it
off to-night. Then when he comes to talk it over we
can see what he says and abide by his judgment.”
“ That’s a good idea, Rhoda,” and Ruth Schuy-
ler nodded assentingly; “I, too, want just-ice. and


“1‘76 TVICKY VAN
if Fleming‘Storie-thinks he can ﬁnd Miss VanAllen,
lethimdoso.” " '1 p. 7- ' ~
It was six o’clock then, and Win and- I' went
home, leaving the ‘ Schuylervv ladies to their own
discussions. ‘ ' . ' '
Ruth Schuyler’s hand lingered a moment in
mine, as I bade her adieu, and she said, wistfully,
“ I wish you would tell me just what you think we
had better do. I am so unaccustomed to judging
for myself‘in any important matter.”
“ I think it is wise to get Mr. Stone,” I returned.
“ In any case it can do no harm, you know.”
“ N o,‘ I suppose not,” and she gave me one of her
rare smiles of appreciation. “I am glad you are
looking after us, instead of Mr. Bradbury,” she said
further, and I sincerely responded that I was glad,
too. '
Another surprise awaited me at home. On the
hall table lay my own mail, and as I picked it up,
and ran the letters over, there was one from Vicky
Van.
I hastily concealed it from Winnie’s sharp eyes,
for I had no notion what it might divulge, and
hurried with it up to my own room.
Impatiently I tore it open and raced through its
contents.


MORE NOTES 17‘}.
DEAR MR. CALHOUN :
Thank you deeply for attending to my errand. Owing
to your kindness I received the letters I wanted. Now, will
you do me one last favor? Come again to the house to-
night, and take a small parcel which you will ﬁnd in the
Chinese jar in the music room. Keep this for me and if
I do not ask you for it within a year, destroy it unopened.
I wish I could be more frank with you, you have proved
yourself such a staunch friend, but I cannot control circum-
stances and so I must bear my fate. I do not know what
Mrs. Schuyler will think of it, but I have written her a letter.
When you see her, try to make her realize it is useless to
hunt for me. Since I can keep hidden for this length of
time, my retreat is not likely to be discovered. And now,
my kindest of friends, good-bye.
VICKY VAN.
I stood, staring at the letter. I read it through a
dozen times. Of course, I would do her, bidding,
but my heart rebelled at the ﬁnality of the lines. I
knew I would never hear from Vicky Van again.
As she said, since we hadn’t traced her yet, we
never could.
I wondered where she could possibly be. And
Julie, too. Somebody was shielding them both.
They couldn’t be disguised or anything of that sort,
for they had left the house at dead of night, with—
out luggage or—and I hadn’t thought of this before
—without money! How could they have found
shelter, save in some friend’s house?
Of course, Vicky could have snatched up a purse
as she ran. Perhaps that was what she ﬂew up-
12


I78 VICKY VAN
stairs for. And then, maybe, she went down the
back stairs—but no, the waiters must have seen her
that way. And Luigi was in the front hall a moment
after Vicky disappeared.
Aside from my personal interest, I hated to think
I should never know just how she did get away.
For now, I had no hope that Fleming Stone or any—
one else could ever ﬁnd the girl. She was too canny
to be taken, after her successful concealment so far.
I went downstairs after a time, but I said noth—
ing of my letter to Aunt Lucy or Win.
They were eagerly discussing the latest news, and
Aunt Lucy was saying, “ Yes, I’ve heard of Mr.
Stone, and they do say he’s a marvel. I hope he’ll
ﬁnd the girl, if only to learn the mystery of her
disappearance.”
“ Oh, he’ll ﬁnd her,” assured Winnie, “ I’ve heard
a lot about him over there and he’s a wizard! But
I think he’ll have a long chase.”
“ Meantime, what becomes of the house? ”
queried Aunt Lucy. “ What does, Chet? Can any'
one go in it who likes?”
“ No,” I returned, a little shortly, for I foresaw
Aunt Lucy had that absurd feminine desire to pry
into another person’s home. “It’s in charge of the
police, and they won’t let anyone in, without somv
very good reason.”


MORE NOTES 179
“ Couldn’t you get in?”
“I suppose I might,” I admitted unwillingly,
“if I had any business there.”
“Oh, do get up some business, Chet,” begged
Winnie, “ and get the keys and let Auntie and me
go with you! Oh, do! I’d love to see that girl’s
things! ”
“ Winnie, you’re positively lowbred to show such
curiosity! ” I exclaimed, angrily—the more so, that
I had the house key in my pocket at that moment.
But I was glad I had not told them of Vicky Van’s
letter to me! '
I waited until well past midnight, and then, after
seeing the post patrol pass Vicky’s door, I softly
went out of my own house, and across the street.
I walked calmly up the steps of Vicky’s home,
and sadly put the latchkey in the door—for the last
time. I felt as if I were performing funeral rites,
and I entered and closed the door behind me, softly,
as one does in the house of death.
I went up the stairs, in the gloom. It was not
black darkness, for a partly raised blind gave me
a glimmer of light from the street. Into the music
room I went, and by my pocket ﬂashlight, I took
the lid from the Chinese jar. But there was no
parcel inside!
Amazed, I threw the light down into the big
vase, but it was utterly empty.


[80 VICKY VAN
There was no use looking elsewhere for the
parcel—I knew Vicky well enough to know that she
would do exactly as she had said. Or, since she
hadn’t, I was sure that she would not have left
that parcel in any other hiding-place.
I I put the ﬂashlight back in my pocket, and started
downstairs.
Slowly I descended, for I still felt a little uncer—
tain what to do. Should I wait for a short time, or
go back home and return again later?
I reached the foot of the stairs, and concluded
to go home, and then think out my next step.
As I passed the living-room door, I heard a low
voice whisper my name.
I turned sharply. In the doorway, I could dimly
discern a cloaked ﬁgure. “ Hush! ” she said, softly,
and beckoned to me.
It was Vicky Van!


CHAPTER XIII
FLEMING STONE
VICKY had said “ Hush! " but it was an un-
necessary precaution, for I was too stunned to articu-
late. I peered at her in the darkness and then,
unable to control my desire for certainty I ﬂashed
my little pocket light on her for an instant.
“ Don’t!” she whispered, putting her hands up
before her face.
But I had seen. It was really Vicky Van, her
smooth black hair looped over her ears, her scarlet
mouth, and sOft pink cheeks, ﬂushed with excite-
ment of the moment, and her long dark lashes,
which suddenly fell beneath the blinding ﬂare of the
light, all were those of the runaway girl.
“ Don’t talk,” she said, hastily, “let me do the
talking. I want you to help me, will you?”
“ Of course, I will,” and all sense of law and
justice ﬂed before the wave of pity and solicitude
for the trembling suppliant who thus appealed to me.
Her voice was indistinct and a little hoarse, as
if she was laboring under great mental and nerve
strain, and she was so alone, so unprotected, that I
couldn’t help promising any assistance in my power.
181


182 VICKY VAN
“There wasn’t any parcel in the big vase,” I
said, in a low voice, as she seemed to hesitate about
going on with her explanation.
“ N 0, here it is,” and she handed me a little box.
“ just put it away safely for the present. And now,
this is what I want to ask of you. Don’t let them
engage that Mr. Stone, to hunt me down, will you? ”
“ Why, how can I help it?”
“Oh, can’t you?” and she sounded so disap-
pointed; “ I hoped you could persuade Mrs. Schuy-
ler not to have him.”
“ But Mrs. Schuyler doesn’t want him, either! ”
I exclaimed. “It’s those two sisters who insist on
getting him. And I never could turn their wills,
try as I might.”
“ Why doesn’t Mrs. Schuyler wantv him?”
“ Oh, I’m not sure that she really objects to the
plan, but, I mean she didn’t seem as anxious as the
other two. You see, little girl, the widow of Ran-
dolph Schuyler isn’t so bitter against you as the two
sisters are.”
“That’s good of her,” and Vicky’s voice was
wistful. “ But, you know I must remain in
hidin ”
“ I thought you were going to leave New York? ”
“ I am. And at once. But if that Mr. Stone
gets on my trail, he’ll ﬁnd me, as sure as fate. And


FLEMING STONE 183
so I risked this interview to try to persuade you to
use your inﬂuence against his coming.”
“ And I’ll do that,” I returned, heartily. “ But
I feel that I ought to tell you that I doubt my power
to dissuade the Schuyler sisters from their determi-
nation. And, too, how did you know they thought
of getting him?” i
“ Oh, I see all the papers, you know, and in one
of them a reporter gave a personal interview with
the Schuyler people, and they hinted at getting that
man.”
Vicky sighed wearily, as if her last hope was
gone. I was full of questions I wanted to ask her,
but it seemed intrusive and unkind to quiz her. And
yet, one thing I felt I must say. I must ask her
what she knew of the actual crime.
“ Tell me,” I blurted out, “ who did kill Ran-
dolph Schuyler?”
Again I felt her tremble, and her voice quivered
as she whispered back, “It must have been some
enemy of his, who got in at the window, or some—
thing like that.”
My heart fell. This was the sort of thing she
would say if she were herself the guilty one. I
had hoped for a more sincere, even if despairing,
answer.
“But I must send you away,” she breathed in


184 VICKY VAN
my ear. We were standing just inside the room,
and Vicky held her hand on a chair-back for sup-
port. There was the faintest light from the street,
enough for us to distinguish one another’s forms,
but no more. Vicky wore a street gown of some
sort, and a long cloak. On her head was a small hat,
and a black net veil. This was tied so tightly that
it interfered a little with her speech, I thought
though when I had looked at her face by my ﬂash\
light, the veil had not been of sufﬁcient thickness to
conceal her features at all. I’ve often wondered why
women wear those uncomfortable things. She kept
pulling it away from her lips as she talked.
“I want my address book,” she went on, hur-
riedly. “I’ve looked all over for it, and it’s gone.
Did the detective take it? ”
“I think he did,” I replied, remembering Low-
ney’s search.
“ Can’t you get it back for me? ”
“ Look here, child, what do you think I am? A
magician? "I
“ No, but I thought you could manage some-
how to get it,” her voice showed the adorable petu-
lance that distinguished Vicky Van; “ and then, you
could send it to me—” '
“Where?” I cried, eagerly. “Where shall I
address you?”


FLEMING STONE 185
“I can’t tell you that. But you can bring it
here and leave it in the Chinese jar, and I will
get it.”
“ How do you come in and go out of this house
without being seen?” I demanded. “ By the area
door?”
“ Perhaps so,” and she spoke lightly. “ And
perhaps by a window, and maybe by means of an
aeroplane and down through the skylight.”
“ Not that,” I said, “ the skylight is fastened on
the inside, and has been ever since—ever since that
night.”
“Well, then I don’t come that way. But if
you’ll get that book and putit in the big vase, I’ll
come and get it. When will it be there?”
“ You’re crazy to think I can get it,” I returned,
slowly, “ but if I can I will. Give me a few
days ”
“A week, if you like. Shall we say a week
from to-night? ”
“ Next Monday? Yes. If I can get it at all, I
can have it by then. How shall I let you know?”

“ You needn’t let me know, for I know now you
will get it. Steal it from Mr. Lowney, if you can’t
get it otherwise.”
“ But if Fleming Stone is on your trail, will you
come for the book? ”


186 VICKY VAN
“I must,” she spoke gravely. “I ‘must have
the book. It means everything to me. I must
have it!”
“ Then you shall, if I can manage it. It is your
' book, it has proved of no value as evidence, you may
as well have it.”
“Yes, I may as well have it. And now, Mr.
Calhoun, will you go, please, or do you intend to
turn me over to the police?”
“Vicky!” I cried, “how can you say such a
thing? Of course I’ll go, if you bid me. But let
me wait a minute. You know you wrote to Ruth
Schuyler ”
“ Ruth? Is that one of the old sisters? ”
“ No. Ruth is the widow.”
“Oh, yes, I wrote to her. I didn’t know her
ﬁrst name. I wrote because I thought it was she
who is making the desperate search for me, and I
hoped I could inﬂuence her to stop it. That’s all. I
have no interest in Randolph Schuyler’s widow, ex-
cept as she affects my future, but can you do any-
thing by working in the other direction? I mean
can you dissuade Fleming Stone from coming, by
asking him not to? You can bribe him perhaps—
I have money ”
“Oh, I doubt if I could do anything like that.
But I’ll try, I’ll try every way I can, and, if I sue-
ceed—how shall I let you know?”


FLEMING STONE 187
“Oh, I’ll know. If he takes up the matter, it
will probably get into the papers, and if I see noth-
ing of it, I’ll conclude you succeeded.”
“But I—I want to see you again, Vicky
“ Oh, no, you don’t. Why, you don’t know
this minute but what I stabbed that man, and ”
“ You didn’t, Vicky—tell me you didn’t!”
“ I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you anything.
lam the most miserable girl on God’s earth! ” and
I heard tears in Vicky’s voice, and a sob choked her
utterance.
“ Now go,” she said, after a moment, “I can’t
stand any more. Please go, and do what you can
for me, without getting yourself into trouble. Go,
and don’t look back to see how I make my exit, will
you? ”
“ Indeed, I won’t do that. Your conﬁdences are
safe with me, Vicky, and I will do all in my power
to help you, in any way I can.”
“ Then go now,” she said, and a gentle pressure
of her hand on my arm urged me toward the door.
I went without another word, and neither while
in the street, nor after gaining my own house, did I.
look back for another glimpse of Vicky Van.
And yet, try as I would, maneuver as I might,
I c0uldn’t prevent the arrival of Fleming Stone.
The Schuyler sisters were determined to have
7!


188 VICKY VAN
the great detective, and though Mrs. Schuyler wasn’t
so anxious, yet she raised not the slightest objection,
and after some persuasion, Stone agreed to take the
case.
vI was present at his ﬁrst call to discuss details
and was immensely interested in my ﬁrst sight of
the man.
Tall, well-formed, and of a gravely courteous
manner, he impressed me as the most magnetically
attractive man I had ever seen. His iron-gray hair
and deep-set, dark eyes gave him a dignity that I
had never before associated with my notions of a
detective.
The Schuyler sisters were frankly delighted with
him.
“I know you’ll run down the murderer of my
brother,” Miss Rhoda exulted, while Miss Sarah
began to babble volubly of what she called clues
and evidence.
Fleming Stone listened politely, now and then
asking a direct question and sometimes turning to
Ruth Schuyler for further information.
As I watched him closely, it occurred to me that
he really paid little attention to what the women
said, he was more engaged in scanning their faces
and noting their attitudes. Perhaps I imagined it,
but I thoughtihe. was sizing up their characters and


FLEMING STONE 189
their sympathies, and intended looking up his clues
and evidence by himself.
“ The ﬁrst thing to do,” he declared, at last, “ is
to ﬁnd Miss Van Allen.”
This was what I had feared, and remembering
my promise to Vicky I said, “I think that will be
impossible, Mr. Stone. She wrote she was leaving
New York forever.”
“ But a householder like thatcan’t go away for-
ever,” Stone said, “ she must look after her goods
and chattels, and she must pay her ren ”
“ No, she owns the house.”
“ Must pay the taxes, then. Must sell it, or rent
it or do something with it.”
“ It would seem so,” I agreed. “ And yet, if one
is wanted for murder one would sacriﬁce house-
hold goods and the house itself in order to escape
being caught.”
“True,” and Stone nodded his head. “But,
still, I fancy she would return for something. Few
women could leave their home like that, and not

have some valuables or some secret papers or some-
thing for which they must return. I venture to say
Miss Van Allen has already been back to her house,
more than once, on secret errands.”
Was the man a clairvoyant? How could he
know that Vicky had done this very thing? But I


190 VICKY VAN
realized at once, that he knew it, not from cog-
nizance of facts, but from his prescience of what
would necessarily follow in such a case.
“ She has her keys, of course? ” he asked.
The police have charge of the keys,” I said, a
little lamely.
“ I know,” Stone said, impatiently, “but there
are doubtless more keys than the ones they have. I
should say, that Miss Van Allen took at least the
key of one door with her, however hurried her
ﬂight.”
“It may be so,” I conceded. “ But, granting
she has been back and forth on the errands you
suggest, it is not likely she will keep it up.”
“ No, it is not. And especially if she learns I
am on the case.”
“ How could she know that?” Ruth Schuyler
asked. _
“ I’m sure Miss Van Allen is a most clever and
ingenious young woman,” Stone replied, “and I
feel sure she knows all that is going on. She gets
information from the papers, and, too, she has that
dependable maid, Julie. That woman, probably dis-
guised, can do much in the way of getting informa-
tion as to how matters are progressing. You see,
I’ve followed the case all the way along, and the


FLEMING STONE 191
peculiarities and unique conditions of it are what
induced me to take it up.”
“ Shall we offer a reward, Mr. Stone, for the
discovery of the hiding place of Miss Van Allen?”
asked Rhoda, eagerly. “ I want to use every pos—
sible means of ﬁnding her.”
“Not yet, Miss Schuyler. Let us try other
plans ﬁrst. But I must enjoin utter secrecy about
my connection with the matter. Not the fact that I
am at work on it, but the developments or details
of my work. It is a most unusual, a most peculiar
case, and I must work unimpeded by outside advice
or interference. I may say, I’ve never known of a
case which presented such extraordinary features,
and features which will either greatly simplify or
greatly impede my progress.”
“Just what do you mean by that last remark,
Mr. Stone?” asked Ruth Schuyler, who had been
listening intently.
“I mean that the absolutely mysterious disap—
pearance of the young woman will either be of easy
and simple solution, or else it will prove an in-
.soluble mystery. There will be no half-way work
about it. If I can’t learn the truth in a short time,
I fear I never can.”
“How strange,” said I. “Do you often feel
thus about the beginning of a case? ”


192 VICKY VAN
“ Very rarely, almost never. And never have I
felt it so strongly as in this instance. To trace that
girl is not a matter of longand patient search, it’s
rather a question of a bit of luck or a slight slip on
her part, or—well—of some coincidence or chance
discovery that will clear things at one ﬂash.”
“Then you’re depending on luck?” exclaimed
Rhoda, in a disappointed tone.
“ Oh, not that,” and Stone smiled. “ At least,
I’m not depending entirely on that. If luck comes
my way, so much the better. And now, please let
me see the notes Miss Van Allen has written.”
None was available, however, except the one to
Ruth Schuyler. For the one to Randolph Schuyler
was in Lowney’s possession, and the one I had had
from Vicky, and which was even then in my pocket,
I had no intention of showing.
It was not necessary, however, for Fleming
Stone said one was enough to gather all that he
could learn from her chirography.
He studied it attentively, but only for a~rn0ment.
Then he said, “ A characteristic penmanship, but to
me it only shows forcefulness, ingenuity and good
nature. However, I’m not an expert, I only get a
general impression, and the traits I’ve mentioned
are undoubtedly to be found in the lady’s nature.


FLEMING STONE 198
Are they not? ” and he turned to me, as to one who
knew.
“ They are,” I replied, “ so far as I know Miss
Van Allen. vBut my acquaintance with her is limited,
and I can only agree superﬁcially.
Stone eyed me closely, and I began to feel a
little uncomfortable under his gaze. Clearly, I’d
have to tell the truth, or incur his suspicion. Nor
did I wish to prevaricate. I felt friendly toward
poor little Vicky, and yet, I had no mind to run
counter to the interest of Ruth Schuyler. The two
sisters I didn’t worry about, and indeed, they could
look out for themselves. But Ruth Schuyler was
in a position to demand justice, and if that justice
accused Vicky Van, I must be honest and fair to
both in my testimony.
Fleming Stone proceeded to question the women,
more deﬁnitely and concisely now, and by virtue
of his marvellous efﬁciency, he so shaped his in_
quiries, that he learned details with accuracy and
rapidity.
It would never have occurred to me to ask the
questions that he put, but as he went on, I saw '
their pertinence and value.
With Ruth’s permission he called several of the
servants and asked them a few things. Nothing of
moment transpired, to my mind, but Stone was in-
13


194 VICKY VAN
terested in a full account of where each servant
was and what he was doing on the night of the
murder. Each gave a straightforward and satis-
factory account, and I realized that Stone was only
getting a sense of the household atmosphere, and
its relations to Mr. Schuyler himself.
Tibbetts, the middle-aged maid of Ruth Schuy-
ler, told of the shock to her mistress when the news
was brought.
“ Mrs. Schuyler had retired,” said Tibbetts,
“at about ten o’clock, Mr. Schuyler was out, and
was not expected home until late. I attended her,
and after she was in bed, I went to bed myself.”
“I’m told you do not live here,” commented
Stone, though in a disinterested way, and at the
same time making notes of some other matters in
his notebook.
“ I have a room around on Third Avenue,” re-
plied Tibbetts. “I like a little home of my own,
and when Mrs. Schuyler permits me, I go ’round
there to sleep, and sometimes I go in the daylight
hours. But on that night I happened to be staying
here.”
“ Tibbetts is rather a privileged character,” in-
terposed Ruth. “She has been with me for many
years, and as she likes a little place of her own, I
adopted the plan of which she has told you.”


FLEMING STONE 195
“ But that night you were here? ” said Stone, to
the maid.
“ Yes, sir. I slept in Mrs. Schuyler's dressing
room, as I always do when I’m here. Then when
Jepson told me the—the awful news, I awoke Mrs.
Schuyler and told her.”
“ Yes,” said Stone. “I read all about that in
the inquest report.”


CHAPTER XIV
WALLS HAVE TONGUES
“ Now,” said Fleming Stone, after he had
learned all he desired from the Schuyler household,
“now, if you please, I would like to go over the
Van Allen house. You have the keys, Mr.
Calhoun?”
“ I have a latchkey to the street door,” I re-
plied, “ the rooms are not locked.
I don’t know why exactly, but I hated to have
him go through Vicky Van’s house. Of course, it
must have been because she had begged me not to
let Stone get into the case at all. But I hadn’t been
able to prevent that, the two Schuyler sisters being
determined to have him. And I had no desire
to impede justice or stand in the way of law and
order, but, somehow or other, I felt the invasion
of Vicky’s home would bring about trouble
for the girl, and my mind was ﬁlled with vague
foreboding.
“ We will go with you,” announced Miss Rhoda.
“ I’ve wanted to see that house from the ﬁrst. You’ll
go, Ruth?”
“Oh, no,” and Ruth Schuyler shrank at the
196


WALLS HAVE TONGUES 197
idea. “ I’ve no wish to see the place where my hus—
band was killed! How could you think of it? If I
could do any good by going ”
“ No, Mrs. Schuyler,” said Fleming Stone, “ you
could do no good, and I quite understand why you
would rather not go. The Misses Schuyler and Mr.
Calhoun will accompany me, and we will start at

once.”
“ Can’t I go?” asked Winnie, who had come in
recently, “I’m just crazy to see that house. You
don’t mind my going, do you, Ruth?”
“No, indeed, child. I’m perfectly willing.”
Mr. Stone raised no objection, so \Vinnie went
with us.
It was nearly ﬁve o’clock, full daylight, though
the dusk was just beginning to fall. We went
round to Vicky Van’s and I opened the door for the
party to enter. '
The house had begun to show disuse. There
was dust on the shining surfaces of the furniture
and on the polished ﬂoors. The clocks had all
stopped and the musty chill of a closed house was in
the atmosphere.
“ Ugh -! ” cried Winnie, “ what a creepy feeling!
And this house is too pretty to be so neglected!
Why, it’s a darling house. Look at that heavenly
color scheme!”


198 VICKY VAN
\Vinnie had darted into the living-room, with
its rose and gray appointments, and we all followed
her.
“Don’t touch anything, Miss Calhoun,” cau-
tioned Stone, and Win contented herself with gaz-
ing about, her hands clasped behind her. 4
The Schuyler sisters sniffed, and though they
said little, they conveyed the idea that to their minds
the bijou residence savored of reprehensible
frivolity.
Fleming Stone lived up to his reputation as a
detective, and scrutinized everything with quick,
comprehensive glances. We went through the long
living-room, and into the dining-room, whose pale
green and silver again enchanted Winnie.
“ The walls are exquisite,” Stone agreed, look—
ing closely at the panels of silk brocade, framed
with a silver tracery.
“ If walls have ears, they must burn at your
praise,” I said, in an effort to speak lightly, for
Stone’s face had an ominous look, as if he were
learning grave truths.
“ Walls not only have cars, they have tongues,”
he returned. “ These walls have already told me
much of Miss Van Allen’s character.”
“Oh, how?” cried Winnie, “do tell us how
you deduce and all that! ”


WALLS HAVE TONGUES 199
I looked hastily at Stone, thinking he might be
annoyed by Winnie’s volatile speech.
But he said kindly, “ To the trained eye, Miss
Calhoun, much is apparent that escapes the casual
observer. But you can understand that the taste
displayed in the wall decoration, shows a reﬁned
and cultured nature. A woman of the adventuress
type would prefer more garish display. Of course,
I am generalizing, but there is much to bear me out.
Then, I see, by certain tiny marks and cracks, that
these walls have lately been done over, and that they
were also redecorated another time not long before.
This proves that Miss Van Allen has money enough
to gratify her whims and she chooses to spend it in
satisfying her aesthetic preferences. Further, the
walls have been carefully cared for, showing an in-
terested and capable housekeeperly instinct and traits
of extreme orderliness and tidiness. Cleverness,
even, for here, you see, is a place, where a bit of
the plaster has been defaced by a knock or scratch,
and it has been delicately painted over with a little
pale green paint which matches exactly. It is not
the work of a professional decorator, so reason tells
me that probably Miss Van Allen herself remedied
the defect."
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Winnie, “I can


200 VICKY VAN
see all that myself, now .you tell me, but I never
should have thought of it! Tell me more.”
“ Then the pictures, which are so well chosen
and placed, that they seem part of the walls, are, as
you notice, all ﬁgure pieces. There are no landscapes.
This, of course, means that Miss Van Allen is not
distinctly a nature lover, but prefers humanity and
society. This argues for the joy of living and the
appreciation of mental pleasures and occupations.
N0 devotee of nature would have failed to have
pictures of ﬂowers or harmonizing landscapes on
these walls. So, you see, to be ediﬁed by the tongues
of walls, you must not only listen to them but under-
stand their language.”
And then Stone began taking in the rest of the
dining-room’s contents. The table, hastily cleared
by the caterer’s men, was empty of the china and
glass which they had supplied, but still retained the
candlesticks and epergnes that were Vicky Van’s
own. These were of plated silver, not sterling,
which fact Stone noted. The lace-trimmed linen,
however, was of the ﬁnest and most elaborate sort.
“An unholy waste of money! ” declared Rhoda
Schuyler, looking at the marvellous monogram of
V. V. A. embroidered on the napkins.
But I gazed sadly at the table, only partially


WALLS HAVE TONGUES 201
dismantled, which had been so gaily decked for
Vicky’s birthday supper.
Scanning the sideboard, Stone remarked the
absence of the small carving knife. I told him I,
too, had observed that, and that I had made search
for it.
“ Did you ask the caterer’s people if they took
it by mistake? ” said the detective.
“ No,” I admitted, ashamed that I hadn’t thought
of it, and I promised to do so.
As Stone stood, silently contemplating the place
where Randolph Schuyler had met his death, I
stepped out into the hall. I had no conscious reason
for doing so, but I did, and chancing to glance to-
ward the stairs, I with difﬁculty repressed an
exclamation.
For half-way up the staircase, I saw Vicky Van!
I was sure it was no hallucination, I positively
saw her! She was leaning over the banister, lis-
tening to what Stone was saying. Suddenly, even
as I looked, she ran upstairs and disappeared.
Was she safe? Could she escape? Perhaps by
a back staircase, or could she manage to elude us
and slip away somehow?
Then I was conscience-stricken. Was I conniv-
ing at the escape of a guilty person? Did I want to
do this? I didn’t know. Something told' me I


202’ VICKY VAN
must tell Stone of her presence, and yet something
else made it impossible for me to do so.
I turned back to the dining-room, and Miss
Sarah was saying, “That’s the spot, then, that’s
where Randolph was killed by that awful woman!
Mr. Stone you must get her! An eye for an eye—
a life for a life! She must pay the penalty of her
guilt!”
Winnie was listening, and tears stood in her
eyes. Like Ruth Schuyler, from whom she doubt—
less took a cue, Win wasn’t so ready to condemn
Vicky Van unheard, as the two sisters were. She
looked steadily at Fleming Stone, as if expecting
him to produce Vicky then and there, and I quivered
with the thought of what would happen if he knew
that even at that moment Vicky was under the same
roof with ourselves!
But Stone completed his survey of the dining-
room, and as a matter of course, started next up the
stairs. I pushed ahead a little, in my eagerness to
precede him, but a vague desire to protect Vicky
urged me on. I stood in the upper hall as the rest
came up, and I imagined that Stone gave me a curi-
ous glance as he noted my evident embarrassment.
But Winnie dashed into the music room, and the
Schuyler sisters quickly followed. Trust a woman
t0 feel and show curiosity about her neighbor’s
home!


WALLS HAVE TON GUES 208
Again Stone examined the walls, but the im-
maculate white and gold sides of the music room
said nothing intelligible to me, and if they spoke to ‘
him he did not divulge the message. The women
exclaimed at the beautiful room, and, as Stone’s ex-
amination here was short, we all ﬁled back to Vicky’s
bedroom.
I heard no sound of her, and I breathed more
freely, as we did not ﬁnd her in bedroom or in the
boudoir beyond. She had, then, succeeded in getting
away, and trusted to me not to betray her presence
there.
The boudoir or dressing-room, all pink satin and
white enameled wicker called forth new exclama-
tions from Winnie, and even Rhoda Schuyler ex-
pressed a grudging admiration.
“ It is beautiful,” she conceded. “ I wish Ruth
had come, after all. She loves this sort of furni-
ture. Don’t you remember, Sarah, she wanted Ran-
dolph to do up her dressing-room in wicker?”
“ Yes, but he didn’t like it, he said it was gim—
crackery. And the Circassian walnut of Ruth’s
room is much handsorner.”
“Of course it is. Ruth has a charming suite.
Oh, do look at the dresses! ”
Fleming Stone had ﬂung open a wardrobe door,
and the costumes disclosed, though not numerous,


204. . VICKY VAN ,
were of beautiful coloring and design. Winnie, un-
able to resist the temptation, ﬁngered them lovingly,
’ and called my. attention . to. certain wonderful
confections. .
“What did she wear the night. of the crime?”
Stone asked, and. Itold him. ,Having Win for a
sister, I am fairly good at describing women’s
clothes, andI drew a vivid word picture of Vicky’s
gold fringed gown. .
“ Heavenly!” exclaimed Winnie, although she
had had rnedescribe the gown to her on the average
of twice a day for a week. “I wish I could see it!
Some day, Chet, I’m going to have one like it.”
“ Fringe?” said Stone, curiously, “do women,
wear fringe nowadays?”
“Oh, yes,” I responded. “ But it was a long
fringe of gilt beads that really formed an over-
dress to the tulle skirt. Stay, I’ve a piece of it,”
and I took out my pocketbook. “ See, here it is. I
found it caught in those gilded leaves at the lower
corner of the mirror frame—that long dressing-
mirror.”
They all looked at the mirror, which hung ﬂat
against the wall; its foliated Florentine frame full
of irregular protuberances.
“Of course,” said Winnie, nodding her head,
‘i I know just how. she stood in front of it, whirling


WALLS HAVE TONGUES 2%.
around to see her gown from all sides, like this.”
Win whirled herself around, before the glass, and
succeeded in catching a bit of her own full skirt on
the frame.
“ You little goose!” I cried, as the fabric tore,
“we don’t need a demonstration at the expense of
your frock! ”
Fleming Stone was studying the strand of gold
fringe. It was composed of tiny beads, of varying
shapes, and had already begun to rave] into shreds.
“ I’ll keep this,” he said, and willy-nilly, I lost
my little souvenir of Vicky Van. But, of course,
if he considered it evidence, I had to give it up, and
the fact of doing so, partly salved my conscience
of its guilty feeling at concealing the fact of Vicky’s
presence in her own hOuse just then.
And, too, I said to myself, Mr. Stone is out to
ﬁnd her. Surely a detective of his calibre can ac-
complish that without help of an humble layman!
So I kept my own counsel, and further search, of
the next story, and later, of the basement rooms,
gave no hint of Vicky’s presence or departure.
Indeed, I began to wonder if I had really seen
her. Could she have been so clearly in my mind,
that I visualized her in a moment of clairvoyance?
My reason rebelled at this, for I knew I saw her, as
well as I knew I was alive. She had on the same


206' VICKY VAN
little hat in which I had last seen her. She had on
no cloak, and her tailor-made street dress was of a
dark cloth. I couldn’t be sure how she got away,
for the basement door we found bolted 0n the in-
side, but she must have warily evaded and eluded
us and slipped here and there as we pursued our
course through the house, and then have gone out
by the front door when we were, say, on the upper
ﬂoors.
Returning to Vicky’s boudoir, where her little
writing-desk was, Fleming Stone began to run over
the letters and papers therein.
It was locked, but he picked the ﬂimsy fastening
and calmly took up the task with his usual quick-
moving, efﬁcient manner.
I stayed with him, and the three women wan-
dered back over the house again. He ran through
letters with glancing quickness, ﬂipped over sheafs
of bills, and examined pens, ink and paper.
“ There’s so much that’s characteristic about a
desk,” he said, as he observed the penwiper, stamps,
pin-tray, and especially the pencils. “ Indeed, I feel
now that I know Miss Van Allen as well, if not
better than you do yourself, Mr. Calhoun.”
“ In that case, then, you can’t believe her guilty,”
I ﬂashed back, for the very atmosphere of the dear
little room made me more than ever Vicky’s friend.


WALLS HAVE TONGUES 207
“ But you see,” and he spoke a bit sadly, “ what
I know of her is the real woman. I can’t be de-
ceived by her wiles and coquetries. I see only the
actual traces of her actual self.”
I knew what he meant, and there was some truth
in it. For Vicky was a mystery, and I was not
by any means sure, that she didn’t hoodwink us
when she chose to. Much as I likedland admired
the girl, I was forced to believe she was not alto—
gether disingenuous. And she was clever enough
to hoodwink anybody. But if Stone’s deductions
were to be depended on, they were doubtless true
evidence.
“ Is she guilty? ” I sighed.
“I can’t say that, yet, but I’ve found nothing
that absolutely precludes her guilt. On the contrary,
I’ve found things, which if she is guilty, will go far
toward proving it.”
This sounded a bit enigmatical, but Stone was
so serious, that I grasped his general meaning and
let it go at that.
“ I mean,” he said, divining my thoughts, “that
things may or may not be evidence according to the
guilt or innocence of the suspect. If you ﬁnd a
little boy in the pantry beside an empty jampot, you
suspect him of stealing Now, if lots of other
circumstances prove that child did take the jam, the


208 . VICKY VAN
empty pot is evidence. But, if circumstances develop
that convince you the child did not have any jam
whatever, that day, then the jampot is no evidence
at all.”
“ And you have found empty jampots? ” I
asked.
“I have. But, so far, I’m not sure that they
are condemnatory evidence. ,Though, in justice to
my own work, I must add, that they have every
appearance of being so.”
. “You already like Vicky Van, then,” I said,
quickly, moved to do so, by a certain note of regret
in his voice.
“ No man could help liking a woman who pos-
sesses her traits. She has delightful taste and tastes.
She is most charitable, her accounts show sums
wisely expended on worthy charities. And letters
from friends prove her a truly loyal and lovable
character.”
“ Such a girl couldn’t kill a man! ” I broke out.
“ Don’t say that. There is no one incapable of
crime. But such a nature would require very strong
provocation and desperate conditions. These
granted, it is by no means impossible. Now, I am
through for to-day, but, if you please I will keep
the key of the house. As the case is now in my
hands, you will not object? "


WALLS HAVE TONGUES 209
“ No,” I said, a little reluCtantly. FOr suppose
Vicky should give me another cOmmission or ask
me to perform another errand in the'house.
' “ You have a transparent face, Mr. Calhoun,”
and Fleming Stone smiled quizzically. “Why do
you want to keep the key? ”
“ My aunt is most desirous of seeing this'house,”
I deliberately prevaricated, “ and I thought—"——”
But I didn’t deceive the astute detective!" “No,
that isn’t it,” he said, quietly. “ I’m not sure, but I
think you are in touch with Miss Van Allen.”
“ And if I am?” I ﬂared up.
“ Very well,” he returned, “it is, as you imply,
none of my business. But I want to know your
attitude, and if it is antagonistic to my work, I am
sorry, but I will conduct my course accordingly.”
“ Mr. Stone,” I confessed, “I am not antagon-
istic, but I do know a little about Miss Van Allen’s
movements that I haven’t told. I cannot see that
it would assist you in any way to know it ”
“ That’s enough,” and Fleming Stone spoke
heartily. “ Your assurance of that is sufﬁcient.
Now, are we working together? ”
I hesitated. Then I suddenly thought of Ruth
Schuyler. I owed her a business fealty, and some—
how I liked to feel that I also owed her a personal
allegiance, and both these demanded my efforts to

14


210 VICKY VAN
avenge the death of her husband, irrespective of
where the blow- might fall.
So I said, honestly, “We are, Mr. Stone. I
will help you, if I can, and if at any time I think
my withheld information will help you, I will make
it known. Is that satisfactory?”
“ Entirely so,” and the handshake that Stone
gave me was like a signed and sealed bond, to which
I tacitly but none the less truthfully subscribed.


CHAPTER XV
FIBSY
NEXT morning as I started for my ofﬁce, I
found myself combating a strong impulse to call
in at Ruth Schuyler’s. I had no errand there, and
I knew that if she required my services she would
summon me. It was no longer incumbent on me to
try to unravel the murder mystery. Fleming Stone
had that matter in charge, and his master-mind
needed no assistance from me.
And yet, I wanted to stop at the Fifth‘Avenue
house, if only for a moment, to reassure myself of
Ruth’s well-being. Though above me in social rank,
the little widow seemed to me a. lonely and pathetic
woman, and I knew she had begun to depend on me
for advice and sympathy. Of course, she could turn
to Fleming Stone, but, in a way, he was adviser of
the Schuyler sisters, and I knew Ruth hesitated to
intrude on his time.
I was still uncertain whether to call or not, and
as I walked along the few feet between my own
house and the Avenue, I crossed the street as I
reached Vicky Van’s house, and naturally looked at
it as I passed.
211


212 VICKY VAN
And after I had passed the ﬂight of brownstone
steps, and was going along by the iron fence, I
turned to look at the area door. This was my per-
formance every morning, and always without
thought of seeing anything of importance.
But this time the area door stood half-way open,
and looking out was a boy, a red-headed chap, with
a freckled face and bright, wise eyes.
I turned quickly and went in at the area gate.
“ Who are you?” I demanded, “ and what are
you doing here?”
“ I’m Fibsy,” he said, as if that settled it.
“ Fibsy who? ” asked, but I dropped my indig-
nant tone, for the lad seemed to be composedly sure
of his rights there.
“ Aw, jest Fibsy. That’s me name, because, if
you want to know, because I’m a natural born liar
and I ﬁb for a living.”
He was impudent without being offensive; his
wide smile was good-natured and the twinkle in his
eye a friendly one.
“I got yer number,” he said, after a compre-
hensive survey of my person, “ you’re C. Calhoun.
Ain’t you? ”
“ I sure am,” I agreed, meeting his taste for the
vernacular, “ and now for your real name.” .
“ Terence McGuire,” he smiled, and with a quick


FIBSY 213
gesture he snatched off his cap. “ C’mon in, if you
like. I’m F. Stone’s right-hand man.”
“ What!” I cried, in amazement.
“ Yep, that’s what. I’m—well, I like to call my-
self his caddy. I follow him round, and hold his
clues for him, till he wants one, then I hand it out.
See ?” ’
“ Not entirely. But I gather you’re in Mr.
Stone’s employ.”
“ You bet I am!” And I’m on me job twenty-
four hours a day.”
“ And what is your job just now? ”
“ Well, since eight A.M. I’ve been holdin’ up this
door, waitin’ for yer honor to pass by. An’ I got
you, didn’t I?”
“ Yes, I’m here.” I stepped inside and the boy
closed the door. We went into the front basement
room, where there was a lighted gas stove.
“ I camp here, ’count 0’ the heats. There’s no
use gettin’ up the steam fer the few casual callers
that drops in at present. Now, Mr. Calhoun. I don’t
want to be stuffy nor nuthin’, but Mr. Stone said I
might ask you some few things, if I liked an’ you
can answer or not, as you like. This ain’t no orﬁcial
investigation, but I s’pose you’re as intrusted as
anybody in ﬁndin’ this here Victoria Van Allen?”
“I’m interested in ﬁnding the murderer of Mr.
Schuyler,” I replied.


214 VICKY VAN
“ An’ maybe they ain’t one an’ the same. That’s
so.” He spoke thoughtfully and scanned my face
with a quizzical glance. “ But, of course, Mr. Stone’ll
ﬁnd out. Now, Mr. Calhoun, if you don’t mind, will
you give me a line on that maid person, that Julia?”
“ Julie, she is called.”
“ 'All right, Julie goes. Is she a young thing?”
“ No; just this side of middle-aged. Probably
	hirty-ﬁve or so.”
“ Good looker?”
“Why, about average. Brown hair, brownish
eyes—really, I never noticed her closely enough to
think about her appearance. She is, I’m sure, a
.good servant and devoted to Miss Van Allen.”
“But don’t you know anything special? Any-
thing that would pick her out from a lot of other
good servants? ”
“ In appearance, you mean?”
{K Yesi’,
“ I can’t think of anything. Let me see. She
wears glasses ”

“ What sort? ”
“ I don’t know. Just ordinary glasses, I guess.”
“ Spectacles or nose-riders? ”
“I’m not sure. Spectacles, I think. And she
has a great many gold-ﬁlled teeth.”
“ Front ones? ”


FIBSY 215
“ Yes, that is, they’re very noticeable when she
speaks to you.” ’
“Well, that’s sumpum. Is she quick and spry-
like, or poky? " ‘
I smiled at the boy’s eagerness. “ She's rather
alert,” I said, “ but, of course, quiet and respectful.
I never looked at her with any personal interest, so I
can only give you my general impressions.”
“You see, it’s this way,” and the boy looked
very serious, “wherever Miss Van Allen is, that
Julie’s there, too. And when Miss Van Allen wants
errands done, of course, she sends Julie. And, of
course, said Julie is disguised. I dope out all this
has to be so. For Miss Van Allen has mailed letters
and—oh, well, of course she could mail letters in
lots of ways, but sumpurn tells me, that she depends
on Miss Julie as an errand girl. So, I want to ﬁnd
out the look of the Julie person, and see if I can’t
track her down, and so get at Miss Van Allen.
Vicky Van, I believe her friends call her.”
“ They do,” said I, looking sternly at the boy,
“ and I’ll say right here, that I’m one of her friends,
and I won’t stand for any impertinence or any re-
marks of any sort about that lady. If she is sus-
pected of this crime, let the law take its course, but
until there is some direct evidence, don’t you dare to
:onnect her name with it. "


216 VICKY VAN
“ I’m only obeying Mr. Stone’s orders. And,
take it from me, Mr. Calhoun, I'ain’t so fresh as to
make remarks about a lady. I’m a prevaricator of
the truth, but only when it’s abserlutely necessary.
And on the other hand, I’m a born protector of
women. Why, I’d be only too tickled to ﬁnd a
gentleman suspect. Or, at least, to clear Miss Van
Allen from all s’picion.” -
“ Why do you feel such a kindly interest in the
lady? ”
“ This house, for one reason. You see, I’ve been
all over it, at Mr. Stone’s orders, and I ree’lize what
a nice lady she is. I don’t have to see her, to under—
stand her tastes and her ’complishments. Why, jest
the books on her centre tables and the records for her
phonograph spell her out for me, in words of one
syllable. And, though I’m hunting for her, it isn’t
with a solid hunch that’s she’s the knife-sticker. Not
by no means. But ﬁnd her I’ve gotto! Because F.
Stone says for me to.”
I looked at the boy more curiously. He was a
strange admixture of street boy and sleuth. His
quick, darting eyes were never still, but warily alert
to catch the meaning of any sound or motion on my
part. I felt as if he read me through, and would
not have been surprised to have him tell me he knew
of my recent communications with Vicky. But I


FIBSY 217
only said, “ You are, then, Mr. Stone’s right-hand
man ? ”
“ I put it that way, yes. But really, I’m his ap-
prentice, and I’m learning his trade. I study his
methods, and I add some gumption of my own, and
if I can help him, I’m glad and happy. And any-
way, I’m learning.”
“ And this talk about your lying? Is that
straight goods?”
“ If it is, how can you believe what I tell you? "
he asked, whimsically. “ But, I used to be a ﬁerce
liar. Then, gettin’ in with F. Stone, made me see
it’s wrong to lie—usuerly, that is. So I don’t, now
—-lea.stways, not much. Only when it’s jest the only
thing to do to save game.” .
“ How does Mr. Stone know when you’re telling
the truth, then?”
“ Good land, I don’t lie to him! I wouldn’t,
and if I did, it wouldn’t be any use. He’d see through
me, quicker’n scat! But, honest, I wouldn’t. You
see, he’s my idol, yes sir, my idol, that’s what that
man is! Well, Mr. Calhoun, as you’ve told me all
you can pry loose from your stock of infenmation,
you an’ me may as well make our adooses.”
“ How do you know I haven’t revealed all I
know of the case? ”
“ _Oh, I read from yourmobile counternance that


218 VICKY VAN
you’re keepin’ s-umpum back, but it don’t matter.
F. Stone’ll nail it, when he gets good an’ ready. What
I wanted from you was mostly the speakin’ likeness
of the julie dame. An’ I guess I got it. Oh, say,
one other thing. Who among Miss Van Allen’s
friends is an artist? ”
“ Miss Gale is one. Miss Ariadne Gale.”
“ Thank you, sir. And will you gimme her
address ? ”
I did so, and then I went away, thinking
Fleming Stone a queer sort of detective to have for
assistant such an illiterate, uncultured boy as Fibsy.
The name was enough to condemn him! But as I
thought the little chap over, I realized that his talk
had been clear-headed and to the point, besides show-
ing sagacity and perspicacity.
It was growing late, but after this interview I
felt I must see Ruth for a few minutes, so called at
the Schuyler house.
She greeted me cordially and seemed glad to see
me. Winnie was still acting as secretary for her,
but the rush of notes of condolence was over, and
as Ruth was not, of course, giving or accepting
social invitations, there was not so much work for
Win as at ﬁrst. But the two had become fast friends,
and Winnie told me how they sat together chatting
often for pleasant half hours at a time.


FIBSY 219
I told Ruth about the strange boy at Vicky Van’s
house.
“Yes,” she said, “ I’ve heard about him. Mr.
Stone picked him up somewhere and he uses him as
a sort of outside scout. He has all conﬁdence in
him, though I believe the little chap rejoices in the
name of Fibber.”
“ Fibsy,” I corrected. “ He is certainly a bright
youth. And he plans to hunt down Miss Van Allen -
by means of her maid, Julie.”
“ Are they together?”
“ We only suppose so. It seems probable, that
Miss Van Allen would want the help, if not the
protection of her servant. Julie is a most capable
woman, and devoted to her mistress.”
’ “ I’ve heard so. I have a kind, thoughtful
woman, too, and I should miss her terribly were I
without her.”
“ Oh, but your Tibbetts is a servant, and noth-
ing more. This Julie was a real friend to Miss Van
Allen, and looked after her in every way. House-
keeper, maid, nurse, and general bodyguard.”
“ Yes, Miss Van Allen must have needed such a
person, since, as I am told, she lived alone. My
sisters-in-law are quite in love with the Van Allen
house. Both they and Winnie have been singing


220 VICKY VAN
its praises this morning. It seems' your Vicky Van
is a lady of most reﬁned tastes.”
“ She certainly is. I can’t help thinking if you
and she had known each other, in favorable cir-
cumstances, you would have been friends.”
“ It may be. I have never felt sure that she is
the guilty one, but I have changed my mind about
not wanting her to be found. I do want that she
. should be. Mr. Schuyler’s sisters have shown me
that to hesitate at or neglect any means of hunting
her out would be wrong. And so, I am glad we
have Mr. Stone and I hope he will succeed in his
search.”
“ What changed your mind, especially?”
“I realized that it would be disloyalty to my
husband’s memory to let his possible slayer go free.
The girl must be found, and then if she can be freed
of suspicion, very well, but the case must be in-
vestigated fully.”
“ I dare say you are right. Mr. Schuyler was a
man of importance and inﬂuence, and aside from
that, every deed of blood calls for revenge. I honor
you for deciding as you have.”
" It is justice that moves me, more than my
personal inclination,” Ruth went on. “I will not
deny, Mr. Calhoun, that in some ways, my hus-
band’s death has freed me from certain restrictions


FIBSY 221
that hampered and galled me. I shouldn’t mention
this to you, but I know the sisters have told you that
I have, in many ways, gone counter to Mr. Schuy
ler’s wishes, since I have been my own mistress. It
is true. He and I disagreed greatly on matters of the
household and matters of my personal comfort and
convenience. Now that I can do so, I am arranging
my life differently. It is natural that I should do
this, but the Schuyler ladies think that I have begun
indecently soon. I say this, not by way of apology, '
but because I want you to understand.”
Ruth looked very sweet and wistful, as she
seemed to make a bid for my sympathy. I was im-
pressed anew by the soft pallor of her face and the
sweet purity of her gray eyes. I contrasted her with
Vicky Van. One, the embodiment of life and
gayety, the other a gentle, dovelike personality,
which, however, hinted sometimes at hidden ﬁres.
I believed that Ruth Schuyler had been so repressed,
so dominated by her brute of a husband, that her
nature had never expanded to its own possibilities.
And, like a blinding ﬂash of lightning, the knowl-
edge came to me that I loved her! It was no un-
certain conviction. The fact sprang full-armed, to
my brain, and my heart swelled with the bliss of it.
I scarcely dared look at her. I couldn’t tell her—
yet. I had no reason to think she cared for me,


222 VICKY VAN
other than as the merest acquaintance, yet, then and
there, I vowed to myself that she should care.
I thought of Vicky Van—poor little Vicky. She
had interested me—did interest me, but in Only a
friendly way. Indeed, my interest in her was
prompted by sympathy for her luckless position and
the trust she had reposed in me, I would hold her
trust sacred. I would never play false to Vicky
Van. But henceforth and forever my heart and soul
I belonged to my liege lady, my angel-faced Ruth.
“ l/Vhat is the matter, Mr. Calhoun?” I heard
her saying, and I looked up to see her smiling almost
gayly at me. “ Your thoughts seem to be a thou—
sand miles away!”
“ Oh, not so far as that,” I protested. Somehow.
I felt buoyantly happy. I had no wish to tell her of
my love, at present I was quite content to worship
her in secret, and I exulted in a sort of clairvoyant
knowledge that I should yet win her. I smiled into
her dear eyes, as I continued: “ They were really
round the corner in Vicky Van’s house.”
To my delight she pouted a little. “ Let’s talk
of something else,” she said. “I’ve no doubt Miss
Van Allen is charming, and her home a perfect gem,
but I own up I’m not anxious to discuss her all the
time and with every one.”
“ You shall be exempt from it with me,” I


FIBSY 223
promised. “ Henceforth her name is taboo between
us, and you shall choose our subjects yourself.”
“Then let’s talk about me. Now, you know,
Mr. Calhoun, I never see Mr. Bradbury, so you
must be my legal adviser in all my quandaries.
First, and this is a serious matter, I don’t want to
continue to live with the Schuyler ladies. We are
diametrically opposed on all matters of opinion, and
disagree on many matters of fact.” Ruth smiled,
and I marveled afresh at the way her face lighted
up when she indulged in that little smile of hers.
“Nor,” she went on, “ do they want to live with
me. So, it ought to be an easy matter to please us
all. As to the house and furnishings, they are all
mine, but if the sisters prefer to live here, and let
me go elsewhere, I am willing to give them the house
and its contents.”
“ I know you don’t care for this type of resi-
dence,” I said, “indeed, Miss Schuyler said yester-
day, as we looked over Vicky Van’s house, that it
was just the sort of thing you liked.”
“ Oh, I can’t think I would like her house! I
supposed it was a plain little affair. Harmonious
and pretty, \Vinnie says, but she didn’t give me the
impression it was elaborate.”
“ No, it isn’t. And it wouldn’t be as grand as


224 VICKY VAN
your home ought to be. But mention of the girl is
not allowed, I believe—”
She smiled again, and resumed: “Well, I want
you to sound the Schuyler sisters, and ﬁnd out their
wishes. When I speak to them, they only say for
me to wait until after the mystery is solved and all
this horrid publicity and notoriety at an end. But I
want to go away fro-m them now. I want Mr. Stone
to do his work, and I hope he will ﬁnd that girl and
all that, but I can’t stand it to live in this atmos-
phere of detectives and reporters and policemen any
longer than I must. Would it do for me to go to
some quiet hotel for a while? I could take Tibbetts,
and just be quietly by myself, while the Schuylers
continue to live in this house.”
I thought it over. I understood perfectly how
she hated to be questioned continually as to her life
with her late husband, for I was beginning to real—
ize that that life had been a continuous tragedy.
Nothing much deﬁnite, but many sidelights and
stray hints had shown me how he had treated her,
and how patiently she had Iborne it. And, now he
was gone, and I, for one, didn’t blame her that she
wanted to get away from the scenes of her slavery
to him. For it had been that. He had enforced
his ideas and opinions upon her, until she had been


FIBSY 225
allowed to do nothing and to have nothing as she
wished.
And now, she desired only peace and quietness
somewhere, anywhere, away from the two who rep-
resented Randolph Schuyler’s tyranny and carping
criticism without his right to obtrude them on her.
“ I will speak to them,” I said, “ and I’m sure
we can arrange some mode of life for you which
will give you rest and freedom of judgment.”
“ Oh, if you only can!” she murmured, as she
held out a friendly hand.
15


CHAPTER XVI
A FUTILE CHASE
IT was Sunday afternoon, and we were in con-
clave in the Schuyler library. Fleming Stone was
summing up his results of the past few days and,
though it was evident he had done all that mortal
man could do, yet he had no hint or clue as to where
Vicky Van might be.
And, he held, that nothing else was of conse-
quence compared to this knowledge. She must be
found, and whether that could be done quickly, by
search or by chance, or whether it would take a
long time of waiting, he could not say. He felt
sure, that she must disclose herself, sooner or later,
but if not, and if their search continued unavailing,
then he held out no hope for success.
, “ It’s a unique case,” he said, “ in my experience.
All depends on ﬁnding that woman. If she is in-
nocent, herself, she knows who did it. And, if she
is the guilty one, she is clever enough to remain
hidden. It may be she is miles away, out of the
country, perhaps. She has had ample time to make
arrangements to go abroad, or to any distant place.
Her guilt seems to me probable, because she has
226


A FUTILE CHASE 227
literally abandoned her house and her belongings.
An innocent woman would scarcely leave all those
modern and valuable furnishings unless for some
very strong reason. But as to ﬁnding her—a needle
in a haystack presents an easy problem by contrast! "
“ Doubtless she is hiding in the house of some
friend,” suggested Ruth, thoughtfully. “It seems
to me she must have been taken in and cared for
by some one who loved her, that night she
disappeared.”
“I think so, too,” agreed Stone. “But I’ve
been to see all her friends that I can ﬁnd out about.
I've called on a score of them, ﬁnding their ad-
dresses in her address book that Mr. Lowney gave
me. Of course, they may have been deceiving me,
but 'I feel safe in asserting that she is not under the
protection of any one I interviewed. She returned
to her house last Monday night, the police believe,
for the purpose of getting her mail. This shows a
daring almost unbelievable! That mail must have
been of desperate importance to her. She has not
been to the house since, they feel sure, and since I
have been on the case she could not have entered,
for I have kept it under strict surveillance. I think
she will never return to it. Presumably she got the
letters she was so anxious for. Her mail, that has
arrived the last few days, I have not opened, but


9.28 VICKY VAN
the envelopes show mostly tradesmen’s cards, or are
indubitably social correspondence. There seem to
be no letters from lawyers or ﬁnancial ﬁrms. How—
ever, if nothing develops, I shall open the letters.
This case, being unprecedented, necessitates unusual
proceedings.”
“ I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Stone,” said
Rhoda Schuyler, testily ; “ I didn’t suppose you were
superhuman, but I did think, with your reputation
and all, you would be able to ﬁnd that woman. I’ve
heard say that nobody could absolutely vanish in
New York City, and not be traced.”
“ You don’t regret my so-far failure a bit more
than I do, Miss Schuyler, but I feel no shame or
embarrassment over it. Nor am I ready to admit
myself beaten. I have a theory, or, rather a con—
viction that there is one and only one explanation of
this strange affair. I am not quite ready to ex-
pound this, but in a day or two I shall ﬁnd if it is
the true solution, and if so I shall soon ﬁnd Miss
Van Allen.”
“ I knew you would,” and Sarah Schuyler nodded
her head, in satisfaction. “I told Rhoda to give
you more time and you would not disappoint us.
All right, Mr. Stone, use all the time you need. But
no Schuyler must remain unavenged. I want to see


A FU'I’ILE CHASE 229
that woman killed—yes, killed, for her murder of
my brother.”
Sarah Schuyler lookedlike a ﬁgure of Justice
herself, as, with ﬂashing eyes she declared her
wrath. And it was her right. Her brother’s blood
called out for vengeance. But the more gentle—
souled Ruth shuddered and shrank from this stern
arraignment.
“ Oh, Sarah,” she murmured, “ not killed! Don’t
condemn a woman to that!”
“Why not, Ruth? If a woman can kill, a
woman should be killed. But she won’t be,” she
added, bitterly. “ No jury ever convicts a woman,
no matter how clearly her guilt is proven.”
Just then Fi'bsy appeared. He was a strange
little ﬁgure, and showed a shy awkwardness at the
grandeur of his surroundings. He bobbed a funny
little curtsy to Ruth, whom he already adored,
and with an embarrassed nod, included the rest of
us in a general greeting.
Then to Fleming Stone he said, in an eager,
triumphant tone, “I got ’em! ”
“ Got what?” asked Ruth, smiling at him.
“Got pictures of Miss Van Allen, and Julie,
too.”
“What!” cried Ruth, interested at once; “let
me see them.”


230 VICKY VAN
Fibsy glanced at her and then at Stone, and
handed a parcel to the latter.
“ He's my boss,” the boy said, as if by way of
apology for slighting her request.
Fleming Stone opened the parcel and showed two
sketches.
“ Miss Gale made them,” he explained. “ I sent
Fibsy over there to induce her to give us at least a
hint of 'Miss Van Allen’s personal appearance. The
boy could wheedle it'fnomjier, when I couldn’t.
See?” ‘ ‘
He handed the pictures to Miss Rhoda, for he,
too, respected authority, but we all gathered round
to look. 7
They were the merest sketches. A wash of
water-color, but they showed merit. As the only
one present who knew Vicky Van, I was asked of
the truth of their portraiture.
“ Fairly good,” I said, “yes, more than that.
This of Vicky shows the coloring of her face and
hair and the general effect of her costume. more than
her actual physiognomy. But it is certainly a close
enough likeness to make her recognizable if you
ﬁnd her.”
And this was true. Ariadne had caught the
sidelong glance of Vicky Van’s dark—lashed eyes, and
the curve of her scarlet lips. The coloring was per-


A FUTILE CHASE 231
feet, just Vicky’s vivid tints, and the dark hair,
looped over her ears, was as she always wore it.
Ariadne had drawn her in the gown she had worn
that fatal evening, and the women eagerly scrutin-
ized the gorgeous costume.
“ N o wonder those long strands of fringe caught
in that scraggly mirror frame! ” exclaimed Winnie,
who never missed a point.
“ Right,” said Stone. “If she whirled around
as you did, Miss Calhoun, it’s a wonder she didn’t
spoil her whole gown.” m
The pose and the ﬁgure were not exactly Vicky’s.
Ariadne wasn't much on catching a likeness or a
physical effect. But the color and atmosphere were
ﬁne, and I told this to Stone, who agreed that it was
a decided help in the search. ,
Julie’s portrait was the same. Not a real like-
ness of the woman, but an impressionist transcript
of her salient points. The gray gown and white
apron, the thick-rimmed glasses, the parted lips,
showing slightly protruding teeth, the plainly parted
brown hair, all were the real Julie; and yet, except
for these accessories I’m not sure I could have recog-
nized the subject of the sketch. However, as I told
Stone, it certainly was a helpful indication of the
sort of woman he was to look for, and even in dis-
guise, the physical characteristics must show.


232 VICKY VAN
7’ ’ The detective was positive that wherever Vicky
Van and Julie were, or whatever they were doing,
they were in all probability disguised, and thor-
oughly so, or they must have been discovered ere
this.
To my amusement, Fibsy and Ruth were holding
a téte-a-téte conversation. The kind-hearted woman
had, doubtless, felt sorry for the boy’s shyness, and
had drawn him into Chat to put him at his ease.
She had succeeded, too, for he was animated,
and had lost his self-consciousness under the charm
of her smile.
“And I’ll bet your birthday comes in the
spring,” he was saying, as I caught the tenor of
their talk.
“ It does,” said Ruth, looking surprised. “ How
did you guess? ”
“ ’Cause you’re just like a little spring ﬂower—
a white crocus or a bit of arbutus.”
And then, noting my attention, the boy was
covered with confusion and blushed to the tips of
his ears. He rose from where he sat, and shufﬂed
awkwardly around the great room, devoting exag-
gerated attention to some books in the glassed cases,
and twirling his ﬁngers in acute embarrassment.
“You scared him away,” chided Ruth, under


A FUTILE CHASE 288
her breath, as our glances met. “ He and I were
getting positively chummy.”
“ Why was he talking of your birthday? I
asked.
“ I don’t know, I’m sure. He said I was born
in the spring, because I’m like a flower! Really,
that child will grow up a poet, if he doesn’t look
out! ”
“Your are like a ﬂower,” I murmured back.
“ And I’m glad your birthday is in spring. I mean
to celebrate it!”
And then I thought of poor Vicky Van’s birth-
day, so tragically ended, and I quickly changed the
subject.
Armed with the pictures, Fleming Stone and
his young assistant spent the next day on a still hunt.
And in the evening Stone came over to see me.
“ A little quiet confab,” he said, as we secluded
ourselves in my sitting-room and closed'the door.
“I’ve been to a score of places, and invariably they
recognize Miss Van Allen and her maid, but all say
'they’ve not seen her since the tragedy. I went to
shops, ofﬁces, the bank and places where she would
be likely to need to' go. Also, her friends’ houses.
But nothing doing. The shops have heard from
her, in the way of paid bills, checks and such mat-
ters, but I learned absolutely nothing that throws


234 VICKY VAN ‘
any light on her whereabouts. Now, Mr. Calhoun,
the very thoroughness of her disappearance, the
very inviolable secrecy of her hiding-place proves to
me that she isn’t hiding.”
“Now, Mr. Stone,” I said, smiling, “you talk
like a real story-book detective. Cryptic utterances
of that sort are impressive to the layman, you know."
“ Pshaw! ” and he looked annoyed, “ if you
knew anything about detective work, you’d know
that the most seemingly impossible conditions are
often the easiest to explain.”
“ Well, then, explain. I’ll be glad to hear.”
“ I will. And, in return, Mr. Calhoun, I’m going
to ask you if you don’t think, that all things consid-
ered, you ought to tell me what yOu are keeping
back? You won’t mind, will you, if I say that I
have deduced, from evidence,” he smiled, “ that your
interests are largely coincident with those of Mrs.
.Schuyler? ”
“ You’re on,” I said, shortly, but not annoyed at
his perspicacity.
“ Well, then, I assure you that Mrs. Schuyler is
most desirous of locating Miss Van Allen. She is
not so revengeful or vituperative as the sisters of
her husband, but she feels it is due to her husband’s
memory to ﬁnd his slayer, if possible. Now sup-
pose you tell me what you know, and I promise to


A FUTILE CHASE 235
keep it an inviolate conﬁdence except so far as it
actually helps the progress of the wheels of justice”?
“ I do want to do what is best for Mrs. Schuy'
ler’s interests,” I said, after I had thought a moment.
“ But, I must confess, I have a certain sympathy and
pity for Victoria Van Allen. I cannot believe her
guilty ” ' .
“Then tell me frankly the truth. If you are
right, and she is not the murderer, the truth can’t
harm her. And if she is the guilty person, you are
compounding a felony, in the eyes of the law, to
withhold your information.”
Stone spoke a little sternly, and I realized he was
right. If Vicky were untraceably hidden, all I could
tell wouldn’t ‘hurt her. And, too, I couldn’t see that
it would, anyway. Moreover, as Stone said, I was

making myself amenable to the law, by a refusal to
tell all I knew, and since I was so aware of my own
devotion to Ruth Schuyler, I felt I had no right to
do anything that she would disapprove. And, I
knew that a touch of feminine pique in her disposi-
tion would resent any consideration of Vicky over
her own claims! I ‘
Therefore, I told Fleming Stone all I knew of
Victoria Van Allen, both before, during and after
the occasion of her birthday party.
He listened, with his deep eyes ﬁxed on my face.


236 VICKY VAN
“ Most extraordinary!” he said, at last, after I
had ﬁnished. “I never heard of such daring! To
enter her own house when it was watched by the
police ” ' p
“ Only the post patrol, then,” I reminded him.
“ She could easily manage between his rounds.”
“Yes, yes, I know. But you’ve put the whole
thing in different focus. Tell me more.”
There was no more to tell, but I went over my
story again, amplifying and remembering further
details, until we had spent the whole evening. He
egged me on by questions and his burning, eager
eyes seemed to drink in my words as if they were
so much priceless wisdom.
And I told him, too, that I had promised to put
Vicky’s address book in the Chinese jar for her that
very evening.
“We’ll do it!” he exclaimed, promptly. “ She
meant to meet you there,- I’m sure, but I’m also sure
she changed her mind about that, when she learned
of my advent. However, we’ll keep your promise.”
Acting at his instructions, I went with him over
to Vicky Van’s. It was about midnight, and as he
had the address book with him, he kept possession
of it. . ,
We went in the house, and in the dark, felt our
way up to the music room. Stone put the book in


A FUTILE CHASE 237
the jar, and motioned for me to hide behind a sofa.
He'himself took up his vigil behind a window-cur-
tain, of heavy brocade. '
He had planned all this, before we left my house,
and no word was spoken as we took our places. His
hope was that Vicky would come into the house late
and go straight for her book and quickly out again.
He had directed me to wait until she had really ab-
stracted the book from the jar and then, as she was
leaving the room, spring after her and stop her.
I obeyed orders implicitly, and, as Stone had
warned me, vwe had a bit of a wait. I grew cramped
and tired, and at last I gave up all hope of Vicky’s
appearance.
And then, she came!
Silently, absolutely without sound, she glided in
from the hall. My eyes, now accustomed to the semi-
gloom of the room, could discern her ﬁgure as it ap-
proached the great vase. Softly, she raised the
cover, she abstracted the book, and with noiseless
touch was replacing the cover, when she threw back
her head, as if she sensed our presence. I had made
no move, nor had I heard a breath of sound from
Stone, but Vicky knew some one was present. I
knew that by her startled movement. She gave a
stiﬂed scream, and pushing the great jar off on the


238 ’ VICKY VAN
ﬂoor, where it crashed to pieces, she rushed out of
the room and down stairs. ’
“After her, Calhoun! Fly!” shouted Stone, and
as he ﬂung back the heavy curtains the street lights
illuminated the scene. But as we avoided the broken
fragments we bumped together and lost a few
seconds in our recovery from the impact.
This gave Vicky a start, and we heard the street
door slam as we raced down the stairs. Here, too,
we lost a second or two, for I stepped back to give
Stone space just as he did the same for me, and when
we had reached the foot of the stairs, leaped through
the hall, wrenched open the door and dashed down
the steps to the pavement, we saw the ﬂying ﬁgure
of Vicky Van round the Fifth Avenue corner, and
turn South.
After her we ran, as fast as mortal man can run,
I verily believe, and when we reached the Avenue
there was no one in sight!
Stone stood stock-still, looking down the street.
The Avenue was lighted, as usual, and we could
see a block and more in both directions, but no sign
of Vicky. Nor was there a pedestrian abroad, or a
motor. The Avenue was absolutely uninhabited, as
far as our eyes could reach.
“ VVhere’d she go?” I panted.
“ Into some house, or, maybe, hiding in an area.


A FUTILE CHASE 239
We must search them all, but very warily. She’s a
witch, a wonder—woman, but all the same, the earth
didn’t open and swallow her!” \
We searched every area way on the block. One
of us would go in and explore while the other stood
guard. The third house was the Schuyler residence,
but Stone also searched thoroughly in its basement
entrance. I
“ All dark and locked up,” he reported, as he
came out from there. “ And, of course, she Wouldn’t
seek sanctuary there! But I’ve wondered if she isn’t
concealed in one of these nearby houses, as she has
such ready access to her own home.”
But it was impossible. Every basement entrance
was locked and bolted for the night and all the win-
dows were dark.
“ She’s given us the slip,” said Stone, in deep
chagrin. “ But perhaps she crossed the street.
Maybe she didn’t run down this side very far. Let’s
go over.”
\/Ve crossed and looked over the stone wall of the
park. Surely Vicky Van had not had time to scram-
ble over that wall before we reached the corner. It
had been not more than a few seconds after we saw
her ﬂying form turn down the Avenue, and she
couldn’t have crossed the street and scaled the wall
in that time!


240 VICKY VAN
Where was she? What had become of her?
“ Ring up the houses and inquire,” I suggested.
“ You’re justiﬁed in doing that.”
“ No use,” he responded. “ If she was expected
they won’t give her away, and if she isn’t there,
they’d be pretty angry at our intrusion. I’ll admit,
Calhoun, I’ve never been so mystiﬁed in my life!”
“ Nor I l” I emphatically agreed.


CHAPTER XVII
THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN
AFTER that night Fleming Stone became more.
desperately in earnest in his search for Vicky. It
seemed as if the sight of her, the realization that
she was a real woman and not a myth, had whetted
his eagerness to discover her hiding'place and bring
her to book.
He established himself in her house, and both he
and F ibsy practically lived there, going out for their
meals or picnicking in the basement room. This
room became his headquarters, and a plain clothes
man was on'duty whenever Stone and F ibsy were
both absent.
“ Though I don’t think she’ll ever come back
again,” Stone declared, gloomily. “ She was des-
perately anxious for that address book, and so she
got it, through my stupidity. I might have known
she’d make a .dash for the street door. I should
have had that exit guarded. But I’ve seen her, and
I’ll get her yet! At any rate she hasn’t left the
country, or hadn’t last night, whatever she may do
to-day.”
It was the day after Vicky had given us the slip.
16 241


242' VICKY VAN
It was midafternoon, and I had gone to see Stone,
on my return from my ofﬁce. I was sadly neglecting
my own business nowadays, but Mr. Bradbury
looked after it, and he sanctioned my devotion to
the Schuyler cause.
“ Randolph Schuyler was an important citizen,”
he said, “ and his murderer must be apprehended if
possible. Do all you can, Calhoun, for humanity’s
sake and the law’s. Take all the time you want to,
I’ll see to your important business.
So, though I went downtown every morning, I
came back at noon or soon after and plunged afresh
into the work of ﬁnding Vicky Van.
There was little I could do, but Stone consulted
and questioned me continually as to Vicky’s habits or
pursuits, and I told him frankly all I knew.
Also I managed to make business matters loom
up so importantly as to necessitate frequent calls on
Ruth Schuyler, and I spent most of my afternoon
hours in the Fifth Avenue house.
And Ruth was most kind to me. I couldn’t say
she showed affection or even especial interest, but
she turned to me as a conﬁdant and we had many
long, pleasant conversations when the subject of the
mystery was not touched upon.
Though she never said a word against Randolph
Schuyler, I couldn’t help learning that, aside from


THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN 243
the horror of it, his death was to her a blessed re-
lief. He had not been a good man, nor had he been
a good husband. On the contrary, he had blighted
Ruth’s whole life by thwarting her every innocent
desire for gayety or pleasure.
For instance, she spoke of her great enjoyment
of light opera or farce comedy, but as Mr. Schuyler
didn’t care for such entertainment he had never ale
lowed her to go. He had a box at the Grand Opera,
and Ruth loved to go, but she liked lighter music
also. ' e
This was not told complainingly, but transpired
in the course of a conversation at which Fibsy
chanced to be present.
“ Gee!” he said, looking at Ruth commiserat-
ingly, Y“ ain’t you never heard ‘The Jitney Girl’
or ‘ The Prince of Peoria ’ ?”
Ruth shook her head, smiling at the boy’s amaze-
ment. There was a subtle sympathy between these .
two that surprised me, for Ruth Schuyler was fas-
tidious in her choice of friends. But he amused her,
and he was never’really impertinent—merely naive
and unconventional.
Well, on the day I speak of, Stone and I sat in
the basement room awaiting Fibsy’s return. He was
out after certain information and we hoped much
from it.


'244 VICKY VAN
“ I gotta bunch o’ dope,” he announced, as he sud-
denly appeared before us. “ Dunno ’s it’ll pan out
much, but listen ’n’ I’ll spill a earful.”
I had learned that Fibsy, or Terence, as we
ought to call him, was trying to discard his street
slang, and was succeeding fairly well, save in m0-
ments of great excitement or importance. And so, I
hoped from his slangy beginning, that he had found
some fresh data.
“ I chased up that chore boy ﬁrst,” he related,
“ an’ he didn’t know anything at all. Said Miss Van
Allen ’s a lovely lady, but he ’most never saw her,
the Julie dame did all the orderin’ an’ payin’ s’far’s
he was concerned. Good pay, but irregular work.
She’d be here a day or two, an’ then like’s not go
’way for a week. Well, we knew that before.
Then, next, I tracked to his lair the furnace man.
Same story. Here to-day an’ gone to-morrer, as
the song says. ’Course, he ain’t only a stoker, he’s
really an odd job man—ashes, sidewalks, an’ such.
Well, he didn’t help none—any, I mean. But,” and
the shock of red hair seemedto bristle with triumph,
“ I loined one thing! That Julie has been to the
sewing woman and the laundress lady and shut ’em
up! Yes, sir! that’s what she’s done!”
“ Tell it all,” said Stone, brieﬂy.
“ Well, I struck the seamstress ﬁrst. She wouldn’t


THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN 245
tell a thing, and I said, calmly, ‘ I know Julie paid
you to keep your mouth shut, but if you don’t tell,
the law’ll make you !’ That scared her. and she
owned up that Julie was to see her ’bout a week ago
and give her ﬁfty dollars not to tell anything at all
whatsomever about Miss Van Allen! Some girl,
that Vicky Van!”
“ Julie went there herself I cried.
“ Yep. The real Julie, gold teeth and all. But
I quizzed the needle pusher good and plenty, and
she don’t know much of evidential value.”
It was always funny when’Fibsy interlarded his
talk with legal phrases, but he was unconscious of
any incongruity and went on:
“You see, as I dope it out, she’s accustomed
to sit in Miss Van Allen’s boodore a-sewin’ an’ might
have overheard some gossip or sumpum like that,
an’ Miss Van Allen was afraid she’d scatter it, an’
so she sent Julie to shut her up. I don’t believe the
woman knows where Miss Van is now.”
“ I must see her,” said Stone.
“ Yes, sir. She won’t get away. She’s a regu-
lar citizen, an’ respectable at that. Well, then, the
laundress. To her also Julie had likewise went. An’
to her also Julie had passed the spondulicks. Now,
I don’t understand that so well, for laundresses don’t
overhear the ladies talkin’, but, anyway, Julie told
I)!


946 VICKY VAN
her if she wouldn’t answer a question to anybody,
she’d give her half a century, too. And did.”
“ Doubtless the laundress knew something Miss
Van Allen wants kept secret.”
“ Doubtless, sir," said Fibsy, gravely.
“ But I don’t believe,” mused Stone, “that it
would help us any to learn all those women know.
If Miss Van Allen thought they could help us ﬁnd
her, she would give them more than that for silence
or get them out of the city altogether.”
“ Where is Miss Van Allen, Mr. Stone? ”
Fibsy asked the question casually, as one ex-
pectant of an answer.
“ She’s in the city, Fibs, living as some-body else.”
“Yep, that’s so. Over on the West side, say,
among the artist lady’s studio gang?” ‘ '
“Maybe so. But she has full freedom of ac-
tion and goes about as she likes. Julie also. They
come here whenever they choose, though I don’t
think they’ll come while we’re here. It’s’a queer
state of things, Calhoun. What do you make of it?”
“I don’t believe Vicky is disguised. Her per-
sonality is too pronounced and so is Julie’s. I think
some friend is caring for them. Not Ariadne Gale,
of that I’m “sure. But it may be Mrs. Reeves. She
is very fond of Vicky and is clever enough to hide
the girl all this time.”


THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN 247
)3

“The police have searched her house
" I know, but Mrs. Reeves and Vicky could con-.-
nive a plan that would hoodwink’the police, I’m
pretty certain.”
“ I’ll look into that,” and Stone made a note of
it. “ About that carving knife, F ibsy. Did the
caterers take it away by mistake?”
“ No, sir; I ’vestergated that, an’ they didn’t.”
“ That knife is an important thing, to my mind,”
the detective went on.
“ Yes, sir,” eagerly agreed Fibsy. “ It may yet
cut the Gorgian knot! Why, Mr. Stone, the sewing
lady knew that knife. She was here to lunching a
few days before the moider, an' she says she always
sat at the table in the dining room to eat, after Miss
Van Allen got through. An’ she says that knife
was there, ’cos they had steak, an’ she used it her-
self. I described the fork puffeckly, an’ she recker—
nized it at onct.”
“ You’re a bright boy! ” I exclaimed in invol-
untary tribute to this clever bit of work.
" I’m ’ssociated with Mr. Stone,” said Fibsy,
with a quiet twinkle.
“ It was clever,” agreed Stone. “ I’m sure, my-
self, that the absence of that small carving knife
means something, but I can’t ﬁt it in yet.”
We went up to the dining-room to look again at


248 VICKY VAN
the carving fork, still in its place on the sideboard.
I was always thrilled at a return to this room—
always reminded of the awful tableau I had seen
there.
The long, slender fork lay in its place. Though
it had been repeatedly examined and puzzled over,
it had been carefully replaced.
“ But I can’t see,” I offered, “ why a carving-
’ knife should ﬁgure in the matter at all when the
crime was committed with the little boning-knife.”
“ That’s why the missing carving—knife ought to
be a clue,” said Stone, “ because its connection with
the case is inexplicable. Now, where is that knife?
Fibsy, where is it?”
Fleming Stone’s frequent appeals to the boy were
often in a half-bantering tone, and yet, rather often,
Terence returned an opinion or a bit of conjecture
that turned Stone’s cogitations in a fresh directiOn.
“ You see, sir,” he said, this time, “ that knife
is in this house. It’s gotter be. That lady left the
house in a mighty hurry but all the same she didn’t
go out a brandishin’ of a carvin’-knife! Nor did
she take it along an drop it in the street or an ash
can for it’d been found. So, she siccreted it sum-
mer, an’ it’s still in the house—unless—yes, unless
she has taken it away sinCe. You know, Mr. Stone,


THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN 249
the Van Allen has been in this house more times
than you’d think for. Yes, sir, she has.”
“ How do you know?”
“ Lots 0’ ways. F rinst’ on Sat’day, I noticed a
clean squarish place in the dust on a table in the
lady’s bedroom, an’ it’s where a book was. That
book disappeared durin’ Friday night. I don’t re-
member seein’ the book, I didn’t notice it, to know
what book it was, but the clean place in the dust
couldn’t get there no other way. Well, all is, it
shows Miss Vick comes an’ goes pretty much as
she likes—or did till you’n me camped out here.”
“Then you think she left the knife here that
night, and has since returned and taken it away?”
“ I donno,” F ibsy scowled in his effort to deduce
the truth. “ Let’s look! ”
He darted from the room and up the stairs.
Stone rose to follow.
“ That boy is uncanny at times,” he said, seri-
ously. “I’m only too glad to follow his intuitions,
and not seldom; he’s all right.”
We went upstairs, and then on up to the next
ﬂoor. Fibsy was in Vicky Van’s dressing'roorn,
staring about him. He stood in the middle of the
ﬂoor, his hands in his pockets, wheeling round on
one heel.


250 VICKY VAN
“ They say she ran upstairs ’fore she flew the
coop,” he murmured, not looking at us. “ That Miss
\Veldon said that. Well, if she did, she natchelly
came up here for a cloak an’ bonnet. I’ll never be-
lieve that level-headed young person went out into
the cold woild in her glad rags, an’ no coverin'.
Well, then, say, she lef’ that knife here, locked up
good an’ plenty. Where—where, I say, would she
siccrete it?”
He glared round the room, as if trying to wrest
the secret from its inanimate contents.
“Mr. Stone says that walls have tongues. I
believe it, an’ I know these walls are jest yellin' the
truth at me, an’ yet, I’m so soul-deef I can't make out
their lingo! Well, let’s make a stab at it. Mr.
Stone, I’ll lay you that knife is in some drawer or
cubbid in this here very room.”
“ Maybe, Fibsy,” said Stone, cheerfully. “ Where
shall we look ﬁrst?”
“ All over.” And Fibsy darted to a wardrobe
and began feeling among the gowns and wraps
hanging there. \'\"ith a touch as light as a pick-
pocket’s he slid his lightning—like ﬁngers through the
folds of silk and tulle, and turned back with a dis-
appointed air.


THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN 251
“Frisked’the whole pack; nothin’ doin’,” he
grumbled. ’ “ But don’t give up the ship.”
We didn’t. Having something deﬁnite to do, we
did it thoroughly, and two men and a boy ﬁngered
every one of Vicky Van’s available belongings in
an amazingly short space of time. i
“ Now for this chest,” said Fibsy, indicating a
large low box on rollers that he pulled out from
under the couch.
It was locked, but Stone picked it open, and
threw back the cover. At the bottom of it, beneath
several other gowns, we found the costume Vicky
had worn the night of the murder!
“ My good land! ” ejaculated Fibsy, “ the gold-
fringed rig! Ain’t it classy! ”
Stone lifted out the dress, heavy with its weight
of gold beads, and held it up to view. On the ﬂounces
were stains of blood! And from the wrinkled folds
fell, with a clatter to the ﬂoor, the missing carving-
knife!
I stooped to pick up the knife.
“ ’Scuse me, Mr. Calhoun,” cried Fibsy, grasp-
ing my hand, “ don’t touch it! Finger prints, you
know! ”
“ Right, boy!” and Stone nodded, approvingly.
“ Pick it up, Fibsy.”
“ Yessir,” and taking from his pocket a pair of


252 VICKY VAN
peculiar shaped tongs, Terence carefully lifted the
knife and laid it on the glass-topped dressing table.
“ Probly all smudged anyway,” he muttered,
squinting closely at the knife. “But there’s sure
some marks on it! Gee, Mr. Stone, there’s sumpum
doin’! ” His eyes shone and his skinny little ﬁngers
trembled with excitement of the chase.
Stone studied the gold-fringed dress. The blood
stains on the ﬂounces, though dried and brown, were
unmistakable.
“ Wonderful woman!” he exclaimed. “ Now,
we’ve got this dress, and what of it? She put it
here, not caring whether we got it or not. She’s
gone for good. She’ll never be taken. This proves
it to my mind.”
“ And the knife?” I asked, thrilling with
interest.
“There you are again. If Miss Van Allen put
that there for us to discover, the marks on it are of
no use. Perhaps some she had put there purposely.
You see, I’m inclined to grant her any degree of
cleverness from what I know of her ability so far.
She is a witch. She can hoodwink anybody.”
“Except F. Stone, Esquire,” amended Fibsy.
“ You pussieve, Mr. Calhoun, the far-famed detec-
tive, is already onto her coives! ”


THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN 255
Stone looked up to smile at the boy’s speech, but
he returned his gaze to the golden-trimmed gown.
“ Of course,” he said, “ it is improbable that she
took this off before she left the house that night. I
opine she threw a big cloak round her and rushed out
to the house of some friend. Likely she found a
taxicab or even commandeered some waiting pri-
vate car for her ﬂight. You know, we are dealing
with no ordinary criminal. Now, if I am right,
she brought this gown back here on some of her sub—
sequent trips. As to the knife, I don’t know. I
see no explanation as yet. Since she stabbed her
victim with another knife—why in the world hide
this one up here? What say, Fibsy ?”
“’Way past me. Maybe she was usin’ both
knives, an’ the other one turned the trick, an’ when
she got up here she seen she had this one still in
her grip, an’ she slung it in this here chest to hide it.
I ain’t sure that’s the c’reck answer, but it’ll do
temp’rar’ly. I say, Mr. Stone, I got an awful funny
thing to ask you.”
“ It won’t be the ﬁrst funny thing you’ve asked
me, Terence. What is it?”
“Well, it’s pretty near eatin’ time, an’—aw,
pshaw, I jest can’t dare to say it.”
“Go ahead, old chap, I can’t do more than
annihilate you.”


254 VICKY VAN
“Well, I wanna go to the Schuylerses to
dinner.” ’
“To dinner!” '
“Yes, sir. An’ not to the kitchen eats, neither.
I wanta set up to their gran’ table with their but-
lerses an’ feetmen, an’ be a nonnerd guest. Kin I,
Mr. Stone? Say, kinni?”
Fleming Stone looked at the eager, ﬂushed face.
He knew and I did, too, that there was something
back of this request. But it couldn’t be anything of
vital importance to our mystery.
“ Oh, I understand,” said Stone, suddenly.
“You’ve taken a desperate fancy to Mrs. Schuyler
and you want .to further the acquaintance. But it
isn’t often done that way, my boy.”
“Aw, now, don’t kid me, Mr. Stone. Either
lemme go or shut down on it, one o’ the six! But
it’s most nessary, I do assure you.”
“ Maybe she won’t have you. Why should those
grand ladies allow a boy of your age at their dinner-
table?”
"‘ Because you ask ’em, sir.” Fibsy’s tone Was
full of a. quiet dignity. ’
“Very well, I’ll ask them,” and Stone went
away to the telephone.
Fibsy stoOd, looking raptly at the gold gown,
and now and then his eyes turned toward the knife


THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN 255
on the dressing'table. The table was covered with
silver toilet implements, and save for its unﬁtting
suggestion, the knife was unnoticeable among the
other trinkets.
“ It’s all right,” said Stone, returning. “ Mrs.
Schuyler sends a cordial invitation for all three of us
to dine with her.”
“ Much obliged, I’ll be there,” said Fibsy, un-
smilingly.


CHAPTER XVIII
FIBSY DINES our
THAT dinner at Ruth Schuyler’s was memorable.
And, yet, it was in no way markedly unusual. The
service was. perfect, as might be expected in that
well-ordered household, and the guests were well
behaved. F ibsy, thanks to Fleming Stone’s thought-
ful kindness, was arrayed in the proper dinner garb
of a schoolboy, and his immaculate linen and correct
jacket seemed to invest him in a mantle of polite-
ness that sat well on his youthful buoyancy and en-
thusiasm. '
I glanced round the table. It was a strange
combination of people. Fleming Stone was the sort
of man who is at ease anywhere, and I, too, am
adaptable by nature. But the Schuyler sisters were
very evidently annoyed at the idea of receiving as
an equal the youth whom they regarded as a mere
street arab.
F ibsy had become a ﬁrm friend of Ruth’s, but he
couldn’t seem to like the other ladies, and he with
difﬁculty refrained from showing this.
The Misses Schuyler were impressive in their
heavy and elaborate mourning, and to my mind
Ruth looked far more appropriately dressed.
256


FIBSY DIN ES OUT 257

She wore a black and white striped chiffon, with
touches of black silk, and the effect, with her pale
face and fair hair was lovely. A breastknot of val-
ley lilies added to the loveliness, and I allowed my
eyes to feast on her fairness. I had thought Ruth
was not what could be called a pretty woman, cer-
tainly she was not beautiful; but that night her
charm appealed to me more strongly than ever, and
I concluded that her air of high-bred delicacy and
inﬁnite ﬁneness were more to be desired than mere
beauty.
Fibsy, too, devoured her with his eyes, though
discreetly, and when he thought he was not
observed.
Fleming Stone devoted himself to the sisters;
probably, I concluded, because he was in their em-
ploy, and so owed them his attention.
Ruth wore her beautiful pearls, and referred
to the fact, half-apologetically, saying that Mr.
Schuyler had liked always to see them on her, and
she felt privileged to continue to use them, even in
her mourning period.
“You like onlypoils—pearls, don’t you, Mrs.
Schuyler?”
Fibsy’s slip of pronunciation was due to his
slight embarrassment at his novel surroundings, but
he valiantly corrected himself and ignored it.
17


258 VICKY VAN
“ I like other gems,” Ruth replied, “but Mr.
Schuyler preferred pearls, and gave me such beauties
that I have grown very fond of them.”
“I remember, Ruth,” said Sarah, reminiscently,
“ how you used to begtRandolph for sapphires and
diamonds instead. You even wanted semi-precious
stones—turquoises and topaz. Oh, I remember. But
Randolph taught you that pearls were the best taste
for a young matron and you grudgingly acquiesced.”
“ Oh, not grudgingly, Sarah,” and Ruth ﬂushed
at the reprimand in her sister’s voice. '
“ Yes, grudgingly. Even unwillingly. In fact,
all Randolph’s decisions you fought until'he made
you surrender. You know how you wanted gay-
colored gowns until he made you see that grays and
mauves were better taste.” _ '
“ Never mind my peccadilloes,” said Ruth, light-
ly. “Let’s talk of something less personal.”
“ Let’s talk about the weather,” suggested Fibsy,
who was not conducting himself on the seen and
not heard plan. “The park is ﬁne now. All full
0’ red an’ gold autumn leaves. Have you noticed it,
Mrs. Schuyler?”
“ Not especially,” and Ruth smiled at him, in
appreciation of his conversational help. “I must
walk over there tomorrow.”


FIBSY DINES OUT 259
“met-ﬁe r._._,.-V,
“Yes, ’m. An’ why don’t you go for a long motor
ride up Westchester way? The scenery’s great!”
“ How do you know, have you been there?”
“ Not just lately, but I was last fall. Do you
remember the big trees just at the turn of the road
by ”
But Ruth was not listening to the child. Stone
had said something that claimed her attention.
However, Fibsy was unabashed. With no trace
of forwardness, but with due belief in his security
of position as a guest, he continued to chatter to
Ruth, and rarely addressed any one else.
He has something up his sleeve, I thought, for
I was beginning to have great faith in the lad’s
cleverness.
He sat at Ruth’s left hand, Stone being in the
seat of the honor guest, and as that left me between
the two sisters, I was doomed to participate in their
chatter. But I was opposite my hostess and could
enjoy looking at her in the intervals of conversation.
Suddenly, I chanced to look up and I saw Fibsy’s
comical little face drawn with grimaces as he sang
a snatch of a popular song.

My heart goes twirly-whirly
When I see my pearlie girlie,
With her
“ Now, what is that next line? With her ?”_


260 VICKY VAN
“With her ring-around-a-rosy curls! ” supple-
mented Ruth, her own face breaking into laughter,
as, caught by the infection of F ibsy’s waggish
gayety, she rounded out the phrase.
“ Yes, that’s it,” said Fibsy, eagerly, “ and
Her teeth like little shining pearls,
Oh, she’s my queen of all the girls,
My little twirly-whirly, pearlie Girlie!
Ruth and Fibsy ﬁnished the silly little song in
concert, and Stone clapped his hands in applause.
Rhoda sniffed and Sarah acidly remarked:
“ How can'you, Ruth? I wish you’d be a little
more digniﬁed.”
Quickly the light went out of Ruth’s eyes. She
looked reproved, and though she didn’t resent it, a
patient sadness came into her eyes, and I resolved
that I would do all I could to get it arranged that
she should live apart from the two carping, criticiz-
ing sisters.
After dinner we had coffee in the library. Again,
Fleming Stone took it upon himself to entertain the
Misses Schuyler, and I drifted toward Ruth. She
sat down on a sofa and motioned Fibsy to sit beside
her. I drew a chair up to them and thanked a kind
fate that let us all leave the table at once, dispensing
with a more formal tarrying of the men.
J'


FIBSY DINES OUT 261
After the coffee there were liqueurs. I glanced
at Fibsy to see if he accepted a tiny glass from the
butler’s tray.
He did, and, moreover, he examined the con-
tents with the air of a connoisseur.
“ 00 de vee dc Dantzic,” he remarked, holding
up his glass and gazing at the gold flecks in it.
\Ve all smiled at him.
“ Your favorite cordial, Terence?” asked Stone,
affably. ’
“ Yessir. Don‘t you love it, Mrs. Schuyler?”
“Yes,” she said, and then, “why, no, I don’t
love it, child. But one gets accustomed to something
of the sort.”
“But don’t you like it better than Cream de
mint or Benediction?” he persisted
Ruth laughed outright. “How do you know
those names, you funny boy,” she said.
“ Read ’em on the big signboards,” he returned.
“ They have the biggest billboards in New York for
one of these lickures. I forget which one.”
“ These are what I like,” said Ruth, smiling, as
the footman passed a small bowl of sugared rose-
leaves and crisp green candied mint leaves. “ Take
some, Terence. They’re better for you than liqueurs.
Help yourself.”


262 VICKY VAN
“ They are good,” and Fibsy obeyed her. “ They
taste like goin’ into a ﬂorist’s shop.”
“So they do," agreed Ruth, herself taking a
goodly portion.
“ Rubbish,” said Rhoda. “I think these things
are silly. Randolph would never allow them.”
“ Now, Rhoda, there’s no harm in a few candies,”
protested Ruth, and then she changed the subject
quickly, for she evaded a passage at arms with the
sisters whenever possible.
The talk, however, soon drifted to the never for-
gotten subject of the murder. The sisters mulled
over all they had heard or learned during the day
and begged Stone to propound theories or make de-
ductions therefrom.
Stone obeyed, as that was what he was employed
for. ,
“ I think Miss Van Allen is masquerading as
somebody else,” he afﬁrmed. “I believe she is in
some house not very far from this neighborhood,
under the care of some friend and accompanied
and looked after by her maid Julie. I believe she
is in touch with all that goes on, not only from the
newspapers but by means of some spy system or
secret investigation. But the net is drawing round
her. I cannot say just how, but I feel sure that we
shall yet get her. It was a grievous mischance that


FIBSY DINES OUT 263
I let her escape last night, but I shall have another
chance at her, I’m sure.”
“And then you’ll arrest her,” said Rhoda, with
a snap of her thin lips.
“I dare say. Lowney tells me the ﬁnger prints
on the little knife with which Mr. Schuyler was
killed are clear and unmistakable, but we have not
yet found out whose they are.”
“ And can you?” said Ruth, anxiously.
“ If we ﬁnd Miss Van Allen,” said Stone, “ we
can at least see if they are her’s.”
“ Pooh! ” said F ibsy contemptuously, “ why
did’n’ youse tell me before that you had the claw
prints? I kin get Miss Van Allen’s all right, all
right!”
“ How?” said I, for Fibsy had lapsed into the
careless speech that meant business.
“Over to her house. Why, they’re all over.
I’ve only gotto photygraph some brushes an’ things
on her dressin’ table to get all the prints you want.”
“ That’s true,” agreed Stone. “ But it won’t
give us what we want. Nobody doubts that Miss
Van Allen held the knife that stabbed Mr. Schuyler,
and to prove it would be a certain satisfaction. But
what we want is the woman herself.”
It was then that I noticed Ruth’s maid, Tibbetts.
hovering in the hall outside the library door.


264i VICKY VAN
“You may go home, Tibbetts,” Ruth said to
her, kindly. “These gentlemen will stay late and
I’ll look after them myself.”
Tibbetts went away, and Ruth said, explana-
torily, “My maid is a treasure. I’d like to have
her live here, but she is devoted to her own little
roof tree and I let her off whenever possible.”
I knew Tibbets had a home over on Second or
Third Avenue, and I thought it kind of Ruth to in-
dulge her in this. But after a change of domicile
herself perhaps Ruth would arrange differently for
her maid. And, too, as Winnie had often told me of
Ruth’s cleverness and efﬁciency in looking after her-
self and her belongings, I well knew she could get
along without a maid whenever necessary.
“Did you ever trace that picture in Mr. Schuy-
ler’s watch?” Ruth asked, a few moments later.
“ Yes,” I said. “It was just as we supposed.
A little vaudeville actress whom Mr. Schuyler had
taken out to supper gave it to him, and he stuck it
in his watch case, temporarily. Her name is Dotty
Fay and she seemed to know little about Mr. Schuy-
ler and cared less. Merely the toy of an evening,
she was to him, and merely a chance that the picture
was in his watch the night of his visit to Vicky
Van’s.”
We had come to discuss the personal matters of


' FIBSY DINES OUT 265
Randolph Schuyler thus freely, for we were all at
one in our search for the truth, and there were no
secrets or evasions among us.
Ruth sighed, but I knew her dear face so well
now that I realized it was not from personal sor-
row, but a general regret that a man of Schuyler’s
ability and power should have been such a weakling,
morally. I knew she had never loved her husband,
but she had been a faithful and dutiful wife, and
no word or hint of blame had ever escaped her lips
regarding him. She had been a martyr, but I hadn’t
learned this from her. The sisters, though uncon-
sciously, told me much of the deprivation and nar—
rowness of Ruth's life. Schuyler had ruled her with
a rod of iron, and she had never rebelled, though at
times her patience was nearly worn out.
Later in the evening Fibsy asked for some phono—
graph music, expressing his great delight in hearing
a really ﬁne instrument and good records.
“ I doubt if you’ll care for our selections,” Ruth
remarked, as she looked over the cabinet of records.
“They’re almost all classical or old-fashioned
songs.”
“ I like the classical kind,” Fibsy said, endeav-
oring to be agreeable. “ Please play the gayest you
have, though.”
I 3
But there were few ones in the collec-
Kgay!


266 VICKY VAN
tion. Wagner’s operas and Beethoven’s solemn
marches gave forth their noble numbers and Fibsy
sat, politely listening.
“ N o ragtime, I s’pose ?” he said, after a particu-
larly depressing fugue resounded its last echoes.
“ N o,” and Ruth glanced at him. “ Mr. Schuy-
ler didn’t care for rag time—0n the phonograph,”
she added, perhaps remembering Dotty Fay.
We stayed late. Several times Stone proposed our
departure, but Ruth urged us to remain longer or
began some subject of interest that held us in spite
of ourselves. I had never seen her so entertaining.
Indeed, I had never before seen her in what might
be called a society setting. She was a charming
hostess, and the occasion seemed to please her, for
there was a pink ﬂush on her cheeks and an added
brightness to her gray eyes that convinced me anew
of the joy she could take in simple pleasures.
She singled out Fibsy for her especial attentions,
and the boy accepted the honor with a gentle grace
that astounded me. When talking to her he lost en-
tirely his slang and uncouth diction and behaved
as to the manner born. He was chameleonic, I could
see, and he unconsciously took color from his
surroundings.
And sometimes I caught him gazing at Ruth


FIBSY DIN ES OUT 267
with a strange expression that mingled amazement
and sadness, and I couldn’t understand it at all.
Again, I would ﬁnd Ruth’s eyes ﬁxed on me with‘,
a beseeching glance that might mean anything or‘
nothing.
As a whole the atmosphere seemed surcharged‘
with a nameless excitement, almost a terror, as if~
something dire were impending. Once or twice I
saw Stone and Terence exchange startled glances,-
but they rarely looked at each other.
There was something brewing, of that I was
sure. But whatever it was it did not affect the
Schuyler sisters. They were eager to talk, anxious
to hear, but they felt nothing of the undercurrent
of mysterious meaning that affected the rest of us.
I was glad when the time came to go. It was
very late, nearly midnight, and I marveled to see that
Ruth showed no sign of weariness. The sisters had
been frankly yawning for some time, but Ruth’s eyes
were unnaturally bright, and her pale cheeks showed
a tiny red spot on either side.
She shook hands nervously and her voice trem—
bled as she said good-night.
Fleming Stone and the boy were moved, I could
see that, but they made their adieux without refer-
ence to future meeting or further work on the
mystery.


268 VICKY VAN
We went away, and as we turned the corner, I
started to cross the street to go to my home.
“Come into the Van Allen house a few min-
utes, Calhoun,” said Stone, gravely. “I’ve some-
thing to tell you.”
We went in at Vicky Van’s. Stone’s manner
was ominous. He and Fibsy both were silent and
grave-looking.
We went in at the street door, into the hall and
then to the living-room.
Stone and I sat down, and F ibsy darted out to
the dining-room, back to the hall and up the stairs,
ﬂashing on lights as he went.
In silence Stone lighted a cigar and offered me
one, which I took, feeling a strange notion that the
end of the world was about to come.
In another moment Fibsy came slowly down
stairs, walked into the living-room, where we were,
gave one look at Stone, and then threw himself on
a divan, buried his face in the cushions and burst
into tears. His thin little frame shook with sobs,
great, deep, heart-rending, nerve-racking sobs, that
made my own heart stand still with fear.
\Vhat could it all mean? WVhat ailed the boy?
“ Tell me, Stone,” I begged, “ what is it? What
has upset him so?”


FIBSY DINES OUT Q69
“ He has found Vicky Van,” said Fleming Stone.
“ And it has broken his heart.”
“ What do you mean? Don’t keep me in this
suspense! Where is Vicky? Upstairs?”
“ No,” said Stone, “ not now.”
“ Explain, please,” I said, beginning to get angry.
“ I will,” said Stone.
“ No!” cried Fibsy, “no, Mr. Stone, let me
t—t-tell. W-wait a minute, I’ll tell. Oh, oh, I knew
it all day,.b-b—but I couldn’t believe it! I wouldn’t
believe it! Why, Mr. Calhoun, Vicky Van is—is—
why, Mrs. Schuyler is Vicky Van!”


CHAPTER XIX
PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS
“ You are absolutely crazy!” I said, laughing,
though the laugh choked in my throat, as I looked at
Stone. “ You see, F ibsy, you’re gone dotty over this
thing, and you’re running round in circles. I know
both Mrs. Schuyler and Miss Van Allen, and they’ve
nothing in common. There couldn’t be 'two people
more dissimilar.”
“ That’s just it—that’s how I know,” wailed the
boy. “ That’s how I ﬁrst caught on.
oh, tell him, Mr. Stone.”
“ The boy is right,” said Stone, slowly.
the ” i
“ He can’t be right! It’s impossible!” I fairly
shouted, as thoughts came ﬂashing into my mind—
dreadful thoughts, appalling thoughts!
Ruth Schuyler and Vicky Van one person! Why,
then, Ruth killed—No! a thousand times NO! It
couldn’t be true! The boy was insane, and Stone
was, too. I’d show them their own foolishness.
“ Stop a minute, Stone,” I said, trying to speak
calmly. “ You and the boy never knew Vicky Van.
You never saw her, except as she ran along the street
You see—
“ And

‘-
270


PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS 271
for a few steps at midnight. And Terence didn’t
see her then. It’s too absurd, this theory of yours!
But it startled me, when you sprung it. Now, Fibsy,
stop your sobbing and tell me what makes you think
this foolish thing, and I’ll relieve your mind of any
such ideas.”
“I don’t blame you, Mr. Calhoun,” and Fibsy
mopped his eyes with his wet handkerchief. He
was a strange little ﬁgure, in his new clothes, but
with his red hair tumbled and his eyes big and
swollen with weeping. “I know you can’t believe
it, but you listen a bit, while I tell Mr. Stone some
things. Then you’ll see.”
“ Yes, Terence,” said Stone; “ go ahead. What
about the prints?”
“ They prove up,” and Fibsy’s woe increased
afresh. “They ain’t no shadder of doubt. The
very reason I know they’re the same is ’cause they’re
so unlike. Yes, I’ll explain—wait a minute—3
Again a crying spell overwhelmed him, and we
waited. ,
“ Now,” he said, regaining self-control, “now
I’ve spilled all my tears I’ll out with it. The ﬁrst
thing that struck me was the abserlute unlikeness of
those two ladies. I mean in their tastes an’ ways.
Why, fer instance, an’ I guess it was jest about the
very ﬁrst thing I noticed, was the magazines. In


272 VICKY VAN
here, on Miss Van Allen’s table, as you can see your-
self, is—jest look at ’em! Vogue, Vanity Fair, Life,
Cosmopolitan, an’ lots of light—weight story maga-
zines. In at Schuylers’ house is Atlantic Monthly,
Harper’s, Century, The Forum, The North Ameri-
can Review, and a lot of other highbrow reading.
An’ it ain't only that the magazines in here are gayer
an’ lighter, an’ in there heavier an’ wiser; but there
isn’t a single duplicate! Now, Miss Vicky Van
likes gOod readin’, you can see from her books an’
all, so why don’t she take Harper’s an’ Century?
’Cause she has ’em in her other' home ”
“ But, wait, child,” I cried, getting bewildered;
“ you don’t mean Vicky Van lives sometimes in this
house and sometimes in the Schuyler house as its
mistress!”
“ That’s jest what I do mean. I know it sounds
like I was batty, but let me tell more. Well, it seemed
queer that there shouldn’t be any one magazine took
in both houses, but, of course, that wasn’t no real
proof. I only noticed it, an’ it set me a thinkin’.
Then I sized up their situations. Mrs. Schuyler ’s
digniﬁed an’ quiet in her ways, simple in her dress.
wears only poils, no other sparklers whatever. Vicky
Van’s gay of action, likes giddy rags, and adores
gorgeous jewelry, even if it ain’t the most realest
kind. Now, wait—don’t interrup’ me. Lemme talk


PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS 273
it out. ’Cause it’s killin’ me, an’ I gotter get it
over with. Well, all Mrs. Schuyler’s things—fur"
nicher, I mean—is big an’ heavy an’ massive, an’ ter-
rible expensive. Yes, I know her husband made
her have it that way. But never mind that. Vicky
Van’s furnicher is all gay an’ light an’ pretty an’
dainty colorin’ and so forth. And the day the old
sister-in-laws was in here they said, ‘How Ruth
would admire to have things like these! ”Member
how she begged Randolph to do up her boodore in
wicker an’ pink silk?’ That’s what they said! Oh,
well, I got a bug then that the two ladies I’m talkin'
about was just the very oppositest I ever did see!
Then, another thing was the records. The phony—
graft in here is full of light opery and poplar music
like that. Not a smell 0’ fugues and classic stuff.
An’ in at Schuyler’s, as we seen to-night, there’s
no gay songs, no comic operas, no ragtime.”
“ But, Terence,” I broke in, “that all proves
nothing! The Schuylers don’t care for ragtime and
Vicky Van does. You mustn’t distort those plain
facts to ﬁt your absurd theory!”
“ Yes," he said, his eyes burning as they glared
into mine. “An’ Mr. Schuyler he wouldn’t never let
his wife go to the light operas or vodyville, an’ she
hadn’t any records, so how—how, I ask you, comes
it that she’s so familiar with the song about ‘ My
Pearlie Girlie’ that she joined in the singin’ of it
18


274 VICKY VAN
with me at the dinner table to-night? That’s what
clinched it. Mrs. Schuyler, she knew that song’s
well as I did, and she picked it up where I left off
and hummed it straight to the end—words and
music! How’d she know it, I say?”
“ Why, she might have picked that up anywhere.
She goes to see friends, I’ve no doubt, who are not
so straight-laced as the Schuylers, and they play
light tunes for her.”
“ Not likely. I’ve run down her friends, and
they’re all old fogies like the sister dames or like
old man Schuyler himself. The old ladies are nearly
sixty and Mr. Schuyler was ﬁfty odd, and all their
friends are along about those ages, and Mrs. Schuy-
ler, she ain’t got any friends of her own age at all.
But, as Vicky Van, she has friends of her own age.
yes, an’ her own tastes, an’ her own ways of life
.an’ livin.’ An’ she’s got the record of ‘ My Pearlie
Girlie.’ ”
“It’s true, Calhoun,” said Fleming Stone. “ I
know it’s all incredible, but it’s true. I couldn’t be‘
lieve it, myself, when Fibsy hinted it to me—for it’s
his ﬁnd—to him belongs all the credit ”
“ Credit!” I groaned. “ Credit for fastening
this lie, this base lie—oh, you are well named Fibsy!
—on the best and loveliest woman that ever lived!
For it is a lie! Not a word of truth in it. A dis-
torted notion of a crazy brain! A-——”

. -.,<.-_i_j


PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS 275
“ Hold on, Calhoun,” remonstrated Stone, and
I dare say I.was acting like a madman. “ Listen
to the rest of this more quietly or take your hat and
go home.”
Stone spoke ﬁrmly, but not angrily, and I sat
still.
“ Then, here’s some more things,” Fibsy con-
tinued. “ I’ve gone over this house with a eye that
sees more’n Mr. Stone’s lens, an’ it don’t magnerfy,
neither. I spotted a lot of stuff in the pantry and
storeroom. It’s all stuff that keeps, you know; little
jugs an’ pots of ﬁne eatin’—imported table delicacies
—that’s what they call ’em. Well, an’ among ’em
was lickures an’ things like that. And boxes of
candied rose leaves an’ salted nuts—oh, all them
, things. An’ that’s why I wanted to go to dinner at
Mrs. Schuyler’s an’ see if she liked to eat those
things. An’ she did! She had the rose leaves an’
she had the kind 0’ lickure that ’s down in the pantry
cupboard in this house. An’ she said it was her
fav’rite, an’ the old girls said she never used to have
those things when her husband was runnin’ the
house—an’ oh, dear, can’t you see it all?”
“Yes, I see it,” said Stone, but I still shook my
head doggedly and angrily.
“I don’t see it!” I declared. “ There’s nothing
to all this but a pipe dream! Why shouldn’t two


9.76 VICKY VAN
women like Eau de vie dc Damsic as a liqueur? It’s
very fashionable—~a sort of fad, just now.”
“ It ain’t only this thing or that thing, Mr. Cal-
houn,” said Fibsy, earnestly. “It’s the pilin’ up of
all ’em. An’ I ain’t through yet. Here’s another
point. Miss Van Allen, she ain’t got any pitchers
of nature views—no landscapes nor woodsy dells in
this whole house. She jest likes pitchers of people
——pretty girls, an’ old cavalier gentlemen, an nymps,
an’ kiddy babies—but all human, you know. Now,
Mrs. Schuyler, she don’t care anythin’ special for
nature, neither. I piped up about the beauty scenery
out W estchester way an’ over in the park, an’ it left
her cold an’ onintrusted. But she has portfolios of
world masterpieces, or whatever you call ’em, over to
that house, an’ they’re all ﬁgger pieces.”
“ And her writing desk,” prompted Stone.
“ Yessir, that checked up, too. You know, Mr.
Calhoun, they ain’t nothin’ more intim’tly pers’nal
than a writin’ desk. “Tell, Miss Van Allen’s has a
certain make of pen, an’ a certain number and kind
of pencils. An’ Mrs. Schuyler, she uses the same
identical styles an’ numbers.”
“ And notepaper, I suppose,” I ﬂung back,
sarcastically.
“ No, sir, but that helps prove. The note paper
in the two houses is teetumteetotally different! That
was planned to be different! Mrs. Schuyler’s is a
,—_---H'I'_


PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS 277
pale gray, plain paper. Miss Van Allen’s is light
pink, to match her boodore, I s’pose. An’ it has
that sort of indented frame round it, that’s extry
fashionable, an’ a wiggly gold monogram, oh—quite
a big one!”
I well remembered Vicky’s stationery, and the
boy described it exactly.
“Proves nothing!” I said, contemptuously, but
I listened further.
“All right,” Fibsy said, wearily pushing back
his shock of red hair. “Well, then, how’s this?
On Mrs. Schuyler’s desk the pen wiper is a fancy
little contraption, but it’s clean—I mean it’s never
had a pen wiped on it. Miss Van Allen’s desk
hasn’t got any pen wiper. On each desk is a pencil
sharpener, of the same sort. On each desk is a little
pincushion, with the same size of tiny pins, like she
was in the habit of pinnin’ bills together or sumpum
like that. On each desk the blotter is in the same
place and is used the same way. There’s a lot of
pussonality ’bout the way folks use a blotter. Some
uses both sides, some only one side. Some has their
blotters all torn an’ sorta nibbled round the edges,
an’ some has ’em neat and trim. “fell, the blotters
on these two desks is jest alike ”
“ But, F ibsy," I cried in triumph, “ I’ve seen the
handwriting of these two ladies, over and over
again, and they’re not a bit alike!”


278 VICKY VAN
“I know it,” and Fibsy nodded. “But, Mr.
Calhoun, did you know that Miss Van Allen always
writes with her left hand?”
“ No, and I don’t believe she does!”
“ Yessir. I went to the bank an’ they said so.
An’ I asked the sewin’ woman, an’ she said so. An’
I asked the caterer people an’ they said so. And
the inkstand is on the left'hand side of Miss Van
Allen’s desk.”
“All right, then she is left-handed, but that
proves nothing!”
“ N o, sir, Miss Van Allen ain’t left-handed. You
know she ain’t yourself. You’d ’a’ noticed it if she
had been. But she writes left-handed, ’cause if she
didn’t she’d write like Mrs. Schuyler!”
“ Oh, rubbish! ” I began, but Fleming Stone
interrupted.
“ Wait, Calhoun, don’t ﬂy to pieces. All Terence
is saying is quite true. I vouch for it. Listen
further.”
“ They ain’t no use goin’ further,” said Fibsy,
despondently. “ Mr. Calhoun knows I’m right, only
he can’t bring himself to believe it, an’ I don’t blame
him. Why, even now, he’s sizin’ up the case an’
everything he thinks of proves it an’ nothin’ dis-
proves it. But anyway, the prints prove it all.”
“ Prints?” I said, half dazedly.


PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS 279
“ Yessir. I photographed a lot 0’ ﬁnger prints in
both houses, an’ the Headquarters people ﬁxed ’em
up for me, magnerﬁed ’em, you know, an’ printed
’em on little cards, an’ as you can see, they’re all the
same.” '
I glanced at the sheaf of cards the boy had
and Fleming Stone took them to scrutinize.
“ I got those prints from all sorts of places,”
Fibsy went on. “ Off of the glass bottles and things
in the bathrooms and off of the hair brushes and
such things, an’ off of the envelopes of letters, an’
off the chairbacks an’ any polished wood surfaces,
an’ I got lots of ’em in both houses, an’ the police
people picked out the best an’ cleanest an’ ﬁxed ’em
up, an’ there you are!”
They seemed to think this settled the matter. But
I would not be convinced. Of course, I’d been told
dozens of times that no two people in the world have
ﬁnger prints alike, but that didn’t mean a thing to
me. It might be, I told them, that Vicky Van and
Ruth Schuyler were friends, that Ruth had withheld
this fact, and that
“ No,” said Stone, “ not friends, but identical—
the same woman. And, listen to this. Mrs. Schuyler
heard us say this evening that Fibsy could photo—
graph the brushes and such things over here to get
Miss Van Allen’s ﬁnger prints, and what does she
do? She sends Tibbetts over to scrub and wipe


i280 VICKY VAN
off those same brushes, also the mirrors, chairbacks
and all such possible evidence. A hopeless task—-
for the woman couldn’t eradicate all the prints in
the house. And, also, it was too late, for Fibsy had
already done his camera work.”
“How do you know she did all that?” and I
glowered at the detective.
“ Because Fibsy just told me he found evidences
of this cleaning up, and, too, because Mrs. Schuyler
purposely kept us over there longer than we intended
to stay. You know how, when we proposed to say
good-night, she urged us to stay longer. That was
to give her maid more time for the work. Now,
Mr. Calhoun, go on with your objections to our
conclusions. It helps our theory to answer your
refutations.”
“ Her letters,” I mumbled, scarce able to formu—
late my teeming thoughts. “ Vicky Van sent a let-
ter to Ruth Schuyler ”
“ Of course, she did. Wrote it herself, with her
left hand, and mailed it to her other personality, in
order to make the police give up the search. And,
too, the letter from Miss Van Allen, found in Ran-
dolph Schuyler’s desk after his death, was written
and placed there by Mrs. Schuyler for us to ﬁnd.”
“Impossible!” I cried. “I won’t allow these
libels. You’ll be saying next that Ruth Schuyler
killed her husband "’

. .- Arm


PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS 281
“She did,” asserted Fleming Stone, gravely.
“ She did kill him, in her character as Vicky Van.
Don’t you see it all? Schuyler came here as Somers,
never dreaming that Vicky Van was his own wife in
disguise. Or, he may have suspected it, and may
have come to verify his suspicion. Any way, when
she saw and recognized him, whether he knew her or
not, she lured him out to the dining room and stabbed
him with the caterer’s knife.”
“Never!” I said. I was not ranting now, I
was stunned by the revelations that were coming so
thick and fast. I couldn’t believe and yet I couldn’t
doubt. Of one thing I was certain, I would defend
Ruth Schuyler to the end of time. I would defend
her against Vicky Van—why, if Ruth was Vicky
Van—where was this moil to end! I couldn’t think
coherently. But I suddenly realized that what they
told me was true. I realized that all along there
were things about Ruth that had reminded me of
Vicky. I had never put this into words, never had
really sensed it, but I saw now, looking back, that
they had much in common.
Appearance! Ah, I hadn’t yet thought of that.
“Why,” I exclaimed, “the two are not in the
least alike, physically!”
“ Miss Van Allen wore a black wig,” said Stone.
“ A most cleverly constructed one, and she rouged


282 VICKY VAN
her cheeks, penciled her eyelashes and reddened her
lips to produce the high coloring that marked her
from Mrs. Schuyler.”
I thought this over, 'dully. Yes, they were the
same height and weight, they had the same slight
ﬁgure, but it had never occurred to me to compare
their physical effects. I was a bit near-sighted and
I had never taken enough real personal interest in
Vicky to learn to love her features as I had Ruth’s.
“You see,” Fleming Stone was saying, though
I scarce listened, “ you are the only person that I
have been able to ﬁnd who knows both Miss Van
Allen and Mrs. Schuyler. No one else has testiﬁed
who knows them both. So much depends on you.”
“ You’ll get nothing from me! ” I fairly shouted.
“They’re not the same woman at all. You’re all
wrong, you and your lying boy there!”
“ Your vehemence stultiﬁes your own words,”
said Stone, quietly; “ it proves your own realization
of the truth and your anger and fury at that realiza-
tion. I don’t blame you. I know your regard for
Mrs. Schuyler, I know you have always been a friend
of Miss Van Allen. It is not strange that one
woman attracts you, since the other did. But you’ve
got to face this thing, so be a man and look at it
squarely. I’ll help you all I can, but I assure you
there’s nothing to be gained by denial of the self-evi-
dent truth.”


PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS 283
“ But, man," I said, trying to be calm, “ the
whole thing is impossible! How could Mrs. Ran-
dolph Schuyler, a well-known society lady, live a
double life and enact Miss Van Allen, a gay butter-
ﬂy girl? How could she get from one house to the
other unobserved? Why wouldn’t her servants know
of it, even if her family didn’t? How could she
hoodwink her husband, her sisterspin-law, and her
friends? Why didn’t people see her leaving one
house and entering the other? Why wasn’t she
missed from one house when she was in the other ?”
“ All answerable questions,” said Stone. “ You
know Miss Van Allen went away frequently on long
trips, and was in and out of her home all the time.
Here to-day and gone to-morrow, as every one testi-
ﬁes who knew her.”
This was true enough. Vicky was neVer at home
more than a few days at a time and then absent for i
a week or so. Where? In the Fifth Avenue house
as Ruth Schuyler? Incredible! Preposterous! But
as I began to believe at last, true.
“ How?” I repeated; “ how could she manage?”
“ Walls have tongues,” said Stone. “These
walls and this house tell me all the story. That is,
they tell me this wonderful woman did accomplish
this seemingly impossible thing. They tell me how
she accomplished it. But they do not tell me why.”
“ There’s no question about the why,” I re-


284 VICKY VAN
turned. “If Ruth Schuyler did live two lives it’s
easily understood why. Because that brute of a man
allowed her no gayety, no pleasure. no fun of any
sort compatible with her youth and tastes. He let
her do nothing, have nothing, save in the old, hum-
drum ways that appealed to his notion of propriety.
But he himself was no Puritan! He ran his own
gait, and, unknown to his wife and sisters, he was
a roué and a rounder! \Vhatever Ruth Schuyler
may have done, she was amply justiﬁed ”
“ Even in killing him?”
“ She didn’t kill him! Look here, Mr. Stone,
even if all you’ve said is true, you haven’t convicted
her of murder yet. And you shan’t! I’ll protect
that woman from the breath of scandal or slander—
and that’s what it is when you accuse her of killing
that man! She never did it!”
“ That remains to be seen,” and Fleming Stone’s
deep gray eyes showed a sad apprehension. “ But
nothing can be done to-night. Can there, Terence?”
“ No, Mr. Stone, not to-night. No, by no means,
not to—night! It wouldn’t do!” The boy’s earnest-
ness seemed to me out of all proportion to his simple
statement, but I could stand no more and I went
home, to spend the night in a dazed wonder, a furi-
ous disbelief, and ﬁnally an enforced conviction that
Vicky Van and Ruth Schuyler were one and the
same.


CHAPTER XX
THE TRUTH FROM RUTH
NEXT morning I was conscious of but one desire,
to get to Ruth and tell her of my love and faith in
her, and assure her of my protection and assistance
whatever happened. _
Whatever happened! The thought struck me
like a knell. What could happen but her arrest and
trial? '
But as I went out of my own door—I left the
house early, for I couldn’t face Aunt Lucy and
Winnie—I suddenly decided it would be better to
see Stone ﬁrst and learn if anything had transpired
since I left him.
I rang the bell at Vicky Van’s house with a ter-
rible feeling of impending disaster, that might be
worse than any yet known. '
F ibsy let me in. I wanted to hate that boy and
yet his very evident adoration of Ruth Schuyler
made me love him. I knew all that he had discov-
ered had been as iron entering his soul, but his duty
led him on and he dared not pause or falter.
“ We may as well tell him,” he said to Stone.
and the detective nodded.
285


286 VICKY VAN
“ But come downstairs with us and have a cup
of coffee ﬁrst,” Stone said; “ you’ll need it, as you
say you’ve had no breakfast. Fibsy makes ﬁrst-rate I
coffee, and I can tell you, Calhoun, you’ve a hard
day before you.”
“ Have you learned anything further?” I man-
aged to stammer out as we went down to the base-
ment room that they used as a dining-room now.
“ Yes; as I told you, walls have tongues, and
the walls have given up the secret of how Mrs.
Schuyler managed her two-sided existence.”
But he would not tell me the secret until I had
been fortiﬁed with two cups of steaming Mocha,
which fully justiﬁed his praise of Fibsy’s culinary
prowess.
F ibsy himself said nothing beyond a brief “ good
morning,” and the lad’s eyes were red and his voice
shook as he spoke.
“I knew,” Stone said, as we ﬁnished breakfast,
“ that there must be some means, some secret means
of communication between the two houses, the
Schuyler house and this. You see, the Schuyler
house, fronting on Fifth Avenue, three doors from
the corner, runs back a hundred feet, and abuts on
the rear rooms of this house, which runs back from
the side street. In a word, the two houses form a
right angle, and the back wall of the Schuyler house
_ ‘_ ~~u__


THE TRUTH FROM RUTH 287
is directly against the side wall of the rear rooms of
this house. Therefore, I felt sure there must be an
entrance from one house to the other, not perceiv-
able to an observer. And, of course, it must be in
Mrs. Schuyler’s own rooms; it couldn’t be in their
dining-room or halls. A few questions made me
realize that Miss Van Allen’s boudoir was sepa-
rated from Mrs. Schuyler’s bath room by only the
partition wall of the houses. And I said that wall
must speak to me. And it did.”
We were now on our way upstairs, Stone ready
at last to let me into the secret he had discovered.
We went to Vicky’s boudoir, and he continued:
“You know you found the strand of gilt beads
caught in this mirror frame. We all assumed Miss
Van Allen had ﬂirted it there as she dressed for
her party, but I reasoned that it might have caught
there as she escaped to the Schuyler house the night
of the murder. Yes, she did escape this way—look.”
Stone touched a hidden spring and the mirror in
the Florentine frame slid silently aside into the wall,
leaving an aperture that without doubt led into the
next house. The frame remained stationary, but the
mirror slid away as a sliding door works, and so
smoothly that there was absolutely no sound or jar.
I saw what was like a small closet, about two
feet deep and Perhaps three feet wide. At the back


288 VICKY VAN
of it, that is, against the walls of the adjoining room
in the other house, we could see the shape of a simi-
lar door, and the secret was out. There was no need
to open that other door to know that it led to Ruth
Schuyler’s rooms. There was yet more telltale evi-
dence. In the little cupboard between the houses was
a small safe. This Stone had opened and in it was
the black wig of Vicky Van and also a brown wig
which I recognized at once as Julie’s well—remem-
bered plainly parted front hair.
“ You see, Tibbetts is Julie,” said Fibsy, in such
a heart-broken and despairing voice that I felt the
tears rush to my OWn eyes.
Vicky’s wig! The loops of sleek black hair, the
soft loose knot behind, the delicate part, all just as
it crowned her little head—Ruth’s head! Oh, I
couldn’t stand it! It was too fearful!
“ This other door,” Stone said, “ opens into
Mrs. Schuyler’s bathroom. That I know. You
see, she had to have this entrance from some room
absolutely her own. Her bathroom was safe from
interruption, and when she chose she slipped
through from one house to the other and back at
will.” '
“ No, I can’t understand it,” I insisted, shaking
my head. “ If she came in here as Ruth Schuyler
why wasn’t she seen?”
~wm


J THE TRUTH FROM RUTH
289


“Because, before she was seen, she had made
herself over into Victoria Van Allen. She had
donned wig and make-up, safe from interruption,
here in her boudoir. This make-up she removed be-
fore returning to the Schuyler house in her role of
Mrs. Schuyler.”
“ It is too unbelievable!”
“ No; it is diabolically clever, but quite under-a
standable. Julie and Tibbetts are the same. This
conﬁdential woman looked after her mistress’ safety
on both sides. She remained when Vicky Van dis—
appeared. She looked after everything, took care
of details, attended to tradesmen and all such mat—
ters, and when ready followed Mrs. Schuyler into
the other house, or went from here to her rooms
a few blocks away and later came from them. When
there were to be parties, Julie left the Schuyler house
early, came here and made preparations, and then
as late as ten or eleven o’clock maybe, Mrs. Schuyler
came in from her home, when her own household
thought her abed and asleep. She could go back in
the early morning hours, with no one the wiser. Or,
if she chose and she did when her husband was
out of town, she could pretend she had gone away
for a visit and stay here for days at a time.”
I began to see. Truly the wall’s tongue had
spoken. If this awful theory of Stone’s were true,
19


290 VICKY VAN
it could only be managed in this way. I remembered
how long and how often Vicky Van was absent
from her home. I remembered that sometimes
she was late in arriving at her own parties, although
she always came down from upstairs in her party
regalia.
“ How did you come to suspect Tibbetts?” I
asked, suddenly.
“ Her teeth,” said Fibsy. “ I saw that Tib-
betts had false teeth, anyway, an’ I says, why can’t
Julie’s gold teeth be false, too? And they are.
They’re in the Safe!”
What marvelous precautions they had taken!
To think of having a set of teeth for the maid Julie
that should appear so different from those of Tib-
betts! Surely this thing was the result of long and
careful planning.
“ Her glasses, too,” went on Fibsy. “ You see,
they made her different from Tibbetts in appear-
ance. That was all the disguise Tibbs had, the gold
teeth, the big rimmed specs and the brown scratch——
wig, you know. But it was enough. Nobody no-
tices a servant closely, and these things altered her.
looks sufﬁcient. Miss Van Allen, now, she had a
wig an’ a lot of colorin’ matter an’ her giddy clothes.
Nothin’ left to reckernize but her eyes, an’ they were
so darkened by the long dark lashes and brows that'-
h-


THE TRUTH FROM RUTH 291
she ﬁxed up that it made her eyes seem darker. I
got all this from the pitchers the artist lady made.
You see, she caught the color likeness but not the
actual features. So I sized up the resemblance of
the real women. Oh, Mr. Stone, what are we going
to do?”
“ Our duty, Terence.”
Then I put forth my plea, that I might be al-
lowed to go and see Ruth ﬁrst; that I might pre-
pare her for the disclosures they would make, the
discoveries they would announce.
But Stone denied me. He said they would do
or say nothing that would unnecessarily hurt her
feelings, but they must accompany me. Indeed, he
implied, that it might be as well for me not to go.
But I insisted on going, and we three went on
our terrible errand.
Ruth received us in the library. She saw at
once that her secret was known, and she took it
calmly.
“ You know,” she said, quietly, to Stone. “I
am sorry. I hoped to hide my secret and let Vio
toria Van Allen forever remain a mystery. But it
cannot be. I admit all ”
“Wait, Ruth,” I cried out. “Admit nothing
until you are accused.”
“ I am accused,” she responded, with a sad smile.


292 VICKY VAN
“I heard you talking in the passage between the
rooms. In my bathroom I could hear you distinctly.
There is there a mirror door also. It looks like an
ordinary mirror and has a wide, ﬂat nickel frame,
matching the other ﬁttings. Yes, I had the sliding
doors built for the purposes which you have sur-
mised. Shall I tell you my story?”
“ Yes, and let us hear it, too,” came from the
doorway, and the two sisters appeared, agog with
excitement and curiosity.
“Come in,” said Ruth, quietly. “Sit down,
please, I want you to hear it. Most of it you know,
Sarah and Rhoda, but I will tell it brieﬂy to Mr.
Stone, for I want not lenienc", out justice.”
I seated myself at Ruth s side, and though I said
no word I knew that she understood that my heart
and life were at her disposal and that whatever she
might be about to tell would not shake my love and
devotion. It is not necessary to use words when a
life crisis occurs.
“I was an orphan,” Ruth said, “brought up
by a stern and Puritanical old aunt in New Eng-
land. I had no joy or pleasures in my childhood or
girlhood days. I ran away from home to become
an actress. Tibbetts, my old nurse, who lived in
the same village, followed me to keep an eye on
me and protect me in need. I was a chorus girl for


THE TRUTH FROM RUTH 293
just one week when Randolph Schuyler discovered
me and offered to marry me if I would renounce
the stage and also gay life of any sort and be-
come a digniﬁed old-fashioned matron. I willingly
accepted. I was only seventeen and knew nothing
of the world or its ways. As soon as we were mar-
ried he forbade me any sort of amusement or
pleasure other than those practised by his elderly
sisters. I submitted and lived a life of slavery to
his whims and his cruelty for ﬁve years. He had
agreed to let me have Tibbetts for my maid, as he
deemed her a staid old woman who would not en-
courage me in wayward desires. Nor did she. But
she realized my thraldom, my lonely, unhappy life,
and knew that I was pining away for want of the
simple innocent pleasures that my youth and light-
hearted nature craved. I used to beg and plead for
permission to have a few young friends or to be al-
lowed to go to a few parties or plays. But Mr.
Schuyler kept me as secluded as any woman in a
harem. He gave me no liberty, no freedom in the
slightest degree.
“ I had been married about four years when I
rebelled and began to think up a scheme of a dual
existence. I had ample time in the long lonely hours
to perfect my plans, and I had them arranged to the
minutest detail long before I put them in operation.


294 VICKY VAN
Why, I practised writing with my left hand and
acquired a different speaking voice for a year be-
fore I needed such subterfuges. Had I been able
to persuade my husband to give me even a little
pleasure or happiness I would willingly have given
up my wild scheme. But he wouldn’t; so once when
he was away on a long trip, I had the passage be-
tween the two houses made.
“ I had previously bought the other house, under
the name of Van Allen, for I had money of my own,
left me by an uncle that Mr. Schuyler knew noth-
ing about. Of course, this money came to me after
I was married or I never should have wed Randolph
Schuyler.
“ Tibbetts’ cousin, an expert carpenter, did the
work, and, as he afterward went to England to
live, I had no fear of discoverythat way. Indeed,
there was little fear of discovery in any way. I
was expected to spend much of my time in my own
rooms—and my bedroom, dressing room and bath
form a little suite by themselves and can be locked off
from the rest of the house. So, when I retired to
my rooms for the night I could go through into the
other house and become Vicky Van at my pleasure.”
“ I can’t believe such baseness !” declared Rhoda
Schuyler, “ such ingratitude to a husband who was
so good to you—”


THE TRUTH FROM RUTH 295
“He wasn’t good to me,” said Ruth, quietly,
“ nor was I ungrateful. Randolph Schuyler spoiled
my life; he denied me everything I asked for, every
innocent pleasure and amusement. So, I found them
for myself. I did nothing wrong. As Victoria Van
Allen I had friends and pleasures that suited my
age and my love of life, but there never was any-
thing wrong or guilty in my house-——”
“ Until you killed your husband!” interrupted
Sarah.
“ Until the night of Randolph Schuyler’s ap-
pearance at Vicky Van’s house,” Ruth went on. “ I
had been told of a Mr. Somers who wanted to know
me, but I had no idea it was my husband masquer-
ading under a false name. He came there with
Mr. Steele. Of course, I recognized him, but he
did not know me at once. I sat, playing bridge, and
wondering how I could best make my escape. I saw
that he didn’t know me and then, suddenly as I sat,
holding my cards, and he stood beside me, he no-
ticed a tiny scar on my shoulder. He made that scar
himself, one night, when he hit me with a hot curling
iron.”
“What!” I cried, unable to repress an exclama-
tion of horror.
“ Yes, I was curling my hair with the tongs and
he became angry at me for some trivial reason, as he


296 VICKY VAN
often did, and he snatched up the iron and hit my
shoulder. It made a deep burn and he was very
sorry.
“ Whenever he saw it afterward he said, ‘ Never
again!’ meaning he would never strike me again.
Then, when he noticed the scar that night, although
I had put on a light scarf to cover it, he said ‘ Never
again!’ in that peculiar intonation, and I knew then
that he knew Victoria Van Allen was his own wife.
“ I ran out to the dining-room and he followed
me.”
“ And you stabbed him!” cried Rhoda; “ stabbed
your husband! Murderess !”
“ I don’t deny it,” said Ruth, slowly. “ The
jury must decide that. I must be tried, I sup—
pose—~”
“ Don’t, Ruth!” I cried, in agony. “ Don’t talk
like that! You shall not be tried! You didn’t kill
Schuyler! If you did it was in self-defence. Wasn’t
it? Didn’t he try to kill you?”
“ Yes, he did. He snatched the little carver from
the sideboard and attacked me,—and I—and I ”
“Don’t say it, Ruth—keep still!” I ordered, be-
side myself with my whirling thoughts. The little
carving-kni fe!

“ And you defended yourself with the caterer’s
knife ” began Stone, but Fibsy wailed, “No!


THE TRUTH FROM RUTH 297
No! It wasn’t Mrs. Schuyler! I've got the prints
from the caterer’s knife and they ain’t Mrs. Schuy-
ler’s at all! She didn’t kill him!”
“ No, she didn’t!” and Tibbetts appeared in the
library doorway. “ I did it myself.”
“ That’s right!” and Fibsy’s eyes gleamed satis-
faction; “ she did! It’s her ﬁngermarks on the knife
that stabbed old Schuyler. They’re plain as print!
Nobody thought of matching up those marks with
Tibbetts’s mitt! But I’ll bet she did it to save Mrs.
Schuyler’s life !”
“ I did,” and Tibbetts came into the room and
stood facing us.
“ Tell your story,’ said Stone, abruptly, as he
looked at the white-faced woman.
“ Here it is,” and Tibbetts looked fondly at Ruth
as the latter’s piteous glance met hers. “ I’ve loved
and watched over Mrs. Schuyler all her life. I’ve
protected her from her husband’s brutality and
helped her to bear his cruelty and unkindness . When
she conceived the plan of the double life I helped her
all I could, and I got my cousin to do the work on
the houses that made it all possible. Then, I was
Julie, and I devoted my life and energies to keeping
the secret and allowing my mistress to have some
pleasure out of her life. And she did.” Tibbets
looked affectionately, even proudly, at Ruth. “ The
i


298 VICKY VAN
hours she spent in that house as Victoria Van Allen
were full of simple joys and happy occupation. She
had the books and pictures and furniture that she
craved. She had things to eat and things to wear
that she wanted. She went to parties and she had
parties; she went to the theater and to the shops, and
wherever she chose, without let or hindrance. It
did my heart good to see her enjoy herself in those
innocent ways.
“ Then Mr. Schuyler came. I knew the man. I
knew that he came because he had heard of the
charm and beauty of Vicky Van. He had no idea
he would ﬁnd her his own wife! When he did dis—
cover it I knew he would kill her. Oh, I knew Ran-
dolph Schuyler! I knew nothing short of murder
would satisfy the rage that possessed‘him at the dis-
covery. I prepared for it. I got the little boning-
knife from the pantry, and as Mr. Schuyler lifted
the carver and aimed it at Ruth’s breast I drove the
little knife into his vile, wicked, murderer’s heart.
And I’m glad I did it! I glory in it! I saved Ruth’s
life and I rid the world of a scoundrel and a villain
who had no right to live and breathe on God’s earth!
Now, you may take me and do with me as you will.
I give myself up.”
It Was the truth. On the carving-knife appeared,
plain as print, the ﬁnger marks of Randolph Schuy-_


THE TRUTH FROM RUTH 299
ler, proved a hundred times by prints photographed
from his own letters, toilet articles, and personal be-
longings in his own rooms. In his mad fury at the
discovery of Ruth masquerading as Vicky Van, and
in his sudden realization of all that it meant, he
clutched the ﬁrst weapon he saw, the little carver,
to end her life and gratify his madness for revenge.
Just in time, the watching Tibbets had intervened,
stabbed Schuyler, and then ran upstairs, to escape
through the hidden doors to the other house.
Ruth, stunned at the sight of the blow driven by
Tibbetts, and dazed by her own narrow escape from
a fearful death, picked up the carver that dropped
from Schuyler’s lifeless hand and ran upstairs, too.
She had, she explained afterward, a hazy idea
that she was picking up the knife that Tibbetts had
used, so bewildered was she at the swift turn of
events. And as she stooped over Schuyler in her
frenzy the waiter had seen her and assumed she
was the murderer. This, too, explained the blood
on the ﬂounces of her gown—it had brushed the
fallen ﬁgure of her husband and became stained
at the touch. ‘
The two women had, of course, slipped through
the connecting mirror doors into the Schuyler house,
and long before the alarm was brought there they
jvvere rehabilitated and’ready to receive the news.


300 VICKY VAN
Then Ruth’s quandary was a serious one. Inno-
cent herself, she could not tell of her double life
without making the whole affair public and in-
criminating Tibbetts, whom she loved almost as a
mother and who had saved Ruth’s life by a fraction
of a second. An instant’s delay and Schuyler’s knife
would have been driven into Ruth’s heart.
So, for Tibbetts’ sake, Ruth, perforce, kept the
secret of Vicky Van.
“ I was not ashamed of it,” she told us, frankly.
“ There was nothing really wrong in my living two
lives. My husband denied me the pleasure and joy
that life owed me, so I found it for myself: I-never
had a friend or committed a deed or said a word as
Victoria Van Allen that all the world mightn’t hear
or know of. And I should have owned up to the
whole scheme :at once except that it would bring out
the knowledge of Tibbetts’ act.
“ I wished not to go back to the other house at
all and should not have done so for myself. But I
had reasons—connected with other people. A friend,
whom I love, had asked the privilege of having cer-
tain letters sent her in my care, that is, in care of
Miss Van Allen, and I had to go in once or twice
to rescue those and so prevent a scandal that would
ensue upon their discovery. For her sake I risked
going back there at night. Also, I wanted my ad-


THE TRUTH FROM RUTH 301
dress book, for it has in it many addresses of people
who are my charity beneﬁciaries. Mr. Schuyler
never allowed me to contribute to any charitable
cause, and I have enjoyed giving help to some who
need and deserve it. These addresses I had to have,
and I have them.
“ Mr. Stone was right. The walls had tongues.
He ﬁrst noticed a little defect in the green paint in
the living room, which I had retouched. Winnie
told me of this, and I realized how clever Mr. Stone
is. So, I threw away the paint I had used, which
was in here, and I carefully thought out what else
was incriminating and removed all I could from the
other house. Fibsy noticed when I took a book
from a table, but that book I wanted, because—”
she blushed—“ because Mr. Calhoun had given it to
me and I wasn’t sure I could get it any other way.
“ But the walls told all, and at the last I knew it
was only a question of time when Mr. Stone or Ter-
ence would discover the doors. I sup-pose the strand
of beads that caught as I escaped that night gave
a hint, but they would have found them anyway.
They are wonderful doors—in their working, I
mean. No complicated mechanism, but merely so
well made and adjusted that a touch opens or closes
them, and absolutely silently. No one in this house
ever dreamed the bathroom mirror was anything


302 VICKY VAN
but a mirror. And in the other house the elaborate
Florentine frame precluded all idea of a secret con-
trivance. The two feet of thickness of the house
walls made a tiny cupboard, where I had that small
safe installed, that we might put our, wigs and such
deﬁnitely incriminating bits of evidence in hiding,
also Vicky’s jewelry. But I always changed my
costumes from one character to the other in Vicky
Van’s dressing-room, and so ran little or no chance
of discovery.
“ In a futile endeavor to distract attention from
Victoria Van Allen I wrote a note to Ruth Schuyler
and also wrote the one found in Mr. Schuyler’s desk.
I did these things in hopes that the detectives would
cease to watch for the return of Miss Van Allen,
but it turned out differently. I assumed, of course.
if search could be diverted from that house into
other channels there would be a possibility of Tib-
betts never being suspected. I am sorry she has
confessed. I do not want her to be tried. She
saved my life, and I would do anything to keep her
from harm.” I
But Tibbetts was tried and was acquitted. A
just jury, knowing all of the facts, declared it was
a case of justiﬁable homicide, and the verdict was
“ Not guilty!”
The Schuyler sisters were ﬁnally convinced that


THE TRUTH FROM RUTH 308
Ruth’s life had been endangered by their brother’s
rage, and, though they condemned Tibbetts in their
hearts, they said little in the face of public opinion.
As for me, I couldn’t wait until a conventional
time had elapsed before telling my darling of my
love for her own sweet self and, as I now realized,
for Vicky Van also. I spent hours listening to the
details of her double life; of the narrow escapes
from discovery, and the frequent occasions of dan-
ger to her scheme. But Tibbetts’ watchful eyes and
Ruth’s own cleverness had made the plan feasible
for two years, and it was only because Ruth had
found her dear heart was inclining too greatly to—
ward me that she had begun to think it her duty
to give up her double life. She had recently decided
to do so, for she was not willing to let our mutual
interest ripen into love while she was the wife of
another man.
And so, if it hadn’t all happened just as it did, I
should never have won my darling, for she was
about to give up the Van Allen house and I never
should have had occasion to meet Mrs. Randolph
Schuyler.
It is all past history now, and Ruth and I are
striving to forget even the memories of it. We live
in another city, and Tibbetts is our faithful and be-
loved housekeeper.


304 VICKY VAN
And often Ruth says to me: “ I know you love
me, Chet, but sometimes I can’t help feeling a little
jealous of the girl you cared for—that, what’s her
name? Oh, yes, Vicky Van!”
“Vicky Van was all right,” I stoutly maintain.
“I never knew a more charming, sweeter, prettier,
dearer little girl than Vicky!”
“ But she was awfully made up!”
“ Yes, that’s where you score an advantage. The
only thing about Vicky I disapproved of was her
paint and powder. Thank heaven, my wife has a
complexion that’s all her own.” And I kissed the
soft, pale check of my own Ruth.


SPOOKY HOLLOW


10 SPOOKY HOLLOW
In New Hampshire the white paint is less im-
maculate, the state less tidily cleared up, but the
woods against a stormy sky their giant branches
toss, and the rocking pines of the forest roar their
eternal welcome. Timid little lakes nestle conﬁdingly
among the hills and the White Mountains cluster in
majestic serenity.
And then comes Vermont, beautiful, careless
Vermont, forgetful of her white paint, heedless of
her broken-down fences, conscious only of her green
Green Mountains and the sounding aisles of her
dim woods.
East of the Green Mountain Range, in northern
Vermont, is wide, rolling country, with here and
there a handful of small hills dumped down as
though they had been ﬂung at the Range and fell _
short of their mark. Among them are valleys and
lakes, vistas and scenery, verdure and foliage,—-all
that goes to make Vermont what her beautiful
name means.
And villages. These are not always as pic-
turesque as they should be, but man’s place in nature
is frequently out of harmony with his surroundings.
What should be a quaint little hamlet with an old
white-spired church and a few clustering cottages,


PROUT HAS A FARE 11
is more often a Four Corners or a few rods or
perches of a stupid-looking Main Street, totally
lacking in pride, prosperity, or paint.
Farm-houses a're shabby and fences dilapidated,
yet, after all, there are sites and spots—0h, the sites
and spots of Vermont!
If one wanted to build ten thousand homes, he
could ﬁnd a satisfying site or spot for each and
have as many left over.
In our forefathers’ days, the soil where ﬁrst they
trod was considered the very thing for highroads,
but now the broad white ribbon of concrete that
tangles itself among the green hills is exceedingly
convenient, without marring the picture.
And the towns that chance to impinge on or
straddle that road are up to date and almost a part
of the living, bustling world outside.
But the towns reached by the lesser roads, the
older r0ads,-—-they have no animal spirits and lead
a mere vegetable life.
Unless a great country house has been built on
a site or a spot nearby, these little villages have none
at all to praise and very few to love.
Hilldale was one of the prettiest of these villages
and was in fairly good repair. This was owing to


12 SPOOKY HOLLOW
the fact that it had offered an unsurpassed site for a
gentleman’s country house.
The gentleman had materialized, and so, later,
did the house.
It had happened forty years ago. Vicissitudes
had removed the gentleman but the house remained——
remained empty for years, and at last, ﬁve years ago,
had been bought, furnished, and occupied.
Yet the fact of the house, half a mile from the
village street, so influenced and stimulated the vil—
lagers that unconsciously they lived up to it and
gloried in its possession as in an invisible jewel
held in trust.
For the house was invisible, by reason of those
same dim woods and rocking pines, and moreover,
because of high and strong stone walls.
Yet it was there and it was theirs, so Hilldale
plumed itself and went about its business.
Off the main travelled road of trafﬁc, it was also
off the main line of the railroad and was reached
by a tiny spur, whose trains, not impressed by the
great house, ran with a debonair disregard of time-
tables or schedules.
And so, when one of these trains pulled up with
a grinding jerk, and the leisurely, easy-going con-


PROUT HAS. A FARE is
ductor sang out, “ Hilldale! ” John Haydock, who
had risen, almost fell over backward by reason of
the sudden stop.
The train was nearly an hour late, and though
still well up in the heavens, the November sun was
secretly preparing for a quick swoop down and out.
The air was damp and raw, with a feeling that
portended snow.
Beautiful Vermont had lost her green, but was
bravely substituting a glory of red and russet and
gold that clad her hills and dales with a blaze of
autumn beauty.
John Haydock shivered as he stepped to the sta-
tion platform, then drew up his overcoat collar, and
appreciatively lapped up the beauty of the scene even
while he looked about at conditions.
He saw a phlegmatic looking man standing near
an elderly Ford, and with admirable sagacity deduced
a local taxi driver. ’
“ I want to go to Homer Vincent’s,” Haydock
said, half expecting the man would drawl out
“Wal, why don’t ye, then?” after the approved
manner of Vermont natives in ﬁction.
But the influence of the house wouldn’t allow
that, and the man merely gave a sort of grunt that
seemed to mean “ All right,” or “ Certainly.”


14 SPOOKY HOLLOW
Moreover, he showed a gleam of curiosity in his
hard, weather-beaten blue eyes, and moved with
alacrity as he took the stranger’s bag.
But he said nothing as he held the car door open
for his passenger, and then took his own place at
the wheel.
“ Is it far from the village? ” Haydock asked.
The driver rolled a blue eye around at him.
“ Ain’t never been there, eh?” he said. “ Well,
it’s about halfa mile,-—good halfa mile. I ain’t
never been in the house myself. Druv up to
the entrance now, naginn,—just now, naginn.
Great place! ”
He spoke in an awe-struck voice, as one might
of some masterpiece of God or man, and Haydock
said, involuntarily:
“ Is it such a beautiful house? ”
“ Is it? Is it! Well, you’ll soon see! ”
They had left the village now, and were passing
along a wooded country road, beautiful with its pines
and hemlocks among the bright autumn leaves. A
few roads branched to right or left, but the Ford
car clattered straight ahead.
“ Mr. Vincent get over his broken leg?” Hay-
dock asked. “ Can he walk all right?”
“Yep, mostly. Has a little limp—you’d hardly


PROUT HAS A FARE 15
notice it, though. Course we don’t see him
hardly ever.”
“ Recluse? ”
“ Not quite that,—but sticks to his home mostly.
Miss Vincent, now, she’s more sociably inclined.”
“ Miss Rosemary? ”
“ Well, no, I didn’t mean her,—I meant the old
lady,—Mr. Vincent’s sister. Miss Rosemary, now,
she’s here, there, and everywhere. Ridin’ a horse,
drivin’ a car, walkin’, skatin’ and they do say they’re
goin’ to keep an airoplane.”
“ Really? How up to date they are.”
“ Well, they are, an’ they ain’t. Yes, sir, they
are, ’n’ they ain’t. The old man, now—”
“ Why do you call Mr. Homer Vincent an
old man? ”
“Thasso. He can’t be mor’n ﬁfty,—’n’ yet, he
somehow seems old.”
“ To look at?”
“Well, no; though ’5 I said, I don’t often see
him. But if he’s passin’ in his motor car, he don’t
look out an’ nod at people,—see, an’ he don’t seem
to be smilin’—”
“ Grumpy? ”
“ Not so much that as—”
“ Indifferent? Preoccupied? ”


16 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ That’s more like it. Thinkin’ ’bout his own
affairs, seemin’ly. An’ they do say he does himself
mighty well. And why shouldn’t he,—seein’s he has
plenty of money. Why shouldn’t he, I say? ”
“ Is he married? ”
The driver turned fully around, leaving the tem-
peramental Ford to its own sweet will for a moment.
“ Homer Vincent married!” he exclaimed. “ I
should say not! Him married! ”
“ What’s so strange about that? Lots of men
marry.”
“ So they do. Oh, well,—no, Mr. Vincent, he
ain’t married.”
“ What does he do? Any business? ”
“Land, no; he’s got more money’n he knows
what to do with. He just enjoys himself, one way
’n’ another,—just one way ’n’ another. Miss Vin-
cent, now, Miss Anne, she rides about, stylish like,
an’ makes fashionable calls on the minister an’ a.
few families of the town. They been here ﬁve years
now, an’ yet mighty few people knows ’em atall.”
“He didn’t build his ﬁne house?”
“ Land, no. It was built long ago, 'by a man
named Lamont,—long about eighteen-eighty it was
begun. Took years to build it, 0’ course.” ‘
“ Is it so elaborate, then?”


PROUT HAS A FARE 17
“Is it? Look, here’s the beginnin’ of the stone
wall now. See? ”
“Good heavens, what a wall !” and Haydock
stared at the high, massive, tessellated structure of
carefully hewn and laid blue dolomite, that seemed
to extend interminably.
“Yep, that’s it,” and the speaker wagged his
head in deep pride of ownership. For Hilldale felt
that it owned the place individually as well as collec-
tively ; and this in utter disregard of any opinion Mr.
Vincent might hold on the matter.
“He’s an inventor, you know,” Haydock was
further informed, as they neared the gates. “ But I
don’t think he invents anything.”
The great iron gates stood open but gave access
only to a long avenue shaded by almost perfect speci-
mens of the beautiful “ wine-glass ” elm.
“ That kinda ellum tree’s just about gone now,”
—said Haydock’s guide. “ Mighty few left in all
New England. Fine ones, these. Now, here begins
the poplar row. See ’m,—not Lombardy,—they’re
North Carolina poplars. I guess Mr. Vincent set
these out. They ain’t long-lived. Well, here we
come to the-wooded drive. The rest of the way to
the house is right through a jungle. I’d hate it.”
The jungle was a grove, rather sparse than thick,
2


18 SPOOKY HOLLOW
of pine, spruce, hemlock, and larch, and its shadows
were dank and black.
An occasional white birch, slender and ghostly,
instead of lightening the gloom, rather added to it,
and the rays of the now setting sun could scarcely
penetrate the murk.
“ Not very cheerful,” was Haydock’s comment.
“- Now, here, sir, is the tree that gives the place
its name.” '
“ What is its name? ”
“ Greatlarch,-—-that’s what they call it, Great—
larch,—’count 0’ that big tree there. See? ”
Haydock looked and saw the tallest larch tree
he had ever seen. It was enormous, a most magniﬁ-
cent specimen. Surely the name was well chosen.
“ That’s a hummer,” he agreed.
“Yep; nothin’ like in these parts,—an’ I don’t
believe, nowhere.”
“I don’t either! ” said Haydock, regardless of
negatives in his enthusiasm.
“Now, you see, sir, we come to the entrance
proper. This stone gateway’s where I leave you.
Want me to wait?”
“ No,” and Haydock dropped his sociable man-


PROUT HAS A FARE 19
ner and became again a stranger. “What do I
owe you? ”
“ One dollar, sir. Don’t want me to wait? You
stayin’ here? ”_
Haydock looked at him.
“I’m not sure just what I shall do. Have you
a telephone? ”
“ Yes, sir; call 87 Hilldale.”
“ And your name? ”
“ Prout. Mr. Vincent knows me. Tell him you
want Prout,—that is, if you do want me. To take
you back,—you know.”
“ Yes, I gathered that was what you meant.
Good day, Prout.” ' ’
The entrance was a massive arch with a tower on
either side.
It seemed to include guard-rooms and connected
with what was doubtless a porter’s lodge.
Haydock stared at the heavy stone- work, the
beautiful design, and the hint of green velvety lawn
through the arch. '
He wished the daylight would linger, but it was
even now almost gone. The gathering dusk gave
the scene an eerie aspect, the great larch whispered


20 SPOOKY HOLLOW
as its long branches slowly tossed about, and the
pines responded with a murmur of their own.
Seeing no one, Haydock stepped through the
deep, wide archway, and then stood still, spellbound
at what he saw.
A pile of gray stone, red-tiled roofs, tall chim- '
neys, towers, turrets, dormers,—a perfect example
of a French chateau of the period of the Renaissance.
Haydock knew enough of architecture to realize
that he was gazing at a masterpiece. He had no
idea there was such a building in America. I Perfect
in every detail, exquisitely set in the midst of rolling
lawns, well-placed shrubbery, and noble old trees,
with half glimpses, in the fading light, of terraces
and gardens beyond.
Deeply impressed, he approached the entrance, a
recessed portico on the north side of the house.
Outer doors of massive oak stood open, and he
entered a vestibule wainscoted and paved with
richly hued marble.
Wrapt in contemplation of the detail work, he
pushed an electric bell, and was still unheeding when
the door opened and a butler faced him inquiringly.
He felt a slight thrill of disappointment, for,
without knowing it, he had subconsciously looked for


PROUT HAS A FARE 21
a lackey in gold lace or at least a powdered and
plushed footman.
But this man, beyond all question a butler, and a
knowing one, gave Haydock an appraising glance,
and in a tone nicely poised between deference and
inquiry, said:
“You wish to see—” The voice trailed off to
nothingness, but the barrier form of the butler gave
way no inch of vantage.
“ Mr. Homer Vincent,” said Haydock, sud-
denly recovering his wits, and speaking with a
ﬁrm decision. '
“ By appointment?” But the severity of the
butler’s manner perceptibly decreased and he even
stepped back from the threshold.
“ No, not by appointment,” and John Haydock
came under the portal and into the beautiful entrance
hall. Again he was nearly swept off his feet by what
he saw. Marble walls and ﬂoors, painted friezes,
vistas of rooms opening one from another—surely
he was transported to some Arabian Nights’ Dream.
And again he was recalled to equanimity by that
calm, cool voice:
“ What name shall I give Mr. Vincent?”


22 SPOOKY HOLLOW
And after the merest instant of hesitation,
Haydock said:
“ Tell him Henry Johnson wishes to see him,—
on business, private, personal, and important.”
This speech- was accompanied by a straight,
sharp glance at the man, and the visitor, half-
turning, began to give himself up to contemplation
of his surroundings.
“Yes, sir. Will you step in the reception
room, sir? ”
The reception room, in a large circular tower,
was at the right as one entered the house, and to
this Haydock went.
The butler disappeared, and Haydock studied
the room. _
It was of the period known as Perpendicular
Gothic, and the side walls, delicatedly paneled
in old oak, reached to the richly ornamented and
domed ceiling.
The chimney-piece, which curved with the cir-
cular wall of the room, was of the rare Italian mar- _
ble known as Red of Vecchiano, and it was Hay-
dock’s study of this that was interrupted by the
entrance of his host. _
“ You like it?” Homer Vincent said in a tone


PROUT HAS A FARE 23
of slight amusement. “ It is the only bit of that
stone ever brought to this country.” .
Turning, Haydock saw a moderately tall man
with moderately broad shoulders. His hands were
in his pockets, and the smile that had sounded in
his voice was perceptible on his strong, well-cut lips.
He stood erect, his head thrown a triﬂe back, as
if sizing up the situation.
“ If you like, I’ll show you the whole house,”
he offered. “ It’s worth seeing.”
And now, Haydock looked at him as if sizing
him up. Seemingly he had forgotten the house in
his interest in its owner.
He saw a strong face, which, though now smil-
ing with courtesy, yet looked as if, on occasion, it
could be hard, even severe.
This may have been imagination, for Homer
Vincent’s whole manner and attitude betokened only
a friendly welcome.
But Haydock noted the ﬁrm curve of the chin,
the straight line of the lips, and the haughty, aristo-
cratic effect of the Roman nose, and concluded, off-
hand, that Homer Vincent was a power.
The dark hair was thickly streaked with gray,
and the deep-set gray eyes were of a peculiar pene-


24 SPOOKY HOLLOW
tration. And yet, important though the man doubt—
less was, he had an air of indolence, of impatience
under annoyance, that was unmistakable and impos-
sible to ignore.
“ Well,” he said, shortly, “ well, Mr. Henry
Johnson, what do you want to see me about? ”
With a cautionary glance out through the door-
way, Haydock leaned toward him and whispered
two words in his ear.
Vincent permitted himself a slight raising of the
eyebrows,—an unusual concession to interest
or surprise.
“ You do right to be discreet,” he said; “let us
go to my own private room,—-it is just across
the hall.”
He led the guest across toward the circular room
in the opposite turret, corresponding with the
reception room. '
And this time Haydock couldn’t restrain his
exclamations.
“Let the business wait a few moments,” said
Vincent, almost gleefully. “I admit I am proud
of my home; let me show you a little of it.
“ You see, it was built many years ago by one
Lamont, an eccentric millionaire. It is an exact copy


PROUT HAS A FARE 25
of one of the ﬁnest of the French chateaux. More-
over, it is built of the most magniﬁcent marbles ever
perhaps collected under one roof. Just the walls
of this hall show French Griotte, Porte Venere,
Verde Martin, and here you see American Black,—
from Glens Falls. The ﬂoor is Moria! marble from
Lake Champlain.
“ Ahead of you, looking toward the back of the
house, you see the Atrium, copied faithfully from
the Erectheum at Athens. We will not go there
now,-—nor t0 the Organ wing, where I have one of
the largest and ﬁnest pipe organs in the world. We
will go now into my own private room. and you
shall tell me all about this matter you speak of.”
They crossed the hall, Haydock scarce able to
tear his eyes from the cabinets, paintings, and rare
pieces of furniture. The tall chimney-piece of the
hall, Vincent said, was of Bois de Orient marble
from Africa.
“ Why all these rare marbles? ” Haydock cried.
“ It was Lamont’s fad,” Vincent replied. “ And
I’m glad he did it, for it saved my having to collect
them. I bought the place complete, though totally
unfurnished. It has been my pleasure to collect
suitable furnishings and I have enjoyed the task.”


26 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“I should say so!” and Haydock stared about
the room they entered, which was Vincent’s
very own.
Circular in form, it was ﬁnished in rare woods
with a mantel of Siena marble and bronze, which
showed ﬁgures of Hercules in statuary marble. The
furniture, while not over-ornate, was in keeping with
the character of the room. In the center was a
great ﬂat-topped desk, carved and inlaid, and at this
the two men sat down.
’ It was after an hour’s conversation that Vincent
said: “ I will send for my sister,—we must consult
with her.”
A bell brought the imperturbable, yet eagerly-
solicitous butler, whose name, Haydock now learned,
was Mellish.
“Go to Miss Anne,” Vincent directed; “ask
her to join me here if she will be so good. Tell her
I have a caller here. And, by the way, Mr. Johnson,
will you not stay the night? Then we can talk at our
leisure and, also, I can show you over the house,
which I feel sure will interest you.”
Haydock looked at his host questioningly, de-
cided he meant his invitation sincerely, and accepted.


PROUT HAS A FARE 27
“ But I have no evening togs with me,” he
demurred.
“ No matter, we will be informal. I am myself
not overly given to conventions and my niece is din-
ing out. Mellish, take Mr. Johnson’s bag to the
south guest room, and make him comfortable there.”
Mellish departed, and after informing Miss Vin-
cent, went about his other errands.
“ Man here,” he announced a little later to his
wife, who was also the Vincents’ cook. “ Nicish
chap, but addle-pated. So took up with the house
he don’t know what he’s saying.”
“They’re often took like that,” returned Mrs.
Mellish, placidly. “ Where’s he put? ”
“ In the south room.” '
“ H’m; master must set a pile by him.”
“ I don’t know about that. I’m not sure they
ever met before.”
“Too bad Miss Rosemary’s out,—she likes a
stranger here now and then.”
“ Oh, Miss Rosemary wouldn’t look at him.
He’s not her sort,” said Mellish.


‘ aja-
CHAPTER II
THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH
THE organ hall at Greatlarch was a massive west
wing, with transepts looking north and south. The
hall, as large as a small church, was Corinthian in
design, with side walls of antique oak, marvellously
carved and gilded, that had been brought from Eng-
land in panels. High above the antique oak cornice
rose the vaulted, coffered ceiling and at the east end
was a balcony that might be reached from the second
story. A rose window in the third story also
looked down into the beautiful room.
In the semicircular west end was the great
organ, and at its keyboard sat Homer Vincent, his
capable hands caressing the keys with a gentle yet
an assured touch. He usually spent the hour before
dinner at the organ, and those whd knew him could
divine his mood from the music they heard.
Tonight his mood was variable, uncertain. He
struck slow, close harmonies in a desultory fashion,
his ﬁne head bowed a triﬂe as if in deep thought.
Then, suddenly, he would lift his head, and the
organ would peal forth a triumphant strain, like a
28


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 29
song of victory. Or some crashing chords wduld
resound for a moment, to be followed by a silence
or by a return to the slow, meditative harmonies.
Sometimes he would play works of the masters
and again he would drift into improvisations of
his own.
As the dinner hour drew near, Anne Vincent
came from her room on a mezzanine ﬂoor, and
went directly to the gallery that overlooked the
organ room.
A slight little lady, a spinster of forty-seven, she’
had enough pretensions to good looks to warrant her
pride in dress. Her hair would have been gray,
but for discreet applications of a certain concoction.
It would have been straight, but for the modern in-
vention known as a permanent wave. And so, she
presented to the world a beautifully coifed head
of dark-brown hair, whose frantic frizz was per-
suaded to lie in regular, though somewhat intractable
waves. Her eyes were gray, like her brother’s, but
more bright and piercing. Her air was alert, observ-
ant and interested. Where Homer Vincent showed
utter indifference to the universe at large, his sister
manifested interest, even curiosity, toward all mun-
dane matters.


80 SPOOKY HOLLOW
Her slight ﬁgure was youthful, her manner ani—
mated, and her clothes were in exquisite taste and
bore the labels of the best modistes.
Tonight she wore a Georgette gown of a pale
apricot color, simply made, but with delicate, ﬂoating
draperies that betokened the skilled hand of an
artist. Her only ornament was a large and perfect
ruby, set in ﬁnely wrought gold work.
With a light step she tripped down the short
_mezzanine stairs to the upper front hall. This was
no less beautiful than the hall below. It was ﬂanked
on either side by four Corinthian columns with gilded
capitals, and the panelled ceiling was modelled after
one in the Ducal Palace at Venice.
Save for the Tower rooms on either side, this
hall took up the entire front of the house, and from
it a balcony rested on the portico above the
main entrance.
Through the hall Miss Anne went, her high-
heeled slippers making no sound on the rugs, which
were skins of polar bears.
Through to the balcony above the organ room
she passed and stood, one slim hand on the carved
balustrade, looking down at her brother.


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 81
“Poor Homer,” she thought to herself; “he
doesn’t know what to do. But of course Mr. John-
son is right in the matter,—and of course he knows
—my! it means a lot of money! Well, Homer has
plenty—if he will only think so. A strange man,
that Mr. Johnson—now I think I like him,—and
then—I don’t—I wish I—but, of course,—my
heavens! here he comes now!”
Anne Vincent looked up with a smile as Haydock
joined her on the balcony.
The man was still rolling his eyes about as if
in a very ecstasy of delight in what he saw.
This was his ﬁrst glimpse of the organ, as after
their talk Vincent had sent him to his room to tidy
up for dinner.
“I regret my informal attire—” he began, as
he joined Miss Anne, but she brushed aside
his apology.
“ It’s all right,” she said; “ we’re always infor-
mal when we’re alone. Now I should, like elaborate
dress every night, but my brother and my niece
wouldn’t hear to such a thing. So you’re quite all
right, Mr. Johnson. What do you think of
the organ?”
“I have no adjectives left, Miss Vincent. The


32 _ _ SPOOKY HOLLOW
whole place stuns me, I can scarcely believe I am in
America,——I feel transported to the France of
the Renaissance.”
“ You are familiar with the history of that
period? ” She looked at him curiously.
“ No,” he replied, honestly enough. “ No, I am
not. But I know this is all of that era, and anyway,
it so overwhelms me, I can’t quite analyze my
emotions.”
“ Yes, I felt like that when we ﬁrst came here.
But ﬁve years have made me feel at home in this
atmosphere. Your room, Mr. Johnson, is just above
my own. It looks out on the south gardens
and I am sure you noticed the lagoon and the
Greek Temple?”
“ Of course I did, though the twilight view made
me only more anxious to see it all by daylight.”
“ Which you can do in the-morning. My niece
will be here then, and she will show you the grounds.
That Greek Temple is a Mausoleum.”
“ A wondrously beautiful one! ”
“ Yes, is it not? And now, dinner is served,—
come Mr. Johnson,” and then, “Come, Homer,”
she called to her brother at the organ.
Vincent met them in the lower hall, and ushered


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 33
them into the Atrium. This, perhaps the most im-
posing feature of the house, was a pure and perfect
example of Greek Ionic architecture.
From the ﬂoor of native white marble, rose six-
teen monolithic columns with gilded capitals and
bases of Bois de Orient and Vert Maurin marble.
The side walls were of Rose of Ivory marble quar-
ried in the Atlas mountains of North Africa.
These details Homer Vincent told his guest as
they passed through the great room, and drew his
attention to the tall plate-glass windows that formed
the whole southern end.
Between the Ionic columns of the semicircular
south portico could be seen the lagoon with its foun-
tain, and at its far end gleamed the pure white
of the Greek Temple against a dark setting of pines
and larches. _
Johnson sighed as they turned to the dining
room, another marvel of Italian Renaissance, in
antique English oak, with tall chimney-piece of
French Griotte and Belgium Black marbles.
“ I wonder,” Haydock said, whimsically, as they
took their seats, “if the native marble of Vermont
resents the presence of these imported strangers.”
s


sir ' ' SPOOKY HOLLOW
“I have thought that, too,” and Miss Anne’s
eyes twinkled, “ I am sure it is the case.”
“ They dislike one another,” Vincent said, taking
up the jest. “ The Italian and African marbles scorn
the Vermont stone, however pure and white. But
they are silent about it, for the most part. In our
living room is a chimney-piece of Porte Venere or
‘ Black and 'Gold’ marble from Spezia, which, with
its gold bronze ornaments is one of the handsomest
and most expensive features of the house. ‘ You will
forgive my descanting on these things, Mr. Johnson,
but I own up that this house is my hobby, and I am
a bit daft over it.”
“ I don’t wonder,” declared Haydock, with hon-
est enthusiasm. “ And I am glad to hear these
details. Of course, I am especially interested, be-
cause of—”
“ I am going to ask of you,” Vincent interrupted
him, “ not to discuss during dinner the business on
which you came here. It is,” he smiled, “bad for
our digestion to think deeply while eating, and too, I
want you to do justice to the art of my coo .”
The dinner, indeed, as well as the service of it,
was entirely in harmony with the surroundings, and
though there was no unnecessary pomp or ceremony,
the details were perfect and correct.


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 35
Mellish, like a guardian spirit, hovered about,
and two waitresses under his jurisdiction were sufﬁ-
cient to insure the comfort of the party.
“ I am sorry your niece is not at home,” Haydock
said, as Rosemary’s name was casually mentioned.
“You shall see her tomorrow,” Vincent prom—
ised. “ This evening we must have another confab
in my study as to our business, and I trust we shall
settle it to the satisfaction of all. Mr.—'er—_Iohn-
son, you must remain here for a time as our guest.”
“ Thank you,” Haydock said, simply. “ I trust
I may do so.”
He looked at Miss Anne, as if expecting a conﬁr-
mation of the invitation, but she said nothing.
“I suppose,” he said, “that, having your sister
and your niece, you have not felt the need of a wife
as chatelaine of this wonder-home.”
Homer Vincent smiled.
“I’m afraid,” he said, “no wife would put up
with my vagaries. I’m not an easy man to
live with—”
“ Oh, now, Homer,” his sister protested, “you
sha’n’t malign yourself. If my brother is a bit
spoiled, Mr. johnson, it is because my niece and I
pet and humor him. It is our pleasure to do so.
You see, my brother is a very remarkable man.”


36 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ And my sister is blindly prejudiced in my
favor,” Vincent tossed back. “ We are a very happy
family, and perhaps the more so that each of us
follows his or her own sweet will.”
Although no outward change took place on the
features of the blank—countenanced Mellish, yet could
one have seen into his brain, there was indication of
unseemly derision and unholy mirth.
For, as a matter of fact, every one at Great—
larch, whether family, guest, or servant, followed
the sweet will of Homer Vincent.
At least, he did if he knew what was good
for himself.
Yet Vincent was no tyrant. He was merely a
man whose only desire in life was creature comfort;
whose only pursuit was his own pleasure; whose
only ambition was to be let alone.
His sister and niece might do what they would,
so long as they did not interfere with his plans. His
servants might have much liberty, many indulgences,
if they would but attend perfectly to his wants or
needs. Guests could have the freedom of the place,
if they kept out of his way when not wanted. '
Homer Vincent was not so much selﬁsh as he
was self-indulgent,—self-centered. He was schol~


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 37
arly and loved his books; musical, and loved his
organ; artistic and xsthetic, and loved his house
and his collections; he was of an inventive turn of
mind, and loved to potter about in his various
workrooms and laboratories, without being bothered
as to what he was doing.
In return for these favors he gave his sister and
niece pretty much a free hand to do as they chose,
checking them now and then in the matter of expen-
ditures. For though the Vincent fortune was large,
it was not inexhaustible, and the upkeep of the place
was enormous. Yet it must be kept up in a manner
to please Homer Vincent’s ideas of comfort, even
though this necessitated curtailing the hospitalities
toward which Miss Anne and Rosemary inclined.
Homer was kindly by nature; he really disliked
to deny Anne anything she wanted, but, as he said,
they couldn’t entertain all Hilldale all the time,
especially as they had no desire to accept
return hospitalities.
And if Miss Anne did have such an undesirable
desire, she kept it to herself, for she adored her
clever brother.
Her other brother, the father of Rosemary, had


as ' SPOOKY HOLLOW
died ﬁve years before, an event which resulted in
the girl’s coming to live with these relatives.
The household was harmonious,—if and when
the two women sank their own wills in the will of
Homer Vincent. Otherwise not.
Not that there was ever any friction, or
unpleasantness.
Vincent had a way of attaining his end without
such. And, perhaps through habit, perhaps follow-
ing the line of least resistance, both the older woman
and the girl willingly capitulated when conditions
required it.
For Rosemary loved her Uncle Homer, and Miss
Anne fairly worshipped him.
It went without saying, therefore, that Vincent’s
hint that business matters should not be discussed
at the table, was effectual.
Haydock acquitted himself fairly well. The
interest he felt in the business which had brought
him thither, and the absorbing entertainment of this
beautiful home, ﬁlled his mind to the exclusion of all
else. And since the ﬁrst subject was for the moment
taboo, he pursued the other with zest.
“ The man who built this was a genius,”
he declared.


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 89
“It was built,” Vincent informed him, “by a
prominent ﬁrm of New York architects, but as they
faithfully copied an old French chateau,. they had
little need for originality. Of course it was a folly.
These great palaces often are. After getting it, the
owner found he hadn’t sufﬁcient fortune left to keep
it up. So it came into the market, and years later
I was fortunate enough to get it at a great bargain.
Probably I paid not half of the original build-
ing cost.”
“ Lack of funds wasn’t the only reason that
Mr. Lamont wanted to sell it,” Miss Anne said, with
a glance at her brother. '
“ No,” and Homer Vincent looked grave.
“ There is a tragedy connected with the place, but I
try not to let it affect my nerves or even linger in my
memory. I wish you would do the same, Anne.”
“ Oh, it doesn’t get on my nerves, Homer, but
I can’t put it out of my memory, altogether. I am
reminded of it too often.”
“May I hear the story?” asked Haydock, look-
ing from one to the other. I
“ If you wish,” Vincent said, a little unwillingly;
“but it's not a cheerful one.”


I 40 . SPOOKY HOLLOW
“Anything connected with this wonderful place
must be of interest,” Haydock declared, and Anne
Vincent began the tale.
“ It’s a ghost story,” she said, her eyes showing
a sort of horriﬁed fascination. “You see, Mrs.
Lamont, the wife of the former owner, was mur-
dered in her bed—” _
“ Now, Anne,” her brother interrupted, “ we
don’t know that she was—it may have been
a suicide.”
“ No,” Miss Anne declared, positively, “‘ she was
murdered, and her ghost still haunts the place.”
“ Have you seen it? ” Haydock asked. He had
deep interest in the occult.
“I haven’t seen it,—but I’ve heard of it,” she
replied, in a whisper. “What do you suppose it
does? It plays the harp—the Wild Harp! ”
“ Oh, come now, Anne, don’t bore Mr. Johnson
with your fairy tales.”
Homer Vincent was in the best possible humor.
He had had a dinner that exactly suited him, per-
fectly served, and now as he pushed back his chair
a little, he was raising a cigar to his lips, knowing
that at the instant it reached them a lighted match, in
Mellish’s careful hand, would touch the other end


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 41
of it. Knowmg, too, that an ash-tray would mate-
rialize on the exact spot of the tablecloth that he
wished it, and that, simultaneously, his coffee cup
would be removed. '
These things were necessary to Homer Vincent’s
happiness, and his thorough drilling of Mellish had
made them immutable.
He had instructed the butler long ago to measure
carefully with a yardstick the exact distances be-
tween the four table candlesticks as well as their
distance from the edge of the table.
Yet Vincent was no “ Miss Nancy,” no feminine
or effeminate fusser in woman’s domain. All details
of housekeeping were left to Miss Anne, whom he
had also trained. But the most inﬁnitesimal derelic-
tions from exact order and routine were noticed and
reproved by Homer Vincent and rarely indeed did '
the same error occur twice. ’
In fact, after his ﬁve years of occupancy, he had
his home in perfect running order, as he con-
ceived perfection. ‘
Banquets were never given, house guests were
rare, callers infrequent, because none of these things
contributed to the comfort of Homer Vincent. His
tranquil days were occupied with his pleasant avoca-


42 SPOOKY HOLLOW
tions indoors, varied by motor trips, horseback rides,
or country rambles.
His stables and garage boasted the ﬁnest horses
and cars, and in addition he was seriously contem-
plating an aeroplane. Indeed, he had already ordered
plans drawn for a hangar. '
All of his belongings were at the service of his
sister and niece at such times as he did not himself
require them. It was their duty to ﬁnd out when
these times were.
But the two women had no trouble about this.
Vincent was not unreasonable, and both Miss Anne
and Rosemary were astute enough to read him
pretty well.
He required Anne to be always present to preside
at his table. To be sure, he did the presiding him-
self, but he wished her at the head of the board
always. This precluded her accepting invitations
which did not include him or which he was not
inclined to accept. However, the placid lady was
more than willing to defer to his preferences.
Rosemary was allowed more freedom in these
matters and went to visit her girl friends as often as
she chose. Having them to visit her was another


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 43
matter, and only to be suggested with the greatest
discretion and careful choice of opportunity.
“Yes,” Miss Anne was saying, “and, do you
know, Mr. Johnson, my room,—my bedroom is the
one she had, and the one that is said to be haunted
by her ghost! ”
“ Really, Miss Vincent? And are you not
timid—? ”
“ Not a bit! You see, it is the loveliest room in
the house,—except brother’s, and I would be silly
to refuse it because of a foolish superstition.”
“Just below my room, you said, I think?”
“ Yes, facing south,—looking out on the lagoon
and fountain and on down to that beautiful marble
Temple——”
“That is a tomb!” ﬁnished Vincent. “Any
other woman would be scared to death to look out on
that view, but I believe my sister enjoys it.”
“I surely do, Homer. Often I look out there
on moonlight nights and feel sorry for the poor lady.
And—” her voice fell, “ sometimes I hear her—
playing on her harp—”
“ Oh, come now, Anne, you’ll get Mr. Johnson
so wrought up he won’t dare sleep in his own room,
which of course has the same outlook! ”


44 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ I’m not superstitious,” Haydock averred. “ In
fact, I should like to hear the ghostly harp—though
I cannot say I’d welcome a spook visitor! ”
“ Let us look out in that direction,” said Vincent,
rising. His idea of Anne’s presiding was to have
her ready to arise at his signal, not the other way.
He led them back through the Atrium and on
out to the great semicircular portico that was the
southern entrance.
“ It’s chilly,” he said, as he opened a long plate-
glass door. “Better stay inside, Anne. Just a mo-
ment, Mr. Johnson, unless you think it too cold?”
“ No, I like it,” and Haydock stepped out into
the crisp night air.
“Feels like snow,” said Vincent. “Now, of
course, tomorrow you can see this in the sunlight,
but in this dim murk, with the shadows so deep and
black, it is a picturesque sight, is it not? ”
“It’s wonderful!” Haydock exclaimed, looking
across the black water of the lagoon, where the
dimly seen fountain ~did not obscure the faint gleam
of white marble that was the Mausoleum.
'“ You like to keep that thing there?” he
asked, curiously.
“Why not?” and Vincent shrugged ,his shoul-


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 45
ders. “Since it doesn’t worry the ladies, and I
have no fear of spooks, why should I have it re-
moved? It is exquisite, the Temple. The model,
as you can scarcely see now, is that of the
Parthenon.”
“How did the story of the haunting come
about? ”
“ Since it is supposed that the lady was mur-
dered, it would be more strange if such a story did
not arise. It was long ago, you know. I’ve been
here ﬁve years, but before that the house stood empty
for nearly twenty years. In that time many legends
found credence, and many ghostly scenes were re-
ported. Apparitions ﬂitting round the tomb are the
most common reports, but strains of a wild harp
also are vouched for. Indeed, my sister thinks she
has heard them.”
“ Have you?”
Homer Vincent hesitated, and then said, “ There
have been times when I thought I did. But of
course it was imagination,—-stimulated by the weird
aspect of the place. Look at that thicket back of
the Temple. Even now, you can seem to see mov—
ing shadows.” '
“ What is behind there?”


46 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“It is a sort of undergrowth of low pines and
birches, scrub oaks and elms, a tangle,——almost a
jungle, of vines and canebrakes—”
“ Swampy? ”
“ Not quite that,-—though mucky after a long
rainy spell. I threaten now and then to have it all
cleared out and drained,-—but I haven’t got at it yet.
It is more or less fenced off,—you can just see the
low stones—”
“ Yes, they look like gravestones.”
Vincent smiled. “They do. That adds to the
spookiness. Do you know the villagers, before I
came here, called the place Spooky Hollow? ”
“And a good name, too!” Haydock shivered.
The atmosphere of gloom was beginning to tell on
his nerves. “ Guess I’ll seek the bright lights!
It’s fairly creepy out here! ”
Vincent turned toward the house, his slight limp
showing itself a little as he crossed the tiled terrace.
“ It is all most wonderful,” Haydock summed up,
as they re-entered, “ but it does not make me forget
my mission here—”
“ Let that wait, my dear sir, until we are
by ourselves.”
For the ubiquitous Mellish was in silent waiting


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 47
to open the door wider for them, to close it, and to
stand at attention for orders.
Haydock perceived the man was a bodyservant
of his master rather than a mere butler.
“ And now,” Vincent said, “ we will again seek
my own private room, and settle the business. After
that, I trust we shall all sleep contented and serene.
Come, Anne, we want your advice and opinions.”
Miss Vincent joined them, and as they passed
into Homer Vincent’s Tower room, Mellish, looking
a. little regretful, returned to his domestic duties.


CHAPTER III
ROSEMARY
“ THAT man up there is a queer bird,” Mellish
declared to his wife, as he joined her in the kitchen.
“ As how?” Mrs. Mellish inquired, with slight
interest.
The main kitchen at Greatlarch was a spacious
room with walls of pure white marble. Spotless all
its appointments and speckless Mrs. Mellish had
them kept. '
Of a truth she dwelt in marble halls, and having
plenty of vassals and serfs at her side, she secured
the immaculate tidiness in which her soul delighted,
and which, incidentally, Mr. Vincent exacted.
No oversight of Susan Mellish was necessary.
Cook she was,.but also she was queen of her own
domain and life below stairs went on with no more
friction or dissension than above. In the household,
Homer Vincent’s motto was: “ Peace at Any Price,”
and if an underling disturbed it, there was a
rapid substitution.
Nor was there any ripple in the smooth-ﬂowing
4s


ROSEMARY 49
current of the family life. Homer Vincent saw to
that. Not that the man was domineering. On the
contrary, he was a loving and kind brother and
uncle. His tastes were simple, even though luxu-
rious. He asked only smooth-running household
machinery and no interference in his own pursuits.
Anne Vincent was nominally housekeeper, and
indeed she kept up a careful oversight, but Susan
Mellish was so thoughtful, so capable, so meticu—
lously watchful of details there was little or nothing
for Miss Anne to do.
The whole household worshipped the master, and
he repaid them by liberal wages and comfort—
able living.
The servants’ quarters included delightful
sitting-rooms and dining-room, and their sleeping-
rooms were most pleasant and beautifully appointed.
A feature of the house was Homer Vincent’s
own suite. Above his Tower room on the ﬁrst ﬂoor
was his smoking-room on the second ﬂoor. Back of
this followed his bedroom and elaborate bath. Next,
his library, with large open terrace that in winter
became a sun parlor.
These rooms, of rarest marbles and woods, with
French panels of paintings, mirrors, and rich bro-
4


50 SPOOKY HOLLOW
cades, were appointed in perfect taste. No gim—
crackery ornaments, but digniﬁed furniture and a
few ﬁne paintings and vases.
The library was a joy. Comfort and beauty
of the highest degree were combined with utilitarian
bookracks and tables.
These rooms ran along the whole east side of
the house, ending with the library and terrace, which
looked down toward the Temple as well as off to
the east.
They were directly above the lower Tower room,
the dining—room and breakfast-room and the family
living-room. The other side was taken up by the
reception room, the great organ wing, and, back of
that, the drawing-room. Between the two sides were
the wide entrance hall, and the wonderful Atrium.
Above the Atrium, at the south end, was Miss
Vincent’s room, on a mezzanine ﬂoor, and above
that, on a second mezzanine, was John Hay-
dock’s room.
The ﬂoor above held six large guest rooms and
the servants’ bedrooms were higher still, However,
electric elevators did away with the discomforts of
stair climbing, and the many ﬂoors, cellars, and sub-
cellars were easy of access.


ROSEMARY 51
And the two Mellishes, with Miss Anne watch-
fully observing, held the reins of government of this
establishment, and so great was their efﬁciency, so
true their system and method, that a jar of any sort
was exceedingly rare, and, because of its rarity, was
fully and promptly forgiven by Homer Vincent.
_“ Yes, a queer bird,” Mellish repeated, shaking
his head. “ He’s that dark, now.”
“ Dark? ”
“ You heard me! Yes, I said dark. Dark com-
plected, dark eyes, dark hair, dark hands, and
dark clothes.” '
“Not dressed up?”
“N 0, but that isn’t it, he’s almost dark enough
to be a Creolian.”
Mellish was a good butler, but made an occa-
sional slip in his diction. One can’t know everything.
“ Yes, Susan, he’s not our sort, and I know it.
He’s peculiar,—that’s what he is,—peculiar.”
“ 50’s the master.”
“ Ah, that’s different. The Vincent peculiarities
are of the right sort. This man, now,——well, Susan,
he was so took up with the place, he could scarce
eat his dinner.”
“ Small wonder. The place is a fair marvel to
those who’ve not seen it.”


52 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ It isn’t that. I’ve seen guests before, who
were overwhellumed by it. But this chap,—-he, why
he had an appraising glance for it,—yes, sir, apprais-
ing,—-that’s the word.”
“ Mellish, you’re daft. Appraising, was he?
Like he meant to buy it! ”
Susan’s ironic scorn would have withered any
one but her husband.
“ Susan, you’re a witch. That’s it exactly. Not
that he meant such a thing, he’s a poor man, I’m
thinking,—but that was the way he looked at it.”
“ Drop him, Mellish. You’ve no sense tonight.
Are you dismissed? ”
“ Yes. Mr. Vincent said he’d not need me more.
They’re shut in the Tower room, Miss Anne and all.
They’re talking business. I can’t make that
felly out.”
“ Did he look sinister?”
“ What a woman you are for the word, Susan!
N o, it wasn’t that,—he looked more—er—deter-
mined,—yes, that’s what that man is,—determined.”
“ Determination can’t move the master. I’m
bound he’ll be a match for anybody’s determination.”
“ Oh, it isn’t a clash of wills—or that. But
there’s a matter between them of some sort,—and
Miss Anne’s in it, too.”


ROSEMARY 53
“ And you’re eaten alive with curiosity, that’s
what you are, man! Now, get about your business.
And see to it the plumber is ordered in the morning.
There’s a trickle in the cold storage room sink,—it
only needs a washer,—and the hothouse hamper
didn’t come today,—~send Dickson to the station for
it at sunup—and be sure to speak to Carson about
his ﬂirting with Francine—it won’t do.”
As she talked, Susan was busily engaged in mix-
ing and kneading the breakfast rolls. This was a
duty that could be entrusted to no lesser artist in
baking, for Susan’s rolls were nothing short of
perfection, but it required all her care and attention
to keep them so.
In upon this engrossed couple drifted Francine,
the pert little French maid, who, though Miss Anne’s
exclusive property, also looked after Rosemary now
and then.
“That man!” she exclaimed, with a shrug of
her slender shoulders, “Mon Dieu, but he is
the beast! "
“ Where did you see him? ” and Mellish whirled
on her.
“There, there, now, old man, don’t lose any
temper! Miss Anne rang for me to get her a scarf.


54 SPOOKY HOLLOW
They’re all in the Tower room, and they’re talk-
ing most—” .
“Angrily? ” demanded Susan, whose curiosity
was more aroused than she ' would admit to
her husband.
“ No, not so much that,—as,—oh,—la, la,—ex-
citement,——all talking at once,—argument-—see? ”
“What are they talking about?” This from
Mellish,—who asked to know.
“ That I can’t say. When I entered all converse
stopped. But I could see the—atmosphere, the atti_
tudes,—and the dark man—oh, he is a terror! Such
a low voice—”
“ Oh, you couldn’t hear him through the closed
door! ” and Mellish glared at her.
“ N on, Monsieur! Are you not desolate that I
could not? ”
Pretty Francine was a saucy piece and dearly
loved to ballyrag the digniﬁed butler. But both the
Mellishes liked her, though they kept a wary eye on
her coquettish ways with certain servants of the
other sex.
“ Is he threatening them? ” Susan asked.
“ Not quite that—but—”
“ But you know absolutely nothing at all of what


ROSEMARY 55
is going on!” Mellish spoke sharply. “You’re-
only pretending you do. Stop discussing your bet-
ters and get about your work.”
“ I’ve no work to do until Miss Anne wishes to
retire. She will ring for me.”
“ Then go and read your book. Or get some
sewing. But don’t you dare go outside the door!”
Thus Susan admonished her, knowing full well the
girl’s secret intention of slipping out for a few
moments to join Carson, the chauffeur, in a
stolen interview.
So Francine dawdled about until the bell rang
and then presented her demure self at the door of
the Tower room.
Apparently the matter, whatever it was, had
been most amicably settled, for the three were smil-
ing and contented looking as Francine scanned
their faces.
John Haydock was a dark man,—not like a
Creole at all, but merely markedly a brunette. His
otherwise unnoticeable face wore a look of satisfac-
tion, and as he stepped out into the hall, he had again
that expression that could, perhaps, be called ap-
praising. Yet small wonder, for his deep and
enthusiastic interest in the house led him to examine


56 SPOOKY HOLLOW
its various beauties and marvels, and few could do
so without involuntary thought of the great out—
lay involved.
“ I will go with my sister to her room,” Vincent
was saying, “ and you must amuse yourself a few
moments. Then I will rejoin you for a good-night
cigar, and then we will ourselves retire early.”
As was his nightly custom, Homer Vincent
escorted his sister to her room. Francine followed,
and paused at the door, with her usual discretion.
“ Come on in, Francine,” Vincent decreed. “ I’m
not chatting with Miss Anne tonight. Get to rest,
dear, and try to forget this whole matter. As you
know, I’m only anxious to do what is wise and
right. You shall cast the ﬁnal decision as to all
details and tomorrow we will draw up contracts and
all that.”
“ How good you are, Homer ; and though it was
a long confab I do not feel so very tired. Fix my
powder, dear, and go back to Mr. Johnson. He is
a—not quite our sort,—is he, Homer?”
“Not quite, dear,—but he is a good business
man, I judge, and he seems honest.”
Miss Vincent required a small dose of opiate each
night, and fearing lest she should mistake the quan-


ROSEMARY 57
tity prescribed, or that Francine might be careless,
Homer Vincent himself each night measured out the
portion for her.
“ There you are,” he said, as he carefully gauged
the dose. “ Give it to her when she’s ready, Fran-
cine. Good night, Anne, dear.” '
He left his sister in Francine’s capable hands
and went down to rejoin his guest. It was a mark
of respect, if not of liking, that he took John
Haydock up to his own library for their smoke.
Though sybaritic in many ways, Vincent did not
employ a valet. His preference was to have Mellish
arrange his bedroom and night things, and then to
retire by himself whenever it pleased him to do so.
Like his sister, he was a poor sleeper, and often
prowled round the house, upstairs and down, during
many of the small hours. _
On the soft rugs his footfalls disturbed nobody,
or if they did, no one was alarmed, so, in this, as in
all other matters, Vincent pleased himself.
On this night, when at last he was alone in his
own bedroom he bethought himself of some matters
he wished to attend to, that necessitated his going
downstairs to his private room. He had not yet
begun' to undress, and as he went down the stairs


58 SPOOKY HOLLOW
and through the hall, where a dim light burned all
night, he met the night watchman, Hoskins. This
was by no means an unusual occurrence, for Hoskins
came on every night at midnight, and made certain
prescribed routes through the premises.
Vincent gave the man a pleasant nod and went
on his way. Though this Tower room was sacred
to his use, it was by no means kept locked or difﬁcult
of access. Indeed, the door usually stood open,
though in the room itself were two wall safes, con-
cealed by decorative hangings and also a secret panel
which was so cleverly hidden as to be perhaps impos-
sible of discovery.
It is at this point that Rosemary comes into
this story.
She comes in a motor-car, out of which she steps
softly, as the car reaches the wooded part of
the driveway.
Unafraid, because she knows Hoskins is not far
away, and because this is by no means her ﬁrst
experience of the sort, she makes her way silently
toward the house.
She cannot be seen gliding through the shadows,
and she takes good care she shall not be heard.
Reaching the stone arch of the entrance, she slips


ROSE MARY 59
through, and pauses to reconnoitre. N0 lights are
on save those in her uncle’s suite, and one in his
Tower room below.
“ Aha,” thinks the sagacious young woman, “ up
yet,—the old Prowler, is he? Well, we’ll see what
we’ll do about it. I don’t want to hang around
long tonight! ”
As may be gathered, Rosemary had overstayed
her allowed time, and greatly desired to get into the
house and up to her room unnoticed. For Homer
Vincent was a bit strict about his niece’s behavior;
and if truth be told, his restrictions were rather
necessary and all for Rosemary’s good.
Not that the girl was wilful or wayward, but at
twenty—one, the hour of midnight seems to strike
very early in the evening, and usually just when the
fun is at its height. Yet it was a Medo-Persian
law that Rosemary should be in the house by twelve
o’clock—and to give her just due, she almost
always was.
But tonight had been a gay and pleasant party,
and she had been tempted to remain beyond the hour.
The afternoon’s portent of snow had been ful-
ﬁlled, and though the squall had been short, it was
severe, and now, though it was not snowing, there


60 SPOOKY HOLLOW
was enough fallen snow and cold dampness to make
any tarrying outside exceedingly uncomfortable.
So Rosemary crept to the great window that was
at the southern exposure of the Tower room, and
peeped in at her uncle.
Wrapped in her fur motor coat, a brown toque
spilling its plumes down one side of her pretty, eager
face, Rosemary shivered as she picked her way
through the soft wet snow, but nodded in satisfac-
tion as she saw her uncle’s very evident absorption in
whatever matter claimed his attention.
About to turn away, she paused a moment to
notice him as he opened a secret panel. She had
known of the existence of this, but had never before
seen it opened.
Fascinated, she saw him searching among its
contents, though she could discern nothing deﬁnitely.
The window had a thin ﬁlm of curtain material, and
she really saw little beyond the moving silhouette
and the furniture of the room. Moreover, it sud- I
denly came to her that she was rudely spying upon
another’s movements in a way she had no right to
do, and blushing to herself in the darkness, she
turned quickly away.
Rosy from the icy air, her cheeks glowed; and


ROSEMARY 61
curled up by the dampness, her red-brown hair made
little tendrils that blew across her face. She smug-
gled into her fur collar and even welcomed ‘the
warmth of the long russet plume that fell over
one ear.
Carefully she slipped back again to the great
front door, which she well knew Hoskins had not yet
locked for the night. Turning the knob slowly, the
opening door made no sound, and in a moment Rose-
mary was inside.
And it was just at that moment that Homer
Vincent elected to return to his bedroom. But the
girl quickly stepped behind one of the great columns,
and stood in its protecting shadow while her uncle
went up the stairs.
She thought he limped a little more than usual,
as he sometimes did when tired, and a wave of regret
swept through her tender heart that she had dis-
obeyed his orders.
9
“ I’ll never do it again,’ she resolved. “ Uncle
Homer is too good to me for me to slight his wishes.
I’m a wicked old thing!”
But a healthy, girlish hunger was more in evi-
dence with her just then than her feeling of
conscience-stricken remorse, and she turned her silent


69 SPOOKY HOLLOW
steps toward the dining-room. Here Mellish usually
left for her some tempting bit of food on a tray in
a cold cupboard, and investigating, Rosemary found
a little mold of jellied chicken, with two buttered
ﬁnger-rolls and a plate of fruit.
Snapping on a small table light, she sat down to
enjoy her little feast.
Hoskins, passing, looked in and smiled at her.
It was not the ﬁrst time he had smiled at such
a scene.
Soon Rosemary ﬁnished her lunch, and gather~
ing up her fur coat, went softly upstairs.
She paused at the door of her Aunt’s room.
Sometimes, if Miss Anne were awake, she liked to
have Rosemary come in and tell her of the party.
But the sound of heavy asthmatic breathing proved
Miss Anne asleep, and the girl went on to her
own rooms.
Her boudoir was the Tower room over the recep-
tion room and her bedroom was next back of that.
Everything was in readiness and it was but a short
time before Rosemary slumbered as soundly, if not
as audibly, as her aunt.
Hoskins went his rounds stolidly. He was a
good and faithful watchman, largely because he had


ROSEMARY 63
not the brains required for any higher calling. His
route he meticulously followed, punching his time
clocks as required, and throwing the ﬂash of his
electric lantern in dark corners.
His orders took him outside and around the
house as well as through the lower ﬂoors. The upper
ﬂoors he was not required to patrol.
As usual, he found no disturbing element and
trudged around his appointed path like a patient
0x. He had long since ceased to wonder at the
beauty and grandeur of Greatlarch,—to him it was
merely the home of his employer.
He repeatedly tracked the soft wet snow in his
journeys round the house, removing his damp over-
shoes when making his inside rounds.
His shift ended at seven o’clock, and at that
hour he gladly went into the kitchen, where a hot
breakfast awaited him. ‘
“Nasty mess underfoot,” he conﬁded to the
maid who served him. “ Don’t go out today, my
dear, lessen you have to.”
“ The sun’s out bright,” she demurred, looking
from the window.
“ Yes, and that makes it all the wuss. Meltin’ an’
thawin’—sloppy weather, my dear.”


64 SPOOKY HOLLOW
As Hoskins’ “ my dears ” were matters of habit
rather than real affection, the girl paid but slight
attention and went about her business.
The routine of breakfast preparations went on.
The Mellishes appeared on the stroke of seven-
thirty, as was their wont. They gravely inspected
the work of their underlings and then set about their
Own superior duties.
All was in readiness at eight, though it was an
entirely uncertain question as to when the family
would appear.
They were subject to moods or whims, some
times having breakfast together and again having
trays carried to any rooms that pleased them.
Mellish opined, however, that this morning
would see the family congregated in the breakfast-
room because of the presence of a guest.
And shortly after eight Homer Vincent appeared.
Though always impatient at a delay not of his
own causing, he showed no irritation and said to
Mellish he would wait for Mr. Johnson to
come down.
Then Rosemary appeared. Such a pretty Rose~
mary, her brown eyes smiling, her animated little
face showing a frank curiosity.


ROSEMARY 65
“ Good morning,” she cried, “ who’s here?
Francine says there’s a guest.”
“Yes, but he isn’t down yet. A Mr. Johnson,
who came to see Antan and myself on some busi-
ness affair.”
Rosemary had a funny little way of pronouncing
Aunt Anne, and as it sounded like Antan, the nick-
name had‘ become habitual.
“ Nice?” she asked, brieﬂy.
“ Rather,” her uncle returned. “ Good business
chap, fairly good looking, decent manners, but no
particular charm.”
“ Doesn’t sound much,” Rosemary observed;
“may I begin myv breakfast? ”
“ Oh, let’s wait a few moments. I told him eight
o’clock, he’ll surely be down in a few moments.”
And then Francine burst into the room, breath-
less and wild-eyed with wonder.
“ But what do you think? ” she cried, quite
forgetting her formalities. “ Miss Anne—I cannot
rouse her and her door is bolted! ”
Homer Vincent looked at her coldly.
“ Remember your manners, Francine," he said
in a tone of reproach. “ Your information does not
5


66 SPOOKY HOLLOW
warrant such carelessness of address. Is Miss Vin-
cent still sleeping? ”
“ That’s just it, sir, I do not know. Always
.I hear her bell by eight o’clock at latest. Now, I
;go and tap, but she answers not,—nor do I hear her
moving about inside her chamber.”
“ Did you not go in?”
“ But the door is locked,—bolted on the inside.
Always she bolts it at night, but the bolt is always
off before this time in the day! ”
Francine was a trim little ﬁgure, her plain black
dress and white cap and apron well becoming her.
She was excitable, but this time her concern was
deeper than mere excited curiosity. Plainly, she
was alarmed.
Vincent saw this, and spoke more kindly.
“ Run up again, Francine, and rattle the door.
I will go with you, if you wish.”
“ Oh, do, sir, I did rattle at the door, and there
was no response. And I did not hear her breathing
—she-—she breathes deeply, you know.”
This was a discreet allusion to Miss Anne’s
asthma, which at times was distinctly in evidence.
“Francine, I’m sure you’re needlessly excited;
however, Mellish will go up and see—”


ROSEMARY 67
The butler turned slowly toward the door, and
Vincent said:
“ No matter, Mellish, I’ll go myself,” and then,
noting Rosemary’s frightened glance, he added,
“ we’ll all go.”
He led the way to Miss Anne’s bedroom, the
great south room on the mezzanine above the hall.
The short ﬂight of steps ended in a broad land-
ing, the bedroom door in its center. The door had
been a heavy one of carved antique oak. But Miss
Anne had disliked it, saying it was like a prison
door. So her brother had had it removed and
replaced by a light swing door, covered with rose-
colored velour and studded round its edges with
brass-headed nails.
This door had a small bolt on the inside, but it
was only to insure privacy, not at all a protection
from possible marauders.
Homer Vincent tapped at this door, calling
“Anne—Anne, dear!”
There was no response and Vincent pressed his
ear to the door.
The others watched, breathlessly, and Rosemary
shrank back in nameless dread while Francine ﬂut-
tered and gave voice to voluble French expletives.


68 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Be quiet, Francine! ” Vincent commanded, and
Mrs. Mellish, who had joined the group, gave the
French girl an admonitory shake. t
“I shall break in the door,” Vincent said; “it’s
a flimsy thing. Stand back, Rosemary. Mellish,
push here, as I strike.”
The combined strength of the two men easily
forced the door, and Mellish fell into the room ﬁrst.
Vincent, folloWing, hurried to his sister’s bed.
The beautiful room, built for the ﬁrst mistress
of the house, had a raised dais, a sort of low plat—
form for the bed to stand on. Also, from the ceil-
ing depended an elaborate cornice that surrounded
the space designed for the bed and from which hung
voluminous curtains of silk brocade.
In the shadowy gloom of these curtains lay Miss
Anne, and as her brother reached the bedside and
pushed away the hangings to see his sister, he cried
out in a horriﬁed voice, “ Keep back! Mellish, keep
back Miss Rosemary! ”
Waving a warning hand at them, Vincent leaned
over the still form and then turned round, his hands
clenched andhorror on his face.
“ My sister is dead! ” he cried. M“ She—she—oh,
take that child away! ”


ROSEMARY 69
“ I will not be taken away, Uncle Homer,” Rose-
mary cried. “I’m not a baby! Let me know the
truth! What has happened? ”
Breaking away from the restraining arms of
Mrs. Mellish, unheeding Mellish’s effort to stop her,
she ran to the bedside and herself looked inside the
long curtains.
She saw a white, dead face, staring eyes and
a nightdress stained with crimson drops.


CI-TAPTER IV
A MYSTERIOUS DEATH
“ OH, ANTAN! ” Rosemary cried, starting back
in horror. “ Oh, Uncle Homer, what is it? ”
Vincent put his arm round the terriﬁed girl and
they both gazed on the dreadful sight. Both were 7
white-faced and trembling, and though Homer Vin-
cent strove hard for composure, it was a few
moments before he could even speak.
Then, still holding Rosemary close, he spoke to
the others.
“ Mellish,” he said, “ Miss Vincent is dead. She
has been killed. That’s all my brain can take in at
present. I am stunned—I am heartbroken,”—and
the man’s enforced calm gave way as he sank into a
chair and buried his face in his hands.
Then Mrs. Mellish stepped nearer to the bed,
gave one glance at the awful sight and turned shud-
dering away. .
“Leave the room,” she said to the trembling
Francine. “You’ll be ﬂying into hysterics in a min-
ute. I know you !_ Leave the room.”
70


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 71
“What shall I do? Where shall I go?” the
French girl cried. “ My place is here—beside
my mistress.”
“ She’s right,” and Mellish showed surprised
approval of Francine’s self-control. “ You stay in
this room, Francine, and don’t you get to blubbering.
Keep your head, and you can be of good service.
Mr. Vincent, shall I call a doctor?”
“ Why, yes,—do, Mellish. Poor Anne is dead,
but—yes, I’d like you to call Doctor McGee. And—
and Mellish, I suppose we ought to notify—”
“Do nothing, sir, until Doctor McGee comes.
' He’ll know just what to do.”
Mellish departed to telephone the Doctor, and
Homer Vincent, lifting his bowed head, rose and
began to assume his usual place at the helm.
“ I can’t seem to think,” he said, as he brushed
his hand across his brow. “ Rosemary, who could
have done such a thing? Who could harm such a
dear lady? ”
“ Oh, I don’t know, Uncle,——did—did somebody
kill her? ”
“ Unless she took her own life—she wouldn’t do
that, would she, Rosemary?”
It was strange the way the strong and self sufﬁ-


72 SPOOKY HOLLOW
cient man seemed to appeal to his niece. Mrs.
Mellish regarded him solicitously. She had never
before seen Homer Vincent troubled.
“ There now, sir,” she said, in kindly fashion,
“ you can do nothing for the poor lady now. Come
down to the breakfast-room, sir, and take a cup of
coffee and a bite of breakfast. Come now, Miss
Rosemary, let Melly ﬁx you out.”
The girl often called Mrs. Mellish thus, to dis- ‘
tinguish her from her husband.
“Oh,” exclaimed Vincent, suddenly, “that man,
that Mr. Johnson! He must be already down in the
breakfast-room, and no one to look after him! Run
down to him, Melly.”
“ Come you, too, sir. And Miss Rosemary.
The man must be told,—best you should do it,
Mr. Vincent.”
“ Yes,” and Homer Vincent rose, with a deter-
mination to do his part, however hard it might be.
“Rosemary, will you come with me, or will you
have your breakfast taken to your rooms? ”
“I’ll go with you, Uncle. Perhaps I can help.
Who is Mr. Johnson? ”
“ He’s a man who came yesterday on business,


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 73
and I asked him to stay the night. I asked him to
stay on, but I hope he’ll go this morning.”
“ Oh, he surely will,—when he hears—Uncle
Homer, I can’t believe it!” she looked again at the
silent, pitiful ﬁgure on the bed, where Francine was
lightly laying a ﬁne handkerchief over the face of
poor Anne Vincent.
“ That’s all right,” Vincent said, slowly, “but
don’t touch the body otherwise, Francine. It—it
isn’t right to do so.” - . ,. .
“ N o, sir,” and the maid nodded, compre-
hendingly.
“ Come now, sir,” Mrs. Mellish urged him, and
with a backward glance of grief and bewilderment,
Vincent followed Rosemary from the room.
But Mr. Johnson was not in the breakfast-room.
“ He has overslept,” Vincent said, glancing at
the clock. “ For I told him breakfast at eight and
he said he would be prompt. I shouldn’t send for
him, otherwise,‘—but—as things are, don’t you think,
Melly, you’d better call him?” I i
“Yes, sir; shall I tell him—what’s happened,
sir? ”
“Yes—~no,—well, tell him that there is trouble
in the household, you might say sudden illness—oh,


74 SPOOKY HOLLOW
I don’t care what you say, Melly, but can’t you hint
that he’d better go right after breakfast? ”
“Yes, sir, surely,” and Mrs. Mellish went on
her somber errand.
Uncle and niece took their places in the bright
and cheery breakfast-room. The weather had cleared,
and the sun shone with a glowing warmth as of
Indian Summer.
“ Eat your breakfast, Rosemary,” Vincent said,
“ that will best help you to meet the trying times
before you.”
Habit is a compelling thing, and Homer Vincent
went about his own breakfast methodically, as usual,
chipping his egg with his customary care and atten-
tion. It was characteristic of the man that even in
the nervous stress and strain of the occasion, he
gratiﬁed his physical appetite with apparent relish.
Yet this was purely a matter of habit, and indeed,
he was almost unaware of what he was eating or
even that he was eating.
The girl, however, could eat nothing. Her ex-
citement was so great, her nerves so wrought up, that
she found it impossible to swallow a mouthful.
“At least drink a cup of coffee, dear child,”
her uncle urged, as he solicitously proffered cream
and sugar.


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 75
At this moment Mrs. Mellish returned, her round
face showing a look of amazement.
“ The gentleman isn’t in his room, sir,” she said.
i. I_,,
“ Then he’s out in the grounds,” interrupted
Vincent, impatiently. “ Go and hunt him, Mellish.”
Now, Mrs. Mellish’s place wasn’t in the dining-
rooms at all at breakfast, a maid assisted the butler.
But today the maids were demoralized and Melly
was trying to help things along all she could.
The news of the tragedy had, of course, ﬂown
like wildﬁre through the servants’ halls and they
were even now in huddled groups in corridors
and pantries. I
“ But, Mr. Vincent,” Melly resumed, “ the gen-
tleman didn’t sleep in his bed! It hasn’t been
touched since it was turned down for him last night.”
“ What?” Vincent stared at her incredulously.
“ No, sir; his hat and coat’s there, but his
clothes ain’t—”
“ Oh, then he’s spent the whole night prowling
round the house. He was daft over it and hated to
go to bed. I left him wandering round the upper
ﬂoors. I hope he didn’t go out on the leads and fall
over. What a bother he is! But g0 and ﬁnd him
Mrs. Mellish. Get some one to help. if you like,—


76 SPOOKY HOLLOW
but get Mr. Johnson! He’s maybe fallen asleep in
some Tower room.”
Mrs. Mellish departed and Rosemary asked.
“ Who is this man, Uncle? ”
“An ordinary person, dear. I never saw him
before,—he came to see me in regard to a business
proposition, and your Aunt and I grew interested
and promised to decide the matter today.”
Tears ﬁlled his eyes as he realized there was no
today for poor Anne Vincent.
“ But why wouldn’t he go to bed?” Rosemary
persisted. “ Do you mean he spent the whole night
Wandering round the house?”
“ I don’t know, child, but he was mad about the
place and most curious to visit every nook and
cranny of it. I showed him about a lot, then, as he
seemed inclined to explore for himself, I told him
to do so.”
“What room did he have?”
“ The south room, above your Aunt’s. He’s a
decent chap, but not quite our own sort. Ah,
Mellish, did you get the doctor? ”
The butler shook his head. “ No, sir, he’s away
on an important case, out of town, sir. Shall I call
some one else? ”'


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 77
“ Oh, I don’t know what to say or do—” and
Vincent seemed to be at his wits’ end.
“I wish I could help you, Uncle,” Rosemary
said, gently; “you have such an awful burden to
bear. Shall I call Bryce over—”
“ No; I am indeed in trouble, Rosemary, but I
can bear my own burdens. I ask no help, at present.
But when the time comes, I shall get help—skilled
help—to solve the mystery of your aunt’s death and
to bring the murderer to justice.”
Vincent's voice rang out sternly and Rosemary
marvelled at the ﬁery depths of his eyes.
He seemed to pull himself together anew, and
said: “I think, Mellish, you’d better call up the
County Physician. He must be notiﬁed anyway, and
if he gets here before Doctor McGee, it will do no
harm. We must have some medical man, as soon
as we can. Call Doctor Archer—and then, Mellish,
for Heaven’s sake ﬁnd that man johnson. It’s
unpardonable for him to act like this! ”
The calm, even-tempered man was getting ner—
vously upset. Nor could it be wondered at, for in
all his life before equability and composure had
never deserted him. But never had there been such
provocation. For a man who lived but for his own


78 SPOOKY HOLLOW
pleasure, whose every thought and act were deﬁnitely
directed toward the achievement of his own comfort
and happiness, for a man like this to be brought sud-
denly face to face with a tragedy that tore his very
heartstrings was enough of itself to shatter
his nerves. ’
But when, in addition, he must meet the terrible
situation, must even assume direction of the hor-
rible events consequent upon it, must stiﬂe and sup—
press his own grief in order to preserve sufficient
calm to take charge of the proceedings,—this was
overwhelming, and Homer Vincent almost sank
beneath the blow.
But he was made of strong ﬁber, he was pos-
sessed of an indomitable will and ability to cope
with an emergency.
Conquering his jumping nerves, he said: “We
must all help, Rosemary. You must try to take
your Aunt’s place so far as you can; look after the
household matters, assist Melly, and be ready to see
visitors,——for as soon as the news spreads there will
be many callers.”
Rosemary shuddered. “ Must I see them, Uncle?
I’d hate it—”
“ Some we can refuse to see. But many must


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 79
be met,—and I thought, dear child, you’d do that
to help me. I have many painful matters to see
to myself.”
“ Of course, I will, then,—and—if I could
have Bryce—”
“ Oh, Rosemary, just this once,-—-I beg of you,
don’t bring up that subject—”
Vincent looked so distressed that his niece said
quickly, “ No, I won’t,—but-—if you only would—”
She was interrupted by the return of Mellish.
Having summoned Doctor Archer, he had him-
self taken up the command of the search for the
missing guest. I'
“ We can’t ﬁnd that man anywhere,” he de-
clared, looking completely mystiﬁed. “ As my wife
says, he didn’t sleep in his bed, and what’s more, it
doesn’t look to me as if he was in his room at all
after dinner. There’s nothing put about, no chair
out of place, no cigar ashes or that,—his night things
all undisturbed, just as the maid laid them out. It’s
mighty queer, sir,—ay, it’s mighty queer! ”
“ His hat and coat are up there—-in his room? ”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Then he hasn’t left the place,—then he must be
somewhere about.”


80 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Yes, sir,—-it would seem so, sir. But he isn’t,
—he just isn’t. We’ve looked everywhere. We’ve
called out, and we’ve rang bells, and we’ve searched
the whole. place. He’s nowhere about—alive.”
Vincent started at the last word.
“ What do you mean?” he cried.
“ Nothing, sir, only whoever done for poor Miss
Anne may have done for him, too.”
“That’s so,” and Homer Vincent dropped his
face in his hands as if this new phase of trouble
was more than he could bear.
“ Mellish,” he said, at last, “I can’t take it all
in. It’s too much for me. I must have help—”
“’Oh, Uncle Homer,” and Rosemary spoke in-
v’oliintarily, “if you’d only let Bryce—”
“Hush, Rosemary, don’t add to my troubles.
No, much as I hate it, much as I dread it, I see I
must call in the police. We’d better wait, I think,
until Doctor Archer comes, but I am sure he will
send for them at once. It is inevitable.”
“ The police! Oh, no, Uncle Homer! ”
“I fear it must be so, Rosemary. And, dear,
until they come is the only time we may have to our-
selves. I mean, once they start investigations, the


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 81
whole house will be upset and they will be entirely
in charge.”
“ How awful! Must we have them? ”
“ Yes,” he spoke abruptly. “ Oh, Rosemary, I
can’t standthis another minute! I shall go to the
organ,-—Mellish, when the Doctor comes let
me know.”
No one was surprised, a few moments later, to
hear the long, low, mournful notes that pealed
through the stricken house. It was the habit of
Homer Vincent to ﬁnd solace in music if anything
troubled him, but never before had his troubles been
more than some slight, momentary disturbance of a
triﬂing sort.
And as he played, he recovered his poise, he re-
gained his courage, he felt enabled to cope with the
trials that he must endure.
One who knew him could judge from the deep,
dirge-like strains or the troubled crashing chords,
which phase of the tragedy was at the moment
uppermost in his mind, the death of his sister, or
the imminent horror of the consequent and neces-
sary investigations.
The servants were in a state of chaotic excite-
6


82 SPOOKY HOLLOW
ment. The two Mellishes had their hands full to
keep quiet and decorum in their domain.
Francine, however, showed her best side, and
proved that she had a ﬁne and efﬁcient nature.
She put Miss Anne’s rooms in order, weeping
silently as she disposed of the clothing the poor lady
would never wear again. She was careful to dis-
turb nothing that might be useful as evidence, for
Francine fully realized the gravity of the case, and
wanted to help, if only by letting things alone.
She found Rosemary in her room, weeping her
very heart out in an agony of woe.
“ Poor child,” thought Francine, “ not a soul to
go to for sympathy or comfort! ”
“Mayn’t I send for someone, Miss Rosemary?”
she offered. “Wouldn’t you like Miss Eaton, or—”
“ No, Francine,” the girl looked at her ﬁercely;
“you know well there’s only one person I want
to see,—and I’m not allowed to see him! ”
“N0,” and Francine nodded, understandingly;
“ but don’t stir up your uncle about that. He’s got
all he can stagger under.”
“ So have I l ” Rosemary cried out. “ Don’t you
suppose I’m “as much broken up by Antan’s death as
Uncle Homer is? Don’t you suppose I want some-


A MY STERIOUS DEATH 83
body to comfort and love me even more than he
does? He has his music—that always quiets and
soothes him, while I—I have nothing—nobody! ”
The lovely face, torn with emotion and grief,
was mutinous ; the scarlet lips were trembling, while
the white, tear-stained cheeks and the stormy eyes
showed rebellion seething in Rosemary’s heart.
“ But wait,” counseled Francine. “ All is now
so—so excitement, so—tornado! ” In moments of
stress, Francine forgot her English. “After a
little, after some small few of days, the trouble will
clear somewhat,—the suddenness will be for-
gotten,-—-Monsieur will ﬁnd himself, and, who
knows, mademoiselle, all may be well for you—
and yours.”
Francine had never before spoken with such
familiarity, but Rosemary did not resent it. She
was too stunned, too helpless, to resent anything.
“ Tell me about that man, Francine,” she said;
“ did you see him?”
“Yes, when Miss Anne called me to get her a
wrap. Oh, he was dreadful! ” A French shrug be-
tokened how dreadful. '
“ But how? In what way? ”


84 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ So black, so sneering,—s0 dictating—yet not
a gentleman.”
“ What in the world did he want? I wish Uncle
Homer would tell me about him. Where do you
suppose he is, Francine? ”
“That is not hard to guess.” The French girl
smiled a sardonic little grin,—like a wise sibyl.
“Why, what do you mean? What do you
think?”
And then came a peremptory summons for both
girls to appear below.
Doctor Archer had arrived, and, almost simul—
taneously, the local police.
The Law was represented by Lane, the Sheriff of
the county, and two eager-eyed detectives, who were
so ﬂabbergasted by the beauty and grandeur of
their surroundings that they seemed able to detect
little else.
Doctor Archer, the County Medical Examiner,
was in charge, and was ﬁring questions right and
left. He had never before had such an opportunity
to stand in the limelight and was making the most
of it.
“The lady was murdered,” he informed his
hearers, in a deep bass voice; “most foully mur-


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 85
dered. She was stabbed with some sort of dagger
or longbladed knife.”
“ Carving-knife? ” asked Brewster, one of the
detectives, and Rosemary smothered a shriek.
“ Not necessarily,” replied Archer, “ a long-
bladed jackknife might have been used, or a regular
dagger. Anyway, it required a long blade, for it
went in her chest and pierced her heart. It was just
one swift, deft blow, and death was instantaneous.
Now, Sheriff, what do you make of that? ”
“ Murderous intent,” answered Lane promptly.
“Murderer concealed in the room, like as not,
all afternoon.” _
“ Ah, h’m, and how did he get out? ”
“Door locked?” and Lane looked up quickly.
He had not heard all the details yet.
They were gathered in the living-room, a delight-
ful room on the ﬁrst ﬂoor, back of the dining-room.
It looked out on the terrace, and on over the lagoon
and fountain to the Greek Temple that was
a Mausoleum.
Lane was an artist at heart, a lover of the beauti-
ful, and like many other visitors, he was overcome
with the sights about him.
They were to visit the room of the tragedy later,


86 SPOOKY HOLLOW
but Vincent had requested that the preliminary in-
quiries be made in some other place.
“ Yes,” Archer said, “ door locked on the inside.”
“ Windows? ” asked Brown, the other and lesser
detective.
“ You must look into those things for your-
selves,” Archer said. “ I’m merely making my medi-
cal report. Then we’ll get a line on the time and
all that and then we’ll go upstairs and take a
look about.”
_ Homer Vincent cringed at the matter-of-fact
tone and the business-like air of the men, and Rose-
mary, shocked at the whole proceeding, shivered so
that Mrs. Mellish went and sat by her side and
held her hand.
Grateful for even this human sympathy, Rose-
mary forced herself to listen to the inquiries now
being made.
Francine, composed and alert, answered readily
all that was asked of her. I
So far as could be gathered, she was the last
person known to have seen Miss Vincent alive.
“ Tell us all about it,” Brewster said, listening
eagerly.
“There’s not much to tell,” the French maid


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 87
averred. “ Miss Vincent spent a time after dinner
in the Tower room of Mr. Vincent, her brother.
There was also a Mr. Johnson with them, a dinner
guest of the house. Miss Vincent left them and
came up to her room at about half-past ten. Mr.
Vincent came with her as he always does, to say
good night and to measure her medicine. After Mr.
Vincent had gone downstairs again, I assisted Miss
Vincent to get ready for the bed, and I gave her
her drops, arranged the coverlets, and put out the
lights, all but the ones she wished kept burning.
Then I said good night, and left her to herself.”
“ She had then gone to bed? ”
“ Oh, no; it was always her custom to sit up
and read for a time. I left her sitting in her arm-
chair, her reading light at her side, her books on a
small table. Always I leave her thus at night. Then,
when she tires of her books, she arises from her
chair, locks her door, puts out her reading light
and goes to bed. This, monsieur, is her invari-
able routine.”
“ She seemed well, in her usual spirits? ”
“ She seemed well, but much er—preoccupied.
As if in deep—serious thought over something.”


88 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“Over the discussion with her brother and the
strange gentleman, perhaps?”
“ It may be. She said no word of what was in
her mind.”
“ Was she irritable? Cross?”
“Miss Vincent was never that. No, she was
most courteous and kind, as always, but deeply
thoughtful. When I left her, she said merely ‘good
night,’ not adding, ‘ sleep well, Francine,’ as is
most usual.”
“ But this only indicates thoughtfulness, not dis-
turbance or worry,-— eh?”
“ So it seemed to me. Also, she seemed rather
satisﬁed with her thoughts, as if, after all, the matter
was satisfactorily adjusted.”
“ You gathered quite a bit from her manner,”
Archer remarked, dryly.
Francine caught his tone and ﬂared up at once.
“I know—knew Miss Vincent very well, mon‘
sieur! I knew well her moods and the phases of her
mind. It was not much that I should read her satis-
faction from her air and manner! Surely I could
tell that she was contented and not worried or dis-
turbed! That is not so amazing!”
“ No,” said Archer.


CHAPTER V
WHERE WAs JOHNSON?
ON THE whole. Francine made a good impres-
sion. Though pert and saucy of appearance, she
laid aside all such attitudes now, and seemed desirous
only to be helpful and dutiful. '
“ Snappy chit, but devoted to her mistress," was
the way Brewster summed her up in his mind, and
Brown contented himself with musing: “ Full of
pep, but honestly grieved."
Brewster and Brown were themselves honest,
hard-working detectives. Far from brilliant, woe—
fully inexperienced, they felt that -now at last their
chance had come, and they were ﬁrmly resolved to
make good.
Brewster was big and burly, and of a slow-going
mind, while Brown was small, wiry, and active, with
what he considered a hair-trigger intellect. They
had often rejoiced in the fact, as they saw it, that
they thus complemented one another, and they felt
that their team work would be admirable should they
ever get a chance to try it out. And now their
time had come.
89


90 SPOOKY HOLLOW
Eagerly they listened to Archer’s inquiries, care-
fully they remembered the answers, and frequently
gave each other astute glances, indicative of great
mental activity.
“Now,” said Lane, “let’s take up next thing
we know of Miss Vincent. Did any one hear any
sound from her or from her room during the night?”
All present,——-and several of the servants had
gathered in the doorway,—declared they had heard
no sounds from Miss Vincent’s room.
“ There is a night watchman? ” Archer asked.
“ Yes,” replied Mellish, who saved his master in
every way he could. “ But if he had heard or seen
anything unusual, he would have reported it ﬁrst
thing this morning.”
“ Leave that for the moment, then. Now, who
went ﬁrst to Miss Vincent’s door this morning? ”
“ Perhaps I did,” said Francine.
“ Why do you say perhaps? ” demanded Lane. ’
“ Because how can I tell?” returned Francine,
wide-eyed at such stupidity. “ Any one might have
been there before me—indeed, some one must have
been there before me—the villain who killed my
dear lady.”


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 91
“ Very well,” said Lane, “ go ahead. What time
did you go there?”
“At something after eight, monsieur. Always
Miss Vincent rings for me earlier than that,—ab0ut
seven-thirty, maybe. This morning she did not do
so, and I waited until eight, then I went and hovered
near her door, wondering at her sleeping so late. I
listened closely, and hearing no sound, I ventured to
turn the knob, but the door was locked and would
not open. I called softly,—then louder, and then,
listening intently, I heard no sound of Miss Vincent
moving about, and I feared she was indisposed, and
I greatly desired to get in to give her assistance, if
need be.”
“ What did you do? ”
“ But, naturally, I ran down the stairs for help.
Forgetting my discipline, I ran into the breakfast
room, where were Mr. Vincent and Miss Rosemary,
and I told them of the unusual condition,—and
though not alarmed, Mr. Vincent was concerned, and
with Mellish, we all came upstairs, and broke in
the door.”
“Who broke it in? ”
“ Mellish and I together,” Homer Vincent an-
swered for himself. “The door is a light, tem-
porary structure; my sister preferred it to the origi-


92 SPOOKY HOLLOW
nal heavy oak door. We burst it in,—in fact, it
opened so easily Mellish was thrown to the ﬂoor.
I went quickly to my sister’s bed, and the ﬁrst glance
told me the truth. I saw in an instant that she had
been killed—murdered. I admit I almost lost my
consciousness. My senses reeled, and I fell back
involuntarily. But I quickly pulled myself together,
for my young niece was present, and forced myself
to lean over the body and discover if life was surely
extinct. It was,—the ﬂesh was cold to my touch.
I ordered Mellish to hold my niece back, as I wanted
to spare her the awful sight. But she insisted on
looking at her aunt, and for a moment we gazed to-
gether on the terrible scene. 'I think there is no
more to tell. Finding I could do nothing for my
poor sister, assuring myself that she was positively
beyond human aid, I fear I gave way to selﬁsh grief
for a few moments. Then I roused myself to a
sense of duty, and ever since I_ have been trying to
do what is right and wise in the matter.
“ But I am all unversed in the course the law
should take, or the manner of efforts that should be
made to ﬁnd the murderer and avenge the crime.
Will you, therefore, gentlemen, take the case in
charge, and do or advise me to do, whatever is right


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 93
and best. Let one thing be understood. The mur-
derer must'be found. Spare no time, pains, or'ex-
pense. I stand ready to do anything I can, but as I
said, I am ignorant of the proper procedure,
and I desire to relegate the work to more experi-
enced hands.
“ You think, do you not, Doctor Archer, that the
criminal can be found and brought to justice? ”
“ That is not quite in my province, Mr. Vincent.
The inquiry is my duty, but the real detective work
must be done by men skilled in such things.”
Brewster and Brown looked duly important and
capable, but they offered no hint of their conclusions
so far.
“ Do you think, Mr. Vincent,” Lane asked, in his
ponderous way, “ that your sister’s death could have
been a suicide? "
“I should say positively not,” Vincent replied,
slowly, “ except for the fact that she died in a
locked room. I can see no way that a murderer
could escape and leave that door locked behind him.
Yet, so far from probability is the idea of suicide,
that I am forced to believe it was a murder, however
impossible such a theory may seem. But all this
business of theorizing and of deducing and collecting


94 SPOOKY HOLLOW
evidence is so foreign to my nature and to my ex-
perience, that I cannot pretend to decide any
such questions.”
“ What weapon was used? Was any found?”
asked Brewster, looking at Vincent.
“ That I don’t know,”- he replied, looking in his
turn at Doctor Archer. “ Did you ﬁnd any, Doctor?”
“ No,” and Archer looked stern. “There was
none in evidence. Was any such thing removed
before my arrival? ”
“ Of course not,” said Vincent; “ who would do
such a thing as that? ”
“ Did you see any knife or dagger, Mellish? or
you, Francine?” Archer asked of the servants.
But every one present denied having seen any
weapon of any sort.
“Then,” said Brewster, “it must have been
murder.”
“But the door was locked,” Brown reminded
him, “ so it must have been suicide.”
“ Those statements are both true, superﬁcially,”
Lane said, “but since they contradict each other,
either or both may be untrue. One must be. Such
points can only be settled after much more investi-
gation than has yet been made. Shortly we will


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 95
adjourn to the scene of the crime and gather what
evidence we may up there. Just now, I’d like some
more information regarding this stranger, this Mr.
Johnson who visited here last night, and who, I
understand, is now missing.
“ That’s one of the strangest features,” said
Lane. “ Please tell us all about him, Mr. Vincent.”
Rosemary, who had sat quietly listening to the
talk, now showed signs of curiosity. She wished
herself to learn more of this strange visitor, but the
conversation about her aunt had ﬁlled her soul only
with horror and grief.
Rosemary Vincent was of a self-contained, self-
repressed nature. Though her uncle was kind, even
generous to her in many ways, yet their tastes were
not congenial, and their ways more utterly dissimilar.
Indeed, this mutual sorrow that had just come
to them had seemed to draw them together more
closely than they had ever been before.
And though Rosemary had earlier that morning
inquired concerning the mysterious Mr. Johnson,
she had received no satisfaction, and now she hoped
to learn details.
“ I had hoped not to be obliged to tell you of
his business here,” Vincent said slowly, “but his


96 SPOOKY HOLLOW
strange disappearance seems to make it advisable
that I should do so. Yet,” he still hesitated, “I
cannot convince myself that the man is really miss-
ing. I can’t help thinking he is about the place or
in the house somewhere. He was so intensely inter-
ested in the architecture of this house, he was so
eager to go into every nook and cranny of it, may
it not be possible that he has fallen asleep in some
unused room, or even, perhaps, met with an accident
while climbing from one place to anotl-er? ”
“ Are there such dangerous places? ” asked Lane.
“Oh, yes; at least, they might be dangerous to an
adventurous stranger. You see, there are upwards
of ﬁfty rooms in the house, and there are turret
rooms, to enter which one must step out on the
leads; also, there are dark dungeon-like rooms down
in the sub-cellar where if one were to stumble and
fall, perhaps breaking a leg or even spraining an
ankle, his cries might not be heard by the household.”
“ You think Mr. Johnson, a transient guest,
would go down in your sub-cellar alone, at night, in
utter darkness? ” and Lane looked astounded.
“I merely suggest it,” Vincent said, looking
harassed, “because he was apparently out of his
bedroom all night, and because he showed such extra-
ordinary interest in the construction of the house.”


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 97
“Very well, Mr. Vincent, if you wish to wait.
until further search can be made for the gentleman”
before revealing the secret of his errand here, we will?
wait. You had better send some of your people td‘
look over the house at once. But in the meantime, I
will ask you for the details of his arrival, and. a-
description of the man.”
“ He came here yesterday afternoon,” Vincent
began, slowly. “ He sent in no card, but told my
butler his name was Henry Johnson, and he wished
to see me on important and private business. I
rarely see callers who are not known to me, but I
was not busy at the moment, and I had him shown
in. His errand was really a simple business proposi-
tion, which involved a large investment of money if
I saw ﬁt to take it up. I called my sister down to
consult with us, as her fortune is about the same as
my own, and we usually made our investments to-
gether. I will tell you the full details of this business
plan later,-—if Mr. Johnson cannot be found. If
he does turn up, I feel sure he would prefer the
matter kept conﬁdential.
“ Well, Mr. Johnson proved to be a fairly agree-
able guest, though not at all distinguished in any
way. As we had not come to ﬁnal decisions, I
'1


i 98 SPOOKY HOLLOW
invited him to remain overnight. Also, as my sister
and I had just about concluded to accept his proposi-
tions, and as the man was so enthralled with Great~
larch, I invited him to remain here a week and enjoy
the beauties of the place.”
.“ He was with you all the evening? ”
“ After dinner he sat with us in my own private
room until our plans were pretty well made regard—
ing the venture he proposed. Then my sister grew
weary, and concluded to retire, all three of us agree-
ing to draw up contracts and settle the business
ﬁnally in the morning.”
“ And you went upstairs with your sister? ”
“ Yes, as I always do. The doctor prescribes a
certain sleeping draught for her, which must be
carefully measured. I have no doubt of her careful-
ness and accuracy, but to be on the safe side, I have
always measured the medicine myself. Moreover,
my sister appreciated my little courtesy of escorting
her to her room, so I have always made it a practice.
Sometimes I remain for a little chat, but last night,
having a guest, I went downstairs again after saying
good night.”
“ You rejoined Mr. Johnson?”
“ Yes; I found him wandering about the halls,


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 99
rapt in admiration of the choice marbles, of which,
it seems, he is a connoisseur. I led him about
through many of the rooms, even going with him
nearly to the top of the house,——there are nine sto-
ries, counting the basements. As we came down
from the upper ﬂoors, we reached the room destined
for his use. It is one of the south rooms.
“ He duly admired it, and after asking him if
he had everything he wanted for the night, and
being assured that he had, I bade him good night
and left him there; telling him, however, that if he
wished to prowl about he was at liberty to do so. In
this house, no one is surprised or alarmed to hear
footfalls during the small hours. We are all wake-
ful, and frequently go up or down stairs on various
trifling errands.”
“ And you heard Mr. Johnson prowling about in
the night? ”
“ No, I can’t say that I did. Yet he may have
done so, for the rugs are thick and soft, and with
care one may make no noise.”
“ Then the last you saw of this man was when
you left him in his bedroom? ”
“ Yes, that was the last I saw of him. He was
in good spirits, for he had achieved his purpose in


100 SPOOKY HOLLOW
coming here. He was satisﬁed with the agreement
we had come to, and he looked forward to the morn-
ing, when we would sign the ﬁnal contracts, and also,
when he would remain as my guest for a time.”
“ And then, this morning, he has disappeared? ”
“ He is not here, certainly, but I can’t think it
is a mysterious disappearance. He may have gone
for a very early morning walk, and met with some
untoward accident. Or he may have remembered
some important business matter, and walked down
to the village to telegraph or something of that sort.
I only suggest these things, because they are to my
mind more probable than that the man has volun-
tarily or purposely gone away. Yet there may be
a mystery about it, and it may be we shall never
see him again. Those things I trust the detectives
will delve into.”
Vincent leaned back in his chair, looking not so
much physically wearied with the conversation as
mentally and nervously exhausted by the strain of
the situation.
“ What does Johnson look like? ” Lane asked.
“ Describe him, Mellish,” Homer Vincent said,
feeling he could delegate this task to another.
“ Well,” the butler said, speaking slowly, but
concisely; “ he is a medium-size man, and a medium-


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 101
weight man. He’s well enough shaped, but he has
no carriage—”
“ Carriage? ” interrupted Lane.
“ Yes, sir, carriage, I said. Meaning he don’t
bear himself with any distinguishment,—as a gentle-
man should.”
A gleam of amusement passed across Vincent’s
face at this, but he immediately resumed his look of
weary sadness.
“ Not but what he knew how to behave proper;
he was all right at the table, and that,—but I should
say he is not really an aristocrat.”
“ Don’t be too severe, Mellish,” Vincent admon-
ished him; “ I think Mr. Johnson had good
manners.”
“Good manners, yes,” Mellish granted, “but,
well, he was lacking in cultural background.” I
Some of the hearers stared 'at this phrase from
the butler’s lips, but those of the household knew
Mellish’s trick of picking up phrases overheard at
his master’s table and, later, using them, either rightly
a: wrongly, in his own conversation.
Vincent smiled outright, and even Rosemary’s
sorrowful face showed amused appreciation.
Lane repeated the phrase in bewilderment.


102 SPOOKY HOL LOW
“ Cultural background! ” he exclaimed; “ what
do you mean? ”
“ What I say," returned the unabashed Mellish.
“ Mr. johnson, I feel sure, is not accustomed to
mingle in the best of social circles; he has no phrases
or allusions in his speech that betoken the college
man or the student of life and literature.”
“ Perhaps you’d better conﬁne yourself to his
physical description, Mellish,” Vincent suggested.
“ and omit your opinion of his mentality.”
“ Yes, sir. Then, Mr. johnson is a very dark-
faced man,—dark hair, eyes, and skin. He wears a
small black moustache, and under it his white teeth
gleam like those of some ferocious animal. His
countenance is what may be called sinister,—yes,
sir,—sinister. In a word, Mr. Henry johnson has
the face of a murderer.”
Mrs. Mellish gave a sudden gasp, Rosemary
turned white, and Homer Vincent stared at his butler.-
“ Yes, a murderer,” Mellish repeated; “ and he’s
the villain what did for our Miss Anne! How can
it be otherwise? In comes a stranger, has secret
dealings with master and Miss Anne,—him all the
time looking like a murderer, if ever man did!


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 103
Comes morning, he’d ﬂed, his bed not touched, his
hat and coat left behind him, and the dear lady dead
in her bed! What else could be the exclamation? ”
Mellish’s habit of miscalling a word- provoked no
smile this time, for everybody was startled at his
idea, and was turning it over mentally, with
deep interest.
At last, Doctor Archer said coldly, “ Can any
one suggest a motive for such a deed on the part
of Mr. Johnson?”
“ No, and I can’t think of him as the criminal,”
said Vincent, thoughtfully. “ And yet, if Johnson
never appears again, it does seem a way to look.” +
“ Of course it’s a way to look!” Brown cried
eagerly. “ The only way to look, as yet. Who else
could get into the house, with the night watchman
on duty? Who else is a possible suspect in a house
of devoted servants and loving relatives? Why
‘else would Johnson disappear? What else would
explain his unused bed? A man doesn’t wander
about the whole night, admiring house decorations,
however beautiful! ”
“ All true, Brown,” said Brewster, slowly, “but
we must get more data before we assume anything.
This man’s room, now. Much could doubtless be


104 SPOOKY HOLLOW
learned from examination of his belongings. Had
he any luggage? ”
“ A kit-bag,” Mellish informed. “ A new one,
not overly large. I laid out his night things,—-right
and proper enough, but not elaborate or ﬁne. And
all new.”
“ That’s always suspicious,” declared the quick-
witted Brown. “When a man has a lot of new
things, it means he wants to conceal his identity.”
“ But Johnson didn’t,” Vincent told them. “ He
told his name and address straightforwardly enough;
he had to, for us to come to a business agreement.”
“ Yes, that’s so,” and Brown looked a little
crestfallen. “ G0 on, Mellish, as to his kit. Any—
thing more personal than clothing and toilet things?”
“ Not as I recollect. But the room hasn’t been
touched, sir; you can go up and deduce it whenever
you wish.”
Mellish was sure of his word this time.
“ Let’s go now, Brewster,” cried Brown; “the
chap may come back any minute.”
The two detectives went up to the room in ques-
tion, while the others remained downstairs.
The windows were not wide, but owing to the
thickness of the stone wall they were very deep.


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 105
Brown leaned far out of one, and drawing back
into the room, informed Brewster that nobody could
get in or out by that means. The room was on the
third ﬂoor, and the stone wall was unscalable.
“ Well, Pighead,” Brewster returned, amiably,
“nobody has suspected Friend Johnson of making
his exit otherwise than by this door; why the fuss
about the window?”
“ But how did he get out of the house by the
front door without being seen by the watchman?
If he could have made any other getaway, it would
simplify matters a lot.”
“ Don’t hope to simplify matters yet, my son.
This is a stupendous case—”
“ Don’t talk like that parrot-tongued butler!
Stupendous is a silly word. But the case is a corker!
I’ll admit that! ”
“ Yes, that’s what I meant by stupendous. Now,
as you can see for yourself, there’s absolutely noth-
ing to be learned from this bag or its contents. It
isn’t unpacked at all,—just as the man left it. Noth-
ing in it but a change of underclothing, a pair of
socks, a timetable, a clothesbrush—”
“ Here are a few things on the dresser,” Brown
said. “ But nothing personal. See, the brushes are


106 SPOOKY HOLLOW
plain black rubber, without monogram or initials.
Here in the top drawer, we see three or four clean
handkerchiefs, a necktie, and a pair of gloves.
Doubtless the good Mellish put these here, by way
of arranging his wardrobe.”
“Yes, of course. Not a thing marked, not a
thing personal or different from hundreds of other
men’s belongings.”
“ Here’s his hat and coat. Old Sherlock would
size him up perfectly just from the hat alone.”
I “ Well, I can’t; I don’t see anything but a plain
black Derby, this season’s style, new,—like every-
thing else !—and bought at Knox’s in New York.
Small help in that.”
“ And his coat is no better. New, too, bought at
Rogers, Feet and Co.’s, also in New York. Does
the chap hail from New York? ”
“I don’t know. Mr. Vincent can tell us that.
But I’ll say Johnson is the one to look to as a poten-
tial murderer, at any rate. Think so? ”
“ Yes, but he doesn’t seem to be a man of any
forceful personality, so far.”
“ That’s the beauty of it! You see, if he is the
murderer he would come here all togged out in


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 107
clothes and things, new and unmarked, just to pre-
vent the disclosure of his identity.”
“ Something in that, by love! Now, if we can
circumvent his bright idea,—I mean, ﬁnd some
purely personal thing that he has overlooked, we’ll
hoist him with his own petard! ”
“ Well, here’s the thing! See, an atomizer,—
isn’t that what you call these little sprayers? It was
on the washstand.”
Brewster looked at the glass container and its
black rubber spray with interest.
“ Good as far as it goes,” he said. “ Where’s the
bottle of medicine that belongs with it? ”
“ Don’t see any. Well, I’ll leave it where I found
it. Let’s go back downstairs.”


CHAPTER VI
THE WILD HARP
MELLISH had detailed two of the servants to
search the house and grounds thoroughly for the
missing Johnson.
This was easily done, for the men were familiar
with all the unused rooms and all the dark passages
and dungeon-like spaces in the cellar and sub-cellar.
They returned with the report that there was
positively no one concealed in the house and .10 sign
of any one about the grounds. '
7
“ It’s clear enough to me,’ said Doctor Archer,
“that the missing man is the criminal we are search of. 'Had he met with an accident, he would
have been found, even though injured or dead. As
it is, he has evidently disappeared of his OWn voli-
tion and intentionally. What can we assume, then,
but that he is the murderer and has ﬂed?”
“ Then, Mr. Vincent,” Lane said, “ I think you
should now tell us all you know about the man and
what business brought him here.”
“ Willingly,” Homer Vincent answered, “ but,”
108


THE WILD HARP 109
he added, “I cannot conceive why he should have
killed my sister,-—0r how he accomplished it."
“ That is for us to discover,” Lane said, a little
pompously. “But, ﬁrst, Doctor Archer, how long
do you judge Miss Vincent had been dead when
you arrived? ” ‘
“ That is the most surprising part of it,” Archer
replied. “ It is not often possible to afﬁrm positively
as to that matter, but allowing a wide margin of
probability, I feel sure that death occurred not more
than three hours before I made the examination of
the body.”
Vincent looked at the speaker with an amazed
face.
“Why,” he exclaimed, “that would mean that
my sister was—was killed only about an hour before
we broke into her room! ”
“That is my report,” Archer said, decidedly.
“ As I say, it is hard to tell with certainty, but death
must have occurred as late as seven o’clock this
morning.”
“ Then,” said Mellish, who in the stress of the
occasion was joining in the conversation, “ then, that
man, that murderer, waited till Hoskins went off
duty, and then he killed Mis's Anne and immejitly
made himself scarce! You’ll never see him again! ”


110 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ But why,—'why would he kill her?” Vincent
persisted. “ However, if he did,-—he’s the man we
want and he must be found. I’ll tell you all I know
about him. In fact, I have told you all, except the
nature of his business here. It was this. He claims
to have discovered or invented a way to make what
are known as synthetic rubies. This is not unheard
of among chemists and-the results of attempts, so
far, are well known to lapidaries and to jewelers.
But Johnson declared that his process was so far
above and beyond all others in point of merit and
value, that if he could make and market his wares it
would mean a revolution in the jewel business and a
colossal fortune for the inventor and his backer.
For, of course, his plan was for me to ﬁnance the
project, he putting his knowledge and experience
against my money investment. Then he proposed
we divide evenly the proﬁts. This, in a nutshell, is
the gist of his business here. I am not one who is
easily persuaded to invest in an unknown venture,
but the way he talked proved to me that he knew his
subject thoroughly, and the proofs he showed of
success already attained, made me give the matter
deep consideration.
“ I called my sister in to the discussion, not only


THE WILD HARP 111
because I wished to give her an opportunity to share
in the undertaking if she chose, but also because I
place great reliance on her good judgment and sound
advice. Somewhat to my surprise, she was enthusi-
astic over the plan, and wanted to put in a large
sum of money.”
“Does it, then, require such an outlay to attain
the desired end? ” asked Archer, greatly interested.
“ Yes, and I was convinced of it by the statistics
and veriﬁed data that Mr. Johnson showed me. He
also had with him two rubies which he had himself
manufactured, and which a leading jewelry ﬁrm had
declared genuine stones. I have those still in my
possession, in my safe, and I will show them to
you, whenever you like. My sister was entranced
with their beauty and luster. After our afternoon
confab, my sister wore down to dinner a ﬁne and
perfect ruby of her own, for the purposes of com—
parison. I could see no difference in the real and
the false.”
“So you decided to ﬁnance his project, Mr.
Vincent?” Brewster asked, respectfully.
“ I had practically so decided, but we were to
confer further this morning, and if we agreed on
certain unsettled points in the contract, I was quite
.f'


112 SPOOKY HOLLOW
ready to sign it and so was my sister. It meant a
large outlay of money for laboratories and materials,
but we were ﬁrmly assured we would get it back
many times over. That, Doctor Archer, was the
business that brought Henry Johnson to my door,
and if I hesitated to make it public, it was because
I felt a certain duty to him. Since he has so surely
disappeared, and since there is a reason to believe
him a criminal, of course, I am absolved from my
promise of secrecy.”
“ Where is Miss Vincent’s ruby? ” asked Brown
suspiciously; “ maybe he took that with him.”
Vincent looked startled.
“She had it on when I bade her good night,”
he said, thinking back; “she always cares for it
herself—call Francine, Mellish.” ~
The maid appeared, and Vincent asked her con-
cerning the jewel.
“ But yes,” she answered, “ Miss Vincent had it
on last evening. When disrobing, she put it in her
wall safe, as usual. Is it not there? ”
“ Go and see,” directed Vincent. “ You can
open it?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Vincent trusted me with the
combination.”


THE WILD HARP 113
“I’ll just go along,” Brown said, and the two
left the room.
“I am frightened to go in,”
crossing herself as they reached the threshold.
“ Why? ”
“ Miss Anne—she is there—and yet—not there!”
said Francine,
“ Well, she can’t hurt you! Come along. Are
you superstitious?”
“No—yes, I am! And last night, the Wild
Harp played! Did you know that?”
“What’s the Wild Harp?”
“It’s a spirit harp, played by phantom ﬁngers.
The ﬁngers, monsieur, of the dead lady—”
“ Miss Vincent? ”
“Oh, no, no,—the lady who was long time ago
dead—in this very room—this same room, mon-
sieur, and again a deed of blood!”
“ I see ; you mean Mrs. Lamont.”
“ Yes, Madame Lamont,—she was murdered,
or, she killed herself,—it is not known which,—and
of a truth, often she plays the Wild Harp, and
always there follows disaster.”
“H’m, interesting. And where is the harp?
In the music room? ”
“No, monsieur, it is out in the dismal—the
a


114 SPOOKY HOLLOW
black thicket. Back of the Temple that is her tomb.
There is the Wild Harp, there, among the desolation
—the somber shadows, the soughing pines, where the
gloom is deepest, there the Lady Lamont walks by
herself and moans, or plays wailing strains on the
Wild Harp.”
“ Tell me more about this some other time, F ran-
cine. We’re sent on an errand, you know. Come
on in; don’t be foolish.”
With shuddering glances toward the still ﬁgure
on the bed, Francine followed the detective into
the room.
A guard stationed outside the door said nothing
and made no move.
At Brown’s command, Francine tried to open
the small safe in the wall, but her ﬁngers trembled
so, she could scarce control them.
“ What a baby you are! ” cried Brown, though
his glance at the pretty French girl was not severe.
“ Tell me the letters, I’ll do it.”
“No, it is my trust,” and whirling the dial,
Francine at last threw open the safe door.
“ M on Dieu, it is gone!” she cried; “ the great
ruby is gone! All else is here, yes, here is the
diamond cross and the emerald bracelet—only the


THE WILD HARP 115
ruby is missing. The beast! The murderous beast!
I knew he was the bad one! His blackness—ugh! ”
More by gestures than by words did Francine
express her detestation of the man and her distress
at the discovery of the loss.
“ You’re sure, Francine? ” Brown persisted.
“ Oh, yes, always the ruby reposed in this case,
see! Now, the case is empty!”
“Well, I’m not overly surprised. Johnson is
certainly the villain! Come on, we must' go down
and report.”
Francine closed and locked the safe, and, dabbing
at her eyes with a minute handkerchief drawn from
her foolish little apron pocket, she went obediently
downstairs.
Brewster heard of the stolen ruby with a certain
feeling of satisfaction. It was all in keeping that
the maker of synthetic rubies should purloin a
real one—even at the price of becoming a mur-
derer thereby.
“Johnson’s your man,” he declared. “ All
we’ve got to do now, is to nab him. And that’s not
so hard as you may think. Mr. Vincent has his
address, and sooner or later the man must return to
his home,—even if secretly. we’ll get him! ”


116 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ I can’t understand it—” Vincent looked be-
wildered, “ How did he do it? How did he get the
safe open? How did he kill my sister? It is all too
unbelievable,—-too mysterious—”
“ It is!” declared Rosemary, her attitude of
sorrowful dejection suddenly giving way to a burst
of indignation; “ that was to be my ruby! Antan
' left it to me in her will,—she told me so! ”
No one thought the girl mercenary, or criticized
her for this speech. It was natural that the news
of the theft should call forth such regret from the
one whose property it was meant to be.
“Poor child,” said her uncle, “that is true.
My sister did intend for you to have the jewel. Will
troubles never end, Rosemary? ”
“ Oh, Uncle, I fear they have only just begun.
I—I heard the Harp last night—”
She stopped as a shade of annoyance crossed her
uncle’s face.
Homer Vincent always frowned at mention of
the mysterious harp. He declared there could be
no truth in the tales about it, that no sounds were
ever heard from the dense thicket that the townsfolk
had dubbed “ Spooky Hollow.”
Nor was it an inappropriate name. On either


THEWILD HARP 117
side of the marble Temple were beautiful pine trees
and larches, and a background of these threw out
the shining whiteness in ﬁne relief. But further
back still, was a deep thicket of lower. growth,
dwarfed trees, tangled shrubs and vines, marshy
swamp ground, that, after a long rain, showed dark
pools of ooze and murky patches of soggy ground.
Lower than the rest of the estate, it sloped still
farther downward to a deep ravine, which, ﬁlled with
a wild growth, was so picturesque, and also so difﬁ-
cult of access, that Homer Vincent had put off clear-
ing it out to a future time that had not yet arrived.
The unhindered growth Of the trees and the
rank and luxuriant undergrowth had, of course,
taken place during the long years that the house
stood vacant, and it was also during this period that
the term Spooky Hollow came into use.
Many stories were current of weird sounds heard
from the Hollow, of ghostly shapes seen ﬂitting
there, of mysterious lights ﬂaring for a moment,
now and then.
Many of the townspeople pooh-poohed these sto-
ries, but there were many more who believed the
reports.
When the Vincents ﬁrst came, it had been hard


118 SPOOKY HOLLOW
to persuade servants to remain with them. But
enormous wages and tempting conditions had
brought many permanent retainers and Mrs. Mel-
lish’s wise government and kindly heart had secured
others, so that now a vacancy on the staff was
besieged by applicants. .
Yet tales persisted of hauntings and apparitions,
prominent among them being the stories of a phan-
tom harp that was played upon only on dark nights,
and that gave forth long, wailing strains as of a
soul in anguish.
As it was a fact that Mrs. Lamont met a violent
death in her room, the same one Anne Vincent had
occupied, it was not strange that this harp music was
attributed to her restless spirit.
Anne Vincent herself had taken no interest in
the ghost stories, her hard-headed practicality refus-
ing to credit a word of them.
But she had reluctantly admitted having heard
the Harp once or twice, though afterward declaring
it must have been her imagination.
Rosemary was uncertain whether she believed in
the spooks of Spooky Hollow or not. She had
heard, or had thought she heard, the Wild Harp, but
she was never inclined to talk on the subject and


THE WILD HARP 119
indeed, except among the servants, it was not’often
discussed at Greatlarch.
And so, when Rosemary declared she had heard
the Harp the night of her aunt’s death, Homer Vin-
cent looked at her in astonishment.
“ Rosemary,” he said, “ I beg of you—at such
a time—”
“ But, Uncle, I did—I did hear it just after I
came in—”
“At what time did you come in?” he asked,
and then poor Rosemary. wished she had not spoken.
But he was quite evidently awaiting an answer,
so the girl said, falteringly, “ I’m afraid I was a little
late,—I didn’t mean to be.”
“ How late?” asked Vincent, inexorably.
“ After midnight,” and the girl’s appealing eyes
seemed to beg him not to reprimand her then
and there. I
Nor did he. With a slight sigh, he merely said,
“You know my wishes, Rosemary. I am sorry you
so persistently disregard them.”
“ You came home at midnight, Miss Vincent?”
said Brewster, hoping to glean information of
some sort.


120 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Yes; I dined with a friend over on Spruce Hill
Road, and she sent me home in her motor. I left
the car at our avenue and walked to the house.”
“ In order to conceal the fact of your late re-
turn,” observed Vincent.
“ Yes, Uncle,” Rosemary admitted, and her
brown eyes fell before his reproachful gaze.
But Brewster went on: “ Tell me, Miss Vin-
cent,” he said, “ did you see or hear anything unusual
when you entered the house? ”
“ Nothing at all,” she replied. “I had my own
night key, but I did not use it, as Hoskins had not
yet locked the front door.”
Brown looked at her closely.
“ Miss Vincent,” he said, “you did not come
directly into the house. You walked around the
northwest Tower and back before coming in at the
front door.”
The girl’s face expressed utter amazement.
“That is quite true,” she said, “but how ever
did you know it? ”
Rosemary’s face betokened merely surprise, not
alarm, but Brown continued to quiz her.
“ You paused at the window of that Tower, and


THE WILD HARP 121
stood there some moments. Why did you do that? ”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and his
voice was curiously tense.
Rosemary rather resented this catechism, and
then she quickly realized that the detectives had a
right to question her, and moreover, that she must
tell the truth.
“ Tell me how you know I did that, and I'll tell
you why I did it,” she returned.
Susceptible young Brown was fascinated by the
charm of the appealing eyes, and the piquant little
face, animated now by curiosity.
“ Not a difﬁcult bit of deduction,” he said; “I
saw footprints in the snow along the front ‘portico
and round the Tower when I came this morning.
They were made by slender, feminine shoes, and I
think now they were yours.”
“I daresay,” said Rosemary, indifferent now
that the mystery was explained. “ Well, I stepped
around there because I saw by the light that my
uncle was probably there, and I wanted to size up
my chance of getting .into the house unnoticed.”
Homer Vfincent looked at her with disapproval,
but Brown suppressed a chuckle.


122 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Not really afraid of the old man,” he silently
decided. “ Guess his bark is worse’n his bite.”
_“ What was your uncle doing? ” asked Brewster,
casually.
“ He was looking over some papers,—and he had
something in his hand that glittered—”
“The two synthetic rubies that Mr. Johnson left
with me,” Vincent explained. “I will answer que-
ries pertaining to myself, if you please.”
Brewster felt a little abashed. Homer Vincent
had a gift of making people feel abashed when
he chose.
“ May I see those rubies, Mr. Vincent?” asked
Lane. '
“Certainly, I’ll fetch them,” and Vincent left
the room. ‘
“ Did it look like a ruby, the object your uncle
was holding? ” Brewster inquired of Rosemary.
The girl looked at him and instinctively disliked
his manner. ’
“ My uncle prefers that questions about himself
should be addressed to him,” she said, coolly, and
again Brown had hard work to repress a smile of
amusement at his colleague’s discomﬁture.


THE WILD HARP 123
The two detectives worked harmoniously and in
unison, but there was a slight feeling of rivalry that
was, perhaps, not to be wondered at. Moreover,
both of them were greatly impressed with the
gravity of the case, the magniﬁcence of the house,
and not least, by the winning personality of
Rosemary Vincent.
“ Then proceed with your own story, Miss Vin-
cent,” Brewster said, a little curtly. “ After looking
in on your uncle, did you at once enter the house?”
“ Yes, I thought from his manner he was mean-
ing to stay where he was for some time. So I went
back to the front door, and softly opened it and
slipped in. Well, of all things, if Uncle Homer
didn’t start that very minute to go upstairs! I was
so afraid he’d see me, I scuttled behind one of the
big pillars in the hall, and waited till he passed me.
I scarcely dared breathe! But he didn’t hear me,—
he went on up the staircase, and—” ,,
“ And you followed after a discreet interval.”
“ Well, yes,—but in that interval I went to the
dining-room’and ate a bit of luncheon that Mellish
had left there for me.” -
A smile of respectful affection crossed the face
of the butler as he regarded the girl.


124 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ But you had just come from a dinner party! ”
“ Oh, but dinner was at seven-thirty, and since
then, we had danced till after midnight, and had no
other refreshments.”
“ I see. Well, then after your supper, you went
upstairs?”
Rosemary suddenly ‘saw’she was practically on
the witness stand.
This did not disturb her, it only served to make
her more careful of her statements.
“Yes,” she said, slowly. “I went upstairs, and
as it is my habit to stop in my aunt’s room to say
good night, if she is awake, I listened at her door.
But her regular, deep breathing told me that she
was asleep, so I went on to my own apartments.”
“You did not know Mr. Johnson was in the
house?”
“ No, I had no way of knowing that.”
“ You saw the night watchman as you came in? ”
“Not as I came in, but while I was in the
dining-room, Hoskins looked in. We nodded at
each other and he went on.”
“ May I see Hoskins? ” Lane asked, abruptly.
Mellish went to summon the watchman, who,


THE WILD HARP 125
though usually asleep at this hour, was still in the
servants’ sitting-room, gossiping over events.
He came back with Mellish, and was ready, even
anxious, to answer questions.
“ Yes, sir,” he informed them, “ I saw Miss
Rosemary a eatin’ of her little supper, and I went on
about my business.”
“Did you see Mr. Johnson walking about the
house or grounds through the night? "
“That I did not, or I’d reported it, you may
be sure.”
“Is it necessary to report the wanderings if a
guest of the house?”
“ Well, I’ve never seen this Mr. Johnson they tell
of, and if I’d a seen him outside the house, I’d hardly
taken him for a guest. We ain’t never had such
guests as that. But if I’d a seen him a walkin’ about
inside, like as not I’d a supposed he was a visitor and
let it go at that. You can’t tell just what you’d do
in such cases, less’n you’re there on the spot.”
“ Then you saw no sign of anybody at all? ”
“ No, sir. After Miss Rosemary went upstairs,
I saw and heard no human bein’ till the stroke of
seven sent me in to breakfast. That is, no
human, sir.”


126 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ You mean to say you saw or heard something
supernatural? ”
“ That's it, sir, the Wild Harp. She broke loose
long about two or three o’clock, and such a wailin’
sound you never heard! ”
“ Hoskins,” Homer Vincent spoke, as he came
into the room again, “ you are too sensible to talk
like that. There is no truth in those stories of a
Wild Harp.”
“ Have it your own way, sir,” and Hoskins
cheerfully accepted the mild rebuff.
“ There are the rubies, gentlemen,” Vincent said,
laying two gleaming crimson stones on the table.
“What beauties!” cried Doctor Archer. “ Do
you mean to tell me these are synthetic? Made by
that man, Johnson?”
“ So he afﬁrmed. Of course, there’d be no sense
in his making a false statement of that sort.”
“ Oh, Uncle, they’re wonderful! ” exclaimed
Rosemary. “ Can’t I have one of these now that
Antan’s ruby is gone? ”
“ Oh, Miss Rosemary, don’t think about foolish
gewgaws with your poor aunt lying dead up above
us!” Mrs. Mellish showed a horriﬁed surprise on
her round, rosy face. “And you gentlemen may


THE WILD HARP 127
search all you wish, you may do all the detective
stunts you can pull off, never will you see that
Johnson man again, and never will you learn any
more about poor Miss Anne’s death than you know
this minute! For I heard the Wild Harp last night,
and it was a funeral dirge it played. The dear lady
was killed by a haunt, that she was! Who else
could get into her locked room? Who else could
sperrit away Mr. Johnson? Tell me that now! She
chose for her own the haunted room,-—and she paid
the penalty,—did poor Miss Anne! ”


CHAPTER VII
UNCLE AND NIECE
THE dreary November afternoon passed, and the
shadows lengthened and deepened the gloom that
hung over Greatlarch.
The Avenue trees waved their long branches as
a soughing wind swept through them. The pines
sang and whistled and the dense tangle down behind
the Mausoleum was black and eerie, more than ever
justifying its name of Spooky Hollow. Mrs.
Mellish stood staring out of a rear window, almost
certain she could hear faint strains of the Wild Harp.
“ Come away, now, Susan,” commanded her
spouse. “It’s no spook music you’ll hear, savin’
that which .you make in your own ears—”
“ Hush your blether, Mellish,-—I want no cod-
dlin’ from you.” And then, with true feminine in-
consistency, she turned to her husband and threw
herself into his arms, sobbing convulsively.
“ Therey, therey, now, Soodie, cry _an ye want to,
it’ll do ye good,” and he patted her shoulder and
smoothed her hair, and comforted her by his strong
protecting arms.
128


UNCLE AND men 129
“It’s Miss Rosemary,” Susan said, wiping her
eyes. “I can’t stand it to see the child so gone-like.
She wanders about, her eyes wide and staring, and
that full of sadness!”
“ She loved her Antan,—that she did,” and
Mellish nodded his gray head. “ There’s a terrible
moil, Susan. Who killed Miss Anne ?—answer me
that now! ”
“ No mortal hand,” and Mrs. Mellish gazed
solemnly into space. “ Never could a human hand
do it, you see, for the door was locked, and the poor
lady in there alone. Comes the ghost of the other
lady who met her death in that very room, and,—
the wicked, evil thing,-—-she killed our Miss Anne!
Or where’s the knife? How could a human, mortal
villain kill her and leave no weepon? Or how get
out through a locked door? Answer me that,
Mellish, now! ”
“ No, I can’t. Yet ’twas no spook, of that I’m
certain! ”
,Q Susan Mellish held up her ﬁnger, listening.
“ Hark at the organ, now,” she said; “ Master’s
fair crazy with his grief!”
The great organ pealed and rolled its melodies 7
through the house. Fugues and dirges of the great-
9


130 SPOOKY HOLLOW
est masters were played with a strong, sure touch and
a powerful, agonizing sorrow, like the cry of a
lost soul.
One funeral march after another sounded as
Homer Vincent strove to quiet his perturbed spirit
by the aid of his one great passion—music.
Rosemary stood in the Atrium, looking through
the plate—glass doors down across the terrace, across
the lagoon to the white Mausoleum and to the black
Spooky Hollow beyond it.
She had put on a black dress, of plain and simple
cut, and her white arms shone in the dusk as she
leaned them up against the window and hid her face
upon them.
“If he doesn’t stop that music,” she thought,
“ I shall go crazy! I never heard him play so like
one inspired! It is heartrending, crucifying, yet it
has a triumphant note,——like the triumph of Death.
Poor Uncle Homer, he must be almost beside him-
self with grief,—-I know by the way he plays. And
he has no other solace—I wish he would let me talk
to him,—I’d like to talk about Antan—but he doesn’t
want me to mention her name—”
And then, through the long shadowy room,
lighted only by a faint radiance from the Entrance


UNCLE AND NIECE 131
Hall, came softly a footfall, and Rosemary turned
to see Lulie Eaton, her friend whom she had visited
the night before.
“ Rosemary,” and Lulie put her arms round
her, “ I want you to go home with me, and stay a
few days. At least, until the funeral. Won’t you?
It will be so much better for you, and—your uncle
won’t mind, will he?”
“ I don’t know,” Rosemary hesitated; “ it’s good
of you, Lulie,—I’d be glad to go,-—if I ought to—”
“ Of course you ought tO,—you owe it to your-
self to get out of this atmosphere—oh, have they
found out anything—about—”
“About Antan? No, not a thing. The detec-
tives are at their wits’ end, Uncle Homer is nearly
distracted—listen to that awful music—”
“It is desperately sad, but, what a wonderful
performer he is! ”
“ Oh, yes,—there, now he is improvising,——-that
means he’s a little easier in his mind,—let’s go and
ask him if I may go with you.”
The two girls went to the organ room, the high
walls and domed ceiling giving back the music and
making the place seem more than ever like a church.


132 SPOOKY HOLLOW
With a feeling of awe, almost of fear, they tip-
toed toward the silent ﬁgure on the organ bench.
The light was low, the branches of the tall trees
waved against the windows with weird sounds.
Seeing the girls, Vincent paused, slowly trailing
his softly touched chords off to nothingness.
“ What is it, Rosemary? ” he said, wearily push-
ing back the thick hair from his brow. “ How do
you do, Miss Eaton?”
Lulie Eaton dared her request.
“ Oh, Mr. Vincent,” she said, “ I’ve come to take
Rosemary home with me for a few days,——mayn’t
she go?”
“If she chooses.” Homer Vincent spoke coldly,
and again his hands hovered above the keys.
“ Oh, Uncle,” Rosemary cried, “I won’t go if
you don’t want me to, Uncle Homer. Indeed,
I won’t.”
“ Would you like to be left alone in this house,
Rosemary?” Vincent asked, as, barely touching the
keys, he made them sound like a faint echo of a
sweet, sad strain. 1
“ No! ” and the girl shuddered at the thought.
“ Yet you would leave me—”
“ But I didn’t know you cared to have me here,
7


UNCLE AND NIECE 133
Uncle. You don’t like to have me mention Antan,
you don’t even talk to me—”
“My dear, there is some grief too deep for
words,—-yet human companionship is a help and a
comfort, even though ordinary conversation is out
of the question. And you can help by looking after
the house. Can you not ﬁll Antan’s place to a
degree? Can you not order the meals and give out
supplies,—or, whatever your Aunt did?”
Rosemary smiled a little at his idea of her
Aunt’s duties. For, she thought, Miss Vincent did
none of these things, the two Mellishes arranged all
such details. But Vincent was not the sort of
man who knew what was going on in the domes
tic department.
However, Rosemary sensed the fact that her
uncle wanted her to stay by him, if only as a moral
support, and though she would have preferred to go
with Lulie, yet she felt a certain pride in the idea
that he wanted her at home.
Not exactly afraid of her uncle, Rosemary never
could quite conquer a feeling of awe of him, and a
dread of running counter to his will in any way.
But she had long ago learned that if conditions were
‘ right, if there was no ﬂaw in the arrangements that


134 SPOOKY HOLLOW
made for his creature comfort, she need never look
for any but the kindest and most courteous treatment
from him. But if any of his orders were not fulﬁlled
accurately, if any meal was a moment late, any
course imperfectly cooked or served, any book or
smoking-stand moved one iota from its accustomed
place, then, as Rosemary had often had occasion to
notice, his sister or his niece‘received, however unde—
served, a portion of his reprimand.
So Rosemary declined to go with her friend, and
after a short visit, Lulie went off alone.
“ What were you two girls talking about? ”
Vincent asked, as he left the organ and oined Rose-
mary in the living-room.
The lights were on, now, and the beautiful room
was warm and cheerful.
But the girl seemed struck dumb. She blushed
and remained silent, raising her troubled eyes to her
uncle’s face only to drop them again in confusion.
“I can read your thoughts the same as if you
had spoken, my dear,” her uncle said, a tinge of
displeasure in his tone. “ You talked of young
Collins. Has he been here to see you?”
“ No, Uncle, not since you forbade it.”
Rosemary’s tone was gentle, her voice steady,


UNCLE AND NIECE 135
but in her golden-brown eyes there shone a sudden
light, that was rebellious, almost mutinous.
Vincent caught this gleam, and said, in real
irritation, “ I do think, Rosemary, at this time, when
I am in such deep grief, you might be less selﬁshly
inclined to brood sullenly over your own petty griev—
ances. You know my dislike for Bryce Collins, you
know I will not hear of your marrying him; why
not, then, give over thinking about it? ”
“ Did you ever love anybody, Uncle? ” she asked,
quietly, mentally adding, “ except yourself! ”
Vincent gave her a curious glance, and then said,
sadly, “ I loved your Aunt Anne. She was my dear
sister, and now that she has been so terribly taken
away from me,—away from us, I should think,
Rosemary, that you would turn your thoughts to
your great loss, even if you have no sympathy or
sorrow for mine.”
“ Oh, Uncle, don’t talk to me like that! I do feel
sorry for you, I do grieve for Antan,——oh, I can’t
realize she’s gone! What shall I do without her?”
“ A very grave question, my child. But now, we
must make some necessary arrangements for the
funeral. My sister must be buried with the dignity
and beauty beﬁtting her life. And you must help,
for there are manv details to be looked after.”


136 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“Yes, Uncle, anything I can do to help or to
lessen your load of care and responsibility, I am
glad to undertake.”
“ That’s the way to talk, my dear child. ' Now,
listen and I’ll tell you what you can do.”
And when the talk was over, Rosemary found
herself weighted down with her share of the errands
and arrangements necessary for the obsequies that
Homer Vincent deemed appropriate for his sister.
Not that he desired any ostentation or display.
But his directions as to the music, the ﬂowers,
the clergyman’s address, the luncheon to be prepared
for guests from a distance, and the thousand and one
things that he mentioned seemed to Rosemary to
make a task both burdensome and difﬁcult.
However, she relied on the Mellishes for much
help, and she was so glad to be of some real assist-
ance to her uncle, that she willingly promised all
he asked.
And then they drifted into a discussion of the
terrible circumstances, as mysterious this minute as
they had been early in the morning when the discov-
ery had been made.
“ Uncle,” Rosemary cried, “ who killed Antan,


UNCLE AND NIECE 137
——and how? I must know those two things or I
shall go out of my mind! I can’t conceive of any
possible explanation, can you?”
“ No, Rosemary, I can’t. It is as great a mys-
tery as it is a tragedy,—and I can’t say any more
than that.”
“ N 0, Uncle, we can’t say more than that. But
somebody killed her,—that we know. How, then,
did he get out of the room, and what did he do with
the knife? ” _
“ Those, Rosemary, are the unanswerable ques-
tions. And I must say I don’t believe these dunder-
headed detectives that are on the job can ever solve
the mystery. Do you?”
“ Oh, I don’t know anything about such things,
Uncle dear. But they do seem unable to discover
anything or to suggest anything. Tell me more
about that Johnson man, Uncle. Was he a—
a gentleman? ”
“ Why, no, Rosemary, not as we look upon a
gentleman. Yet he had decent manners and pre-
'7,
sentable appearance. I wish I had never seen him
“ Do you think he killed Antan? ”
“ How can I say I think so, when I can’t imagine
his motive for such a deed. Unless, of course, he


138 SPOOKY HOLLOW
stole her ruby. Too bad, dear,—that gem was to
have been yours.”
“ Yes, I know. But, Uncle, when a strange man
comes here, and acts in such an extraordinary man-
ner,—-not going to bed at all,—and then mysteriously
disappears, and we ﬁnd Antan dead,—isn’t there
logical reason to think maybe he did it? ”
“ There certainly is, Rosemary, and I shall never
rest till we ﬁnd that man! It must be possible to
ﬁnd him. He can’t have dropped out of existence.
But that’s where I thought the detectives would do
better work. I supposed they would get on his
trail somehow, almost immediately. I thought de-
tectives could always trace a fugitive,—always ﬁnd
a skulking, hiding villain. But they seem not to
know which way to turn ! ”
“ Yes, I noticed that. And that Mr. Lane knows
even less, I should say.”
“ Yes, he’s a numskull. But the little detective,
that one called Brown, seems rather alert, and wide-
awake, yet he can’t get anywhere, apparently; unless
they do something soon, I shall call in a more
expert detective.”
“Can you do that? Right over their heads,
I mean?"


UNCLE AND NIECE 139
“I most certainly shall. My sister’s death must
be avenged, if any effort of mine can accomplish it.
But I do admit it seems a problem impossible
of solution.”
“The facts are so irreconcilable,” the girl said,
musingly. “ I can’t see any conceivable way the deed
could have been done, and the room left locked and
the weapon missing.”
“ Rosemary, there’s only one explanation. But
I am not yet quite able to believe in it.” Vincent’s
voice was low and his direct gaze was so piercing,
that the girl was startled. She felt an uncanny, a
sinister presentiment of his meaning.
“ Oh, Uncle Homer,” she cried, “ you don’t mean
—you can’t mean Mrs. Lamont—” She looked over
her shoulder, and out the window toward the Temple
where once had rested the mortal remains of that
other victim.
“I’ve always been a practical hard-headed unbe-
liever in spiritualism,” Vincent said, slowly, “but
I am so staggered by this thing, so puzzled to think
of any possible explanation, however improbable,
that, as I say, I see no other way to look but toward
the supernatural. Yet I will not as yet put myself
on record as going over to the spiritualistic belief,


140 SPOOKY HOLLOW
only, unless we can unearth some evidence, ﬁnd some
clues, I cannot say what I may do.”
“Uncle Homer,” and Rosemary’s face looked
wondering, “ I heard the Harp last night."
“ You imagined it, dear. How could you hear
what doesn’t exist? ”
“ But I did,—I’m sure of it. It was between
two and three o’clock. I was wakeful, and I was
tempted to get up and go to some south window.
But I didn’t, and yet, even in my own room, which
is north, I heard faintly the low wailing strains of
the Wild Harp. Have you never heard it, Uncle? ”
“I have sometimes thought I did, child, but I
put it down to imagination. Leave me now, Rose-
mary,—I am very weary, and I must think over
some matters by myself.”
So Rosemary went in search of the two Mellishes
and they discussed the arrangements for the funeral
services of Anne Vincent.
To Rosemary’s own surprise, but not to Mrs.
Mellish’s, it soon transpired that the girl was not
at all wise or experienced in household matters.
Anne Vincent had been the guiding spirit, the direct-
ing hand of the establishment, and though she had '
occasionally called on her niece for some slight


UNCLE AND NIECE 14-1
assistance, it was always mere routine work, and
carefully under the elder woman’s own supervision.
So when the cook began to ask about how many
chickens and hams should be prepared for the cold
luncheon, and what sweets should be provided,
Rosemary found herself quite at sea, and told Mrs.
Mellish and her husband, to get whatever they
deemed best.
“That’s all very well,” and Melly shook her
head; “all very well, Miss Rosemary,—but your
uncle won’t like it a bit, if you don’t ﬁll your aunt’s
place. Many’s the little thing she did for him,
many’s the time she looked out for him and stood
between him and some bit of a bother. Be careful
now, Miss Rosemary, to do such things yourself.
Keep a constant watch on your uncle. See that
everything is ready to his hand when he reaches out
his hand to get it—meaning, of course, such as is
outside the duties of me and Mellish.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Melly. What
am I to do? Darn his socks,—that sort of thing? ”
“ That, of course, Miss—and his buttons and all.
But hand him a paper or a book that he’s glancing
about for,—-offer to play Russian Bank with him,
when he’s in just the mood for it,—gather from


142 SPOOKY HOLLOW
his symptoms what sort of food he’ll want for din-
ner,—that’s the way Miss Anne looked after him.”
“ Good gracious, Melly, I can’t do those things!
Why, I don’t know how to play that stupid old card
game! And I didn’t know he had symptoms!”
“ You must learn, then, Miss Rosemary.”
Mellish himself spoke _now, and very seriously.
“Your uncle is a good man and a kind man if
he is comfortable. If not,———oh, well, Miss, you
know him! ”
“ Of course I do. And I know you two look out
for all his real wants. I’ll do anything I can, of
course, but I guess he’ll have to diagnose his own
symptoms, and select his special foods himself. As to
this luncheon, Melly, order whatever you think best.
Be sure to have enough, that’s all, for relatives and
friends will come from all the country round. And,
Melly, I don’t know much about ordering and such
things. Antan never let me help her much or tried
I to teach me anything about housekeeping.”
“ You should know, Miss Rosemary. It’s right
every young lady should be a housekeeper, such as
your aunt, rest her soul, was. Now, if you’ll let me,
I’ll teach you, and you’ll soon learn, for you’ve a
quick wit and handy ﬁngers.”


UNCLE AND NIECE 143
“ All right, Melly, and we’ll begin after all this
trouble has cleared up a little. Melly, who killed
Antan? ”
“The Ghost Lady, Miss Rosemary. Didn’t I
hear her playin’ on her Wild Harp—”
“Why, so did I, Melly. What time did you
hear it?”
“ As it might be say two or three o’clock of the
mornin’, Miss.”
“ That’s the very time I heard it! Melly, how
could a ghost kill anybody, with a dagger? "
“ Likewise, Miss Rosemary, how could a human
kill anybody with a dagger, and go away leaving
the door locked behind him? ”
Mellish, who had mysteriously disappeared, re-
turned and whispered to the girl.
“I opine, Miss Rosemary,” he said, softly, “if
you was to step out this little back door now,-—just
step out, you know,—you might—well, just step out
now. I opine you won’t be sorry.”
Having more than a suspicion of what Mellish
was opining about, Rosemary stepped out of the
small door that gave on an areaway.
As she had hoped, there stood the tall, thin
form of Bryce Collins.


144 SPOOKY HOLLOW
,“ Oh," she whispered, “you oughtth to have
come—how did you dare? ”
“I felt I must see you, Rosemary; it’s too utterly
absurd to be forbidden the house,—for no reason
at all—”
“ I know it, Bryce,—but Uncle Homer is terribly
upset anyway, and if he sees you—" .
“ He won’t see me. I just want a few minutes
with you, dear. Can’t we go inside,—somewhere? ”
“ No, I don’t dare. Melly has just been telling
me I must look after Uncle Homer as Antan used
to. And, surely, I can’t allow anything that he has
so positively forbidden. He’d—oh, I don’t know
what he’d do!”
“ What would he do, dear? Fly in a passion? ” ‘
“No, I’ve never seen him do that. But he’d
be so displeased, he’d reprove me 50—"
“Rosemary, it’s idiotic for a girl twenty-one
years old to be so afraid of anybody! Your uncle
is not your father, and even if he were—” _
"‘ Don’t talk like that, Bryce. He’s the same as
a father to me. Ever since my own dear father died,
ﬁve years ago, UncleHomer has done all for me that
a father could do, and more than a great .many
fathers do.' I’ve seen the other girls,——theirifathers


UNCLE AND NIECE 145
aren’t half as good to them as Uncle is to me. And
now Antan is gone, I owe it to him to be obedient
and to observe all his commands.”
“ Don’t you love me, dear?”
Bryce Collins was a tall, slender man, but his
physique showed strength, and his bearing was that
of an assured, determined nature.
His deep blue eyes were honest and straightfor-
ward, and his smooth—shaven face showed a chin
that betokened will power to the point of stubborn-
ness. And Collins was stubborn. He clung to an
opinion or a determination like a puppy to a root,
and he never gave up.
Now, at twenty-six, he was an insistent suitor
of Rosemary Vincent, but his plea was denied by
her uncle.
Homer Vincent gave no reason for his decision,
—it was not his habit to give reasons,—but he de-
clared it was ﬁnal. To Rosemary he said she was
too young to think of marriage yet, and he preferred
that she should never marry. He hinted that he and
his sister Anne had been much happier in their lives
than their brother, Rosemary’s father, who had
married young. In any case, he told the girl she
must give up all thought of Bryce Collins. and,
10


146 SPOOKY HOLLOW
unable to do otherwise, Rosemary had submitted
to his decree. _
And as the girl was by no means of a sly or
deceitful nature, she obeyed the spirit of her uncle’s
dictum as well as the letter.
That is, she did so, as far as she could; but
Collins, with his indomitable will and his ﬁrm deter-
mination, would not let her give him up ﬁnally,
unless she would tell him she did not care for him.
This Rosemary could not do, for she loved
Bryce, and hoped against hope, that some day her
uncle would relent.
Now, in view of the tragedy that hung over the
house, Rosemary was more than ever afraid to have
Collins’ presence known, and yet, never before had
she felt so strong a wish, a need, for his presence.
And his gentle tone, his whispered question,
seemed to take away all her power of resistance.
!
“ Yes,” she said, “I love you,’ and eagerly he
clasped her in his waiting arms.
“ Bless her heart! Whatever is coming to her? ”
and wiping her eyes, Melly turned from the window,
where she had been watching the pair.


CHAPTER VIII
SPOOKY HOLLOW
TWENTY-FOUR hours had elapsed since the
funeral of Anne Vincent, and the mystery of her
death was no nearer solution than it had been the
moment her body was found.
None of the relatives or friends who had attended
the simple but beautiful services had been asked to
tarry at the house.
Homer Vincent had no desire to have them do
so, and though several had dropped hints betokening
their wish to stay on for a visit, they had met with
no responsive invitation and had reluctantly taken
their departure.
He sent for Brewster and Brown and asked for
their report.
“ I have to confess, Mr. Vincent,
9’
Brewster
said, “that we are up against it. We are convinced
that the strange visitor, Mr. Johnson, is responsible
for the death of your sister, but we can form no
theory that will ﬁt the facts. We have examined the
bedroom, and we ﬁnd there is absolutely no means of
147


148 SPOOKY HOLLOW
entrance or exit, save that one door. The windows
have patent ventilators that admit air without leav-
ing possible space for an intruder. The lock of the
door is burst in such a fashion as to show clearly
that it was locked on the inside and could only be
opened by force. We have tried every possible sug—
gestion of suicide, and ﬁnd that theory untenable,
because there is no weapon in evidence. Miss Vin-
cent could not have killed herself and then disposed
of the dagger, for the death blow was instantly
fatal,—we have the doctor’s assurance for that.”
“ I am very sure,” Homer Vincent said, “that
my sister did not kill herself. She had no motive
for such a deed,—I left her that evening in the best
of spirits and she was looking forward to the matter
we were to confer about the next day. And, as you
say, it could not have been suicide, as there has been
no weapon found. I assume you made a thorough
search of the bedding—”
“ Oh, yes, I attended to that myself. No, suicide
is out of the question.”
“ I suppose,——” Vincent spoke a little difﬁdently,
“ I suppose you hard-headed detectives wouldn’t
consider the—er,—-the supernatural for a moment.”
“ N o, sir! ” declared Brown, “ not for a moment!


SPOOKY HOLLOW 149
I’ve been a detective too long to suspect a spook
as long as there are human beings upon this earth.
Miss Vincent was murdered by a knife held in a
hand of ﬂesh and blood! The motive was robbery,
—robbery of her valuable ruby. The criminal is,
of course, the man named Johnson, the ruby manu-
facturer. I can reconstruct the crime as it must
have been—but, I confess, I can’t see how it could
have been so! ”
“ What do you mean by ‘ reconstruct the
crime ’? ” Vincent asked, curiously.
“ Why, I mean, that evening, after you left Mr.
Johnson in his rOom, he came out of it, later,—prob-
ably walked round the house a bit, reconnoitering,
and laid his plans to murder Miss Vincent as soon
as the ﬁrst faint light of dawn gave him opportunity.
He did this, and then slipped out of the house, while
the watchman was at his breakfast and the other
servants about their work.”
“ Logical enough,” Vincent said, “ except for the
seemingly impossible feat of getting in and out of
that locked room.”
“There you have it, Mr. Vincent,” Brewster
exclaimed. “ That’s right,—seemingly impossible
feat. It wasn’t impossible, because he did it,—he


150 SPOOKY HOLLOW
had to do it, there’s no other explanation. Now, the
thing is to ﬁnd out how he did it, and the only way
to do that is to catch him and ask him. Nobody
knows but himself, so he must do the explaining.”
“That sounds plausible, Mr. Brewster. Now,
can you ﬁnd him? He has four days’ start. May
he not be far away by this time,—perhaps out
at sea?”
“ That’s true, Mr. Vincent, but all we can do is
to hunt him down. Perhaps he can be found even
if he is on an ocean steamer. Indeed, that would
be one of the easiest hiding places to track down.
But, and this is not an easy thing to say,—we can’t
do it. Mr. Brown and I have done all we could, so
far, but for a big hunt like this must be, we require
the machinery, the facilities of a larger police depart-
ment, of more experienced investigators.”
“ I daresay,” Vincent nodded in agreement. “ In
fact, I had thought of proposing the plan of putting
the matter up to some one else. Whom do
you suggest? ”
“ The Burlington police. Not only have they a
well-equipped Detective Bureau, but they have one
man in especial, whose forte seems to be delving
into mysteries that defy sOlution by others. His


SPOOKY HOLLOW 151
name is Prentiss, but so keen is he, so sharp-sighted,
he is called the Burlington Hawkeye.”
Homer Vincent gave an involuntary smile.
“Why, that is a celebrated paper of quite another
Burlington! ”
“ Yes, it’s only a nickname. Well, what do you
say, sir? Shall we call him in?”
“By all means. As I told you, I wish to spare
no effort, no expense, in my endeavor to avenge my
sister’s death. I suppose this man will come in the
interests of the Police, but if it is any better or more
advisable to engage him personally, I will do so.”
“We’ll see about that, sir. If he succeeds, you
can, of course, give him an honorarium. He is a
wizard,-—-I’ll say that for him, but I can’t see him
solving this case,—it’s too strange!”
However, when Prentiss arrived, he gave the
impression that he certainly could solve that case or
any other.
Not that the man was bumptious or unduly con-
ceited, but he had an air of self-reliance, of self-
assuredness, that carried weight by its mere physi-
cal effect.
Homer Vincent regarded him with curiosity, that
turned to respect and then to entire satisfaction.


152 SPOOKY HOLLOW
He had a long talk with him, and Prentiss ear>
nestly declared his ability to ﬁnd the murderer.
“There’s a mystery,” he said; “I am here to
solve it. There’s a seeming impossibility,—I am
here to explain it. There’s a missing man,—I am
here to ﬁnd him.” 7
If Vincent thought the man too sure of himself
or his powers, he did not say so, and merely nodded
approval of such determination.
The Burlington Hawkeye was not an impressive—
looking man, in fact, he was rather inconspicuous.
Medium height, average ﬁgure, unimportant color-
ing, his appearance was saved from absolute non-
entity by his piercing, darting eyes. These eyes
were of the color sometimes called beryl or topaz.
Also, they were a trifle prominent, and were so quick
of motion, so glinting of shine, that they made re-
markable an otherwise negligible face. I
He shot a glance of inquiry at Vincent, as if to
ask his recognition of his powers.
But Homer Vincent was not accustomed to
bestow praise.
“I am glad to learn of your enthusiasm,” he
conceded, “ and I am ready and willing to do any-
thing at all I can to help you. But I must ask


SPOOKY HOLLOW 158
that you will not disturb me unnecessarily. While
I am most anxious to have the mystery of my sis-
ter’s death solved, most eager to ﬁnd that man
Johnson, yet I am not at all interested in the details
of the search, nor do I want uncertain or partial re-
ports. When you have learned beyond doubt some
important fact, acquaint me with it, but do not
come to me with triﬂing discoveries that may or
may not mean anything. Am I clear?”
“ Yes, Mr. Vincent, perfectly so. I understand.
In fact, I have been told you are a recluse and
wish no unnecessary communications with your
fellow-men.”
“ That is perhaps an exaggerated way to put it,”
Vincent observed, calmly, “ yet for your own ediﬁ-
cation, it is perhaps the best way. Yes, you may look
upon me in that light, Mr. Prentiss. However, that
does not mean that I do not want to be told of any-
thing you may discover of real importance. And if
you are uncertain as to the value of your news, refer
it to Mellish, my butler. He is entirely in my conﬁ-
dence, and often stands between me and what you
have termed my fellow-men.”
If Prentiss had expected to jar the calm of
Homer Vincent by his outspokenness, he must have


156M SMOKE)H(IZIOWB
beﬂirldléappgiinsedsaianimenhseeihedmtilier pleased!“
tharizoqhnrrtistgiatattm bnplicaﬁbntdﬁioeumemenw ms I
mSnnsing this, the idgtnctitverrresbtlrvéda tdilgﬁt aliei
thtliindbrﬂiatiorbpassiblei alt; thiamime Iob‘itJmigl’IbI,
prmeldiﬁmpltttoigehdnrmmihnefvdWQn ,riamsa srh in
'm‘i‘oWiliuyidmhinsqibstdmlsmqilmg Frfédié/askeldoq
Ioii Hb isnd vtiryiiﬂwrkannamiibqths asiotd lnisfmqtni
skin. vsfife iarlas agbuddocibingnifsiﬂieltiverage citizen»
and has an 'airwiqio Huaiﬁesswlhitnnss hand: intecgsm
tiYBnélkiliisMiiir l .02 vlfaaiwq .fnsuniV .‘IIVI .asY “
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iii‘rivbtsiﬂbufl'miﬂtih'npiammf naznsfiaotnringt syhiw
thetic rubies, I know of none. It is probablerheduikff
501W? 1311?er cpibhlgalfwghevappeazqddasqvelladdélss’éd,
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arIX‘i'QllﬁLIIOI invesbiinrﬂrfsrmdehschnmw’ﬂo bun ,sanoh’
“What disposition ditlrryouweihttﬂmzﬂwmfthumd
Mammal}? all! v.5, oi lI'SITJ‘JQY'J but! 22.13::111‘i’ il~
av‘éisheuleifb dioeniiliaalbltpithera’slleuiom’b flattening} I


SPOOKY HOLLOW 155
made one. We agreed that as whichever of us died
ﬁrst would legally inherit the estate of the other,.a
will was unnecessary for either of us.”
“And Miss Rosemary Vincent?”
“The question of her inheritance has not yet
been brought up. It is true that my sister intended
our niece should have her great ruby,—but alas! that
gem is missing. It may be, however, that if you ﬁnd
Johnson you can recover the ruby. In that case, it
will, of course, belong to my niece. As to my niece’s
fortune or prospects, we need not take up that sub-
ject at this time. Sufﬁcient to say that she is under
my care, and I shall guard and protect her interests.
Now, Mr. Prentiss, I will ask you to excuse me from
further conversation. Mellish will show you the
room Mr. Johnson occupied; it is still untouched,
I think. He will also show you my sister’s room
and the rest of the house and grounds. Or he will
depute some one to do so. You may command him
in any way you choose.”
“ Thank you, Mr. Vincent. I can’t help hoping
for success in this investigation. It is conceded
among our profession that the more strange and
bizarre conditions appear, the more impossible the
correlation of facts seems to be,—the easier of solu-


156 SPOOKY HOLLOW
tion a mystery is. This may or may not be literally
true, but at any rate it is true in part.”
“You most certainly have contradictory con-
ditions in this case; you surely have strange and
bizarre situations. Go to it, then, Mr. Prentiss, and
advise me when you have achieved some deﬁ-
nite success.”
But the Burlington Hawkeye was not so easily
shaken off.
“ One more thing, Mr. Vincent,” he said.
“What about this Wild Harp? Have you ever
heard it? ”
“I should be sorry to put myself on record as
a believer in the supernatural,” Vincent looked as if
the matter were distasteful to him, “ but I will say
this much. If there are occult forces, if there are
deeds done without the intervention of human
agency, then, Mr. Prentiss, then I must say this
looks like such a case. But, mind you, I do not say
that there are. I do not state that I believe my
sister met her death by supernatural means,—but
I own I cannot explain the circumstances by any
natural procedure. Also, I think you ought to know
that the place is reputed haunted, and that the room
my sister occupied was the room of a previous mis-


SPOOKY HOLLOW 157
tress of the house, who was also found dead in her
bed there. It is said that her spirit has haunted this
place ever since her death, but of these tales I am no
sponsor. I merely mention them because I think you
ought to hear of them from me, rather than from
the silly townspeople. They have dubbed the place
‘ Spooky Hollow ’ and they claim to have seen
ghostly ﬁgures and to have heard ghostly voices.”
“ This brings us back to the Wild Harp. Have
you ever heard it?”
Homer Vincent hesitated. Then he said, “ Mr.
Prentiss, I am no authority on the subject. The
truth is, music is my passion. Not only do I play
on my organ frequently, but when I am not playing
I seem to hear the strains of my favorite composi-
tions. They ring in my ears to such an extent that
I am as conscious of them as when I am actually
hearing them. And so, if I say that I have heard, or
think I have heard, this so-called Wild Harp, you
must remember that I am also willing to admit that
it may easily be only my memories of music I have
played, or that it is some of the harmony with which
my brain is always teeming.”
“I see—and yet you are willing to say that at
times you have thought or imagined that you heard
the Harp music?”


158 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Yes, I am willing to say that. Butlbihsilst thati
you do not lay too much stress upwPitlini yomdddhivd
tions. For I object to being setldowh‘nsia spin'tzmlk;
ist when I am far from certain '{t'hatrri lreatbyndqz
believe at all in such thingsjl’msrli "Io mail of niguo
“ I see. Now, one 'tjtlﬁiig nlqnoWMvmil/ldliiiemli
Will you describe to} withifomoodlmi'dtldowrlubqae'
of the Temple—the!in “of: lyoufl'restatwjtﬁat ltlwyg
deﬁnitely call Spookyfaﬁollbviril'lwlhagfisiit ﬁlﬁel? ’”
_ “ It is a densely wooded areal‘ftiﬂ bfttloﬁlﬂtmfrgltd!
underbrush and rcolit'ainlngj-iialsd, ltaﬁbipiilespllarfﬁes,
and sprimdjsi;12'Ehhreznre;itoé;i:som whit} .btfehesﬁl
which; blmqliwrlmldoubtt) imqthgmiepaem .ttignw
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ladleoulniessvtilhtgis {amaﬂiiﬁmlﬂdie Yg’ﬂduﬁtl-mi'saitl
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‘(lill-llhlll’lttk! Irntn§layy,2r1 [believlm ZLIWIIQWQB beenl
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hayingfitldraiii'da Mirgdaigidd,’,’lnmrl avctl I :lnirii ,
ml‘f Iknilbcdatrgnieiiougﬁp msihysraimugmwomavw
bngsi draiqnmgrhiresi‘itmllmi wondktringl Wﬁsiémiﬂi
IMidsonlnouldihmdvaritléredrdowwi thtséiambsutdq
have gone into the swariipgaiubhhﬂ'eﬁbebnasudlﬂéd W
bwtlmlqualn'ngilrgxgiﬂiw 91$ nov_ 19v l)l’XE—--992 I“
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has “14thszth the Srdgmpliswluadla's that!
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alﬂacuoasezihfis 10 siil air! to gnirlton bisa 5H “
“ Had he an umbrella?” “ faaoniaud vdm silt
oliiil Virnoemt-ponﬂmodwefr‘nl mldplddn’itrknovl’l "If so,
'(lMUletSﬁsrlMtli’gfuetodddtwﬁont him .aiadnuixed
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othersubmar'irarikoatn. andmhisgroizienelwaditbmieidal
bmnrrimak Qid hfshimmezsatiamlhidtrngiylmirlfltlﬁhgif”


160 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“I never thought of such explanations,” and
vsVincent looked bewildered. “ No, of course he was
not an old beau,—ridiculous! My sister never saw
him before,—of that I am positive. Nor did he
seem like an anarchist,—-or a homicide. He was
normal in manner and conversation. I object to
talking of business affairs at the dinner-table. I do
not think it good for digestion. But our conver-
sation was on usual, ordinary subjects. Mr. Johnson
did not seem an educated man, in a cultural sense,
but he seemed a thorough man of the world, of fairly
wide experiences, and good judgment.”
“ He said nothing of his life or affairs, outside
the ruby business?”
“ No; our talk was impersonal. He knew little
of music, and I know of no subject that specially
interested him. I’m sorry, Mr. Prentiss, but I can
tell you nothing deﬁnite concerning his personality.
If I could, I should have told it long ago.”
“ Of course, of course. Well, Mr. Vincent, I
will go about my work. By the way, you have
conﬁdence in all your servants? ”
“ Absolute conﬁdence in Mellish, my butler, and
his wife, who is my cook. Also in Francine, the
little French girl who was maid to my sister, and


SPOOKY HOLLOW 161
who also attends on my niece. She may seem like
a shallow-pated little thing, but she was devoted to
Miss Vincent and truly mourns for her now.”
“ Yes, yes, I will talk with her. Good morning,
Mr. Vincent.”
“Ah, one moment, Mr. Prentiss. I shall not
ask you to make your home at Greatlarch while you
are conducting your investigations. It would not
please me to know of your continued presence here.
But, pray feel free to come and go as ’you like, and
refer all questions to Mellis .”
Assenting to this, the Burlington Hawkeye took
his leave of the master of the house and went in
search of the servants.
“Umbrella, sir? yes, sir,” said Mellish, in re-
sponse to the inquiry of Prentiss. “-Mr. Johnson
did carry an umbrella and I did take it from him
that day, and never again did it occur to my remem~
ory! I put it, of course, in the coat room, in the
umbrella cupboard, and there, I make me no doubt,
it still is. I’ll see, sir.”
In a moment, Mellish returned, bringing
triumphantly a good-looking and carefully-
rolled umbrella.
Prentiss looked at it with interest.
11


162M SPGOEOHOHOWIG
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“ ﬁéPEQVQ§HGWaa$réftﬂ, .ﬁdjdsorbli‘i persweﬂmta s
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ticular person. Nine out of ten unibienasi‘ﬁaveM
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portant when hunting a missing man. .szlPulslitQaWaﬁm
Mellish,—or suﬁil‘iséﬂiwéiitaldé lit lupiotd mli'bbm
u


SPOOKY HOLLOW 163
Johnson had when he was here. Yes, that will
be best.” '-
The two went up to the room Johnson had
occupied. But as he had only tidied up for dinner,
not having evening clothes with him, there was little
to notice and but few things disturbed at all.
Prentiss went over the scanty array of clothing
in the bag.
“ Come now, Mellish, you’re by way of being a
valet, wouldn’t your master take more than that
when going on a journey?”
“That he would, sir. Mr. Vincent’s overnight
bag holds as much as a small trunk.”
“Just so, and I deduce our friend here didn’t
expect to stay the night.” ,
“ Maybe so, sir. Maybe he thought he could
do up the business in a short time.”
“Yes; strange he left no papers, no letters, or
memoranda of any kind.” .
“ Mr. Vincent has all the papers about the ruby
construction business, sir. Mr. Johnson left all
those with Mr. Vincent that'night.”
“Yes, but I mean other papers. You’ve not
cleared out any, Mellish? ”


164 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Oh, no, sir. Not a thing in this room has
been disturbed. Orders, sir.”
“ And that turned-down bed is just as the house-
maid left it? ”
“Exactly, sir. But she’d be for tidying up his
brushes and that, at the same time. So as one of the
brushes is out of line, and there’s a towel'or so
rumpled up in the bathroom, I take it the man
was in his room after the confab with Mr. Vincent
in the evening.”
“ Oh, yes, and beside, Mr. Vincent brought him
up to his room, you know, and said good night
to him." i
’ “Did he now? That’s a deal for the master to
\ do for any guest!”
' “ Mr. Vincent not given to putting himself out
for anybody? ”
“That he. is not. Mr. Vincent prefers that
people put themselves out for him.”
“ But a good master, eh? ”
“ Never a better. Given that things go right.”
“ The place will go on just the same, now that
the lady is not here?”
“ Oh, yes; leastways, I suppose so. My wife,
now, she can run the house as Mr. Vincentuvants it,


SPOOKY HOLLOW 165
and I doubt not Miss Rosemary will help look
after things.”
“ Miss Rosemary? She’s a niece?”
“Yes, sir; her father, Mr. Vincent’s brother,
died ﬁve years since, and Miss Rosemary then came
here to live.”
“ She has money of her own? ”
“ I take it she has, sir. She never lacks for any-
thing she wants. But money is not talked of in this
house. They are no purse-proud upstarts. Mr.
Vincent wants only what’s comfortable and to his
wishes, naught for show or ostentationary purposes.”
“ That’s ﬁne. And Miss Anne was the same? ”
“The very same, sir. Though whatever Mr.
Vincent was, of course Miss Anne would be. And
Miss Rosemary, too.”
“Yes. And, now, Melish, what about the
Wild Harp? ”
A slight smile hovered on the man’s features.
“ Well, sir, I’d not say as there is any truth in
them stories. They are what you might call—
imaginatious,-——yes, sir, merely imaginatious.”
“ But some people have heard the weird strains.”
“ They think they have, sir,—but, well, you
know yourself, it couldn’t be. How could a harp


166 , , SPOOKY HOLLOW
be for making music, when there’s no harp there
and no hand to pull its strings?”
“- But a phantom harp,—and a phantom hand
to touch the strings—”
“ Nay, nay, sir. Nothing of the sort. All old
woman’s tales. All made-up yarns,—that’s what
they are.”
“. And all made up about the visitations of Mrs.
Lamont’s spirit? ”
“ Of 1course', sir. Take it truly, sir, you waste
your =.time a looking for the spooks of ‘Spooky
Hollow,” ~.- _' v .
.“ Then, Mellish, then who killed Miss Anne? ”
t“ It was that Johnson, sir. Yes, sir, he’s the
villain, the criminal, the anathema maharajah! ”
And Mellish’s solemn face and tense, strained
voice kept Prentiss from laughing at his queer, mis-
taken words. '


WOJJOH TJMZ 331
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“headrests rahetheaihhnhay. '
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'aisffe'fff’ ’bf a devoted mother and’ " doting
'bi‘athhﬁ‘?‘fvfli83fnight easily have spOiled her bad she
been ofl‘f’kss loving and lovable disposition/“Natu-
hfallyff‘obedient and dutiful, always sunshin'y and
happy, her life was uneventful until, when she was
ten years old, her mother died. " ' 7' ’ ‘ But the broken-hearted child was so petted and
entertained by her father that her life again' became
happy and her mother merely a beloved-memory.
Moreover, her father, soon after his wife’s death,
Y .167


168 SPOOKY HOLLOW
was sent by his business ﬁrm to America to estab-
lish a branch business in Seattle.
This pleased Carl Vincent, who was glad to
return to his native land, although in a hitherto
unfamiliar portion of it.
He grew to like the Seattle climate and
people, and contentedly remained there, bringing
up his daughter in kindly and well-conditioned
circumstances.
Carl Vincent became a very rich man, but of
this Rosemary had no knowledge or thought. Vin-
cent deemed it best to keep the girl to her simple
tastes and ways, and though their home was delight-
fully appointed, it was by no means magniﬁcent or
of a grandeur commensurate with Vincent’s income.
Then, when his daughter was sixteen years old,
Carl Vincent was killed in a motor accident.
The tragedy was a terrible one, and the girl
was not even allowed to see her dead father.
Immediately Homer Vincent went out to Seattle,
from his home in Burlington, Vermont, where he
was then living.
He tenderly cared for the orphaned girl and took
her back home with him as soon as the business


A LIVING TRAGEDY 169
matters consequent on his brother’s death could
be completed. .
Anne Vincent, whom Rosemary lovingly called
Antan, welcomed her niece warmly, and again Rose-
mary’s acute grief was diverted by the scenes and
experiences of her new home.
She deeply mourned her father, but Rosemary
Vincent was an eager, vivid spirit, a life— and
laughter-loving girl, and she quickly became a favor-
ite among the young people and neighbors.
Then, six months later, Homer Vincent bought
the huge mansion of Greatlarch, and the three
moved there.
Rosemary loved the house as much as her uncle
did. Her Paris memories made her appreciate the
full charm of the old French chateau, and her own
beauty-loving nature made her feel at home’in the
marble halls.
Uncle and aunt were kind and loving to their
niece, but Rosemary found her freedom a bit cur-
tailed. Her father had let her do everything she
wished, for she had never desired the unadvisable,
in his opinion.
But Uncle Homer was more stringent in his
Commands The girl could have her own way in


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nigqmvunthr Sbthgglaialbdnwduigbed'lfo aainfimnyldife
HWO 15f


A LIVING TRAGEDY 171
in her home, though getting much enjoyment from
social gayeties elsewhere.
Though, here again, she was handicapped by her
uncle’s insistence on her early homecoming. This
brought about a slyness and secrecy, quite foreign
to Rosemary’s nature, but developed by her love of
dancing and of young society.
And by the help of Hoskins and the connivance
0f the two Mellishes, all of whom adored her, Rose-
mary managed to stay at most parties until they
were over.
Another thorn in her ﬂesh was the trouble about
Bryce Collins.
Though Homer Vincent had no deﬁnite objection
to the young man, he expressed his strong dis-
approval of Rosemary’s marriage with any one. Of
this stand he gave no explanation, his usual manner
being such that explanations never seemed necessary.
His word was law, unquestionable and immutable.
Yet Vincent was not a stern or awe—inspiring
Personality. If things were going as he wished,—
and they usually were,—he was not only amiable,
but charming and entertaining.
He was subject to moods, which must be ob-
served and humored by his household. He made


172 SPOOKY HOLLOW
laws which must be obeyed. He gave orders which
must be carried out. These things done, Homer
Vincent was the most gracious of hosts, the most
generous of brothers and uncles.
And all this, the Burlington Hawkeye learned
from Rosemary Vincent when he asked her to go
for a brisk walk with him, around the grounds
of Greatlarch.
The girl, with her responsive disposition, liked
Prentiss at once. He had an ingratiating manner,
and a pleasant air of courteous deference. The
stare of his slightly prominent eyes was often veiled
by lowered lashes, and under the inﬂuence of his
discreet but leading questions, Rosemary told him
all about her life, past, present, and future, so far
as she knew it.
“ And your father was the brother of Mr. and
Miss Vincent? ” he asked, interestedly.
“ Yes, their youngest brother. And the dearest
man! Dad had the best traits of Uncle Homer and
Antan, and none of their faults.”
“ And he was very rich, wasn’t he? ”
“ Why, yes,-—I suppose so. I never thought
much about that. I’ve always had all the money
wanted, but I’m not an extravagant person.”


A LIVING TRAGEDY 178
“ But you must be an heiress. You must in-
herit your father’s fortune, don’t you?”
“I suppose so. Probably he left it to the
three of us.”
“ Do you mean to say you don’t know? Don’t
know anything about your own ﬁnances?”
Rosemary laughed outright.
“ Is that strange?” she said; “ well, then, it’s
true. I don’t know a thing about money matters-—
but I do know this. Antan’s great ruby was to be
mine, and now that horrid Johnson man has stolen
it! Oh, don’t think I am heartless to think of it, but
you know how I do mourn dear Antan, and it seems
awful that he should have taken the ruby, too! ”
“ Are you fond of jewels?”
“ Not specially, but that stone was a favorite of
mine,-—and it is a wonderful stone,—it has
a history—”
“ Miss Vincent, do you believe in hauntings,—
in,——well, in spooks?”
“ Oh, I do and I don’t. It’s too absurd to think
a ghost killed Antan,—and yet, how could a mortal
get in—and get out?”
“Well, just granting that a mortal could do
that,-—suppose a skeleton key or something like
that,-—whom would you suspect? ”


174 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Why, that Mr. Johnson, of course. He was a
clever burglar,-—he just took that means of hood-
winking Uncle Homer,—the ruby-making business,
I mean.”
“ Yes, it would seem so. But why didn’t he steal
anything else? Wasn’t there other jewelry of your
aunt’s about?”
“ I daresay; but nothing to compare in value to
that. Why, do you know that a ruby is worth three
times as much as a diamond of the same size? And
Antan’s ruby was enormous! ”
“ Where did she get it? ”
“ Bought it herself,—soon after I came here
to live.”
“Well, Miss Vincent, I truly think, now that
you and your uncle are left alone, you ought to have
some sort of a ﬁnancial settlement. From what you
tell me, I am sure you have an independent fortune,
and it ought to be settled upon you. Aren’t you
of age?”
“ Twenty-one last birthday.”
“ Then you should see to it at once. Doubtless
your uncle is going to attend to it shortly, but don’t
let him delay.” i
“ Why, Mr. Prentiss? ” the girl asked, curiously.


A IWUNIDH‘IHWBIDIE 118‘!
“ Immunime fed. ,maimysstnsmegmnvimsn
oqttiqttéstioho albniltsailmits supplied urihiasmiglyriiil
“ Oh, well, perhaps it’s a matter ofmzsimfmﬁabem
impputanteni ddodamaynasiavielqzwaitnmtioimerﬁthis
awifubdngsﬁi'y mwnaquil- ovitianaa ,Ishsoa 19f! bus
“ Will it ever be solved? Can yoﬁnﬁl‘ld WP!)
Jdaisondssadiewwoeilereéh assessvwnneaaﬁ 9w
than/Mean“me w may . Isz weathﬂstaasreyena
has your shaipﬁej'esi‘ghf yieﬁfdishéﬁrlblpldhyttlﬂ’ffgbileu
“631me semi MrJQahitsoailtaslﬁwbrﬂstaodéys’
stm dismeme intthsedime'neiedulh) gamuan
ends of the earth,-—with his-mtgvti’baiiwﬂov 10 nisv
brtt Ddigilruaal it hmtubyiwle’srnihéﬂﬂmawtiape
yogphmlgdiggllw'IgetlitgmuB ﬁijM’S'IOIH on 3i 9vsg
.aéh‘hesrgtrltquaamboldio’d ‘eyksiilboltededntrx rtlvéséo
ofirPnpritiss. .vHuileyksw'vere; noltilunbike‘lhlb mu bile
tints,.\pnwmiliteahdsnweneoroundi mistandgioibnsrl
were' dgéplseriandoesrpressi'w. a’liller'tlongsllasltesalrtre
golden-brdvsinpiikmhbwhitirt‘mhid=h611thmmoiytlagﬂ
suggestiveidfmtw russet-"asfd gofgl tgslérjbmf aiiﬁlwtunim1
day. HelmeleaiijaaliqeisliinswasWrits?astigmatism!
inlahdwiii,i-aritl their re‘d‘browfi h‘aiw showed: golden
light was rte-fastening! icuﬁls’ tint! stibneaitlrelkroppiér! Isn‘t
deepened to dusky br-gﬁgépqxorri bili. oaricnirogi an to
~oHes pi/nctpai easedceénseié'wsé iaerrees'atwtlid


176 SPOOKY HOLLOW
life. Her glance was direct, her face animated, her
lithe, graceful gestures indicative of vitality
and enthusiasm,
Perception and responsiveness shone in her eyes
and her scarlet, sensitive lips quivered with a bewil~
dering charm.
A ﬂeeting, evanescent dimple showed only when
she was deeply amused, but whoever once saw it,
used every effort to bring it forth again.
Though too intelligent not to have a subcon-
sciousness of her own beauty, Rosemary was not
vain or conceited over it.
She accepted it as she did food or sunlight, and
gave it no more deﬁnite thought. Full of the joy
of living, absorbed in her daily duties and pleasures,
she went her way like a wise butterﬂy, taking no
heed of the morrow in the occupations of the day.
Her trivial troubles were those caused by her
uncle’s restrictions on her freedom, and her only
real trouble, and that just dawning, was his refusal
to recognize Bryce Collins as her possible suitor.
The pair were in love with that ﬁrst ﬂush of
youthful affection that is none the less real because
of its ignorance and inexperience.
Rosemary had liked other boys, had felt an in-


A LIVING TRAGEDY 177
terest in other young men, but until she knew Bryce
Collins, she had never felt the personal attachment,
the mating thrill, that is the precursor of true love.
Moreover, she admired Collins from an intellec-
tual viewpoint. She appreciated his mentality, and
liked his casual traits. She adored his big, strong
manliness, and she was beginning to love him with a
sense of reciprocation of his own affection for her.
Their love was dawning, budding, just ready
to spring into full light, to burst into full blossom,
when it was thwarted by Homer Vincent’s decree
against it.
Nor was Bryce Collins ready to submit tamely to
the dictum. He openly rebelled, while Rosemary,
uncertain of the wisdom of defying her uncle, was
waiting to see what would happen.
Antan had been her niece’s ally, in secret, but
Anne Vincent would never dream of opposing her
brother’s decisions.
And now, even Antan’s support was gone, and
Rosemary began to think she must do something
deﬁnite about it all.
Her nature felt a strong distaste to secret meet-
ings with Collins. Her father had brought her up
to strict honesty and a hatred of deceit. Her little
12


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smmsimammnm hwmmmigguoiz eaﬂuelrmmiﬁgs
,imimhidhyxdratoothpmigirib’i Waste WilmindJO
hONStEllfilJaS lh'iﬂﬂmuaquterhmi/nalifﬂaihrilijﬁm $191"!-
~15thi1nd1hemo'ri alllllUC) boiimbs aria ,‘tavm'ioM
bins ,Shfminm leift Ithmimﬂqqheiﬂﬁieetnimdwivutmk’s
,ghé milwmuhsaeenandbemekeepen for! Milo
s dependiidmviri dihgtlilﬂﬁgﬁdQﬁvhliléﬁmu ,baeh'k'tﬁsaﬁld
.qlfcmlihmatbmftn'tsmoliirﬁﬁe) wermatontlssertdliiemhe
vlmeuldabe leftilehnidelgtbrbhm care: ofvpaidiiseilvants,
.mmtcaﬂtdmalbhd hadrdeneufbgiihﬁni Rostrgmwe mu!
aﬂtbéllerhatshliéfthmaghtbﬁhwﬁﬂdh- asw ti nariw
And yet,—there was Bryce,—growjhga;dggger
onnkbnmrmlmwbhieneryidayiioawwdthdwnewwing
,‘(lmmpaiaﬁieaﬁrbwiibgllsdmzinhmfh gfbwingudgﬁirglfpr
adveraihnsensmgnivfob herrmrliifedpai'onﬁfshsouu
And perhapsmgzgmd btiibw heri'talkoavith ﬁfﬂstﬁiﬁs,
iuﬁomiayidecidhd tibhiimeﬂrfalleadidashehm-
19d gSlmrflpmridi llitmib hiSrSIWbltIEﬂthsmmimte
her satisfaction his mood was a ghdtﬁppar-
brentlyrplgablemanqua a‘nsmA nave ,won bnA ’
gniriié‘nfowaﬂt aamdksﬁindeirﬁomentgshevsaideasﬂle
held a chair for her. “ A seridnsytaiko’lig gjjnﬁgb
dastemaary amigin about thermommnd a
qxsuddemdtjimrghbmlruelhhlmali .enilloZ) rltiw egni
slifil f‘aanleiaHbrﬁUIiaﬂhd swaqutné‘rmbmavmre
SI


A MUINDITHAGEHY Nﬂl
y'o'tﬁlhiiilirfg .iabmvsenirempdnebrthe: nightgir-thnomight
Almirmlliqlﬁ’r’up qu b97100! aria bns ,oldzron baanaa
aierlimetO’Itiincehstés ammaegnasmmm. 1er
“ What do you mean?” he askedaolzlanldyg qosb
gnffc‘tfedjoiwdieiﬁal"darnmdfdrrrdyédhgiIaivMsl’th—
medtting somethingnaiwajmiqi avslicrhtipanehi
imthisvzogmomstmoe Paiprtfk ‘andialm :xmtethingmhab
slﬂifiétlikeignlﬂfi’rli blnoa blirb tooq oil; aol " llnsod
“ Well, Rosemary, even if I was doing .thatn iltii
(hiesniti vmdljieronoemrl )Iomzlwntkrimrwfalifl, ,dI/klbn’t
rt'qnémh ,dgﬂlltrirqgmstarnidw BQIDSIWIIIGIIYABI youni
sefibiismilklnbbubhl Bryce ﬁlollgﬁfséd 1; 0'1er ysm
“ Yes, Uncléjihiand ohewgiflvhrwleljmsbatledblida
mwnﬁorbiﬁeds by'Ethei atllviwpfell’renoissyesliealtsked
con’c’erning olieii'bwndﬁvhucinlraﬂhirs; rmld‘ declarfgdi
that,21beiragitotoiagetwshd lmdmn bighbrleobdehow
these things. .bslsovsn ad 391992 stil-,bloi ad slat
“melqunfﬂdrewvablodgiisigiq andrmegﬁr‘tled
hivo‘nike blitiﬂhodii {Hotel 01m ommobet-homashsam
Sympathetic, ".boiqobr. an; qu .2tnorsq boaoqqna
sai'é‘ Igniﬂgtadjh aivdxynfﬂosemafy, th'abiythli‘ave
brziagheidphtnisistotjebtib ilfwrbVenatnyngbtm getaipi
my courage to Hrowlit bit! tda you»! but nai' .llmgr
thmilsbuterloitqeddntt >béap toddistusb {your sappy,
girlish content.” .dasfl grill-mild sno ni gnirliyiava


180 SPOOKY HOLLOW
From his tone, rather than his words, Rosemary
sensed trouble, and she looked up quickly to ﬁnd
her uncle regarding her with real sorrow in his
deep gray eyes.
“ What is it, Uncle Homer?” she- cried, paling
in an intuitive premonition of an unpleasant dis-
closure of some sort. “ Don’t condemn Bryce un-
heard!” for the’poor child could think of no other
ill news.
“ N o, Rosemary, what I have to tell you now is
in no way connected with young Collins, though it
may have a bearing on your friendship for him.
Child, I don’t know how to begin.”
“ Is it so very disagreeable? ” she asked, wonder-
ingly. “ Then get it over quickly,—I’ll be brave.”
And she had need of bravery, for this was the
tale he told,——the secret he revealed.
“ Then, to put it baldly,—plainly, Rosemary,—
you are not—you are not really the child of your
supposed parents. You are adopted.”
“What!” There seemed to be nothing else
to say, and Homer Vincent did not repeat his state-
ment, for he knew she had heard.
Her mind raced, her quick perceptions realized
everything in one blinding ﬂash.


A LIVING TRAGEDY 181
Not her parents’ child! Merely an adopted
daughter! Whose?
“ Don’t look like that, Rosemary, vlisten to
the story.”
“But it can make no difference. What are
details? If I am not the daughter of my dear
father—and my angel mother—who am I?”
Her cry rang out, like the shriek of a lost soul.
Her emotional nature was stirred to its depths for
the ﬁrst time in her happy young life.
“ Go on,” she cried, inconsistently; “tell me the
rest! Who am I?”
“ Try to be quiet, dear, and let me tell you. My
brother Carl married a lovely woman named Mary
Leslie. A little child was born to them, but
died almost immediately. My sister-in-law, sadly
stricken, wanted to adopt a baby in its place. My
brother approved of this, and so, Rosemary, they
took you from an orphan asylum. And they
brought you up as their own child, they loved and
cared for you, and. as they never had any other
children, they lavished real parental devotion on you,
as no one knows better than you do yourself.”
“ Oh, I do know it!” and Rosemary moaned
between her interlaced ﬁngers. “ But I can’t believe


1&9 WWW
iiiaililxtclsl. {weft Senssrit! *..»;.l>l9t.~.t;he=-l.<ilaugmer of
my dear, dear father! Why, he ,loygdmegsqi-ié’mb
m “Hits, that’sa‘that,Issidarmthmbotlmlqved you
like a real child of their own,—I know thqudidg’fij
911; §1§EIJJ<QTWiiofHIh§£7HTAan2;" m'd "
'ize!) “‘,r¥ssi.<.<>f.<sagtsa Shaktisw .is. hut. r10 stir-.she
at all- “ Hatterasitsairlsgsalimqrities. . .st
.Il’iffaeliféﬁfﬂl tribal! fiﬂiltiiille,i9§§i1~file~ifi§Qtﬁlived
#91 Edit?! that iiiffiﬁraaquyf‘l‘. .usrstsalssniiirqm 13
small and CXCIggiiYeiigrPhaiiﬂgFTTi21 vi cm.) )a'n’: " ‘3‘-
oril si‘rRPityo’Il {ki’i’EQWQ-Wxiigv ,Wi‘iiap rapidgfhcxknow ?
Oh, Uncle, I can’t stand it! It’s ,toqldread'ful—jfi-n
M Sheri-sweaters..-s19ii’<t1~-Oxsaate the thing- It
. xii equhsfr -ib¥ﬁ.'.re.1n§mb§§ t .I‘iIle
albyoli’it-iizféz-‘Tsw oilfi Aunt. Annm—
‘ﬁglsaoﬁ‘vggllfﬂgtaﬂiﬂt Yaw qusntstiii maks'aay
ziiﬁetsassésiws 19w. :fqr ygut insets treatmt (if
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51le qux diﬁsrsnss istthat we knew itiypurrself,
thlj-.4ﬁ°%it Witssthat-ysi1..d0.ilsn9wms.;1, said,
lashes. rhinitis marine that-l-pught to ten
.9581iinsllii.%;>§9% figh-tzfo, WWT”ivr;i '1. 1i! lﬁ'l
h . 1.- »havs m rights 1'. .YIthai/e no birth-
iiightnsxfnweaqmamsl 'Uﬁchwlzﬁaélft stand it! I
.( natal lira sham? 1:!!!


A mmrrmoma lsan
oblgfwemala‘ylﬁ' ,9nVib<’£nt.olootiifnlzm§IdEd,
sternly. “ Never say a thing like thanmagainiw
YPIs'lrs-essenekeisedrnomreiou ageSMBmEd,atl this
nestserhslnwnlisnlbnetmsueeoi film“er mesa geisa
unsetseir-eill’pumq YQﬂﬁltllefOsglin-b-l’oosi on lqoﬁ—
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hmiiﬁs‘ft’s’ slavqu bns 2151mm aaaniznd gnimaanoo
ni“§elnir§§iys>ulrsa qalmbroumliumh dnaiadmrnmrlt
ashtrl’hlio’é‘? @YEMQrmﬁgqymdttainfhommilqgrnembg
Comaossrst». 'vaWQRIIBQ ,tsillw tQiranolboluflnsovehtmhd
Horseshoes-youseprespectseiabeueiymnettetueeitsetse
I eaantttslls with: augig'ltwhmotarlt'smm'dlmeahhmimg
negﬂlgiPh‘l'QPFﬁmo’il but; ,l‘aifl arii mm} 1101 bovol
eﬁ‘é. Enrgiveeme- libiﬂlgtl’hlﬂmblRebeiharyl’h Habit eesw
Ohedésnseisaqselmhet aitt iii-glorillitryrtmbﬂ calm-,rlorrr
I mghfagwoaﬁioqagbmifmg—ib mdah, fierl‘lbibeQaﬂdQU
ﬁrm;mgﬂdlﬂdﬁWngflVQIIﬂYHfDIYEOHIWSIIII’QJibllﬂltg
hersiqgiyming sobsesnestq persisfezftit andwheruigagadf
WWIQciAOthPP-ﬂloagrn ,I Iier otrnA lnuA 'inosg ,ti
nammgnthen'nlthumeaHdtmouVsinclmbtcbntimwdmo
“ I will take this“oppbrtunityqltoo~telfayouospnieas
furtherﬁnalist)Rosemarysfbndvdorriti’wahtbtocrYpeat
a scene like this if we can help i‘t.lnfaett=1§,lﬁmeie5me,li
taksiisﬁltfyom nowgnahdjrdorrtqué-i-nmkie ahméfriest
eﬁgoilfensbopiithat swam-maligne- 2i arias-z em


184 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Yes, Uncle. Tell me, ﬁrst of all, do you know
who I am? ” -
“ No, Rosemary, I do not. Your father,-—as I
said, I will continue to call my brother by that name,
——kept no record of your birth. I know this, because
at his death I took charge of all his papers, both
concerning business matters and private affairs, and
there was no document of any sort pertaining to
your adoption. But I have personal letters from my
brother and from his wife, telling my sister and
myself all about the matter. You can read them for
yourself, and it will comfort you to read how they
loved you from the ﬁrst, and how delighted they
were with their little new daughter. Never for one
moment, Rosemary, forget the love they showered
upon you, or the debt of gratitude you owe them
and their memory for the happy and beautiful life
they gave you. Also, if it pleases'you to recognize
it, your Aunt Anne and I, myself, have always
endeavored to show you the same love and affection
as if you were really our niece.”
“ You did, Uncle, you both did,—and I dorealize
it, and I am grateful.” ’
“ Try to show it now, my dear, by less agitation.
This scene is wearing me out,—-I am in a nervous


A LIVING TRAGEDY 185’
state, naturally, since your aunt’s death, and I can-
not bear much more. But what I must tell you,
Rosemary, is that you are virtually penniless. My
brother left no will, and, , of course,’ his estate
reverted to your Aunt Anne and myself, as his
natural heirs. He assumed I- would provide for
you, and I have done so,~and I always shall. But,
Rosemary, I do not wish you to continue to live
here. When your aunt was with us, it was quite
different. Now, I am not able to meet the conditions
consequent upon having a young lady in the house.
You are young and fond of young society. I am
getting old, and I need rest and quiet in my home.
I am sure you can see for yourself that it would be
impossible for us to remain together happily. And
I am sure you would not wish to stay here, unwanted.
So, Rosemary, dear, we will at some early date talk
over your plans, and see about settling you some-
where by yourself. Of course, you cannot expect the
luxurious life you have led here, but I will give you
what I consider a sufficient allowance for a young
girl, and doubtless you will like to take up some light
occupation that will bring you in an additional sum.
You are not :1 Vincent, as I have told you, and so
you have no real claim on me. But I will willingly


186 SPOOKY HOLLOW
give you an allowance and I trust you will ﬁnd'a'
little home for yourself. This is why I had to forbid
you all thought of marrying young Collins. They
are an aristocratic old family, and his people, of
course, would not hear of his alliance with—”
“Don’t say it! I am a nameless orphan, but I
never shall foist myself on the family of Bryce
Collins—or on anybody else! ”
And, white-faced and trembling, biting her scar-
let lips in agony, Rosemary walked out of the room.


CHAPTER X '
HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT
ROSEMARY walked alone in the south gardens.
These beautiful terraced plots lay either side of the
lagoon, and ended only at the broken stone fence that
bounded Spooky Hollow.
This fence, not unusual in New England, was
merely a succession of ﬂat, unevenly shaped stones,
most of them pointed, standing in a ragged row
between the gardens and the swampy jungle of
undergrowth. They had a slight appearance of old
and neglected gravestones, and their grim, gaunt
shapes added to the eerie aspect of the place.
One had fallen over to a horizontal position and
Rosemary went and sat upon it.
The girl was stunned. Not yet did she feel grief,
sorrow, or despair at her uncle’s revelations; not yet
could she look ahead or plan for her future; she
couldn’t even realize the situation. She was dazed,
bewildered,—her mind a senseless blank.
Wrapped in her long fur coat, a small fur hat
drawn down over her brow, she nestled into the deep
187


188 SPOOKY HOLLOW
coat-collar and tried to collect her wits, to marshal
her thoughts, to make some plans.
But she could not think coherently. Her memo-
ries raced back to the dear, kind father—who was
not her father! to the loving, beautiful mother——
who was not her mother! Oh, it couldn’t be true,—
it must be an awful dream! Then the dear Antan,
who had died—not her aunt—not Antan at all!
Uncle Homer not her uncle—Greatlarch not
her home——
Wonderful Greatlarch! Rosemary loved every
tower and turret of the splendid old pile. Every bit
of marble and wood-carving was her joy and delight.
And she was put out of Greatlarch—put out because
she had no right there—no claim or inheritance in
its ownership. _
It was too incredible, she could not believe it!
And then the tears came, and poor Rosemary
buried her face in her fur sleeves and her whole
slender frame shook with convulsive, heartrend—
ing sobs.
She tried to stop but it was impossible, so she let
herself go and cried until she was physically ex-
hausted from her wild bursts of grief.
Everything swept away at once! Home, rela-


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 189
tives, parents, even her name! She was a homeless,
nameless orphan,—a wanderer on the face of
the earth!
She knew her Uncle Homer well enough to
understand his attitude.
He had always objected to the presence of her
young friends in the house. He hated anything
that obtruded to the slightest degree on his even rou-
tine of life, and many a time Antan had stood
between Rosemary and Uncle Homer’s displeasure.
And now, without his sister’s presence, Rose-
mary was not surprised at his desire to have her
out of his house.
That was bad enough,—to leave Greatlarch was
a tragedy of itself,—but it was lost sight of when
she remembered the other and worse misfortune that
had come to her.
What could she do? But her brain still refused
to plan. Every fresh realization of her parents, her
birth, brought the tears anew, and it seemed to
Rosemary she was at the end of her endurance.
She could have borne the shock of her parentage
if she could have remained at Greatlarch with Uncle
Homer. She could have borne to leave Greatlarch
if she could have gone forth as Rosemary Vincent,


190 SPOOKY HOLLOW
in truth. But the two blows were too much for her,
and she bent under them like one of the slender
white birches before the chill autumn wind.
As she sat, motionless, her face hidden, her whole
body shivering with cold and quivering with agony,
she heard faint strains of music.
“The Wild Harp,” she thought, but so great
was her apathy, she paid little attention to it.
Subconsciously, .she heard the weird, wailing
sounds, an incoherent melody, eerie as a ban-
shee’s cry.
It was twilight, the early twilight of the late
November afternoon, and as Rosemary glanced
uneasily toward the Hollow, she imagined the Harp
strains came from there.
It was almost like an aeolian harp, but that
makes only accidental harmonies. This, though dis-
connected and fragmentary, had a certain sequence
of notes that betokened an intelligent agency of
some sort.
Abstractedly she gazed into the deepening
shadows of the Hollow, and a sudden determination
came to her to walk into it, and—never to come
out. If a supernatural agency was in there, was
making that weird music, perhaps it might attack


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 191
her and put an end to a life that had become unbear-
able. Better so, she thought, and half rose to go,
when a man’s voice sounded through the gather-
ing gloom.
“ Miss Vincent! ” Prentiss exclaimed, “ out here
all alone? You’ll catch your death of cold!”
“ I wish I might,” she said, mournfully, scarcely
noting or caring that she was speaking to a new and
casual acquaintance.
“ Now, now, my child,” Prentiss said, puzzled,
but seeing her agitation, and quickly deciding that
kindliness was his cue, “ don’t despair so utterly.
Your dear auntie was much to you, but you have
much left in life—”
“ I have nothing left! I have no life—no name
—no home! ”
“Why—what do you mean?” Prentiss was
utterly astounded. He couldn’t imagine what she
meant, and wondered if the tragedy had turned
her brain.
Rosemary hesitated a moment, but the situation
was too strong for her.
She had no one to turn to for advice or help.
She had put away all thought of Bryce Collins from
her forever. She would never face him with her


192 SPOOKY HOLLOW
terrible story, she would never want to hear his pity-
ing sympathy. She was a nameless, homeless girl,
not ﬁt to be the wife of any man with a name and
a heritage.
Nor would she ever willingly see Lulie Eaton
again. Lulie had been a dear friend, but Rosemary
knew her well enough to realize that her friendship
never would stand the strain of Uncle Homer’s story.
The Mellishes would stand by her through thick
and thin,—-0f that Rosemary was certain. But they
were only servants, and Uncle Homer’s servants.
What could they do for her?
And so, the impulse to speak freely to Prentiss
was strong. He was an intelligent, experienced man
of the world. He might tell her what to do.
So Rosemary did tell him, and he listened atten-
tively. She gave him the facts of her parentage, as
her uncle had related them, and she admitted her
utter helplessness and bewilderment.
“ You poor child!” Prentiss exclaimed. “You
dear child—” and he restrained a sudden impulse to
take her in his arms and comfort her.
For Rosemary was very lovely in her abandon-
ment of grief. Her imploring eyes, gazing through
tear-wet lashes, her quivering lips, beseeching help,


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 193
her little hands nervously clasping one of his own,
would have thrilled a far less impressionable man
than the Burlington Hawkeye.
But he quickly saw that the girl was utterly
unconscious of his personality, utterly oblivious to
the fact that she was appealing to his impulses, and
that she was merely pouring out her woe to him,
because he happened to be there, and she must speak
or go mad.
He said quietly, “Suppose we go in the house.
and sit by a comfortable ﬁre to discuss these things.
If you are going to leave Greatlarch, you may as
well enjoy its comforts while you can. Come,
won’t you?”
And, like a trusting child, Rosemary went
with him.
Homer Vincent was playing the organ as they
entered.
Rosemary listened a moment, and then nodded
her head in satisfaction. At least, he was in a calm
frame of mind. Close harmonies rolled through the
dimly lighted house, and Rosemary led Prentiss to
the pleasant living-room, snapped on the lights, and
rang for Mellish to mend the ﬁre.
“ And bring tea, mayn’t he?” suggested Pren~
tiss, and Rosemary agreed.
18


194 ' SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Now,” the detective said, “ would it be better
to call in your uncle and discuss your future plans?
Or shall we just talk them over by ourselves? ”
“ By ourselves,” she said. promptly. “ If Uncle
Homer wants to, he will join us without being
called.”
But their talk was desultory, and without deﬁnite
result.
As a matter of fact, Prentiss did not believe
Vincent would really send the girl away. He
thought it was more likely a threat, in order to get
her to agree to have less company and fewer intru-
sions upon his own retirement and solitude.
A strange man, Prentiss deemed Homer Vincent,
but, after all, a just and kind one. Not a man who
would really turn away his brother’s child, even
though she were only an adopted daughter.
An adopted child, he argued, who had lived all
her life with her adopted parents and their family
connections, was entitled to recognition of some sort.
And though he knew Vincent’s solitary habits and
eccentric disposition, yet he felt sure he would pro-
vide properly for Rosemary either in his home or
out of it.
He had sympathized with her and did still, but


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 195
he felt certain she was exaggerating the case, and
that while she must realize she was not a Vincent,
yet she would doubtless get used to that in time
and pick up her life and happiness again.
“ Forget it for a time, Miss Rosemary,” he said,
as the advent of tea and hot crumpets absorbed his
own attention. “ At least, you’ll stay here for
the present,-.—while I’m tracking down this
Johnson man.”
“ Have you any clue to his whereabouts?” the
girl asked, half-heartedly.
She was interested in the search for Johnson,
but her own troubles had obliterated all thought
of him.
“ Not quite that, but I’m going down to New
York to look up the jewelry ﬁrms whose cards he
left with your uncle. Surely they can tell me all
about him,—-I mean his home and habits, and that
will help us to ﬁnd him.”
“ But if he has run away,—which, of course, he
has,—and if he has sold that valuable ruby,-—which,
of course, he has,—he has money enough to take him _
anywhere, and he has doubtless gone out beyond
civilization, and so, how can you ever ﬁnd him?
“That’s all true, but missing men are often


196 SPOOKY HOLLOW
found, and no criminal is quite clever enough to
cover all his tracks. Besides, he can’t sell that
ruby at present. It’s too large and important to
offer to a pawnbroker or to a ‘fence,’ as they are
called. Still, he probably has money enough for his
escape. I’m banking on his overlooking some trace
or some clue that will lead me to him.”
“ Have you any real clues? ”
“Oh, yes. The business cards, the synthetic
{rubies,'—surely they can be traced to the laboratory
where they were made. Then there’s the hat and
coat and umbrella—”
“ You know, Mr. Prentiss, it’s too absurd to
think of that man running away without his hat or
coat. The umbrella he might easily forget, but not
the others.”
I“ Oh, he didn’t forget them, as I see it. He was
probably frightened away. Perhaps he heard the
watchman on his rounds, or thought he heard‘ some
one near him. And he ran off hurriedly, without
stopping for anything.”
“How could. he get away? The grounds are
locked and guarded.”
“ But, Miss Rosemary, he did get away. We’ve
searched the place too thoroughly to allow of his


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 197'
concealment here. Now, as we know he did get
away, it’s futile to guess how he did it. The thing
is to ﬁnd him.”
“ Yes, I see that. And I hope you will recover
my ruby. That, at least, is my own, and I don’t
want that horrid man to have it.”
“ I’ll surely make a try for that,” Prentiss said,
glad to note her interest in it.
And then, to Rosemary’s intense surprise, Homer
Vincent and Bryce Collins came into the room
together.
“ Will you give us some tea? ” asked Vincent, in
a pleasant tone, and still stupeﬁed at Collins’ appear-
ance, Rosemary tilted the teakettle over a fresh cup.
“ We’re going to have a conclave,” Vincent said,
as he took an easy chair, and the ubiquitous Mellish,
suddenly appearing, set a small table beside him for
his cup. “ Mr. Collins called to see you, Rosemary,
and I received him; and I have told him the story
of your birth, as I have already told it to you.”
“ And I don’t believe a word of it!” Bryce
Collins declared. .
“I wish I needn’t,” Vincent said, a little sadly.
“ I’d rather, indeed, that Rosemary were my own
niece. I have always loved her as such,—and this


198 , SPOOKY HOLLOW
disclosure was bound to come sooner or later. I
often talked it over with my sister, and we agreed
that we never could let Rosemary marry without
acquainting the man of her choice with the truth
of her birth. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to her.
I think now, it would have been better if Rosemary
had known all her life that she was an adopted
daughter of my brother and his wife. But they pre-
ferred to let her grow up in ignorance of the fact,
and this is the result.”
“ I’m glad they did! ” Rosemary burst out. “ At
least I’ve had twenty-one years of happiness,—even
if I am miserable the rest of my days.”
“ But you needn’t be, Rosemary,” Vincent said;
" as you well know, many children are adopted, and
lead the happiest of lives. That this knowledge has
come to you just now, is because of my brother’s
plan of keeping you in ignorance during his life, and
my sister’s disinclination to tell you during her life.
I, too, would have spared you the knowledge, ex-
cept, as I said, that Mr. Collins came to me, and
asked for your hand in marriage. I could not honor-
ably let him marry you under your assumed name,—
so, what could I do, but tell him the truth? ”
“ It is not the truth,” Bryce Collins reiterated.
Vincent looked at him curiously.


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 199
“ I don’t follow your thought, Bryce,” he said;
“ why do you say that when I tell you the facts as
they are? ”
“ Because Rosemary is all Vincent,” Collins de-
clared. “ Those topaz eyes of hers are just like her
Aunt Anne’s were. Her nose is shaped like your
own, Mr. Vincent, and she has the manner and
ways of her aunt in many particulars.”
“ I wish your arguments could carry weight,”
Homer Vincent said, looking kindly at Rosemary;
“ but let me call your attention to the fact that Mr.
Prentiss here has eyes of that same peculiar color,
and he is not related to the Vincents. Also, Rose-
mary’s manners and ways are of course modeled on
those of her aunt, with whom she has lived for ﬁve
years, and also, doubtless, she learned Vincent traits
and habits from my brother, with whom she lived
thirteen years.” _
“Why,” Rosemary exclaimed, “I’m twenty-one,
Uncle Homer. You make me out only eighteen! ”
“ You were three years old when you were
adopted, Rosemary,” Vincent said; “ you lived in the
asylum the ﬁrst three years of your life.”
Bryce Collins looked serious.
“ Will you give me the dates, sir?” he said.


200 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Certainly. Suppose we all go into my Tower
room, whereare all the papers and documents refer-
ring to the matter. Mr. Prentiss, will you not
come, too? Your advice may be useful.”
As the other two left the room, Collins drew
Rosemary-to him, and whispered, “ Trust me, dear,
I’ll straighten out this moil. You are a Vincent, I’m
sure of it! And I’ll prove it, too!”
Rosemary’s heart fell. She was glad of Bryce’s
comforting tone, but his words meant nothing.
She knew the story was true. She knew Homer
Vincent was telling the facts and there was no deny-
ing them. And she would have preferred Bryce’s
assurance of his love for her, whatever her name
might really be, to his protestations of unbelief of
the story.
The four, seated in the Tower room, watched
with interest as Homer Vincent opened the sliding
panel and took out some bundles of papers and
letters.
“This is not exactly a secret panel,” he said,
noting the curious glances, “but it is a private hiding
place. One has only to press this embossed orna-
ment on the panel, and it slides open—as you see.”
The Burlington Hawkeye fastened his alert eyes


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 201
on the slide, but Collins paid little-attention to it. He
was eagerly awaiting a sight of the papers.
“ There are no articles of adoption or anything
of that sort,” Vincent said; “it is possible my
brother had some, but at his death all his personal
effects were put into my hands, and I searched in
vain for some such documents. But I have here
letters from him and from his wife, which tell in
full detail of the adoption of little Rosemary.
“As may be seen from his marriage certiﬁcate,
which I have here, my brother was married in 1904.
Here is a letter from him and one from his bride
telling my sister and myself of his marriage. We
did not attend the wedding as he was travelling in
France at the time, and was married in Paris.
“ Here is a whole packet of letters from both of
them, written in the year following. You may read
them at your leisure, Rosemary, and indeed, they
are at the disposal of any one interested. They
tell of the happiness of the young couple, and of
their joy in anticipation of the advent of a child.
“ Later here are the letters that tell of the birth
of a daughter in 1905. And sad letters follow,
telling of the early death of the baby. Soon after
that,—here is the letter.—they decided to adopt a


202 SPOOKY HOLLOW
little one in hope of easing the heart of the sorrow-
ing mother.
“ Visiting the asylum, they were struck by the
beauty and charm of a child of three years,—our
Rosemary. My sister-in-law preferred a child older
than a mere infant, and, too, they thought she showed
a vague likeness to the Vincents. This explains,
Bryce, the resemblance you have noted.
“ So the little girl was taken into their home, at
ﬁrst on trial, and then gladly adopted permanently.
I daresay it was because of the temporary arrange-
ment at ﬁrst, that papers of adoption were not for-
mally made out. Or it may be that my brother did
not wish them. At any rate, there were none drawn
up, and the little Rosemary simply grew up as the
real daughter of her adopted parents. I do not mean
that my brother and his wife pretended she was
their own child, or wished to deceive anybody. But
she was as a daughter to them, and when, at her
mother’s death, Rosemary and her father went to
live in Seattle, he said nothing about her adoption
and she passed as his own. All this I learned from
his letters, which were regular though not frequent
throughout his life. Then, when his sudden death
occurred, in a frightful motor accident, I went out


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 203
there at once, settled up his estate and brought
Rosemary home with me.
“ Knowing she was ignorant of the truth, my
sister and I never told her. Often we talked it over,
often had anxious and worried hours wondering
what was our duty, and how best to tell Rosemary
what she must eventually know.
“ And then my sister was taken from me, and I
had to face our family problem alone. There was but
one way open to me. Rosemary has grown to be a
woman. No longer a child, the truth was her due,
and she had to have it. N o woman would want to
be allowed to marry a man in ignorance of such a
truth. No man should be allowed to marry a woman
under such a delusion. Tell me, Rosemary, tell me,
Bryce, tell me, Mr. Prentiss, did I not do right, did
I not do my duty, however hard a task, when I told
Rosemary the truth? ”
Homer Vincent’s face was troubled, his voice
shook a little, but he looked squarely in the faces of
one after another as he awaited their answers.
Rosemary, sobbing, could not respond. Bryce
Collins, convinced at last, was speechless with sur-
prise and consternation.


204 SPOOKY HOLLOW
So the Burlington Hawkeye answered. He spoke
slowly and cautiously.
“ I suppose, Mr. Vincent, there was no other
way to proceed. You are sure of all you have
told us? ”
“ There are the letters.” Homer Vincent spoke
wearily, as if worn out by the harrowing scene. “ As
you can see, they are written and posted in Paris
on the dates I have mentioned. Good heavens, man,
do you suppose I trumped up this yarn? The let-'
ters bear their truth stamped on their face! I have
. scores more of my brother’s letters, you may com-
pare them—but,” his voice dropped to a quieter key,
“ you have only to read those letters from my sister-
in-law, to realize that they are from a heartbroken
mother mourning the loss of her own baby, and later
from a cheerful-hearted woman glad in the posses-
sion of her adopted little one.”
“I don’t remember anything about being in the
asylum,” Rosemary said, slowly. “ Don’t children
remember their experiences at three years old? ”
“You never did,” Vincent said. “Your aunt
and I frequently quizzed you when you ﬁrst came
here, to see how far back you could remember. And


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 205
you never spoke of anything that happened before
you lived with my brother.”
“ Yes,” Rosemary said, “ I remember such ques-
tionings by you and Antan.”
Prentiss had been reading the letters hastily, but
with deep absorption.
“ Of course it’s true,” he said, throwing down
the last one. “ Those letters are too positively
genuine to admit of the slightest doubt. But would
you not think that Mr. Carl Vincent would'have
made some provision for his adopted daughter in
his will? ”
“I have no doubt he meant to do so,” Vincent
returned. “ But he, like many another man, post-
poned the matter, and then death overtook him with-
out warning. But no one can say that my sister
and myself treated Rosemary as other than our
own niece. We have indulged her every whim;
given her every luxury, and surrounded her with
all the joys and comforts of a beautiful home. If
now, that my sister is no longer here, and I, myself,
am in advancing years,——if now, I feel that I cannot
have the responsibility of the ordering of the life
of a vivacious young lady,—it can scarcely be won-
dered at. And, since I am willing to make generous


206 SPOOKY HOLLOW
provision for her maintenance, and since she is not
really a blood-relative of mine, I feel that I should
not be too severely criticized for consulting my own
well-being in the matter.”
“ As you always have done and always will do! ”
blurted out Collins. “ You are a selﬁsh, self-indul-
gent, self-centered man, Mr. Vincent! You have no
sympathy nor consideration for the helpless girl you
thrust from your roof! You !-—”
“ Just a moment, Mr. Collins. What about your;
self? Do you want to marry the nameless girl you
thought was my niece? Do you want to give your
children a nameless mother? Where now are your
protestations of love and devotion to Rosemary?”
Collins put a strong, protecting arm round the
sobbing girl beside him.
“ My love and devotion are stronger than ever,”
he declared. “ I do want to marry her—and at once.
It matters not to me who her parents were—she is
my love—my Rosemary! ”


CHAPTER XI
A RUN OVER TO FRANCE
BUT if Bryce Collins was willing to stand by
his love and loyalty to his sweetheart, Rosemary was
by no means acquiescent.
She positively refused to marry Bryce or to be
engaged to him.
“ It will not do,” she told him. “ Your mother
would never agree, and I would never marry you
against her wishes. Oh, Bryce, can’t you see it
as I do? I should be utterly miserable as your
wife, unrecognized,—or even unwillingly recog-
nized by your people. I, who have always consid-
ered myself a Vincent, whose ﬁne line of stainless
names has been my inspiration as well as my pride,
now to ﬁnd myself not only no Vincent, but of no
known parentage whatever! Bryce, you can’t real—
ize what that means to me. My parents may have
been anybody—anybody at all! I may have in my
veins the blood of ignorant, low-bred people, even
criminals! It is appalling—I can’t bear to think
of it. But I must think of it,—I must face it, and
207


208 SPOOKY HOLLOW
plan my life accordingly. I shall never marry, of
that I am certain. It would be unfair to my hus-
band, unfair to my children. I would be willing
to stay right here with Uncle Homer, and never
have any company or go anywhere. But he won’t
have me. Nobody wants me. I am an outcast, a
wanderer on the face of the earth.”
Rosemary did not say this by way of appealing
to Collins’ sympathy, nor was it a mere dramatic
cry on her part. She was thinking aloud more
than talking to him, and she really felt her utter
friendliness, loneliness, and homelessness. It was
a cry from her very soul, and it went straight to
Collins’ heart.
“Rosemary,” he said, and his thin, dark face
was strong with purpose,——“I am going to ﬁnd
your parents. I want you anyway, dear,-—nameless
or a Princess Royal,—it’s all the same to me. You
are my own Rosemary. But I know, for your own
sake, this thing must be cleared up. And for mine,
—for ours, Rosemary. I know you too well to
believe you are of anything but ’gentle birth. Such
features and mental traits as yours never belonged
to an ignorant or low-born ancestry. I can’t help


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 209
thinking you are a Vincent—maybe they adopted
a cousin or distant relative—”
“No, Bryce, that’s impossible. Uncle Homer
is most clannish and loyal to his kindred. If I had
the slightest claim to the Vincent name, he would
stand by me. And he is standing by me. We
must remember, Bryce, that he had to tell me about
this,—he couldn’t let me marry you under a name
not my own. Could he? ”
“ No, Rosemary, he couldn’t. I do see that.
But his putting you out of the house—”
“You don’t know him, Bryce. Uncle Homer
is a peculiar man, but his strange ways are simple,
after all. He only asks to be let alone, to enjoy
himself in his own way.”
“ And isn’t that infernally selﬁsh? ”
“ Not so much so as you think. He loves his
books, his music, his collections of curios and pic-
tures, and he wants to enjoy them unbothered by
people about, especially young people. He fre-
quently has guests of his own age, and he is a
charming and courteous host. Now, if I were
really his niece, really a Vincent, I might resent his
not wanting me here. But when he is so fond of
solitude, and freedom from interruption, when I
14


210 SPOOKY HOLLOW
am not the slightest relation to him, when he says
he is willing to give me a fair allowance,—why
should he feel any further responsibility for me, or
any obligation to let me remain at Greatlarch? ”
“ As you put it, Rosemary, it is logical enough,
but in all these years he must have learned to
love you—”
“Ah, Bryce, that’s the worst of it. He didn’t
and it has been my own fault. Antan loved me,
because she sympathized with my gay disposition
and love of social life. But Uncle Homer didn’t
like my everlasting running about, as] he called it,
and,—here’s the trouble,—I took no pains to please
him, or to give up my inclinations to his. I was
the selﬁsh one, I thought only of my gayeties,
my dances, and my friends, and I ignored Uncle’s
wishes, and even deceived him often as to my
doings. Oh, I was more to blame than he, that he
didn’t love me as Antan did. And as I sowed the
wind, now I am reaping the whirlwind."
Rosemary’s lovely, wistful eyes looked into
Collins’ .own and she shook her head in utter dis-
approval of her own past conduct.
“ Tell him you’ll do differently now. Tell him
you’ll stay at home and look after his comforts and
order his household for him—”


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 211
“ He doesn’t want me or need me," Rosemary
said, the sad tears ﬁlling her eyes. “ Mellish and
Melly can do everything he wants, they know his
ways, and they are devotion itself. The few little
things I could do in their absence would not com-
pensate to Uncle for the bother of having me around.
He doesn’t want me, Bryce, that’s all. And as there
is no reason why he should have me here, of course
I must go. But where can I go?
“Don’t think I am whining—or playing the
martyr. I hate such a spirit. And I am going to
brace up and bear this thing bravely,—but, oh,
Bryce, it is so hard to bear, and it came to me so
suddenly,-—it was so undreamed of! Don’t despise
me for giving way to my despair.”
“ Despise you! My darling—I love you more
every minute!” 7
They were alone in the living-room, Homer
Vincent at the organ on the other side of the house.
They could hear the low strains of mournful music
now and then, and Rosemary knew his soul was
troubled.
But so was her own, and while Bryce Collins’
love was a solace, yet the very fact that she must
thrust that love away from her made her grief the
more poignant.


212 SPOOKY HOLLOW
He led her into the embrasure of a south window
and took her in his arms.
“ Rosemary,” he said, and her lifted face showed
white and drawn in the moonlight, “ sweetheart, I
am yours. My heart is devoted to you and to your
service. If you will marry me at once, I will brave
my _parents’ displeasure, I will marry you under the
name of Rosemary Vincent, and we will go away
and establish a home of our own, where no one
shall ever know more about you than that.”
“No, Bryce, it can’t be done that way. No
minister would marry me by a name to which I have
no right. Oh, I wish Uncle had told me long ago.
I wish my father had told me—Bryce, he couldn’t
have been more like a real father if I had been born
his child! He loved me with a true fatherly
affection—” '
' “ Well, we know he was not your father, dear.
There’s no getting away from those letters. Is
there?”
“ No, I’ve read them all over and over. They’re
true as Gospel.”
“ Then, let’s face facts. If you won’t,—if you
can’t marry me now, we must ﬁnd a nice, snug


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 213
home for you, and I shall set about ﬁnding out
your history.”
“ You can’t do that, Bryce.”
“ Can’t I? Well, I can make a pretty big stab
at it! Do you happen to know, my little love, that
your future husband has quite some persistency?
Quite some of what is known as bulldog stick-to-it-
ativeness! And what Iset out to do, I most gener-
ally sometimes always accomplish! So, dear little
girl, try to possess your soul in patience till your
ardent cavalier can run over to France and back and
then we’ll see what we shall see! ”
“ To France! 'You can’t mean it!”
“ But I do mean it, and if you’ll go, I’ll take you
with me.”
“No, Bryce, we can’t marry. On that point
I’m positive.”
“ Well, then, it’s merely a postponed wedding.
Don’t you dare fall in love with any one else while
I’m gone.”
For answer Rosemary put her soft arms round
his neck and kissed him voluntarily. It was the ﬁrst
time she had ever done so, and Collins clasped
her close.
“ My little girl,” he whispered, “ my darling little


214 SPOOKY HOLLOW
girl, with your love to look forward to, with you to
win, I can do anything! accomplish any task. I shall
go to the asylum where you were adopted, and I
haven’t the slightest doubt that I can trace your
parentage. Of course they have records, and I shall
insist on seeing them.”
“ I’m afraid, Bryce,-—afraid of what you may
ﬁnd out—” . i
“I will ask you, mademoiselle, to have more re-
spect for my future wife! I allow no one, not even
you, to imply the least disparagement of her birth or
breeding. S'o, kindly refrain from such comment!
When I return from my quest I will announce to
you the details of her illustrious lineage!”
But Rosemary was not comforted by Collins’ gay
chatter. She had a foreboding that his investigation,
if he really made one, might bring to light more and
worse facts than those already known. For, poor
Rosemary thought, people don’t put their children in
orphan asylums if everything is all right and proper.
H
“ It’s awful, Bryce,” she said, not to have
the least idea Whether you’re the child of decent
people, or scum of the earth!”
“ Don’t talk like that, dear. The suspense, the
uncertainty is awful,—oh, I appreciate your feel—


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 215
ings, darling, but these conditions we have to face,
and we must face them bravely. Now, I shall get
from Mr. Vincent all the addresses of the asylum
in question and the various residences of your
adopted parents while they remained in France, and
then, if necessary, I shall follow up your father's
removal to Seattle, and go there to learn what I can.”
“ You never can trace it, Bryce, you can’t delve
into matters so far back, as you might do if the
dates were later. The war, doubtless, caused the loss
of lots of records and statistics, and you never can
get the truth from those old archives.”
“ Now, my little Cassandra, no more of these
dismal forebodings. N o more cold water to be
thrown on my projects,-—if you please. And I’ll tell
you another thing. After I get you all straightened
out as to vital statistics, I’m going to devote my
energies to tracking down the murderer of your
aunt. I don’t believe those addle-pated policemen
will ever get anywhere. Oh, yes, I know that Bur_
lington man is alert and promises well. But if he
doesn’t succeed in getting at the bottom of the mys-
tery, I will! Now, my little love, do you begin to
realize what a determined man you’ve got to put up
with for the rest of your life? Just as soon as I get


216 SPOOKY HOLLOW
matters ﬁxed up to my liking you’ll be wooed and
married and to a tyrant worse than any feudal
lord you ever read about in medizeval history!”
But Rosemary was not deceived by his banter.
She knew he meant it all, but she knew the obstacles
in his path, and without unnecessary doubt she
clearly foresaw the opposition his plans would receive
from his own people.
Bryce Collins had an independent fortune left
him by his grandfather, but it was not large enough
to preclude his having a business of his own. Nor
did he mean to go through life without working and
earning. But now, ﬁred with enthusiasm over these
new plans of his, he proposed to use his inheritance
and postpone his business career, which, naturally,
would not seem wise to his parents.
And Collins was a devoted son, and on the best
of terms with his family. Also his mother admired
Rosemary, and was glad at the hope of an alliance
between her son and the Vincent family. But in
view of the new developments, Bryce Collins well
knew the quick turn that his mother’s inclinations
would take.
With his volatile nature, however, he put from
him all unpleasant anticipations, and gave himself


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 217
up to the joy of being with Rosemary and of com-
forting her by his presence and by his love, in spite
of her forebodings.
When Collins detailed his plans to Homer Vin-
cent, he was given a patient and thoughtful hearing.
“ You propose to go to France and to Seattle
both? ” Vincent asked, for the young man’s enthusi-
asti" statements were a bit incoherent.
2" If necessary, sir. You see, I must get at the
truth of things. I mean I must ﬁnd out who were
the real parents of Rosemary.”
“ You’re not afraid of’what that discovery may
mean—to you—and to her? ”
“ I’ve thought about that, Mr. Vincent, and it
seems to me the truth, however disappointing, will be
better than ignorance. If Rosemary is of decent and
legitimate birth, I don’t care how lowly her origin.
If, however, she is of disgraceful ancestry, then I
shall take her away from here to some distant place,
and try to make her forget it all.”
Bryce Collins’ young face was somber and his
strong jaw was sternly set in his intensity of purpose.
“ You are taking a ﬁne stand, Collins,” Homer
Vincent said, “ and I admire your pluck and your
loyalty to Rosemary. But my advice would be to


218 SPOOKY HOLLOW
let sleeping dogs lie. Aside from the fact that a
trip to France at this late date would in all probability
be a wild-goose chase, there is also an even chance
that your discoveries, if you make any, will be
disappointing.”
“_What is your advice, then, sir?”
“ I don’t know what to say. But, though I’m not
at all sure it’s right, I would be willing to ignore
the whole matter of Rosemary’s birth and,_if you
are willing, let her marry you as Rosemary Vincent,
my niece.” ’
“Does no one else know the truth?” Collins
was thinking quickly.
“ Only the detective, Prentiss. I believe, in her
frenzied surprise the girl told him. But I’m sure we
can pledge him to secrecy. You understand, Collins,
I never would have let her marry you as my niece
without telling you both the truth. But since you
know it, if you care'to adopt such a course, I will
do my part. I will give her a wedding, small and
quiet, of course, as the house is in mourning, and I
will never divulge the secret of her adoption.”
Collins thought this over.
“ I don’t know what to say, Mr. Vincent,” he
said, at last. “I confess I am tempted to do this


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 219
thing. It is the line of least resistance, and quite
the simplest way out of our diﬂiculty. But, beside
the question of Rosemary and myself, we must think
of our possible children. You know as well as I do
that, while in America ancestry and lineage is not
looked upon as it is in England, yet if, in time to
come, there should be discovered any stigma on my
wife’s name, is it a fair deal to the innocent babes
who may be born to us? ”
“ That is a question for your own consideration.
Bryce.” Vincent spoke gravely. “I feel strongly
about family ties myself. I admit I have never felt
toward Rosemary as I should have felt toward a
child of my brother’s own. But it is too hard on
her to tell her these things. She is a sweet, sensitive
nature,——a dear girl in every way. But she is not
my kin. Yet, as I said, I will keep her secret, if you
wish me to.”
“ N0! ” and Collins’ face took on a look of even
sterner determination. “ No, I cannot do it. I
love Rosemary too well, too deeply, not to try, at
least, to vindicate her claim to honor and right. I
shall go on my quest,—at most, it will not take me
more than about a month, and I shall ﬁnd out some-
thing,—or learn that nothing can be found out. In


220 SPOOKY HOLLOW
the latter case, I will, perhaps, give your proposition
further consideration. I will ask you to keep the
secret until my return. Can you—will you do this?”
“ I will if I can. But since Prentiss knows it, it
is in danger of further publicity. What is your
project, in detail?”
“ I’ve planned nothing further than to go to that
asylum from which Rosemary was taken. You have
the address of that, have you not? ”
“Yes, and all the addresses of my brother’s
residences in Paris and some suburban towns. They
moved two or three times. You will, of course,
return here before going to Seattle, if you conclude
to go there? ”
“ Yes, and I hope I shall not have to go out there.
But I know there is no use in writing to these places,
or sending any sort of an emissary. Only my own
desperate determination can accomplish my ends,
if indeed I can accomplish them at all. Now, an—
other thing. May not Rosemary stay here with
you until my return? I cannot think you will turn
her from your door.”
“ It isn’t exactly turning her out,” Vincent said,
looking troubled. “ But,—well, as man to man,
Collins, I may as well admit that I’m what is known


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 221
as a woman-hater. I loved my dear sister, but I have
never cared for any other woman, and I long for a
home without a woman in it,—except as a ser-
vant. This may seem strange to you,—perhaps
it is strange. But you must realize that alone in
my home I can pursue my own avocations, I can have
things just as I want them, I can have the uninter-
rupted solitude that I love; when, with Rosemary
here, the whole atmosphere is changed, the whole
house on a different basis. This is really not un-
reasonable; I am aging, I am a bit eccentric, I have
suffered a terrible tragedy, and I have no real respon-
sibility toward my brother’s adopted child, outside of
her ﬁnancial maintenance; and, so, I hold that it is
not my bounden duty to keep Rosemary here.”
“ That is all true, but Won’t you consent, even
to keep her here until my return? You’ve promised to
keep her secret until then—if you can. Surely
to send her away would rouse suspicion against her
of some sort. I am sure she will agree to annoy you
by her presence as little as possible. She can keep
out of your way—”
“ Oh, don’t make me out an ogre! ” Vincent ex-
claimed. “ Of cburse, she can stay here—for a
month or two. As I have had her here for ﬁve years


222 SPOOKY HOLLOW
—but, you see, Bryce, it was very different when my
sister was here. She stood between me and any
nuisance the girl might have been. She kept Rose-
mary in a sort of subjection, which I see now, with
her aunt’s restraint missing, has utterly vanished.
She permeates the household,——unconsciously, of
course, but breezily, noisily, as any young girl would.
I can’t deny her the visits of her young friends en-
tirely, yet when they come they are laughing and
chattering all over the house, and it annoys me
frightfully. Absurd, you would say. But you can’t
realize the difference between the viewpoint of an
enthusiastic young fellow and a world-weary,
hermit-souled old man.”
“ You’re far from an old man, Mr. Vincent, but
I do understand what you mean, and I can see it
from your point of view. And I realize that'if
Rosemary were really your niece, things would be
very different. However, I’m going to hold you
to your agreement that she may stay here a
month or so, until I can run over to Paris and
back. Then—”
“Collins, I’m not sure I ought to say this,—and
yet, it’s only fair to warn you of even a remote possi-
bility. You know, those detectives have no theory,


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 223
no idea of how my sister’s murder was accomplished.
Nor have I, for that matter. But since we know it
was accomplished, since some murderer did, some-
how, gain access to that locked room, and get out
again, we must assume some diabolically’clever crimi-
nal. Now, you must not overlook the possibility that
it may have been some one of Rosemary’s relatives,—
some one who has watched over her career, secretly,
meaning to proﬁt in some wicked way by the girl’s
good fortune. This may seem far-fetched, but what
theory does not seem so? At any rate, suppose the
murderer of my sister should turn out to be some
evil-minded relative of Rosemary’s real parents, do
you want to delve into the matter? ”
“ Yes, I do. Even though there is a possibility
of what you suggest, I deem it so remote a one that
it is almost negligible. I have determined to go to
France; I shall tell my people it is merely a travel
tour, they will raise no objection. And I will ask
you to preserve Rosemary’s secret, in so far as you
can. Your deﬁnite request will ensure Prentiss’
silence, I am certain. And, Mr. Vincent, if your
hinted theory should prove true, at least you will
have achieved the solution of the mystery of Miss


224 SPOOKY HOLLOW
Anne’s terrible death. It is one of my strongest de-
sires to avenge her memory, and once the matter of
Rosemary’s birth is settled, I shall turn my attention
to the murder tragedy, if it has not by that time
been discovered.”
“ You are a determined man, Bryce, and while I
admire your indomitable perseverance, I wish I felt
more faith in your success. I doubt your making
any discoveries at all in France, but if you are bent
on going, I will give you all those old addresses,
and letters, if you want them, to various people who
may help you in your search. In all probability the
asylum will have the old records of Rosemary’s adop-
tion by my brother, but will they have the statistics
to prove who her own parents were? Still, as I said,
I will give you all these documents, if you are bent
on going.”
“I am bent on going,’ said Bryce Collins.
And go he did. Obstacles fell before him like
grain before the reaper. His determination was so
7
strong, his will so powerful, that he made his depar-
ture possible and speedy.
Rosemary knew his errand, and imbued with his
own hopefulness, she bade him Godspeed.
But she did not know she remained at Greatlarch


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 225
only on sufferance and because of Collins’ insistent.
plea to her uncle.
Vincent treated her kindly but with no words of’
love or sympathy. Indeed, his words were few. and'
his manner self-absorbed and often seeming utterly"
oblivious to her presence.
Rosemary did not resent this. She quite under-"
stood her uncle’s attitude toward her, she well knew
his distaste for her presence. And she felt, at times,
that she would gladly go away. But the charm of
the place, and her great love for it, held her there,
as well as her ignorance of the world and her feeling
of inability to face its unknown and perhaps un~
friendly possibilities.
She wrote notes to Lulie Eaton and a few other
girl friends, asking them not to come to see her for
the present. And she gave Mellish orders to admit
none of the young men who came to call on her.
She was determined to think things out for her-
self, but she could not do this all at once. It was
all so new and unaccustomed,—this thinking for
herself. All her life her plans had been made for
her, in important matters. She had willingly acqui-
esced in all Antan’s advices, knowing that the aunt
15


226 SPOOKY HOLLOW
who loved her would give all the liberty and pleasure
that could be hers.
And now, she had no one to whom to turn for
advice or for information. Even Prentiss, who
was friendly, was away on his investigations in
New York.
There remained only the two Mellishes and little
Francine.
Reduced to the society of servants or none at all,
Rosemary did talk over her affairs with good
Susan Mellish.
“ Never fear, dearie,
I)
that kind woman said;
“it’ll all come out right. Your uncle is for now
that worrited there’s no doing anything with him.
But these detective men, they’ll ﬁnd out the wicked
villain and they’ll hang him high! Or, what’s more
belike, they’ll ﬁnd there was no mortal murderer, and
then they’ll know where to look! ”
For Mrs. Mellish was strong in her belief that
the hand that slew Anne Vincent was the phantom
hand of the dead Mrs. Lamont.
And there 'were those who agreed with her.


CHAPTER XII
A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF
ALTHOUGH Prentiss had gone to New York in
search of information concerning Johnson, the local
police of Hilldale were by no means idle.
They searched and researched the premises of
Greatlarch, both in the house and about the grounds.
The room that Johnson had occupied they studied
over and over, in their efforts to learn something
further of the man’s personality. They left his few
belongings where they found them, deducing nothing
beyond the general facts of a business man on a
hasty trip.
The entire absence of letters or personal papers
was peculiar in itself, but there was no conclusion to
be drawn from it. The fact that his clothing was
new and unmarked was thought to be a suspicious
circumstance, but it led to no deﬁnite suspicion.
It was a favorite remark among the detectives
that Sherlock Holmes could have deduced the whole
man from his few articles of luggage, but Sherlock
Holmes was not there, and the men who were
227


228 SPOOKY HOLLOW
there only looked at the things blankly and with—
out inspiration.
The same with Miss Anne Vincent’s room.
Day after day they surveyed the beautiful
appointments there. Again and again they drew
back the heavy silk hangings that fell round the head
of thelbed and scanned the bed anew. The sheets
with their crimson stains had been removed, but
were still kept at the Police Station as possible ‘
evidence.
The wall safe, from which the great ruby had
presumably been stolen, was examined frequently,
and all the details of Miss Anne’s personal belong-
ings had been studied to no avail whatsoever.
The-re were the two rooms, one above the other,
the rooms, all agreed, of victim and criminal, yet
from neither room could a single fact be deduced
that was of helpful signiﬁcance.
Police reconstruction of the crime,—for they
took no cognizance of suicide or of spooks,—set
forth that Johnson had spent the entire night in
preparation for his crime, and in waiting for dawn
to bring his chosen moment. That he had, as soon
as the watchman went indoors, unlocked Miss Anne’s
door with some clever sort of key, had killed the


A NALIELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 229
lady, stolen the ruby, and then, relocking the door
with his patent contraption, had easily made his way
out of the front door, when the family were still
asleep and the servants busy in the kitchen quarters.
Almost superhuman cleverness they conceded this
criminal, but, they argued, only such diabolical in-
genuity could have perpetrated such a mysterious
crime. .1
Their decisions were arrived at by elimination.
There was no other suspect, there was no other
means of procedure. The only thing to do was to
catch the man. This, they hoped, Prentiss would
accomplish.
But the Burlington Hawkeye returned from an
unsuccessful search.
His report, given to Homer Vincent, in the pres-
ence of Brewster and Brown, was disappointing in
the extreme. ‘-
“ There isn’t any Henry johnson,” he declared,
looking both crestfallen and ldeﬁant at once. “I
went to the address you gave me,er. Vincent,—
the address he gave you, and they declared they
never had heard of him there. Then I visited those
two jewelry ﬁrms, of which he left you'the cards,
and they said they had never heard of any'iHenry


230 ' SPOOKY HOLLOW
Johnson in connection with ruby manufacturing.
They spoke of a Mr. Markham or Markheim who
made synthetic rubies, but that was of no interest
to me. I begged them to search their books and
records to ﬁnd Johnson’s name. They were most
obliging but utterly unsuccessful.”
“ What else did you do?” Brewster asked.
“ Oh, lots of things. I went to the stores where
he must have bought his coat and hat, but I couldn’t
trace any sale. This is not to be wondered at, of
course. I only tried it on a chance. But that um-
brella, now. That is a new one. I wish I had
taken it with me. However, I went to the store it
came from and asked what monograms they had put
on umbrellas recently. Not an H. J. amongst them!
As I say, I didn’t really hope to ﬁnd out these things,
but I took a chance.”
“You did well, Mr. Prentiss,” Homer Vincent
assured him. “ Where there’s nothing to ﬁnd out,
you can’t, of course, ﬁnd out anything. But I’m
surprised that the jewelry ﬁrms repudiated all knowl-
edge of him. Do you suppose he was entirely a
fake? Do you suppose he came here merely to rob
and murder, and that the ruby story was all
made up? ”


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 231
“ I do suppose just that, Mr. Vincent,” Brewster
declared. “ And probably his name wasn’t Johnson
at all—”
“ There’s the umbrella,” put in Prentiss.
“ I know,” Brewster assented, “but that may
have been made for a Hiram Judkins or a Hugh
Jennings.”
“ That’s so,” said Vincent, thoughtfully. “Or
perhaps he stole the umbrella somewhere.”
“ Yes, the umbrella gets us nowhere,” and Pren-
tiss sighed. “ I feel as if I’d accomplished nothing,
and yet it is something toahave learned that the
Johnson name was assumed—”
“ Not necessarily,” objected Brown. “ You see,
he may be named Henry Johnson all right, and yet
have made up all the ruby business.”
“ If he came here with intent to rob and murder,
he most certainly didn’t announce his true name,”
Brewster declared, and his words carried conviction.
“ Then,” Vincent summed up, “ we have a
criminal with a deﬁnite purpose, who came under an
assumed name, and carried out his plans successfully
to the smallest detail. I remember, now, his asking
me rather particularly as to the watchman’s rounds
and all that. But, of course, I never suspected any-
thing wrong.”


232 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Of course not,” Prentiss said. “ Now I’d like
to see that butler of yours again.”
“ Surely," said Vincent, and rang for Mellish.
That worthy came in, and contrary to his habitual
calm, he exhibited a hint of suppressed excitement.
“Will you look what Hoskins found, sir,” he
said, holding out his hand toward Vincent.
As all could see, he held a long amber and ivory
cigarette-holder.
It was one of those extremely long ones that are
affected by the ultrafashionable.
“ Where was this found ?'” Vincent asked, look-
ing at it attentively, and then passing it over
to Prentiss.
“ Hoskins found it, sir, out in the grounds.
Or maybe the gardener found it and gave it to
Hoskins. But it’s the one Mr. Johnson used, sir,
and I opine he lost it as he hurried on his way.”
“ You remember it?” Prentiss inquired of
the butler.
“Oh, yes, sir. I noticed it when Mr. Johnson
used it at the table, sir. After dinner, he took no
cigar, but took a cigarette, which he ﬁtted into that
outlandish thing, sir! ”
Mellish’s scorn of the eccentric implement was
evident on his face.


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 233
“ They’re quite fashionable now,—I’ve seen
them in use” said Brown, with an air of wide ex-
perience. “And see, here’s the H. monogram
again! The fellow’s initials must be H. whether
his name is Henry Johnson or not.”
“Unless he stole this thing and the umbrella
7
from the same party,’ argued Prentiss. “ Wonder
if we could trace the cigarette-holder. It looks rather
valuable, and a specialty shop, where such a thing
was doubtless bought, might remember the buyer.”
“ Keep it carefully,” Brewster admonished him;
“it’s a good bit of evidence,--maybe a real clue!
Where was it found, exactly? ”
“ I don’t know the precise spot,” Mellish said;
" but I opine it was somewhere on the east lawn.
The gardener is working there today.”
“ Would that be on'his way out of the grounds?”
Brown inquired.
“ It might be,” Vincent returned, slowly. “ Or,
he may have been walking about outside—”
“ Killing time until the dawn broke!” Brown
exclaimed. “ Oh, I’m sure we can get a line from
that thing. It’s most unusual,—not common at all.”
“ You go down to New York then, on this
errand,” Prentiss said; “ I don’t want to go right
back there.”


234 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ All right, I’ll go,” Brown agreed, rather liking
the idea.
“ And I thought, Mr. Vincent,” Prentiss con-
tinued, “ you might recall some more data about
the synthetic rubies. You see, even if he faked that
whole ruby proposition, at least he must have known
enough about the matter to make a good showing
before you and your sister. You would have known
if he had been a mere layman. He couldn’t have
made you believe he was an expert without knowing ~
a good deal about the processes and all that.”
“ That’s true,” Vincent agreed. “ But, knowing
little or nothing of the subject myself, I daresay
I was not in a position to be critical of his explana-
tions and descriptions.”
“ I opine,” Mellish said, speaking deferentially
but with a look of pride at his.master, “that Mr. Vin-
cent is not so ignorant of these things. You remem-
ber, sir, there was another gentleman here not more
than a month ago, who also wanted to interest you in
the making of imitation rubies.”
“ Why, yes, that’s so,” Vincent said; “ I had for-
gotten that. But I daresay the market is full of
such things. The process, recently invented,——or
perhaps I should say discovered,—has doubtless been


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 235
taken up by various would-be lapidaries. Well, does
all this get you anywhere, Mr. Prentiss? ”
“ We have only one goal, sir, the whereabouts. of
the man who called himself Henry Johnson, whether
that is his true name or not. I think no one can
doubt he killed Miss Vincent, even though we cannot
yet determine his exact method. But given this mys-
terious visitor, his mysterious disappearance, and the
immediate discovery of the robbery and murder, we
cannot think otherwise than that he is the criminal.
He may not have intended murder, in the beginning.
He may have used the ruby chatter to induce Miss
Vincent to exhibit her splendid jewel,—of which he
must have known,—and then, when he endeavored
to steal it and make away, very possibly she awoke
and would have made an outcry, had he not silenced
her. Burglars often commit murder because of a
sudden danger of exposure.”
“ That is all true, Mr. Prentiss,” Vincent agreed;
“ I had not thought of that sequence of events at
my sister’s bedside. It may well have been just as
you suggest. Granting his ability to get in and out
of that room,—and you have suggested an explana-
tion of that,—I feel sure there can be no doubt of
Johnson’s guilt. Now, we must ﬁnd him. It is


286 SPOOKY HOLLOW
imperative. Can any one suggest any further or
more far-reaching plan? ”
"‘ It is hard to circumvent such ﬁendish ingenuity
as that man has showed.” Brown spoke vindictively.
“ We have, of course, inquired at all the near-by rail-
way stations. I assumed he might have walked to
some one of them and boarded a train there. But we
ﬁnd no trace of such a thing.”
“ More likely,” Brewster said, “ he walked to a
near-by town, and after a rest and a breakfast walked
on' to another, and so on, until he was far enough
away to take a train without fear of detection. In a
large town he could do that, but not in one of our
small villages.”
“ There are many ways he could escape,” said
Vincent, looking wearied, as if tired of their futile
conversation. “He could lie low for hours any-
where, and then go on by night. Or he could beg a
ride in a passing motor, or in a farmer’s cart.
At any rate, he did get away, he did get beyond our
ken, and if we ﬁnd him, it will not be by simple
search, but by some deduction or conclusion based
on some bit of evidence. I know little of these
things myself, but I supposed detectives worked
from small clues.”


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 237
“ We are supposed to,” Prentiss declared,
frankly, “ but I must confess there are fewer
clues in evidence in this case than in any I ever
saw before.”
“There’s this,” and Brown held up the long
cigarette-holder. ‘
“Yes,” agreed Vincent, “there’s that. Now,
that’s just the sort of thing I mean. Can’t you
experts gather anything from that?”
“ I gather that he had sharp teeth,” Brown said,
smiling a little, “ for the amber mouthpiece is a good
deal scratched.”
“ He did have strong teeth,” Vincent remarked,
“ and very white ones. But I can’t see how that will
help you to ﬁnd him. Perhaps, after all, you may
have to give it up, and put it down among the un-
solved mysteries of history.”
“ Not yet,” Prentiss declared. “ I’m by no means
ready to lie down on the job, and if Mr. Brown will
run down to the city and try to trace the fancy
cigarette doodaddle, I’ll try some few little
manoeuvres I have in mind up here.”
“ Try all you like, gentlemen,” Vincent directed
them. “ Use every effort, call upon me for whatever
money you need. I will refuse no sum in reason to


238 SPOOKY HOLLOW
bring about the discovery of my sister’s assassin.
But, I must ask you to report to me only when you
have some worthwhile news. This interview to-day
was, of course, necessary, but until you have equally
important information, continue your search by
yourselves, or report to me through Mellish here.”
The detectives, of course, agreed, and the inter-
view was brought to a close.
At dinner that night, Rosemary asked her uncle
what the detectives had accomplished.
“Very little,” he returned. “They have con-
cluded Henry Johnson killed your aunt, which we
were practically certain of all along. They have
learned, they think, that Henry Johnson was an
assumed name, which is an obvious conclusion. They
have practically admitted that they have doubts of
being able to ﬁnd him, which is no surprise to me.
The murderer in this, as in most cases, is far cleverer
than the detectives, and can, of course, easily outwit
them. A criminal who can plan and carry out such
a scheme as this man has done is no ordinary evil-
doer. He is a genius in crime, and vsuch are not
usually apprehended. Now, let us drop the sub-
ject, Rosemary, for I have had all I can stand of
it for one day.”
The subject remained dropped between the two,


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 239
for there were no new developments to bring the
detectives for another report to Vincent.
They were continuing their efforts to ﬁnd John-
son, they were hunting for new clues or evidence,
but all their endeavors were futile.
Even Brown’s assiduous hunt for the shop where
the cigarette-holder had been bought was to no avail.
Such holders he found, but could get hold of no
dealer who had monogrammed that one.
Days at Greatlarch followed one another in much
the same routine as before the tragedy. The house-
hold routine, that is. The two Mellishes and their
under-servants admirably kept up the high standards
that Miss Anne had instilled in the ménage, but
the family, as represented by Homer Vincent and
Rosemary, was far from a happy one.
Each day, it seemed to the girl, her uncle grew
more and more reserved, more absorbed in his books
and music. She did not resent this, in a way it was
a relief not to have to entertain him, but Rosemary
was very lonely and very sad.
It was on one of their silent evenings, when Vin-
cent mused over a book and Rosemary tried to inter-
est herself in a bit of needlework, that he said:
“ Child, have you any belief in spiritualism? ”
His tone was gentler, more interested, than com-


240 SPOOKY HOLLOW
mom, and Rosemary hesitated before she answered.
She didn’t want to express herself contrary to his
own views, and yet the girl had never felt any faith
in the supernatural.
“ Table-tipping or spooks?” she said, trying to
turn it off lightly.
“ Don’t be ﬂippant. _ I mean this idea of Mrs.
Lamont returning to the scene of her tragic death.”
“ Oh, that. No, Uncle, I can’t say I do believe
she does that.”
“ And yet it may be. Why may not the souls of
the dead return? ”
“ Oh, they may, but I’ve never seen any evidence
of it, have you? ”
“ What would you say if I said, Yes, I have?”
“ I’d say, Tell me all about it.”
The subject was a distasteful one to Rosemary,
but she would willingly have talked on any topic,
so glad was she to have her uncle talk to her at all.
“ Well, a queer thing happened last night,” he
began. “ I was wakened out of a sound sleep by a
sort of light in my room. A strange, hovering
light, that seemed to sway and waver and at last
shaped itself into the semblance of a human form.
Rosemary, it was your Aunt Anne.”
“ No! ”


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 241
“ Yes, child, it surely was. I felt no fear; she
waved a gentle hand as she came nearer to me.
‘ Brother,’ she said, ‘ it is all right. Do not seek my
slayer, I am happy in my new life.’ And then, Rose—
mary, she seemed to vanish slowly, and as the
phantom shape was nearly gone, I heard a few more
ﬂeeting words, that sounded like a promise to play
the Wild Harp tonight.”
“Tonight! Antan! Oh, Uncle Homer! You
believe it was really her spirit? ”
“If the harp plays tonight and I hear it—I shall
have to believe,” he replied, in a solemn tone.
And that night the Wild Harp did play. Rose-
mary was awakened soon after midnight by the low,
wailing strains. She wondered if her uncle heard
it, too.
She lay in her bed listening to the weird music,
and wondering if it could be possible her dead aunt
was responsible for it.
She could not believe it, nor could she believe it
was the work of the spirit of Mrs. Lamont.
But then, she asked herself, what is it? What
can it be?
She rang a bedside bell which brought Francine
to her.
16


242 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“What is it, mademoiselle ?” asked the French
girl. “ What is it that I can do for you?”
“ Listen, Francine, do you hear the Wild Harp? ”
“ Oh, yes, ma'am. Is it not beautiful—so faint,
so sweet! ”
“ Who is playing it, Francine? ”
Rosemary fully expected the girl would assert
it to be a phantom that made the harmonies. But, to
her surprise, Francine said, “ Of a truth, I do not
know,—but I think it is Mr. Mellish.”
“ Nonsense! Go to bed! ” and Rosemary had to
smile at the girl’s foolishness.
But the next morning she referred to it before
her uncle. '
“Yes, Rosemary, I heard it,” he said, “and I
believe it was the spirit of your aunt who made the
music. Do not you?”
“ No, Uncle, to be truthful, I do not.”
But Rosemary regretted her frankness, for
Homer Vincent turned grim and moody and scarcely
spoke again that day.
But at last came the news of Bryce Collins’
arrival in New York, and Rosemary’s heart beat
high with hope and joy.
His letters had given no hints as to the results,


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 243
of his quest, but he had written that he had results,
which he would detail on his return.
Rosemary eagerly desired to accept this as an
omen of favorable news, but her forebodings were
not happy ones and she felt an undercurrent of de-
spair that grew stronger as the time of his home-
coming drew near.
And when at last she saw him, when he came
to Greatlarch, and, taking her in his arms, kissed her
gently, she knew in her heart that his tidings were
not happy ones.
“ Tell it at once, Bryce,” Homer Vincent said,
curtly. “ I know from your manner you bring no
good news.”
“I do not,” Collins said, his face dark with
sorrow and his eyes sad and somber. “Yes, I will
tell you at once, but do not hurry me, Mr. Vincent.
I will tell you as it happened to me.”
“ You found the asylum?”
“ Yes, with no trouble at all. But it was not at
the address you gave me.”
“ Ah, they have moved? ”
“ Perhaps so; but they told me they had never
been at the other address. However, I found them.
They have full and complete records,—they will-


244 SPOOKY HOLLOW
ingly let me study them. The present head of the
institution is not, of course, the one who was there
when Rosemary was left there. Nor is he the im- I
mediate successor. They have had several in his
place, as the years went by.”
“ You found the entry Of Rosemary’s admission
to the asylum? ”
“ Yes, I did. And I learned,—this is the strange
part,—that she was placed there by your brother
Car .” ‘ '
“ Before his marriage?” Homer Vincent fairly
blurted out the words.
“ Yes, two years before.”
“ Then that means—”
“ There is no use blinking the facts. It means
that Rosemary is the child of your brother Carl,
but was not born in wedlock.”
“ An illegitimate daughter of my brother—then
a Vincent after all.”
“ No, a nameless, homeless waif,” Rosemary
moaned, and as she swayed from her chair, Collins
ran to catch her fainting form and held her in
his arms.
“I’m all right,” she said, struggling to preserve
her self-control; “only it seems this last blow is


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 245
more than I can bear. Uncle Homer, I will leave
your house tomorrow. You shall not be burdened
with the disgrace of a nameless child,—a child
of shame!”
“ Who was her mother? ” Vincent asked.
“It is not known,” Collins replied. “ The rec-
ords so far back are imperfect. And I could ﬁnd
no one who remembered the circumstance. All the
attendants are changed since that time. It was by
the merest chance I came across the book that con—
tained the entry of her admission. There was no
mistake about that. She was left there by Carl
Vincent, an American citizen travelling for pleasure.
Her birth-date was given and her name stated as
Rosemary Vincent.”
“ And two years later, my brother and his wife
adopted this child,—the daughter of my brother!”
“ Three years later. After he had been married
a year.”
“ I cannot stand it,” Rosemary cried, and with-
out another word, she ﬂed from the room.
“ There is no doubt about this? ” Vincent asked.
“ Not the slightest,” replied Collins, hopelessly.
“ What is to be done? ”
“ I do not know.”


CHAPTER XIII
A VINCENT AFTER ALL
AFTER the news brought home from France by
Bryce Collins and after a day’s reﬂection on the
matter, Homer Vincent called Rosemary to him
in his Tower room.
The girl gave him a curious glance. Her own
attitude in the matter had changed. She was still
downcast and despairing because of her illegitimate
birth and her nameless condition. But she had most
loving memories of her father, and it was a deep
consolation to know he was really her father even
though she had no acknowledged mother.
Rosemary’s life had been a sheltered one. Dur-
ing her ﬁrst years with her adopted mother, during
the succeeding term of years with her father, and,
later, with the Vincents at Greatlarch, the girl had
been kept carefully from companions save such as
her elders deemed wise for her.
She had never attended public schools, never
mixed with uneducated or unreﬁned people, and
really knew little of the gossip or scandals of society.
246


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 247
Anne Vincent had never talked with her of
immoral conditions or events, and Rosemary, while
blankly wondering just how bad it was to be illegiti-
mate, was yet gladdened at heart by the realization
that at any rate she was a Vincent.
But she was destined to a rude awakening when
Homer Vincent told her in a few words how hopeless
and irremediable was her fate.
He was not unkind in his manner, he was rather
pitying and sympathetic. But he explained that she
could never hope to marry, that to transmit such a
stigma to children would'be out of the question, and,
moreover, no man, knowing the truth, would be will-
ing to marry her.
“ Bryce would,” she said, her red lips quivering
with emotion, but her little head held high, in a
sort of bravado.
“No, he would not. You’ll see. He said he
would when he thought you were adopted by my
brother, and born of respectable though humble
parents. That’s what he went to France to see
about, and thereby learned the whole unpleasant
truth. No, Rosemary, neither Bryce Collins nor any
other self-respecting young man will marry a girl
who was born out of wedloc .”


248 SPOOKY HOLLOW
Rosemary’s despair returned. Her long dark
lashes drooped over her sad eyes and her whole
ﬁgure relaxed into an attitude of utter dejection.
“What can I do?” she murmured, her voice
tragically sad.
“You will be cared for,” Vincent replied. But
he sighed deeply and looked at the girl as if she
were indeed an unwelcome responsibility.
“You see,” he continued, “ now that I am led
to believe that you are the child of my brother, I
cannot turn you away. When I thought you merely
his adopted child and the offspring of unknown
parents, I had no real family interest in your welfare.
But if you are my brother’s child, you are a Vin-
cent, even though not a legitimate member of
the family.
“ And so, I propose to keep you here with me,—
at least so long as I ﬁnd you tractable and amenable
to my wishes. I think you will not expect to hold
your position as a daughter of the house, but neither
shall I allow you to be slighted or scorned in any
way. If you have good common sense, Rosemary,
you will accept the anomalous position that is now
yours and you will be thankful that you have a home
and a protector here.”


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 249
vu-w- pm
“ Oh, I do! Oh, Uncle Homer, how good you
are to me. I can never thank you—”
“ There, there, no histrionics, if you please. You
can easily thank me, by the mere observance of my
wishes. You know those already,—you know, that
though I may be eccentric, my odd ways are not
really very dreadful. You know all I want is a
quiet, peaceful home, and if you devote your life,—
as you probably will prefer to do,—to some such
pursuit as study or philanthropic effort, you will
make no disturbance in the household and you will
have ample time to look after such matters as tend
toward my peculiar desires and exactions.”
Rosemary looked thoughtful. She fully realized
her position, fully appreciated her uncle’s kindness
and generosity, but she was young and of a pleasure-
loving, vivid temperament. She could not foresee
happiness in this humdrum existence he proposed.
It was all very well for Antan, who was of a quiet,
indolent nature.
But for Rosemary to be at home day in and day
out, occupied in household duties or philanthropic
pursuits,—whatever they were—did not sound
appealing. _
In fact, the previous plan, of living by herself,
seemed more attractive.


250 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ How much money have I?” she asked, almost
abruptly.
‘ Vincent looked at her, and shook his head. ~
“ None at all, Rosemary,” he said, “ but what I
give you. Your father left no will, and, of course, as
an illegitimate child you have no inheritance claim.
Your Aunt Anne’s ruby, which would have been a
small fortune in itself, has been stolen, so what I
choose to give you constitutes your sole source of
income. But I shall not be mean or small in this
matter, if you agree to my plans. If, however, you
are thinking of asserting your independence, I may
as well tell you at once, that I shall not contribute
to your support except here at Greatlarch. You must
admit, my dear, that you are a little inconsistent.
Last week you were in tears at the thought of' leav-
ing this place, now, when I offer you a home here,
you are contemplating going off by yourself.”
“ How do you know I am? ”
“ I knew by your expression of rebellious dis_
content at the sort of life you must accept if you
remain here. I knew- by your sudden inquiry about
ﬁnances. I know you would prefer independence
and a home by yourself to a home with me under
the restrictions that I must make. But you are not
rm f


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 251
in a position to dictate. You may choose,—but I
must tell you, Rosemary, you will make a great
mistake if you attempt to go out into the world,
nameless and penniless.”
Vincent spoke very gravely, and Rosemary’s
mutinous red lips curved downward into an expres-
sion of surrender.
“Don’t think I’m ungrateful, Uncle Homer,”
she said, slowly. “ But you must remember I’m
crushed under this sudden blow. You must remem-
ber that I’ve lost parents, home, fortune, reputation,
everything in the world, at one blow,——and I must
think things over before I can see my way clear.
What is it Kipling says:
“ ‘ If you can see the things you gave your life
to broken,
Yet stoop and build them up with worn-out
)7)
tools-—
“ That’s all very well, Rosemary, for hifalutin
ethical poppycock. But, I’ll tell you, my girl, that if
you know what’s good for yourself, you’ll gladly
accept a home here, under the protection of my
name, rather than face any sort of career out in the
cold, hard worfd. You’ve no idea, Rosemary, what


252 SPOOKY HOLLOW
slights, what scorn, you would receive! Good
heavens, child, I don’t believe you realize at all what
a terrible misfortune has come to you! ”
“Yes, I do, Uncle,-indeed I do. But some-
times I feel I am so hopeless, so dishonored, it might
be better to strive to live a new life—”
“ Fine talk! That’s what all the younger genera-
tion harp on nowadays. Live a new life—live your
own life—well, Rosemary, do what you choose. But
if you choose to go out from under my roof, it is
on the understanding that I will never take you back
again. Think well before you throw away a home
like this! ”
Vincent glanced round the beautiful room and
out into the great hall, and Rosemary’s eyes followed.
Her deep love for the place welled up in her
heart, and with an uncontrollable sob, she caught
her uncle’s hand in hers, and cried:
“ Oh, you are right! I never could be happy
away from here—”
“ Not with the conditions you have to face.” he
returned, gravely. “Let us consider it settled then,
and you may take your place as head of the house-
hold, in so far as ordering meals and presiding at
table is concerned. What you do not know, Melly


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 253
will show you, and I myself will instruct you in sdme
of the matters your dear aunt used to look after.”
Rosemary went away from her uncle with a heart
full of conﬂicting thoughts. She knew her best
plan, as he had said, was to stay at Greatlarch under
the conditions he imposed. She knew the world
would be hard on her, would look down upon her,
and as a member of her uncle’s household she would
at least run no chance of scornfully pointed ﬁngers.
But Rosemary’s whole nature rebelled at the re—
strictions she would be under, and the vision of her
future seemed far from bright.
It is said stone walls do not a prison make, but
as the girl saw it, they would come very near
doing so.
Yet the alternative was no more desirable. What
could she do, alone in an inhospitable world, without
money, name, or friends? _
And as to marrying Bryce Collins, Rosemary
ﬁrmly put aside all thought of it. Even if he asked
her to do so, she would not take advantage of his
offer, she would not go to him a nameless bride.
There was no way open, the girl concluded, but
to stay on at Greatlarch, and try to do exactly as her
uncle wished her to.


254 SPOOKY HOLLOW
She would have a home,—a beautiful home that
she loved,—and she would try to adjust herself to
the new conditions and get along without young
companionship or society.
She would forget Bryce Collins, forget Lulie
and the other girls, and take up what her uncle called
philanthropic work.
She was a bit hazy as to what this meant,—>
visiting the poor and old, she supposed,—or making
ﬂannel petticoats for orphan babies.
She wondered who had made ﬂannel petticoats
for her when she was an orphan baby, as she must
have been the ﬁrst three years of her life.
Those ﬁrst three years! It seemed to her some-
times that she could dimly recall scenes that must
have been asylum scenes. She seemed to see rows
of cots and numberless babies, but she couldn’t be
sure that this was not mere imagination and
not memory.
Well, it didn’t matter. She had been an orphan
baby, and now she was something still worse. an
orphan girl and an illegitimate child.
But when Bryce Collins came that evening, he
cheered her by his very presence. He was so strong
and masterful, so determinedly hopeful, so eagerly


A VINCENT AFTER ALL Q55
anxious to do something, anything, to bring about
new developments that might point to brighter. days.
Also, he was more than ever resolved to solve
the mystery of Miss Anne’s death.
“ Who knows? ” he said, “that may have some
bearing on your parentage, Rosemary.”
“ As how? ” asked Homer Vincent, interestedly.
“I can’t imagine,” Collins admitted, “ but there
seems no motive—”
“ N0 motive, when the murderer took away a.
hundred thousand dollar ruby! ”
“ But did he take it? May not Miss Anne have
hidden it elsewhere? I can’t seem to see a burglar
taking that one stone and leaving the other jewels.”
“ But the ruby is a fortune in itself. He needed
nothing more to make him independent for life.”
“ I know,—but what can he do with it? Those
enormous stones are famous. Every jeweler in the
country,—-in the world, knows of that ruby. He
would be spotted the moment he offered it for sale.”
“ I suppose so,” Vincent said; “and yet, I’ve
heard those people have what they call ‘ fences ’ who
dispose of stolen jewels in some manner. And, any-
way, the man must have taken it, for I’ve looked
everywhere among my sister’s belongings and all


256 SPOOKY HOLLOW
through her rooms and there is no possible hiding-
place where the stone can be. N o, Bryce, that Henry
Johnson stole the jewel and killed my sister. As I
see it, Anne woke up and he killed her lest she scream
and alarm the household. Now, the thing is to
ﬁnd him.”
“That’s exactly it,” assented Collins, “and I’m
going to do it. You said, Mr. Vincent, that you
would spend any amount of money to ﬁnd the
murderer, which, of course, means to ﬁnd Henry
Johnson. Now, I heard on board ship, coming
home, of a wonderful detective,—Stone, his name is,
who can, without doubt, solve this mystery. Murder
cases are his special forte, and though I understand
he is expensive, yet I know you said—”
“ I did say so, at ﬁrst, Bryce, but I’ve already
spent a lot on detectives. And what have they done?
What have Brewster and Brown done? Nothing.
What has Prentiss done? Nothing. And quite
aside from the money I’ve paid and still have
to pay them, I am tired of having these investi-
gators around my house. They examine the rooms
over and over again. But they learn nothing from
them. They quiz my servants over and over again.
But they deduce nothing from their stories. The


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 257
man Johnson has disappeared and the detectives
are not able to ﬁnd him. That’s the case in a nut-
shell. Now why should I spend any more money,
or be put to any further inconvenience when there is
no probability that a new man would or could do
any more than the others have done? ”
“ But this Stone is a wizard,—why, he—”
“ I know that wizard type. They come in and
look around, and say the murder was done by a man
ﬁve feet nine inches high, who wore a number seven
hat and smoked a Havana Perfecto cigar. And then
they waste days in futile attempts to ﬁnd that man,—
and never ﬁnd him. No, I have decided not to spend
any more on the case, and—I have a reason—a
secret reason why I prefer not to delve further into
the mystery.”
“I know what that reason is,” Rosemary cried.
“ Bryce, Uncle Homer has gone over to the spiritual-
ists! He has messages from Aunt Anne and I’ve no
doubt his secret reason is connected with—”
“ You’re quite right, Rosemary,” Vincent spoke
very seriously, “ my reason is that my sister’s spirit
has communicated with me, and she has asked me
to refrain from further investigations.”
_ “ Did she tell you who killed her? ” Collins asked,
17 '
/


1 SPOOKY HOLLOW “t
not; showing? his true feelings in regardrto these
supernatural communications. .
-“ No,—~—not exactly, but she said the murderer
would never be caught, and for my own peace of
mind and—for Rosemary’s, it would be better to
let the matter rest.”
“ And you fancy that it may be some of Rose-
mary’s relatives—on her mother’s side—”
“ Don’t put it into words, Collins. You know
yourself it may be that the Johnson person was some
such- relative,—and it may be as well never to
ﬁnd him—”
“ Rubbish! I don’t believe for a minute any-
thing of that sort, and I refuse 'to listen to such
absurd theories. Now, look here, Mr. Vincent,
here’s my platform. I propose to marry Rosemary
in any case. She is my afﬁanced wife——”
“ NO, Bryce,” and Rosemary’s tone was as de-
cided as his own, “ no, I will never consent to marry
you, a nameless, shameful, illegitimate girl! I would
not,—could not be happy, knowing that I brought
you only ignominy and disgrace. I will never marry
you or any one. The fact that my father was'a
Vincent does not make me one, since I was not born
in wedlock. ~ I am an unhappy girl,--—but'I—v am for-
is


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 259
tunate in having Uncle Homer,—for I shall always
call him that,'—give me a home. I will continue to
live here with him and you must not think it strange
if I ask you not to come to see me any more. I
am going to try to forget you and all my young.
friends—~”
“ Now, Rosemary, let up on that rigmarole. I am
going to take hold of this matter and ﬁght it to a
ﬁnish. If Mr. Vincent won’t employ this Stone, I
will do so myself. I have some of my money left,
and if it isn’t enough, I'll get busy and earn more.
I have one or two ideas that I haven’t divulged yet,
and if Stone takes any interest in them, they may be
of use to him.”
“ I don’t think, Bryce, that you ought to keep
from me any knowledge or ideas that you may have
discovered.”
“ Well, Mr. Vincent, they’re hardly deﬁnite
enough to be called ideas,—they’re merely vague im-
pressions—for instance, here’s one. The detectives
say that Johnson could have locked that bedroom
door behind him by the use of a little instrument that
burglars use, which can turn a key from the other
side of the lock. Now, I’ve looked up that matter,
and while there is such an implement known, it is
,,


260 SPOOKY HOLLOW
very hard to come by, and only found in the kit of
the most expert and experienced burglars. This man
Johnson, as I make it out, wasn’t a burglar. He was
merely a business man, here on a business errand.
If his cupidity was aroused by the sight of Miss
Anne’s great ruby, is it likely that he would chance
to have in his pocket that rare and peculiar tool that
would lock the door after he had committed the
crime? Also, why did he want to lock the door?
He made his escape at once. He knew breakfast
wouldn’t be until eight o’clock, and he committed the
murder, they say, at seven or thereabouts. Why
waste time locking a door when every minute was
precious in making an escape? And how happen to
have the implement needed, when, so far as we can
gather, he had no other burglar’s tools? ”
“He may have had a whole kit, and taken it
away with him.”
“ But when he arrived, Mellish says, he had only
the one bag which, as we now know, contained his
night things and a change of underclothing.”
“I’m not arguing the case, Bryce, nor am I
reconstructing the crime, as they call it, or guessing
how it may have been done. To me the case is _
simply this. Johnson killed my sister, stole her


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 261
jewel, and made his escape. How he did it, I do
not know. But as I truly believe it is the wish of
my dead sister that I should make no further effort
to discover any more about it, I propose to cease my
investigations. If you persist in calling in further
detective service, it will be at your own expense
and on your own responsibility, and, I may add,
greatly against my wishes and, in fact, under my
disapproval.”
“ Sorry, Mr. Vincent, but I’m going to employ
this Stone, if I can get him. And not only regarding
the murder. I can’t help a certain feeling, maybe a
forlorn hope, that he may help me in the search for
Rosemary’s mother. I admit I want to know, if
possible, who her mother was. Not, understand,
for my own sake alone,—but for her sake. How-
ever, I want it understood that our sake is one and
the same henceforth. I know Rosemary says- she
will not marry me, but if she doesn’t it will not be
for lack of importunity and insistence on my part.
But that is a future consideration. First, I’m going
to pursue my own investigations as I see ﬁt, and
then I will consult with you as to Rosemary’s future.
I take it you do not,—you cannot forbid me to look
into this mystery further?” ’


262. SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ I can’t forbid you, Bryce, but I can and~do
most earnestly request you to leave it alone. You
may laugh .if you will at spiritual revelations, but
older and wiser minds than yours do not laugh'at
them. If .I have been persuaded that I have had
visitations from the spirit of my dear sister, it is no
more incredible than that great and good men have.
also been so convinced. I ask of you, I beg of you,
not to try further to elucidate a mystery, the victim
of whichhas requested that it be forgotten.
“And, quite aside from that, remember I am
an older man than you, and I can see they futility of
renewed search. Indeed, I am convinced that, as a
layman, I can see better than a detective the utter
impossibility of ﬁnding a man as clever and deter-
mined as Johnson must necessarily be. Doubtless
he has so changed his appearance and demeanor by
this time that no one could recognize him; in addi-
tion to which he has in all probability ﬂed to the‘
very ends of the earth. These obvious conclusions
present themselves to the clear-seeing mind of a lay-
man, while the detective instinct is roused by the
mystery and by the call of the chase. If you look
at. itcalmly, you must agree that I am right.”
“ It may be, Mr. Vincent, and I understand that


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 263
is'the way it looks to you. But I ant on the other»
side, I admit. To me, there seem to be other avenues
to explore,—other clues to follow up.”_
“ What clues, for instance? ”
“ Few, if any, deﬁnite clues, I admit; but hints,
theories, possibilities,—oh, I am sure such. a man
as Fleming Stone would have suggestions to make
and ways to try out.” p i '
“ Uncle Homer,” said Rosemary, suddenly,
“ what was that shiny thing you were hiding in
the secret panel as I looked in the window at you
that night?” '
“Good heavens, child, what do you mean? wasn’t hiding anything! ” l’ i ’ . I ’ “Well, what were you putting in there, then”?
It shone and glittered, and it wasn’t those two tation rubies,—for it wasn’t red—it was bright
like gold.” , L
_ “ Like gold? I don’t know what..it could have
been—for I have nothing made of gold there. ,You
may come into myroom, if you like, and look over.
all the contents of that hiding-place. There isfnoth1;
ing there but some valuable papers, including all the.
letters and papers concerning my brother Carl.“ .Comé


264 SPOOKY HOLLOW
along, both of you, and I will show you the way to
open it for yourselves.”
The three went to Vincent’s Tower room, and
he showed them both exactly how to manipulate the
tiny knob, hidden in the carved design, that opened
the panel.
The hiding-place thus revealed was quite large,
and held many bundles of papers. These Vincent
touched as he named them.
“ I’m glad this subject came up,” he said, “ for
it is better some one should know the secret of this
panel. My sister knew, and now, it is well you
young people should know, for if anything happens
to me, you will ﬁnd all my effects here. This is my
will,—as you see, I have left the bulk of my property
to Rosemary. I have, of course, left goodly be-
quests tO the two Mellishes, who have served me
long and faithfully. Also, tO Hoskins and a few
other servants. And some trifles to a few friends.
The residuary is for Rosemary, who, though not
legally a Vincent, is the child of my dear brother,—
and,—I will refer to this matter for what I trust
may be the last time,—I daresay, if we knew all the
circumstances we might judge my brother more
leniently than the world would if the matter be-


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 265
came known. So, if Rosemary does as I wish her
to, and lives here quietly with me, she will even-
tually havea fortune of her own.”
“What’s that key, Uncle? ” Rosemary asked,
more interested just then in the contents of the
opened recess than in her future ﬁnancial prospects.
“ That’s the key of the wine cellar, child,” and
her uncle smiled. “In these days, it is wiser to
keep such things locked up, for though Mellish is
impeccable some of the newer servants may not
be. Why, Rosemary, this is doubtless what you
saw glistening that night. I perhaps moved it as
I hunted for a paper,-—I don’t remember precisely.”
“ Yes, that was it. It shone like brass and
that has a brass tag.”
“ Yes, and now run away, you two. I am
very tired tonight. Collins, think twice before you
run counter to my expressed desires. I do not like
to have my advice utterly ignored.”


, ' v' ,- i ._~ j Hf]

' FLEM/ifiojisrb'NEoN' Tris cAsrf in i
BRYCE. COLLINS did think twice before-he made
mindto run counter to Homer Vincent’s
_ advice, but as’his second'thoughts coincided with
his-ﬁrst ones, he carried .out his plan of employing
the celebrated detective, Fleming Stone, toinvesti;
gate the mystery of the death of Anne Vincent, and
to endeavor to recover the, stolen ruby.
’ .On receiving word from Stone that he‘iwould
come to Hilldale, Collins told Vincent of bisex-
pected arrival. , , \
“Very well,” Vincent returned, “I have~no
real objection, of course, since you are willing to
assume the expenses of the investigation.-
I,
told you, ,I have spent all I care to on the .work,‘
and, moreover, I am convinced that my dear-sister
has advised me to do nothing further.”
Collins wondered at this, to him, utter foolish-
ness, but he remembered that, as Vincent had told
him, greater minds than his own had gone over to
spiritualism, and there was no reason why Homer
Vincent should not do so.
266


FLEMING STONE ON , THE CASE 2671
Now and then, Vincent would tell Rosemarypli
Bryce Collins, that his sisterhad told him shewould
play on the Wild Harp, and always at the-appointed
hour they could hear,—or imaginedthey'heard, faint
strains from the direc_tion,_of the Temple.
Collins pooh-poohed at this,__.btlt.he. wasobliged,
to admit that he did hear the sounds. Mrs; Mellish.
a ﬁrm believer in the supernatural, ;,often heard
them, whether others did or not,1but_‘;the old butler,
only shook his head with a patronizing grin, that
seemed to pity such foolishness. _
Francine, who was very quick of hearing, de-_
clared the sounds came frequently. ’
“And I can tell,” she volunteered, “when it
is that my' adored Miss Anne touches the strings,
and when it is the music made by the dead Madame
Lamont.” ,
And it was into this moi] of inexplicable cir-
cumstances, into this jumble of supernaturalism and
crime, into this mystery of robbery and murder,
that Fleming Stone was expected to throw him-
self and, by the skill of his experienced wisdom
and judgment, solve the mystery and expose
the criminal. _
’The police had become apathetic in,.,the-,mattcr.~,


268 SPOOKY HOLLOW
One and all they agreed that nothing could be done
until the missing man, Henry Johnson, was found.
And as there was not the slightest trace of him, as
there was positively no clue or bit of evidence to
show which way to search, the police contented
themselves with vague promises and hints of dis-
coveries that they could not yet make public.
They had done their best. They had worked
on numerous theories, had gone off on several wild-
goose chases, had quizzed many people, but no
deﬁnite conclusions were forthcoming, except that
Henry Johnson was the criminal and Henry'John-
son could not- be found.
The few things he had left behind him were
now at Police Headquarters; the room that had
been assigned to him at Greatlarch had been cleaned
and put in order, as also had Miss Anne’s room.
So, Homer Vincent advised Collins, there was
no occasion, as he could see, for the new detective
to be a guest at his house. Indeed, he must refuse
to have Stone quartered there, as he felt sure he
could not stand such an intrusion on his home
routine.
“But he may consider himself free to come
and go as he chooses,” Vincent conceded; “he may


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 269
make all the investigations he desires, he may ques-
tion my servants or myself, or Rosemary, all he
wants to. But, I beg of you, Bryce, doimake him
hurry up the thing. Don’t have him dawdling here
for weeks, accomplishing nothing. It’s six weeks
and more now, since my sister’s death,—nothing
has been done,—nothing will be done to solve the
mystery. But I shall put no obstacle in the way
of any one’s effort, only, do make the man work
as expeditiously as possible.”
Collins understood the distaste of Homer Vin-
cent for the thought of the dreary repetitions of
question and answer that they all knew by rote,
but which Fleming Stone must ask and learn
for himself.
“ I appreciate your feelings, Mr. Vincent,” Bryce
assured him, “and I will do all I can to facilitate
Stone’s work and to save you all unnecessary par-
ticipation in the whole business. If you wish, I’ll
take him over the house, take him to the servants
and all that. You need only answer the questions
he wishes to put directly to you.”
“ Good for you, Bryce. Save me all the annoy-
ance you can. Rosemary will help you, and the
two Mellishes. Of course, he’ll want to poke about


270 SPOOKY HOLLOW
all over the house. Let him do so, but keep him
away from me, whenever you can.”
Bryce Collins agreed, and relieved that Vincent
was even fairly affable about it, he went off to the
station to meet the detective.
It was nearing the Christmas holidays now,
and though Vincent had given no hint of his recog-
nition of that fact, yet Collins knew that he would
be grateful if Stone could make his investigations
and announce either success or failure before the
Christmastide should arrive.
Not that there would be any celebration at
Greatlarch this year, but Vincent’s nature leaned
toward religious Observances, and Collins knew the
season would be a sacred one to him.
Rosemary took little interest in the advent of
Fleming Stone. She had no hope that any one
would ever ﬁnd Johnson now. She, felt that as
six weeks had elapsed, no further search could
result in a discovery of the missing man. And she
was so disheartened at her own sad fate that, while
she mourned her aunt and missed her sorely, yet the
avenging of her tragic death meant less to the girl
than the tragedy of her own life.
Night after night she cried herself to sleep, now


FLEMING STONE 'ON THE CASE 271
resolving she would never marry,-‘and Ithen almost
yielding to the temptation of consentingJ to 'Bryce’s
plea that they be married at once. ‘ '
' But she knew Bryce’s mother, and she was not
brave enough to face the angry 'scorn of. that
haughty. and aristocratic dame. :- .' '
Mrs. Collins had learned. of Rosemary’s .re—
fusal to marry her son, and thoroughly approved
of thegirl’s decision. But should Rosemary change
her mind, Mrs. Collins was quite ready to, put up
a ﬁght. i _
Bryce collins was of a sanguine, hopeful nature.
His strong will and his unﬂinchingldetermination
were supplemented by a sublime]. optimism that:
never gave way until forced to do soiby absolutely
unconquerable circumstances. h V ".I ._ I.
_ And, quite aside from his ﬁrm belief in Stone’s-Q
ability to ﬁnd ‘the murderer, he also was sure that
the detective could be of help in discovering the
mother of Rosemary. And [he-had a blind faith in
that mother. I r: i v
For Rosemary’s evenvurnore than his he wanted to prove her mother of ’gentle' birth-j
perhaps a young and innocent girl' led into? error
because 'of ignorance or too blind conﬁdence


272 SPOOKY HOLLOW
lover. Perhaps she had been deceived by Carl Vin-
cent—tricked by a false marriage, or,-—Bryce
couldn’t always formulate his hopes, but at any
rate he meant to have Stone look up the matter
thoroughly. It might necessitate another trip to
France, but this thought was no impediment to
Collins’ ﬂights of fancy. ’
He was musing on these things when the train
came to a stop at the station and a tall, good-look—
ing man stepped off, who was, Collins felt sure,
the detective.
He was accompanied by a red-headed, eager-
faced boy, whose alert blue eyes darted compre-
hendingly about.
“ That’s our man, F. S.,” the boy said, “ that’s
Mr. Collins—~aren’t you? ”
“ Yes,” Collins said, smiling at the lad, whose
cap sat saucily aslant on his thick red hair, but
who pulled it quickly off as the two men greeted
one another, and Fleming Stone added, “and this
is my young assistant, McGuire.”
~“How’re you, Mr. Collins?” the boy. re-
sponded, “and to people I like I’m Fibsy. like you.”


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 278
“ Thank you, Fibsy,” Bryce smiled at him.
“I hope I shall like you.”
“You bet you will. Where do we go from
here?”
Bryce Collins conducted them to the village inn,
which was so near by that they walked the short
distance.
He had already engaged rooms for them, and
very soon they were in a private sitting-room and
Collins was earnestly telling Stone the principal
facts of the case.
p“ I know a good deal frOm the newspaper
accounts,” the detective said; “ what I want to learn
is the knowledge they seemed so carefully to with-
hold. Who was this Johnson man? Why did they
never pick him up again? Where is he now? ”
“ That’s just the point of the whole thing, Mr.
Stone. Get Johnson,—and you’ve done it all. He’s
the murderer beyond all doubt—”
“ How did he get in and out of the locked room?”
“ That’s the question. But get Johnson and he
can answer that himself.”
“ Of course. Perfectly true. Now, to get a
missing man, we have to trace him. Did he leave
any indicative clues? ”
18


274 I _ SPOOKY HOLLOW
, “That he vdidnot! He went like a wraith—he
dissolved like a mist—no one saw him go, no one has
seen him since. He made no tracks, he left no clues.”
“ Oh, come, now, I’ll bet he left clues. Only,
those who saw them failed to recognize them
as such.” _ .
“ That’s what I think, Mr. Stone,” Collins spoke
eagerly. “ I believev that’s right.”
“.But of course there are no signs of those clues
now,” Fibsy said, with a deep sigh. “ Six weeks
must have obliterated all the footprints and ﬁnger-
prints there were in the ﬁrst place.”
“ I don’t think anybody thought of ﬁngerprints,”
Collins said, looking at Fibsy with dawning respect.
He had thought him merely Stone’s clerical assist-
ant, or perhaps valet, and was‘amazed at the boy’s
intelligent gaze and perspicacious remark.
“ Not much' chance for ’em, anyway,” Fibsy,
went on. “ No use getting Johnson’s ﬁngerprints,
if; you can’t get the .mitt that made ’ern !.»* No use in
getting the prints of the family and friends—or
even the servants. No s’picion of the butler person,
is there?v "I, p , _ _ v -
._ Good gracious, no,” and Collins smiledat the
bare thought of suspecting Mellish.


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 275
“ No offence to His Nibs,” Fibsy offered, “but
you know, quite frequently sometimes it is Friend
Butler.”
_ “Hush up, Fibs,” Stone admonished. “ Now,
Mr. Collins, I have, I think, all the information you
can give me. The rest I must get for myself. Can I
go to the house this afternoon? After I’ve had
some luncheon here? ”
“Yes, surely. You’ll ﬁnd Mr. Vincent a re-
served and perhaps curt man, but you can depend
absolutely on his sense of justice and his willingness
to have you-investigate his premises. He prefers to
be left out of it all himself, as much as possible.
But I assure you that he is ready to do his part,
and usually, his bark is worse than his bite.”
“ Grqu old codger? ” asked Fibsy.
“ Not a bit of it! ” and Collins smiled. “ A most
polished gentleman. But bored by people and weary
of the futile efforts of detectives.”
.“ I/Ve’re accustomed to that type,” the boy said,
winking at Stone; “ they come off their perch,
though, when F. Stone really gets busy. Will this
guy mind my goin’ along? ”
“ I think not,—but I assume you’d go just the
same if he did.” ‘


276 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Sure I would. F. Stone can’t do a thing with-
out his little F ibsy by his side. He’s that dependent
on me, you wouldn’t believe! ”
' “ Why the cheerful nickname? ” Collins couldn’t
help liking the boy.
“ That’s just it! ’Cause I’m such a cheerful liar.
Why, it’s no more trouble for me to tell a Whopper
than for F. Stone to tell the gospel truth! ”
“ There now, McGuire, keep quiet. You’re too
chatty this morning.”
“ Gotta stop!” and the lad made a wry face.
“ When he calls me McGuire, he means business.
No more funny chatter from this baby. All right,—
here’s where I shut up.” And from then on, the
boy made no remark, but his sharp eyes showed
perception and comprehension and his wise little
head nodded now and then, as Collins discussed the
matter somewhat further with Fleming Stone.
That afternoon the pair of detectives went to
Greatlarch.
Collins wasthere before them and introduced
them to Homer Vincent and Rosemary.
Fibsy was very quiet, acknowledging his pres-
entation by a respectful nod of his red head, but


FLEIWING STONE ON THE CASE 277
Fleming Stone ’was a little more self-assertive than
was usual for him.
Fibsy looked at his chief in silent wonder as
Stone shook hands a little effusively with Homer,
Vincent, and said, “How do you do, my dear?”
to Rosemary.
It was quite foreign to Stone’s custom to be so
familiar, and when he followed it up by settling
himself, unasked, in an easy chair, F ibsy’s self-
addressed “ Gee! ” was almost audible.
“Wonderful house, Mr. Vincent,” was Stone’s
appreciative comment, as he gazed around him.
They were in the reception room, which was also
a Tower room, opposite the room that Vincent used
for his own. I .
“ Yes,” the host replied, a bit curtly, and waited
for further speech from his guest.
Suddenly Stone’s manner changed.
“ I am here, Mr. Vincent,” he said, “ to discover,
if I can, who killed your sister. But I am told by
Mr. Collins, that you do not wish to pursue this
inquiry further, because of supernatural revelations
you have had. Is this true?”
“ Quite true, Mr. Stone.” Vincent spoke cour-
teously but wearily, as if wishing to be done with


278 ' ' SPOOKY HOLLOW
the interview. “I daresay you do not believe in
the occult—” \
“ Pardon me, do you consider the occult and
the supernatural synonymous terms? ”
“ I don’t care to go into the technical deﬁnitions
of those terms,” Vincent returned; “ my belief in the
revelations I have received from the spirit of my
dead sister is not based on study or research into
these questions. It is solely based on the evidence of
my own senses and an inner conviction that my
senses in no way deceived me.”
“ I am interested,” Stone said; “ how were these
messages received, may I ask? Through the assist-
ance of a Ouija Board or a human medium?”
. “ Neither, sir. The messages were spoken to me
by my sister’s voice in the dead of night—”
“ You’re sure you were awake? ”
“ As wide awake as I am this minute. She spoke
low but clearly to me, and begged me, for her sake,
t0 desist from these futile delvings into what must
ever remain a mystery. Now, Mr. Stone, I am not
asking you to desist nor am I desirous of hindering
your search,—only I do want you to understand my
attitude, and be good enough to leave me out as a
factor of your plans.”


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 279
“ I will do so, Mr. Vincent, as far as I can, with-
out too much hampering my own work. If, how-
ever, you give me your permission to examine the
house, and grounds,—to interview your, servants—-
and to ask you a question or two, if and when neces-
sary, I think I may safely promise you immunity
from annoyance.” .
“ Thank you,” and Vincent looked relieved. “ I
will then, if you please, excuse myself now, and
leave you to your own procedure. Touch the bell
for my butler, and he will arrange for your inter-
views with the other servants.”
Homer Vincent rose and left the room, his slight
limp appearing a little more in evidence than usual.
After Vincent’s departure, the detective sat a
moment in deep thought.
Bryce Collins put this down to a desire to appear
profound and weighted down by care.
Rosemary thought it was merely the habit of any
detective to sit and ponder at intervals. I
But Fibsy knew at once that, somehow, some—
where, Stone had seen or heard something indicative.
Something had demanded immediate and serious
thought. Not for worlds would the boy have spoken
then’. Nothing would have induced him? to blurt out


280 SPOOKY HOLLOW
some of his saucy speeches. He watched the play
of Stone’s features, he gazed eagerly in his face f0r
a sign of what was passing in his mind. But though
grave and preoccupied, the detective’s face gave no
hint of the trend his thoughts were taking.
After a few moments, however, he roused him-
self and with a brisk air turned to Collins.
“ Now, for an examination of the house,” he
said; “ though I fear I may become so engrossed in
the marvels of architecture and decoration as to for-
get my main business here.”
“ That’s what Mr. Johnson did,” Rosemary said.
“ You didn’t see him? ” and Stone turned to
her quickly.
“ No,” Rosemary was almost frightened at his
suddenness, “no, the butler told me. He said Mr.
Johnson was overcome with admiration and wonder.
Indeed, he must have been, to have wandered about
nearly all night.”
“ Where do you suppose he wandered?” Stone
said, musingly.
“I don’t know, I’m sure, but he couldn’t have
been in his room long, as it was so undisturbe .”
“ Oh,” Stone sighed deeply, “if I’d only been


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 281
here at once. I suppose all the rooms he might have
visited that night, in his tour of admiration, have
since been swept and garnished, dusted and polished
to the last degree!”
“ Yes, they have,” said Rosemary. “ The detec-
tives looked them all over and said Mr. Johnson left
no clues.”
“ Ugh-h-h! ” Fibsy’s grunt was one of utter
disdain for the detectives who could ﬁnd nothing to
detect. Without a word, he conveyed the idea that
Fleming Stone would have found plenty of evidence
from those cursorily examined rooms.
“ Here’s one clue they found,” Rosemary said.
She was anxious to help and she was deeply inter-
ested in the new detective.
Aside from his chivalrous courtesy, Fleming
Stone had great charm when he chose to exercise it,
and feeling exceedingly sorry for the girl,“ whose
story Collins had already told him, he paid her such
pleasant and deferential attention that she was glad
to offer any information.
From a table-drawer she took the long-handled
cigarette-holder which had been found out in the
grounds.


282 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ This is known to be Mr. Johnson’s,” she said,
“ and as it was found outside, we assume he strolled
round the grounds.” I
“Wasn’t it a cold, snowy night?”
“ Not after midnight. I came home about twelve
—or, nearer one,—and it had stopped snowing,
though it was cold. But not too cold for a walk.”
“ Yet remember he had on no hat or overcoat.”
“ Oh, he may have had,” Collins interposed.
“ He wore none when he went away, after the crime.
But he may have strolled round the grounds before
that, with his hat and coat on, and then he dropped
his cigarette—holder.”
“ Odd thing to do,” Stone observed. “ Yet he
may have thought he slipped it in his pocket and it
fell to the ground. You’re sure it is his?”
“ Yes, Mellish recognized it as the one he used
after dinner,” Rosemary answered him.
“ Let me see Mellish,” Stone said, abruptly, and
the butler was called.
“ Now, I don’t want a lot of information, Mel-
lish,” Stone said, pleasantly. “Just tell me anything
you can remember of Mr. Johnson’s conversation at
dinner that evening he dined here.”


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 283
Mellish looked blank. Evidently he had expected
quite different inquiries.
“Well, now, sir, I’m not sure I can remember
much of that. I opine it’s as evidence you want this,
and I must have a care that I do not undervalue
its importance.”
Stone suppressed a smile at the rather gran-
diloquent air of the speaker and Fibsy stared at-
him, fascinated.
“ Yes, it is important,” Stone assured him, “so
tell it as accurately as you can. What subjects did
the visitor choose for conversation?”
“ Well, sir, he didn’t do much of the choosing.
I should say Mr. Vincent selected the topics of dis-
sertation. And, as I recollect, two or three times,
Mr. Johnson began a sentence, and Mr. Vincent
would say, ‘ No, no, we must not discuss business
at the table.’ It is a sovereignal rule of Mr. Vincent,
sir, never to talk on business or any serious matters
at meal—times. He held that table-talk must ever be
light and agreeable,-—yes, sir, light and agreeable.”
“And you think the subject of Mr. Johnson’s
business with Mr. Vincent was not an agreeable
subject? ”
“ Oh, I wouldn’t say that, sir. I opine it was


284 SPOOKY HOLLOW
agreeable enough, but of a serious nature,—-yes, sir,
of a serious nature.”
“Just what did Mr. Johnson start to say, when
Mr. Vincent asked him not to introduce the subject?
Anything regarding rubies? ”
“ No, sir—it was more in the line of remingin-
cence,—yes, sir, remingincence. Once, I recollect,
Mr. Johnson said, ‘ You see, I was his conﬁdential
clerk—’ he said that just as I was entering the room
with my tray, and I heard that much, and then Mr.
Vincent said, ‘No, no, my friend, no reference to
business just now, if you please,’ or something
like that.”
“ Never mind the exact words of Mr. Vincent,
but try to remember more‘of the speeches of Mr.
Johnson. You see, Mellish, it is most important that
we get a line on what sort of a gentleman he was.
And I don’t want to trouble Mr. Vincent in these
matters unless necessary.”
“ Yes, sir, I see. Well, Mr. Johnson was remark-
ing on the beauty of the house, you see, and he said,
quite impressive like, ‘ but it doesn’t make me forget
my real errand here,—I am here for a purpose,—’
and then again Mr. Vincent told him to wait


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE Q85
till after dinner to discuss the business that
brought him here.”
“ Any more? ”
“ Well, he spoke of a trust—”
“ Do you think he meant a great jewel trust?
Or Jewelers' Union? ”
“ Oh, no, sir! Not at all. He meant a trust had
been given to him—a sacred trust, he called it.”
“ Oh, then that had nothing to do with the
business in hand.”
“ Well, I don’t know, sir. Mr. Vincent shut him
off again, just the same way.”
“ Perhaps it referred to Miss Anne’s ruby. Was
that a trust to her for any one else? ”
“ Not that I know of, sir.”


CHAPTER XV
A FEW DEDUCTIONS
FLEMING STONE and his red-headed assistant
sat in their little parlor at the Hilldale inn.
They had not said much as yet about the Vincent
mystery, but each was thinking deeply.
At last, Stone, with a straightforward glance at
the boy, said:
“ Find Henry Johnson.”
“ Find Henry Johnson,” F ibsy repeated, but he
added a prolonged wink, that left him with one blue
eye staring wide open and the other optic tightly
closed.
“ Meaning?” asked Stone, meditatively, gazing
at this expressive facial contortion.
“ Meaning,” returned Fibsy, his closed eye once
more opening to the world at large, “ that Mr. Henry
Johnson is going to be hard to ﬁnd—very hard
to ﬁnd.”
“ Meaning, again? ”
“ Why, that a man who has been tee-tum-tee~
totally missing for something over six weeks, isn’t
286


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 287
going to be picked up overnight, is he, now,
F. Stone? ”
“ Perhaps not, Fibs, but the ﬁrst move on our
chess-board is to ﬁnd him. Now, for a systematic
search, let’s ﬁrst observe his clothing,—which is. I
believe, at the Police Station.”
“ Eccentric guy, Henry,—isn’t he? ” and Fibsy's
blue eyes stared out over his tightly closed ﬁsts, on
which his cheeks rested.
“ As how? ”
“As to his occupation all through the night.
Say, he pulled off his robbery and murder stunt at
seven A.M., which is what the doctors put the time at.
Then, as Mr. Vincent left his visitor at about eleven,
that man was so interested in the beautiful house
that he prowled around it for eight mortal hours!
Going some,—F. Stone,—going some! ”
“ All right, but what else did he do? We know
he didn’t go to bed. He may have lain down on
some sofa or couch for a nap,—and, remember the
cigarette-holder,—that proves he went for a walk
round the grounds.”
“ Out back to that Spooky Hollow place, I s’pose.
Investigatin’ the Spooky Harp and the Spooky Lady
who plays on it. Well, I reckernize all that, but I


288 SPOOKY HOLLOW
still say he was a long time a pokin’ around espe—
cially as the night watchman never caught a peek
of him.” -
“ Then it must be that he did drop down on some
convenient couch for a nap. Lord knows, there are
plenty of them here and there, all over that house.
- I saw a dozen.”
“ Yes, Mr. Vincent is of a home comforts type.
Why, the swivel chair in his private ofﬁce room is
all cushioned and upholstered.”
“And Johnson may have taken- his doze in a
chain. But it makes little difference where he spent
the night, the point is, where is he now? and can
we trace him from the clothes and clues he left
behind him? ” '
“ You can, F. Stone. That’s your business, isn’t
it? Why, the man is as good as caught already!”
“That will do, McGuire, this is no time for
foolery. Come along now to the Headquarters, and
for Heaven’s sake, keep your eyes open. The trails
are very stale, and we shall be hard put to it to read
much from them.”
But when Stone was given the hat and coat of
the missing'man, his eyes lighted up with expectancy.
“ This hat tells us a lot,” he said, and Brown and


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 289
Brewster, who had ’come to listen to the,celebrated
detective’s deductions, drew nearer.
“ It is'brand-new, it shows that Mr. Johnson has
a large head, that he is slightly bald, that he had
just had a hair-cut, that, though this is a Derby,
he usually wore a soft hat,—that he didn’t like this
hat at all,—and that may be the reason he didn’t
wear it when he went away. It also tells'us that Mr.
Johnson is of a pronounced brunette type, with dark
- hair and eyes, and of a strong, vigorous vitality.
But these descriptive bits are of little use, for we
already know the appearance and perSdnality of the
man. We are not trying to discover ‘who OWns this
hat, but where he is.” " ‘5 '
“ All the same, your deductions are mighty inter-
esting,” Brown said, his eyes shining with'curiosity.
“ And, though it may seem a, b, c to yOu,‘won’t'you
tell us how you got those facts?” "‘
Stone answered this categorically, saying, “ His
head must be large, because this hat is seven and a
half, and yet it shows signs on the sweat-band of
having been’pulled down hard,“to 'ﬁt-On his head.
He had a recent hair-cut, because-al’few short hairs
are caught in the tiny bow of silk‘b‘raid -inside'=the
hat, and he was probably bald, because there ‘is a
19


290 SPOOKY HOLLOW
faint odor of a certain lotion that I know is used
in many barber shops as a hair stimulant. He .was
accustomed to a soft hat, for on each side of this
crown you may see rubbed places, where he has
absent-mindedly grasped it in one hand as one does
a soft hat. I feel sure he didn’t like a hat that was
too tight for him, and was stiff and uncomfortable
compared to a Fedora, yet it doesn’t seem quite plau-
sible to assume that as the reason for his leaving
it behind him. I think it more likely, that he wore
this hat when out strolling round the grounds, but
he did not have it on when he committed the crime,
and that he hastened away after that, in such a hurry,
or in such a distraction of mind, that he did not then
return to his room for his hat.
“Of course the deductions as to his personal
appearance are based on these few short, strong
black hairs, which naturally connote a brunette type
and the dark eyes and physical vigor that accom-
pany that coloring.
“ But, as I say, these traits of Mr. Johnson are
known to Mr. Vincent, and so are of no further
importance. What we want is some clue that may
suggest his possible destination on leaving Great-
larch. Let me see the coat.”


A FEW DEDUCTIONS ' 291
The coat proved to be an ordinary, fairly expen-
sive overcoat,—new, and of good style. There was
nothing in the pockets but a handkerchief, also new,
and unmarked, a pair of new gloves, that had not
even been tried on, and, in a small pocket, evidently
meant for the purpose, less than a dollar in silver,
doubtless to be handy for car-fare or tips.
“ All just as we found it,” Brewster told him,
and Stone looked regretfully at the gloves.
“ What can anybody learn from new gloves?”
he said, dejectedly, “except the size of his hands
and the type of his haberdashery, which is in no way
helpful. But why did the man have this entire new
outﬁt merely to come up here on a business errand?
The fact that all his things are so very new is a
peculiar circumstance in itself.”
“ Here’s his umbrella,” Brewster said; “ this
isn’t so new. You see it has his monogram on
the handle.”
“ A monogrammed umbrella is an unusual thing
for any one,” Stone said.
“ Probably given him by his Sunday-school
class,” Fibsy put in.
“More likely by a rich maiden aunt,” Brown
suggested. “ Makers of syntheticrubies are not apt


292 SPOOKY HOLLOW
to be of a religious tendency. However, it’s a ﬁne
umbrella.”
It was, and Stone examined it closely. Of thick,
rich black silk, it had a silver-mounted 'handle,
which showed an H' and a J intertwined in an
elaborate monogram.
The ribs were of the best, and aside from the
maker’s name, there seemed no other details to note.
“ Observe the monogram, McGuire,” Stone said,
quietly, passing it to the boy.
Gravely, Fibsy scrutinized the chased letters, and
his round, freckled face drew itself into a frown
of perplexity.
A quick glance at Stone showed him that there
was something to be learned from the mono-
gram, but, for once, Terence McGuire was dense,
or ignorant.
“ I can’t see it, F. Stone,” he said, in a chagrined
tone. “ What is it?” -
“ Oh, nothing. Just get the monogram ﬁxed in
your mind,—carry away a mental picture of it.”
So Fibsy looked hard at the deeply engraved H
and the long, slender J that ran down through the
middle of it, after the manner of monograms, and
then declared he knew it so well he could draw it in


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 293
the dark, with his eyes shut and 'both hands tied
behind him. - ‘ "v"
“ What about the monogram, Mr. Stone?”
Brewster asked, but Stone only shook his head, say-
ing: “ perhaps nothing, perhaps a signboard point-
ing to the truth. As soon as I ﬁnd out which, I’ll tell
you. At any rate the umbrella, though well pre-
served and cared for, is not a brand-new one.
Where’s his bag?”
The kitbag was brought, but if the audience
expected any sensational deductions by Fleming
Stone, they were disappointed. He ran over care-
lessly the few black rubber-backed brushes and the
few new, unmarked pieces of underwear. He
glanced at the necktie and handkerchiefs. All new,
and all of fairly good quality, without being elabo-
rate or expensive. ‘1 '
The atomizer interested him rather more.
“ Isn’t there a bottle of lotion to go with this? "
he asked. -
“ That’s what we wondered,” ‘said Brown,
eagerly, glad to have his thoughts coincide with those
of the great detective. ' ' - .
“ There’s almost nothing in it,” StOne went on,
“ and from the odor I gather it’s an antiseptic prepa-


294 SPOOKY HOLLOW
ration,—doubtless for some catarrhal affection.
Where’s the vial? There must be one, and it may
have a chemist’s name on it.” ‘
“There isn’t any bottle, Mr. Stone, and there
was nOne in his room or his bathroom. He must
have forgotten to bring it.”
“ He forgot to bring anything indicative of his
identity! ” Stone said. “ For a man on a short
business trip, he had fewer personal articles of
property than any one I ever saw! It would almost
seem. as if he were desirous of hiding his identity.”
“ Yet there’s no rhyme or reason to that,” put
in Brewster, “ he sent his name in to Mr. Vincent,
and his umbrella bears witness that it was .his
real name.” '
“Who brought him up from the station to
Mr. Vincent’s house? ” asked Stone, suddenly.
“Prout, the taxi driver,” Brown said. “The
Vincent butler told me so.”
“ Has Prout been interviewed?”
“ Yes, Mr. Stone, I questioned him myself,”
Brewster stated; “he said nothing of interest.
Merely’ described the man as we’ve already had
his description, said he came up on the New
York train—”


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 295
“That’s a New York timetable in his bag,”
Brown interposed. “And it is the only Scrap of
paper he seemed to possess.” ' ~""-“- -’
“He took his money and papers with'him,”
Stone said; “ but can I see this Prout f'or'emyself,
Mr. Brewster?” ’
“ Oh, yes, I’ll send for him at once.” " '
And when Prout arrived, he gave, practically,
the same description of the brunette Johnson, that
Stone had already heard. ’
“ Tell me of his manner,” Stone said; ‘“ was he
business-like? ” ‘ 7 ' " i
“ Oh, Lord, yes. Spry and sort‘ of’u'lp-and-
coming, he was. Wanted to know a lot about Mr.
Vincent, he did.” ‘ U '-
“ He had never seen him before? ” H
“ Well, they say he hadn’t, and I dunno’s he
had,—no, sir, I dunno’s he bad. But he did ask
me right ﬁrst-off if Mr. V incent's leg had
healed yet.” 5' -'
“ I noticed Mr. Vincent limped a little,” Stone
said, “ what’s the trouble?” * I - ’1-
“He broke his leg some few years ago, sir,
and they’ve never been quite the same length since.
Jest a mite of a limp,—as you could see. “But this


. 296 _ SPOOKY HOLLOW
man musta,known that, ’cause he asked .me right
outen a clear sky, did Mr. Vincent's leg get well.
So, I says to myself, he’s an old friend. Well, sir,
then he asked me. wasMr. Vincent married! Ho,
ho,—to think of Homer Vincent bein’ married!
Why there ain’t an unlikelier marryin’ man on the
footstool than .Homer Vincent! That there ain’t! "
“ But Johnson could scarcely be an old friend
without knowing. that,” Stone observed.
“ That’s jest it! And yet, he knew of Mr. Vin-
, cent’s brother and his sister and his niece."
“ You’re sure? He didn’t gather the facts of
these relationships from something you said? ”
“No, he didn’t. For I said somethin' about
Miss Vincent and V he said did I mean Miss
' Rosemary.”
“ Then he knew of the niece. What elsedid he
say?” 1 i
“ Not much else. Oh, yep, I spoke of Mr. Vin-
cent as the old man,—not meanin’ no disrespect, but
jest in a manner 0’ speakin’, an’ he says, sharp like,
‘Why do you call him an old man?’ an’ I says,
‘Thasso, he can’t,- be more’n ﬁfty.’ An’ he can’t
neither.” Y .. 1... . ..l ~ g . t
“ This is-alltinteresting, Mr. Prout, but it only


A FEW DEDUCTION S 297
,proves that Mr. Johnson knew some things about
Mr. Homer, which he might easily have learned from
hearsay. There’s nothing, so far, to indicate that
they had ever met before.”
“I dessay that’s so,—-an’ yet, somehow, he
gimme the impression that he had seen the man.
Maybe he hadn’t, though,—maybe he hadn’t.”
“ Mr. Vincent said he was an entire stranger,”
Brewster stated; “I see no reason to doubt
his word.”
“Me nuther,” said Prout. “ An’ when I told
Mr. Johnson that Mr. Vincent was an inventor,
he was surprised and interested.”
“ He would be,” said Stone, “because of his
interest in the manufacture of his rubies. But I
didn’t know Homer Vincent was an inventor.”
“ Oh, he just putters about, making up odd
tricks,” Brown said, smiling. “ He isn’t an inventor
by way of patenting things. or manufacturing them.”
“ What line do his inventions take?” Stone
inquired.
“ Mostly electrical,” Brewster informed him.
“ Little contraptions to make bells ring in his house
where he wants them. Speaking-tubes from his
rooms to the servants' quarters. I’ve seen them in


298 SPOOKY HOLLOW
use. They’re a little more elaborate and ingenious
than other folks have. And they say he rigs them
up himself.”
“Well, Mr. Prout,” Stone addressed him, “ I
think you have given me about all the information
you can, and I thank you. Now, one more question.
Merely as an observer of human nature, would you
say that your fare that day was a man bent on a
sinister errand, I mean on an errand of evil intent,—
or merely on a matter of business? ”
Prout considered.
“Well, sir,” he said, at last, “it’s sorter hard
to tell. But, while I wouldn’t wanta say that Mr.
Johnson was on any such devilish errand as he car-
ried out before he left, yet I will say that he had a
more personal interest in Mr. Vincent and his home
and his family than I’d expect'from a man comin’
on a plain matter 0’ business. He was sorta excited
an’ eager-like,—more’n you’d expect from a agent
for a jewelry house.”
“I see,—he anticipated some pleasure or proﬁt
from his visit beside the business proposition he was
to make.”
“ That’s it, sir. And without meanin’ to do
more’n I oughter in the way 0’ deducin’—or what-


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 299
ever you call it,—I might make a guess that he was
a bit interested in Miss Rosemary.”
Fleming Stone’s heart gave a sudden thump.
Bryce Collins had told him that Mr. Vincent had
hinted that the murderer might be some of the
girl’s disreputable kinsfolk,—on her mother’s side.
Suppose this were true!
“ Why did you think that?” he asked, sharply.
“ Oh, come now, I didn’t exactly think it,—-only
just the way he said Miss Rosemary’s name, made
me think he might be sweet on her.”
“Oh, that!” Stone was relieved. “But how
could he know the girl, when he didn’t know her
uncle? ”
“ I don’t say he did know her—only, I sorta
imagined he sounded interested in her.”
“ Probably it was imagination,” and Stone de-
clared the whole interview at an end.
As he and Fibsy left the place, the detective pro-
posed that Prout drive them out to the Vincent
home, and as they went the trio chatted casually of
the whole matter. But no detail of importance could
Stone gain further, and when they reached their
destination, he discarded the idea of the taxi driver
as a source of information.


300 SPOOKY HOLLOW
Before entering the house, Stone took a short
walk round the grounds.
He found the plaCe where, as he had been told,
the cigarette-holder had been picked up.
It was perhaps twenty-ﬁve or thirty feet from
the broken stone fence that marked off the dark
glade known as Spooky Hollow.
“ Don’t wonder at the name? Do you? ” Fibsy
said, shuddering at the dark and dense gloom of the
tangled underbrush in the thicket.
“ No, it’s an eerie place,” and Stone gazed
thoughtfully into its depths. “I don’t want to get
all messed up, but I wish, Terence, you’d go in there
some time, and see just what’s inside. Probably
nothing at all, and yet, you might get a pointer.”
“ All right, F. 5., I’ll tend to that same errand
soon’s I can. Or shall I_ go right now, immejit? ”
“No, tomorrow will do. Wear your oldest
clothes.”
“ Yes, sir. VVhat’m I to look for?”
“I can’t think of anything,” Stonev smiled. “But
it seems a place to be explored, that’s all. A place
called Spooky Hollow is suggestive of spooks, isn’t
it? You might ﬁnd a few.” '


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 301
“ ’Tis the same as done, sir,” and Fibsy nodded
his red shock in a promissory way.
In the house they found Bryce Collins and Rose—
mary, in what seemed to be a desperate controversy.
The girl’s lovely face was tear—stained and her
lips quivered, as she greeted Stone.
Fibsy’s tender heart was torn, for beauty in dis-
tress was one thing he could not bear to see. At
heart the boy was a squire of dames, and his ﬁrst
sight of Rosemary had enlisted his whole-hearted,
sympathy in her cause.
“ We’ve been looking at Spooky Hollow,” said
Stone, by way of a casual remark to dispel the awk-_
wardness of the scene.
Rosemary controlled her voice and responded,
“ It’s a shame to use that name for such a lovely
place, don’t you think so? ”
“ I do,” Stone agreed, “unless there are really
spooks out there. In that case, it’s appropriate. Are
there, Miss Vincent?”
“ I’ve never seen any,” she gave a half smile and
then her face turned very serious. “But I have
heard the Wild Harp, Mr. Stone,—how do you ex—
plain that? ”
“ Tell me of it,—describe it exactly, will you? ”


802 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“Why, there’s little to tell—it’s just a wave of
faint music that sounds now and then.”
“ Like an aeolian harp?”
“ No—not exactly. It’s more like—well, I may
as well say that it sounds more like ghostly music
than anything else I can think of.”
“ How do you know how ghostly music sounds?”
and Stone smiled at her.
“ Why, I don’t—of course,——but it’s so faint and
sweet and—”
“ Is there an air—a tune? ”
“ No, not a deﬁnite tune—more like a wailing
strain, that has no beginning or end.”
“ And that makes it ghostly?”
“ Now, you’re laughing at me, Mr. Stone,” and
Rosemary’s color returned to her cheeks, and she
was again her own charming self.
“ Indeed, I’m not. And, I’m told that this Harp
plays at certain times, in accordance with advices
from the spirit world.”
“ Oh, not quite that!” Rosemary looked sur-
prised. “ But they say when it does sound, it for-
bodes disaster.”
“ And it sounded the night of your aunt’s
death?”


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 303
“ Yes, I heard it myself, between two and three.”
“ Will you call your butler, Miss Vincent? ”
Mellish appeared in answer to a summons, and
Fleming Stone turned to him at once.
“ Mellish,” he said, “ have you ever heard this
Wild Harp?”
7 Though he tried to suppress it, a faint smile
came to the face of the butler.
“ Well, sir,—I may say I have. But, if you’re
thinking seriously as to its being of a supernatural
persuasion,—I opine sir, as it isn’t.”
“ H’m, and what do you opine causes the
music? ”
“ I’m not free of speech, not free to say, sir,—
but ’tis my notion that those who hear it have the
imagination strongly developed.”
“ Ah, you think it is a freak of their fancy? ”
“ Just that, sir.”
“ Yes; and now, Mellish, I want to check up on
something you said. You know we’re trying every
possible way to ﬁnd Henry Johnson.”
“Yes, sir, I am aware of your endeavors in
that direction.”
“ Very well. Now, you know he came here to
see Mr. Vincent about making rubies? ”
“ Yes, sir,—that’s no secret, sir.”


304 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“No, it is not. Mr. Vincent told it himself.
But the making of rubies is not so common a busi-
ness but that we ought to be able to trace a man
who makes it his calling.”
“ Common a business it may not be, but Mr.
Johnson is the second man, within a month or so,
to come here to see Mr. Vincent about it.”
“ Doubtless the same man—”
“ Oh, no, sir, the other man was quite
different—”
“ I mean, probably from the same ﬁrm of
manufacturers.”
“ It may be. The other man’s name was Mark-
ham,—-or something like that—”
“Never mind that now,” Stone spoke a little
impatiently, “what I want to know is about the
Wild Harp. But, not now, Mellish, it’s later than
I thought. I’ll see you about that tomorrow. You
may go now.”
As the butler left the room, Stone said to Bryce
Collins, “ I suppose, Mr. Collins, I am to make my
report of my ﬁndings to you? ”
“Why, yes, Mr. Stone,—but if you have any
developments of importance to tell of, it might be a
good idea to ask Mr. Vincent if he wants to hear-


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 805
them. He—well, I don’t want to seem to neg-
lect him.”
“ That’s true, call him, if you like.”
Homer Vincent came at the summons. He
looked anxious to hear the report and was most
courteous and gracious to Stone.
“I haven’t learned very much,” Fleming Stone
said, “ but I have found out these things. The man
who came here the day Miss Vincent died was not
named Henry Johnson. His initials were not H. J.
He didn’t come to see about synthetic rubies; he
didn’t murder Miss Vincent, and he didn’t steal her
famous jewel.”


CHAPTER XVI
FIBSY EXPLORES
ROSEMARY and Bryce Collins looked at the detec-
tive in blank amazement. Fibsy sat listening, open-
minded and receptive. He knew that if Fleming
Stone said the missing man’s name was not Henry
Johnson, it wasn’t. But he had no data on which
to hazard a guess as to what the right name might
be, so he waited.
Homer Vincent, however, showed a decided in-
terest in Stone’s statements.
“ DO you know,” he said, “I am not surprised
to learn that the man used an assumed name. I
suspected it from his little start of surprise when I
called him Johnson, now and then. Just as a man
would, if he were using the wrong name, and forgot
it occasionally. But I don’t understand why you
say those are not his initials on the umbrella. Of
course, it might be somebody else’s umbrella—”
“ NO, Mr. Vincent,” Stone said, “it is his um-
brella all right. But the initials on it are J. H. and
not H. J.”
806


FIBSY EXPLORES 307
“ N ow how in the world do you know that?”
Collins exclaimed. “ How can you tell?”
“ Because the H is a triﬂe larger. Monograms
are invariably made with the initial of the surname
larger than the initial of the Christian name, and
the H in this case, though nearly the same size as
the J, is, in fact, a little larger and more prominent.
See for yourself.”
Stone left_the room a moment and returned with
the umbrella, which he had borrowed from the police
and left in the coat room of Greatlarch.
They all scrutinized the engraved letters and
were forced to the conclusion that Stone was right.
“ This complicates matters,” Vincent said,
thoughtfully. “ He told me his name was Johnson
and that he lived at the Walford, in New York.
Perhaps that was also a ﬁctitious address. And you
think his errand about the synthetic rubies was also
faked, Mr. Stone? Then he came purposely to mur-
der my sister—”
Homer Vincent was staggered by the thoughts
that rushed to his mind consequent upon these new
disclosures of Stone’s.
“ But Mr. Stone says that man didn’t kill


308 SPOOKY HOLLOW
Antan! ” put in Rosemary. “ Do you know who
did, Mr. Stone?”
“ Not positively,’
I
said Stone. “ I shall have to
go down to New York and see what I can do—”
“ Perhaps he had an accomplice,” suggested Vin-
cent. “ I hadn’t thought of that before.”
“ No, I hadn’t, either,” Stone said. “ Perhaps
he had. At any rate, I will go down to New York
tomorrow, and I will ask you all to say nothing to
any one of my ﬁndings. I speak conﬁdentially to
you here, because Mr. Collins is my employer, and
Mr. Vincent and Miss Rosemary are the ones chieﬂy
interested in avenging the murder.”
“ Aside from the identity of the murderer, Mr.
Stone, how do you explain the locked door? ”
“ That’s hard to explain, Mr. Vincent. The
doctors state the murder was committed not more
than an hour or so before the body was discovered.
That makes it about seven o’clock or after. But I
have talked with the little maid, Francine, and she
vows no one was in or near Miss Vincent’s room
after six, that morning. She says her room is next
to that her mistress occupied and that she was awake
from six o’clock on. She declares no intruder could
have made his way in without her hearing him.”


FIBSY EXPLORES 309
“ Then,” Vincent spoke seriously, “ then do you
still discard my suggestion of possible supernatural
forces, Mr. Stone?”
“I most certainly do, Mr. Vincent. Had the
lady been killed by shock or fright, there might be
a reason to consider an apparition or a. phantom
visitant,‘ but not even a spook from Spooky Hollow
could stab its victim to the heart with a real dagger.”
“Of course not,” and Homer Vincent sighed
and shook his head.
“ G0 on, then,” he continued. “ Now that you
have a deﬁnite proposition to work on and a hope
of discovering the criminal, I renew my offer of
funds for the enterprise. Go to New York, Mr.
Stone, use every endeavor to ﬁnd out the real name
of the man who called himself Johnson, and send
all your bills to me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vincent,” Bryce Collins said,
gratefully. “You take a load off my shoulders!
I’m willing enough to stand all the expense, but I
haven’t your resources, and mine are running low.”
“ That’s all right, Bryce,—the thing must be
pushed through. And since Mr. Stone seems san-
guine, I can only hope his quest will succeed.”


810 SPOOKY HOLLOW
And then, with a murmured word of excuse,
Vincent left the room.
“ He’s often like that,” Rosemary said, looking
affectionately after him. “ He gets weary and sad
at this continual discussion of Antan’s murder.
Now, he’ll go and play the organ.”
Which is just what Vincent did. Soon, they
could hear muted strains of soft music. rolling
through the house.
“Yes, he’s sad,” Rosemary reiterated, as she
listened a moment to the chords. “ Not worried or
,revengeful, so much as deeply sorrowful. I can
always tell by what he plays.”
Fibsy, always interested in an unfamiliar phase
of human behavior, went softly out into the marble
vestibule that led to the organ room.
Stepping up into the balcony that overlooked the
great church-like room, the boy listened to the music
Homer Vincent produced.
W'ithout musical education Fibsy had a natural
appreciation of harmony, and as he raptly listened
he felt almost as if he could read what was in the
mind of the player. At least, he sensed the tragedy
that ﬁlled the soul of the man at the keyboard, and
realized in part, at any rate, what he suffered.


FIBSY EXPLORES 311
Fleming Stone, alone with the two young lovers,
was so gentle, so sympathetic, that before they knew
it they were pouring out to him all the details of the
other tragedy of Rosemary’s birth.
“ It must be looked into,” Stone said, with de-
cision. “ I’m sure, Miss Vincent, you would rather
know the worst, than to live in ignorance of
the truth.”
“ Yes,” but the girl hesitated. “ I’m not sure.
Suppose my mother was—”
“ Don’t look at it like that. Your own reﬁne-
ment and good taste point to an ancestry of the
right sort of people. Don’t let yourself think
otherwise.”
But this speech was not entirely sincere. Stone,
always sympathetic in sorrow, merely said what he
could to comfort the girl at the moment. After
the murder business was settled, he proposed to take
up the matter of Rosemary’s parentage. But he
could not attend to both at once and he hated to
have her grieve unnecessarily.
“ And your uncle is right, to a degree,” he said,
after she and Collins had told the details of Vincent’s
restrictions. “ I don’t know him as well as you do,
but I can see he is a high-minded gentleman with a


312 SPOOKY HOLLOW
right appreciation of his family responsibilities.
Also, I see how dependent he is for happiness on
the creature comforts of life. A door left open
or slammed shut, a delayed answer to his summons,
an intrusion on his hours of privacy,—any such
things would, I am sure, annoy him to distrac—
tion, when another type of man wouldn’t even
notice them.”
“ That’s just exactly Uncle Homer! ” Rosemary
cried. “ You read him perfectly! ”
’ Stone
smiled at her. “ You love life and young society
“And I can read you too, my dear,’
and parties and attentions from the young men.
You’d love to entertain lavishly in this beautiful
home,—to ﬁll these great rooms with gay and merry
guests, to have all sorts of wonderful clothes and
jewels,—come, now, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, indeed!” and Rosemary ﬂushed with
pleasure at his mere suggestion of such delights.
“ But I know I oughtn’t to think of such things and
I ought to be deeply grateful to Uncle Homer be-
cause he lets me stay here.”
“ That is true, Rosemary.” Stone spoke very
gravely. “ It might well have been his way to ask
you to live elsewhere. And since he offers you a


FIBSY EXPLORES 313
home here with stipulations, you should obey him,
however unpleasant to you his restrictions are.”
“ I know it,” but the girl’s lip quivered a little
and her golden-brown eyes ﬁlled with tears at
thought of her stained name as well as her uncon-
genial life.
“ You’re sure your uncle has no further knowl-
edge of‘your mother than he has told you?” Stone
inquired. “He’s not the sort of man to conceal
some fact that he thinks might make you even more
sad than you are now?”
“ N o, I don’t think so,—do you, Bryce?”
“ No, sir, I don’t. Mr. Vincent has been frank
and outspoken in all of our discussions of the sub-
ject. I feel grateful to him, as Rosemary does, but
I think he might allow her a little more freedom.
However, as soon as I can persuade her to consent,
I mean to marry her, and take her far away from all
people who know her at all. We shall start a new
life for ourselves——”
“ No, we will not!” Rosemary said, decidedly.
“ I shall never marry anybody. An illegitimate child
has no right to marry.” ‘ '
‘f Tell meagaih,” Stone said to her, “ of your


314 SPOOKY HOLLOW
homecoming that night. You saw no sign of a guest
in the house? ”
“ No, but that is not strange. I didn’t look inv
the general coat room, of course, and he had left
none of his belongings anywhere else."
“ You went around ﬁrst, and peeped in at your
uncle’s window. Why did you do that? ”
“ Partly to see if he was likely to hear me come
in—it was late—and partly because I saw from the
driveway a very bright light in that room. An
unusually bright light, so that I thought the room
was aﬁre.”
“ What caused it? ”
“ Oh, only that uncle’s open ﬁre chanced to be
blazing brightly. Then I saw him, and saw he was
so engrossed in his papers and letters that I could
take the chance of slipping in unobserved, and I did.”
“And you saw him putting away something
glittering? ”
“ Yes, that was the key of the wine cellar. I sup-
pose that he had Mellish get out some special wine
for his visitor.”
“ Well, my child, I will do all I can for you
later on, but now the case of your aunt will demand
all my attention. I want a little talk with your


FIBSY EXPLORES 315
uncle before I go, but perhaps we’d better not call
him from the organ. I also want to talk with the
maid who assisted your butler in serving at the table
the night Mr. Johnson was here. \Vill you call
her, please, and leave us together? ”
The waitress, Katie, was summoned; and, a triﬂe
shy, she came in and stood before the detective.
“ Sit down, Katie,” he said, kindly. “ Now, I’m
not going to ask you anything of great importance,
just try to remember anything Mr. Johnson may
have said at the table that night. Anything at all.
I don’t suppose you pay much attention to the talk
of the guests as you wait on them, but you may
recollect something he said—try now.”
“ I don’t remember a thing,” the girl declared,
and she was so positive, Stone wondered at ﬁrst if
some one had forbidden her to speak.
But he discarded that idea when Katie, under the
inﬂuence of his encouraging smiles, began to recol-
lect a stray word or two.
,,
“ He said the house was pretty— she vouch-
safed at last, with a timid air.
“ Yes,” Stone egged her on. “ And did he say
anything about his own home-—where he lived? ”


316 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Oh, yes,——he said he came from New York,—
but I don’t think he lived there, because he said,
‘ what ﬁne hotels there are in New York.’ ”
“ To be sure. I And maybe he mentioned the one
he was staying at—”
“ Yes, he did that! He said he left his trunk at
the Vandermore, and that was why he didn’t have
any evening clothes to wear here. He said he didn’t
expect to stay here overnight—but he was glad he
did because he liked the house so muc .”
“Just crazy over the house, wasn’t he?”
“ Oh, he was, sir. And he said, if he ever had
a voice in the matter he’d cut out a lot of trees,—he
thought there were too many.”
“ H’m, did he expect to buy the house? ”
“Oh, no, sir, he was just joking,—you could
tell that.”
“ Of course. Anything else? ”
“No, sir, but One time I heard him mention
Miss Rosemary’s name.”
“ As if he knew her?”
“ No, sir, more as if he wanted Mr. Vincent or
Miss Vincent to tell him something about her. More
as if he had heard‘of her—”


FIBSY EXPLORES 317
“I see. Most natural, I’m sure. Well, Katie,
you gathered he had never been here before?”
“ Oh, no sir, I’m sure he hadn’t.”
“Well, run along—Katie. If yOu think of
anything more you heard the gentleman say, you can
let me know. Tell Mellish to bring you to me, in
such a case.”
“ Yes, sir,—thank you, sir.”
With a shy little curtsey, Katie went away, and
Stone went in search of the master of the house.
The organ music had stopped so Stone was not
surprised to ﬁnd Vincent in his Tower room.
The detective was really as much impressed and
interested as the mysterious Johnson in the archi-
tecture and decoration of the house, but he felt he
had no time to waste in idle enjoyment of
its beauties.
“ Wonderful place,” he said to his host, as he
entered, after a knock at the closed door. “You
found many secret hiding-places or sliding panels,
perhaps?” ’
“ Several,” Vincent told him. “Not so very
secret, though. See, the one in this room opens by
merely pressing this knob. And the knob is not hard
to discern if any one looks closely for it.”


318 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“That’s true,” and Stone watched as Vincent
turned the little knob and the panel slid smoothly and
noiselesst back.
It exposed a recess with two or three shelves,—
merely a concealed cupboard, large enough to contain
half a dozen good-sized boxes which evidently held
papers of value.
“This is my safe-deposit vault, Mr. Stone,”
Vincent said, smiling. “I have no other. I’m a
man of simple habits, and all my papers or docu-
ments of any importance are in here. They are of
no value to any one but myself—I mean they are
of no money value. My stocks and bonds are at
my banker’s. But here I keep my will, my deeds to
this house, and my private correspondence.”
“And the papers regarding Miss Rosemary’s
parentage,” Stone said. “ May I see those? ”
“ Certainly,” and Vincent gave him the large
bundles of his brother’s letters.
“It is a distressing subject,” Vincent said. “ I
have always known that Rosemary was Carl’s
adopted daughter, but I did not know, until young
Collins learned it in France, that she is also his
illegitimate child. I feel that I have my share of
sorrow, Mr. Stone.”


FIBSY EXPLORES 319
“ You surely have, Mr. Vincent, and I realize
the shock it was to you to learn this truth about your
brother, just after the awful tragedy of your
sister’s death.”
“ Yes. And that is one reason why I cannot con-
sent to have guests and laughter and gayety about
my home. Rosemary is not without sensibilities, not
without appreciation of the depth of my sorrow, but
she is young and she is of an exceptionally volatile,
light-hearted disposition. And, though, of course,
she does not wish entertainment and frivolities now,
yet she does want the companionship of her young
friends, and I confess their very presence wears on
my nerves so that I have to beg her to refrain from
asking them here. You may not understand it, Mr.
Stone, but I am a peculiar man, and the life of a
hermit best suits my tastes and inclinations.”
“ I do understand, Mr. Vincent, and I see clearly
that you could not live with any degree of peace and
contentment with young visitors about.”
“ And if Rosemary were my own niece,—I mean
a legitimate Vincent, the case would be different.
But as things are, I feel that I am not overstepping
my rights to insist on conducting my household as
I wish.”


820 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“You certainly are not. I feel deeply sorry
for you and your niece both. I could wish you had
never learned the truth of her parentage.”
“ I heartily wish that, too, but in a way it brings
-her nearer to me to .know that she was Carl’s
daughter, even though born out of wedlock.”
“It is a hard case, any way you look at it,”
and then Stone went back to his quarters at the inn.
Late that afternoon, Fibsy told of his investi-
gation of the jungle known as Spooky Hollow.
“Gee! it’s some place!” he exclaimed. “I’m
glad I put on my old clothes, for I got well
muddied up! ”
“ What did you ﬁnd?”
'- “ Mud, muck, and morass,” returned the boy,
succinctly.
“ Do you know what morass means? " Stone
asked, smiling.
“ You bet I do. I lived near one at home, when
I was a kid. It’s a sort of swamp that’s mighty
hard to walk on, and if it’s morassy enough it sucks ,
you down in, and you’re a goner! That’s what a
morass is.” '
“ Did you see any reason to think Mr. Johnson
might have been sucked in? ” Stone spoke seriously.


FIBSY EXPLORES 321
“ No, F. S., no reason to think so. Of course,
he mighta done so,——but I can’t see it. Why, even
if he went strolling about the grounds and got stuck
in the swamp, even got_sucked in and sank down
outa sight,—why, of course that would have been
in the evening like,—and if he had done that, he
couldn’t have killed the lady. It’s unpossible he
could have done any strolling about after he killed
her,—’long about seven o’clock in the morning.
After that murder he had all he could do to hasten
off to hide himself. And, anyway, I don’t know’s
the morass is as bad as that. I tested it,—I took
off my coat—-—-it was my old one,—and I wrapped
up a big stone in it. Then I ﬂung it out into the
softest-looking spot.” -
“ What happened? ”
“ It went down,--it was sucked in. 'But that
was, after all, only a small bundle compared to a
whole man.‘ And, too, if he had found himself
sinking, 'in a place like that, he’d a set up a yell,
wouldn’t he?- An'd somebody’d heard him, wouldn’t
they? No, I can’t connect up friend Johnson’s
disappearance with that quagrnirey place. PI don’t
say a man couldn’t sink there, but I say (there’s-no
21


.322 SPOOKY HOLLOW
theory of the crime that would take him out there
after the lady was dead.”
“ That’s perfectly true. And even if he strolled
round the grounds late that night, it must have been
before midnight, or the watchman would have seen
him. And, too, I can imagine his strolling in the
gardens, but late at night a man doesn’t venture into
such a messy place as you make out Spooky Hollow
to be. See any spooks there? ”
“ Not a sign of one. It isn’t such a bad place,
you know. Except for a few mucky holes, it’s fairly
good going, and the tangle of vines and low ever-
greens is wild and weird in_the extreme.”
Stone suppressed a smile at the boy’s diction, for
he knew he was trying to improve his English, and
if occasionally he erred on the side of stilted speech,
it was wiser not to notice it.
“ You heard the Wild Harp?”
“ No, sir, I didn’t, though I listened out for it.
Also, I looked good for wires,-—for I’ve been think-
ing it might be some rigged-up contraption. But
nary sign of wires or xolian harp strings or any-
thing but trees and shrubs and scrubs and general
rank undergrowth.”


FIBSY EXPLORES 323
“ Well, McGuire, how do you size up the whole
thing?”
Fibsy was ﬂattered—doubly so, at being called
by his surname, and by having his opinion seriously
asked.
He considered before speaking and then said:
“ It’s no use, F. Stone,—I can’t size it up at all.
It’s too many for me. I’ve sometimes had glimmer-
ings of wit about deducing things, but this time, I’m
up a stump for fair. But of one thing I am sure.
That there wild and wicked harp must play, for so
many people have heard it. From His Nibs and
Miss Rosy Posy, down to the lowest and littlest of
the servant-girls, most of them have heard it at one
time or another.
“Except old Mellish. He vows he never has,
and there’s a twinkle in his eye whenever he speaks
of it. So, leave that Harp to me. I’m going to ﬁnd
out about it,—and, oh, gee! what a dunderhead I
am! Why I’ve got it now! I ’see through the Wild
Harp! Well, I am a dumb-bell, that’s what I am! ”
“ Suppose you stop your careful estimation of
yourself and tell me your astounding discovery.”
“ Not just yet,—oh, give me a chance to make
sure. But I’ll tell you this, F. Stone, that harp is


i324 ’ SPOOKY HOLLOW
played by human ﬁngers, and thOSe same ﬁngers are
on the mitt of that dough—faced butler! That’s
who’s responsible for them wailings and goings-on
of that phantom harp! Phantom, indeed! If Mel-
lish is a phantom! ”
“ So you think he manipulates the Harp. What
for, may I ask?” 7
“ Well,” Fibsy was very serious, “ I should say
as he rigged it up at ﬁrst to tease his wife. She’s
a scary sort of thing, and terribly afraid of ghosts.
And having Spooky Hollow ready-made for him as
you may say, I take it he just ﬁxed up the harp
arrangement for ’fun.”
“ And after Miss Vincent’s death, you think he
kept on with his joke?”
“ I can’t see any other way out. Some people
have a perverted sense of humor, sir, and he may
have thought it added to the dramatic side of things
to have the harp wailing and moaning out there.”
“Just how did he work it?”
“ That’s what I’m going to ﬁgger out. I can do
it, I know.” .
“ Well, go to it, Fibs. Now, I’m leaving for
New York to-night, and I want you to stand by till I


FIBSY EXPLORES 325
return. Don’t do anything deﬁnite, but keep your
eyes and ears open and learn anything you can.”
“Yes, sir, and I’ll get next toithe Harp player,
and mark my word, it’ll turn out to be Mellish.”
“ Very well, look into it, if you like. But I can’t
feel that the Harp-playing, whether Mellish’s work
or not, has any real bearing on the case. Here’s an
address that will always reach me,-—I may have to go
further than New York. Go over to Greatlarch now
and then, to keep in touch with what they are all
doing. Otherwise, just hold the fort till I get back.”
“ Yes, Mr. Stone, but for the land’s sake, do
write me or wire me if you get on to anything. For
I’m' burning alive with curiosity.”
“ So am I, Fibsy,” 'said Stone.


CHAPTER XVII
FINCI-I’S STORY
THE ﬁrst thing Fleming Stone did, on reaching
New York, was to visit the two jewelers whose
addresses were on the cards given him by Homer
Vincent.
As he had expected, they both denied all knowl-
edge of any one named Henry Johnson, and declared
he must have been an impostor.
Both, also, referred to a man named Markheim,
who had a secret process for manufacturing what
are known as synthetic rubies. This man, they said,
was an honest and honorable person, who made no
claim for his goods beyond just what they were. He
wanted to make imitation rubies and sell them for
imitation rubies,—that was all.
At Stone’s request they willingly gave him Mark-
heim’s address, and the detective went at once to
see him.
He found the inventor a quiet, reserved, almost
sullen sort of a man, but he roused to a real pitch of
fury, when Stone told him of Henry Johnson’s
526


FINCH’S STORY 827
errand to Greatlarch in the interests of ruby
manufacturing.
“What does he mean?” Markheim cried out.
“ He cannot make rubies! Has he my knowledge?
Has he my secret? Why, sir, he is a terrible
impostor! ”
“ But other men than you may have a formula,—
may have invented a process—”
“ Nevertheless, he is an impostor. The fact that
he used those two jewelers’ names, proves that!
Those men gave me their cards as references out of
their good will and conﬁdence in my honesty. That’s
all they vouched for,—my honesty and good faith-
I told Mr. Vincent that.”
“ Did you see Miss Vincent? ”
“ No. I saw no lady there,—only Mr. Homer
Vincent, the owner of that great and wonderful
house,—Greatlarch, the place is called.”
“ Yes,—now, we must admit there’s a queer
proposition here. How did this Mr. Johnson get
hold of those two cards—”
“ But any one can get jewelers’ cards! Pick
them up from the counter, or—”
“ But is it not strange that he selected the very
two that you used? ”


328 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“It is a coincidence, to be sure,—'.but they are
ﬁrst-class and representative ﬁrms,—-it could be he
would choose those—yet,'—yes, it is strange. Still,
it is so. He gave the names to Mr. Vincent—” '
“ How did Mr. Vincent treat you, Mr. Mark;
heim? I mean, was he interested in your project? ”
“ Not at all. ’He treated me most politely, even
courteously, but he would have none of my business;
He said his mOney was all invested in the sort of
securities he liked best, and he would not think Of
making any changes. Moreover, he said he didn’t
Wish to enter into any business proposition. He said
such things wearied him, the ﬁnancial details bOred
him, and he far preferred stocks or bonds where
there was no responsibility or wOrk involved. _..But
he was very 'nice about it, and after our chat he
invited me to [remain for luncheon and I. did so.
My! what a house! I never saw its like! And the
luncheon! It was ﬁne—without being too elaborate
or magniﬁcent. I enjoyed myself, I can tell you!”
“ You remember the butler? ”, , _ _ _
“ Yes, somewhat. He seemed a character in his
way,—but his principal thought,—I may say his life-
work, is quite evidently to smooth ,the pathof qhis


FINCH’S STORY 329'
master and keep it free of all thorns or obstacles to
his comfort.” '
“ You are a good deal of a character-reader.
Mellish is just as you describe. Now, how did you
size up Mellish’s master? ” ' _
r “ As a ﬁrst-class ﬁne gentleman. The real thing,
you understand. No shoddy or nouveau riche there.
A gentleman of the old school, scholarly, reﬁned,
musical, and used to the very best of belongings
and surroundings.” '
“ And you saw no ladies at luncheon?”
“ N0 ; now that you mention it, I remember Mr.
Vincent spoke of a sister and, I think, a niece, who
were'out for luncheon that day.” , V
“ Yes. Well, Mr. Markheim, I am obliged to
you for this interview. Oh, by the Way, you left
two rubies with Mr. Vincent?” '
“ No, I did not. I had a‘few with me, and I
showed them to him, but I didn’t leave any
with him.” ’ t
“ You didn’t forget them,—or leave them by
mistake?” '
“ I’m sure I did not. My rubies are of small
worth compared to real stones, but also, they have
considerable market value, and I certainly did not


880 SPOOKY HOLLOW
leave any around carelessly. I left the two cards
only. One was a bit soiled—the other quite fresh.”
“ H’m. Now, one last question. Do you know
any one who could possibly be interested in market-
ing synthetic rubies, even though he did not himself
manufacture them? I don’t mean Henry Johnson,
—but, say, some one whose initials are J. H.? ”
“No, sir. I don’t know of any one except
myself who is interested in such things in my way.
My process is my own invention and I have carefully
guarded my secret. I suppose there are others on
the same quest but I know none by name, nor do
I think any one has the idea that I have. And I
shall yet succeed. I have a patron who is about
ready to ﬁnance my work, and I mean to
make good.”
“ I hope you will, Mr. Markheim, I sin-
cerely do.”
As Fleming Stone went away from the inter-
view, his thoughts ran swiftly over the situation.
“ It’s very strange that two men should
approach Homer Vincent on the same subject so
near together. It’s even more strange that they
gave the same two references,'—that they both
gave the jewelers’ cards. Why didn’t one of them


FIN CH’S STORY 331
merely give the ﬁrms’ names? But perhaps he
did. Perhaps Johnson only mentioned them as
well-known jewelers, and Vincent, having their
cards, gave them up as memoranda. At any rate,
Markheim is an honest man,—and, so far as I can
see now, Johnson is a fraud. Yet maybe he only
wanted to conceal his real name until he learned if
Mr. Vincent would put his money in the business.
Of course, these inventors with secrets keep mighty
close about their affairs. But I still suspect Johnson
—as he called himself—of double dealing somehow,
and I must track him down. Guess I’ll try the
Vandermore next.” ‘
The room clerk at the big hotel was not anxious
to help in the search for an unknown name with
initials J. H., but impressed by the hint of a police
investigation, he turned over to Stone the lists of
names for the dates he mentioned.
Allowing that the man had registered a few days
before he went up to Vermont, Fleming Stone set
resolutely to work and found no less than six names
during those days whose initials were J. H.
But running down those names was fairly easy,
though tedious, and a few hours’ time showed him
that two were respectable citizens of Boston, one


332 SPOOKY HOLLOW
was a visiting Englishman and one a San Francisco
millionaire.
This left him with a James Harrison, of Mobile,
Alabama, and a John Haydock, of Chicago.
A hasty telegram discovered Mr. Harrison to be
a clergyman attending a convention, and Stone was
left with only one more chance for success in
his search.
Following a sudden ﬂash of inspiration, he went
to the Bureau of Missing Persons. I v
To be sure, Haydock, if he were the man, need
not be missing from his own home,—but then again,
he might.
The officials at the Bureau were most kind and
helpful, and after a look at some out-of-town rec-
ords, told Stone thatJohn Haydock was a Chicago
broker, was mysteriously missing, and the police had
been searching for him several weeks with no iota
of success.
“ There’s my man!” Stone cried, “ now, where
is. he? ” I , ,
But he said this only to his inner consciousness,
not. yet ready to let the New York or Chicago police
in onthe job. He had his own interests in the case
to look out for, and as it was a.most-.-unusual and;


FINCH’S STORY 333
peculiar case, he concluded to carry it a little farther
by himself.
Getting all possible details of Haydock, Stone
made for a long-distance telephone and called the
ofﬁce of John Haydock, in Chicago.
At last he was in touch with one Robert Finch,
‘who said he was the chief and conﬁdential clerk of
John Haydock and was eager for news of him.
i “ Will you come to New York?” Stone asked,
“ or must I go out to Chicago? ” ’ i V
“ I’ll come right over,” Finch promised. “ I’m
sure it’s the better plan. My, I’m excited at even
hearing some word of Mr. Haydock! I can hardly
wait to reach you,—but I realize you can’t say much
over the telephone.”
’ But Stone was not so elated as the Chicago man
was. It was a hundred to one that John Haydock
should be the man he was after. Finch had said
Haydock was a broker and had no interest in jewels
or precious stones.
But Haydock’s interest might have been a secret
One. Stone began to think now, that Haydock was
not the ruby manufacturer, but merely the repre-
sentative of an inventor. In this case, the broker


334 SPOOKY nOLLOW
would, naturally, keep the matter secret even from
his conﬁdential clerk.
At any rate, Fleming Stone determined to try
very hard to connect the missing Chicago man with
the H. J. of the umbrella.
T00 impatient to wait for Finch’s word on that
subject, Stone went to the haberdashery where the
umbrella had been bought.
They could not trace the purchaser, as Stone had
not the umbrella with him, but they declared the
monogram had not been put on by them.
Also, as Stone described and drew a rough sketch
of the letters they entirely agreed with him that the
order of the two letters was J. H. and not H. J.
This satisﬁed Stone that the caller at Greatlarch
used a ﬁctitious name, whatever else his claims to
. honesty might be.
“ And a clever duck, too,” Stone mused; “ used
a name with the letters the other way, so his um-
brella would seem to be marked right. Shows an
ingenious mind,—and so, probably a crook mind.
The fact that he’s a well-known Chicago broker, is
no real guarantee of his honesty and integrity. And
I’ve checked up some of those rash statements I
made to Mr. Vincent and young Collins. Let me


FIN CH’S STORY 335
see; I said the man who called was not Henry John-
son, his initials were not H. J., and his business was
not about making synthetic rubies.
“I think that’s all right, so far. But I said,
further, that he didn’t murder Miss Anne, nor steal.
her ruby. Some work to prove that! Guess I’ll
await the Finch person and see where he lands
me up.”
But his waiting hours were fraught with wild
and hazy conjectures.
Where had John Haydock hidden himself? Why
had he gone to Greatlarch on a secret errand? Did
his whole ruby proposition merely cloak some other
and greater intention? Did he go there with the
sole purpose of killing Anne Vincent,—and if
so, why?
Again came the idea of his being an old lover
of the lady,—perhaps he had sworn to kill her, be-
cause of—pshaw! all too melodramatic. Miss Vin--
cent, as he pictured her from all he had heard, was
a mild and inoffensive lady, with no dark past,—
yet, who could tell as to other people’s dark pasts?
And the stranger had known Miss Vincent before,—
the man Prout had disclosed that fact.
Then, say it was the theft of the ruby that took


336 SPOOKY HOLLOW
him there. Ah, that was a little more plausible.
Say he knew Miss Vincent of old, say he knew of
the great ruby, and so, he went there, using an
assumed name, and taking his time to compass his
design. Probably he had no intention of murder,
but that was necessary to save his own skin.
Stone had said that the man who called himself
Johnson didn’t commit the murder or steal the
ruby,-—but—the detective had learned a few things
since then.
The next day Finch came. Stone had rooms for
them both at the Vandermore, and as soon as the
young man could get freshened up and eat some
luncheon, they started in on their confab.
ii “ Begin at the beginning,” asked Stone. “ Tell
me all you know of John Haydock, from your very.
ﬁrst acquaintance.”
“ It won’t be a very long tale,” Robert Finch
.replied, as he lighted his .cigar. “ About three years
ago, I chanced to hear, through a friend, that M11.
Haydock wanted a clerk. I applied for the positionv
and got it.‘ I triedmy best to make :good and did“
He advanced my salary several times and looked
upon me as his trustworthy and conﬁdential clerkJ'
I gave-him my best effdrts, and since his-disappear-


FIN CH’S STORY 337
ance, I have carried on the business just as he
always did. It’s largely routine work, or I couldn’t
have left the ofﬁce just now. But I have an excellent
and able assistant who will look after things and I
felt my duty was here, to ﬁnd John Haydock if
possible. Where is he?”
“I’ve no idea. But we’ll come to that later.
Tell me more about the man. Describe him, please.
Was he dark? ”
“ Dark? I should say he was. I never knew a
darker white man. But that did not mean he was
anything but white in his dealings. As honest as the
day, just, rather than generous, and so silent and
reserved about his own affairs as to be considered
secretive. He never chatted with me. He talked
over the necessary business matters, he was pleas-
ant, amiable, courteous,—but never churnmy or
conﬁdential.”
’ “ All right so far. Now tell me about the day
he went away. Where did he say he was going?”
“ To New York. Said hehad worked hard and
had earned a vacation. Said he would be gone
maybe a week, but not more. Said I needn’t write
unless something of unusual importance turned up,
22


838 SPOOKY HOLLOW
which wasn’t likely, for I know as much about the
business as he does.”
“ What did he take for luggage? ”
“ I don’t know. He rarely went off on vacation
trips, but when he did he took little luggage. Prob-
ably a large suitcase and an ordinary overnight bag.”
“You mean a suitcase too big to cart around
much? ”
“ Yes, that’s what I mean. He’d check that
somewhere and go around with a kitbag. At
least, that’s only my supposition, birt it’s probably
about right.”
“ And you never heard from him after he left
you?”
“ Not one word.”
“ Didn’t that surprise you? ”
“ For a week or so it didn’t, and after that, you
bet it did! Why, I’ve been more and more surprised
each day! And surprised isn’t the word! I’m utterly
dumfounded, ﬂabbergasted, stunned, shocked, down
and out! I don’t know where I am at! And if you
can give me a hint or a clue, I’ll follow it to the ends
of the earth. Why, quite aside from my business
acquaintance with him, I’m fond of the man. As I
said, he’s not very friendly in a chummy way, but


FINCH’S STORY 339
he’s a strong, staunch, loyal heart, and I’m grieving
quite as much as I’m wondering.”
“ You have no doubts then of his integrity
of soul? ”
“ Oh, come now, integrity of soul means a lot.
I don’t know Mr. Haydock well enough to talk like
that about him. But I’ve no doubt of his business
honesty or his honorable dealing toward me. After
that, I know too little of him to discuss him. Why,
you’ve no idea how reticent he was as to himself,—
personally, I mean.”
“ Where did he come from? Where was he
born? ”
“ I haven’t the slightest idea. It isn’t that I was
afraid to ask him of such matters, but we never met
outside of business hours and as he was not infor-
matively inclined, it would have been silly for me
to pester him with questions.”
“ I see. And you’ve no idea whether he lived in
Chicago all his life or—”
“ Oh, yes, I know that much. He came to live
in Chicago about, ﬁve years ago—”
“ From where? ”
“ Don’t know that, except I have a dim idea it
was from the West.” .
“ Was he like a Westerner? ”


340 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“Not specially. He looked more like a for-—
eigner, with his dark hair and sallow skin. But he
was one hundred per cent. American, as far as I
could see.”
“ Well, details about him don’t seem to get us
anywhere. Did you ever surmise that he had any
secrets in his life? Any hobby he was following
up, or any love affair? ” ’
‘ “I never heard or saw anything to base any
such supposition or surmise on,” Robert Finch
replied, slowly.
“You’re holding back something,” Stone said,
intuitively. . '
“No, that’s the exact truth. His only hobby
that I can think of was writing in his diary. He
rarely did any of it at the ofﬁce, but the few times
he did, he worked at it like a man engrossed in his
occupation.”
“ Where is his diary?”
“ He always kept it locked up—”
“ But you know where.”
“If I do, I shall not tell, until I have more
reason than I have now to think I shall never see
Mr. Haydock again. What sort of a conﬁdential
clerk should I be if I gave up his private papers


,FINCH’S STORY 341
because he went away and stayed a few weeks with-
out writing to me? And, now, Mr. Stone, suppose
you tell me what you know, and why you want to
find him? ”
Robert Finch was a good-looking, earnest-faced
young man, of a type to be found by hundreds in the
great business ofﬁces of our cities. But he was
rather above the average in his appearance of sin-
Cerity and fealty to his trust. Stone sized him up
for a faithful custodian of his employer’s secrets if .
he knew them, or of his private papers if he
had them.
In as few words as possible the detective told
Finch the’story of the man who went to Greatlarch,
and called himself Henry Johnson. He told of the
various matters that pointed to this man’s really
being John Haydock, and, though at ﬁrst unwilling
to believe it, Finch was ﬁnally convinced that it
must be true.
“ That umbrella!” he exclaimed as Stone de-
scribed it minutely; “I know it well! I ought to,
for I gave it to him myself, more than a year ago,
on his birthday. I thought he’d like it,-—-and I
guess he did, only—well, he seemed to think I was a.
bit presumptuous to do it. He made me feel a little


342 SPOOKY HOLLOW
ashamed and I never offered him a present again.
However, he often carries it, and I think he likes it.”
“ Would he use plain black rubber-backed
brushes, and only moderately ﬁne underwear?"
“ Yes, exactly. He had money enough, and he
was not at all parsimonious, but he was—well, I
think, frugal is the word. He was always well
dressed but not at all extravagant.”
“ All the things in his kitbag were brand-new,”
~ Stone vouchsafed.
Finch smiled. “ Probably found himself at low
tide when he started away. Didn’t like to go to a
decent hotel with ragged things in his bag, so he
stocked up. Yes, I have to confess it all sounds like
Haydock, and as your people mention his dark color-
ing, I can’t see any reason to doubt that it was he
who went to Greatlarch and who introduced himself
as Henry Johnson. Why, I cannot imagine.”
“ You never heard him speak of any one named
Vincent?”
“ Never. But I never heard him speak of any-
body outside our business lists.”
“ What did he do evenings? ”
“ He lived in a good bachelor apartment, and
he went into good society. He was moderate in


FINCH’S STORY 343
everything. He went to the theatre and concerts
now and then, he went to dinners and all that, but
he wasn’t what you’d call a regular society man. I
daresay lots of his evenings he spent quietly by
himself. But I never asked him, of course, I’m
judging only by my general knowledge of him and
from such few remarks as he might casually, drop
while we talked business.” -
“Where do you suppose he got hold of this
ruby idea?”
“ I don’t know. But if somebody put it up to
him as a good money-making scheme and if he
thought it was, I can imagine his going up there
to interest a millionaire—”
“ And using a false name?”
“ Possibly.”
“ And stealing a real ruby and murdering a
good lady? ”
“ No—” Finch spoke cautiously, “I can’t say I
imagine his doing that—I can only repeat I don’t
know the man, and I can’t say what he would or
wouldn’t do.”
“ Mellish, the butler,—who, by the way, is no
common personality,—says that the man he calls
Henry Johnson has the face of a murderer.”


844 SPOOKY HOLLOW
Finch smiled. “ Is there such a thing,” he asked,
“ as the face of a murderer? As I said, Haydock’s'
face is as dark as a Spaniard’s, but that doesn’t
imply a dark heart. I’ve been told a murderer often-
est has a clear bright blue eye.”
“I’ve been told that, too; in fact, I’m ready to
say there is no such thing as the typical face of a
murderer. And I believe that Mellish founded his
suspicion on the fact of this man’s very dark effect.”
“ How about suspecting the butler himself of the
theft and of the murder? Is he entirely free from
suspicion? ”
“ I think so. There’s no clue or evidence against
him. In fact there’s none against anybody but
Haydock,—-as I shall now call him, for I am con-
vinced of his identity. But it does seem to be a
clear case against him. He appears from nowhere,
gives a wrong name, offefs a business proposition
which is clearly a faked‘one, spends the night, and
before dawn disappears. Almost as soon as he is
gone,ia murdered woman is found, and an enormous
gemis missing. He is never seen again and his.
whereaboutscannot be traced. What’s, the answer? ”,
“ It looks- black,” conceded Finch. , .“ You know


FINCH’S STORY 345
the Chicago police have been hunting him, but of
course they never traced him to Vermont.”
“ Then that proves he went there secretly. Had
he gone with no attempt at concealment, he could
easily have been traced. I’m sorry, Mr. Finch, but
every detail we learn from one another seems to
draw the net still tighter round the man who was
your employer.”
“ And how do you think he got away? Aside
from the locked door,—-and I cannot see how he had
a mechanical device handy to turn that key from the
outside, when he could not have foreseen the exact
circumstances that would come to him,—aside from
that, how did he get away from Hilldale, on a cold
winter night, without hat or coat—”
“ Oh, that he might have managed easily,—the
getting out of Hilldale, I mean. But I don’t yet
understand that locked door. And I do think that
the solving of the mystery hangs on that.”


CHAPTER XVIII
THE TERRIBLE TRUTH
ROBERT FINCH willingly accepted Stone’s invi-
tation to return to Greatlarch’with him. The clerk
felt that he must do all in his power to ferret out
the mystery of his employer’s disappearance, and
surely his way lay in the direction of Hilldale.
On the journey up, Stone had told- his companion
of Fibsy, his young assistant, so Finch was not
surprised to see the red-headed lad waiting for them
on the steps of the inn.
“ I have some ﬁnds,” announced F ibsy. “ Have
you any, F. Stone? ”
“ Well, yes, Terence, I think I may say I have,—
though I haven’t yet quite made out what they
mean.”
After the three were settled down in Stone’s
sitting-room, and after Stone had told the boy a
general sum-up of what he had learned from Finch
and from the jewelers, Fibsy took his turn at recital.
“ Well, sir,” he announced, “I found out who
846


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 347
plays that Spook Harp, and as I just felt sure,
F. Stone, it’s none other than Friend Butler.”
“ Mellish! ”
“ The same. He has a wireless telephone—”
“ From the house? ”
“Yep, from the house, and, well, I can’t ’zackly
explain it, but it’s this way. He connected a phono-
graph with a wireless sending set in his workshop,
and then he transmits the music to a large horn con-
nected with an ampliﬁer which is concealed in a tree
down in that Spooky Hollow.”
“ I understand,” Stone said, “you needn’t try
to explain the details of the mechanism, Fibs; I see
how it is done. But—Mellish never contrived that
himself! ”
“That’s what I think, F. S. I think His Nibs
is at the back of it—”
“ Mr. Vincent! Nonsense! More likely that
chauffeur, he’s a clever mechanician. However, I’ve
felt all along that the Wild Harp had nothing to do
with the real mystery or the tragedy; so work on
that, Terence, if it amuses you, but if you’ve any
news of real importance, let’s have it.”
“ Well, sir, I have. I found the bottle that
belongs to that atomizer thing.”


848 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ You did! Now that’s something worth while.
Let’s see it.”
Proudly the boy produced a small vial. It was
half full of an antiseptic preparation, and its label
bore the address of a Chicago chemist. ,
“ That’s his,” Robert Finch said at once.
“ That’s Mr. Haydock’s—I’ve Often seen him use it
in his atomizer, during business days, when his
catarrh troubled him. Where did it come from? ”
Stone looked at Fibsy.
“ Now that’s the queer part,” the boy said. “ I
burgled Greatlarch, you see—”
“ How? ” Stone asked.
“ I took a chance when Mr. Vincent was playing
on his big organ so hard he wouldn’t have noticed
the German army if they’d marched through him!
Yes, sir, he was just absorbed,—he was what you
call it? improverising, yes, that’s it, improverising.
And I slipped into his Tower room, it’s never locked,
and I investigated that panel. You know he told
us himself how to open that panel.”
“ Yes, McGuire.”
“Well, sir, I felt sure there was more to it
than he told us about. And there was. By pokin’
around good and plenty, I found another little weeny


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 349
knob and I pressed it, and there was another secret
panel,—you know—inside the ﬁrst one, way at the
back part.”
“ And this bottle was in there?”
“ Oh, Lord, no, sir, that bottle wasn’t in there!
I got my yarn mixed up, I’m that excited! No, sir,
that bottle was in Mr. Vincent’s own little medicine
chest in his bathroom, just a settin’ there.”
“ In Mr. Vincent’s chest, then what has it to do
with the Johnson man?”
‘ “Well, it’s a bottle of stuff that could belong
to that atomizer thing. It’s a Chicago prescription,
so maybe it ain’t Mr. Vincent’s, and it was sorta
hidden away at the back, so I take it, it'was meant
to be concealed.”
“ McGuire, your zeal has run away with you.”
Fleming Stone smiled good—naturedly. “More likely,
one of the housemaids saw this on Mr. Johnson’s
washstand, and thinking it belonged to Mr. Vincent,
she put it in his bathroom.”
“ Maybe, sir,” Fibsy’s freckled face fell, “only,
Mr. Vincent hasn’t one snipjack of catarrhal
trouble,—I asked Mellish,—and the other man had.
And there’s the Chicago label.”


350 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ But what are you getting at? You can’t mean
that Mr. Vincent concealed this thing, purposely—”
“ Well, somebody did. That Chicago bottle,
that just ﬁts up with the atomizer, has no right
to be in the back part of Mr. Vincent’s
medicine chest—” I
“ That’s so, Fibs,” and Stone looked more
thoughtful. “ Well, what was in the back part of
the inner secret cupboard? ”
“ Why, in there, sir, there was nothing but a lot
of keys and tags and such things.”
“ What do you mean by such things?”
“ Well, there was a key to what is most likely a
safety deposit box,—you know how they look. Then
there was the key to the wine closet,—I know, for
it was labeled. And a key to the big organ,—-a
duplicate, I suppose. And an old-fashioned watch-
key,—oh, quite a lot of keys, mostly tagged with
brass tags or pasteboard labels.”
“ Any of deﬁnite importance to us? ”
“ There was, sir. That one, though, wasn’t a
key at all.”
“ Go on.”
“ It was a check,—a metal trunk check, from the
Hotel Vandermore.”


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 351
“ Well, any one can have a check from any hotel,
can’t he? ”
“ Oh, F. Stone, I thought it was a check Johnson
had for his trunk, you know, and he brought it up
here, and—somehow he—it had got hidden away in
there,-—and I sent for it—”
“ You didn’t! Fibs, you’re crazy! Whom did
you send? ”
“ I sent Prout, the taxi man—”
“ Good Lord, child, I’ll never dare go off and
leave you again! It’s probably a suitcase with Mr.
Vincent’s dress clothes, that he keeps in New York
to go to a party now and then. Lots of men do that.”
But Terence McGuire was so evidently on the
verge of tears, that Stone tried to cheer him up.
“ Never mind, old chap,” he said, “ I’ll take the
blame. If it’s Mr. Vincent’s property, as it must be,
I’ll tell him I sent for it in an overzealous endeavor
to ﬁnd a clue! ”
But Fibsy would not be comforted. He felt he
had done a crazy, unpardonable act, and Stone knew
he would brood over it for a time.
“ All right, little chum,” the detective said, “ you
sit here awhile, and think out some more bright


352 SPOOKY HOLLOW
clues to follow up, and I’ll take a run over to
Greatlarch.” _
Though this speech sounded sarcastic to Finch,
it comforted Fibsy, for he knew when his chief
jollied him to that extent he was not displeased with
him. So he sat thinking, while the other two started
off for the Vincent home.
First of all, Stone went for the butler, as that
worthy admitted the pair.
“ So you’re the Spook that plays the Harp, are
you, Mellish?” he said, and though his tone was
light, he spoke in earnest.
“Well, yes, sir,—and yet, I may say I see no
harm in it.”
“ No harm, of course, Mellish, but you never
rigged up that contraption alone. Who did it for
you? The chauffeur?”
“ Not he! He hasn’t brains enough to play a
jews’-harp. No, sir, I—I just did it by myself—-
to tease my old woman, you see.”
“ And you turn it on and off as you like?”
“ Yes, sir,—see, here’s the thing.”
Deeply interested, Stone and Finch followed the
butler into a small entry, where, sure enough, was
rigged up a rather elaborate bit of mechanism.


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 358
“ Mellish,” said Stone, sternly, “you never did
that yourself in this world! Moreover, only a very?.
ingenious inventor could have done it. And I know"
who it was. It was Homer Vincent! He’s the man‘
who rigged up the wireless and the phonograph, and
he’s the man who makes the records on his organ!
Too easy, Mellish,—own up.” ’
“ Well, sir,-—I may not be free of speech-J”
“ I’ve heard you use that phrase before. I know
now what you mean by it. You mean you’re not
free to tell—”
“ Yes, sir, that’s it. My master, he’s a man of
strict orders, and I am not allowed to babble, sir.”
“ Your master is a strange jumble of talents,”
and Finch looked curiously at the wires and strings
of the device.
“ Mr. Vincent is a man of luxuriant tempera-
ment, sir,” and Mellish raised his hand as if to
ward off further remarks. “ And nothing disturbs
him more than to have me chatter. So, if you will
i)
excuse me, gentlemen,— and Mellish simply
faded away.
As Stone had supposed, he found Homer Vincent
in his Tower room, and unannounced, he led Finch
there.
as


354 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ I know you will be glad to meet this man, Mr.
Vincent,” he said, “for he is the conﬁdential clerk
of the man we have been calling Henry Johnson, but
whose name, as it turns out, is John Haydock.”
Vincent looked up interestedly.
“ Take seats, gentlemen,” he said, pleasantly,
and then acknowledged Stone’s more deﬁnite intro-
duction of Robert Finch. _
“John Haydock,” he repeated, and it was plain
to be seen from his manner that the name meant
nothing to him. “And why did your employer,
my dear sir, come to me under an assumed name? ”
“That’s what I’m here to ﬁnd out,” returned
Finch, not so much bluntly as determinedly. “ Sup-
pose, Mr. Vincent, we all put our cards on the table,
and see what conclusions we can come to.”
_ “ By all means, Mr. Finch. Only, I may say, I
have already put all my cards on the table. If I
haven’t, ask any questions you like.”
“ I’ll do that, then,” Stone said, quickly. “ Why
did you not tell us that you were responsible for the
music of the Wild Harp? ”
Vincent gave a little smile.
“That’s true, Mr. Stone, I haven’t been quite
frank about that. But it is a case of in for a penny,


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH ' 355
in for a pound. ' I rigged up that thing merely for
the amusement and bewilderment of my friends and
my servants. There were stories of hauntings and
weird sounds and sights in the wild garden they
have named Spooky Hollow, and I thought I’d just
give them a jolt now and then. And, later, when
it began to affect my household and family, I still
kept on, to surprise and astound them. Mellish
helped me, he turned on the instrument when I
ordered him to. And hey enjoyed his wife’s thrills
at the seemingly supernatural music.
“ Then, Mr. Stone, when tragedy came to me,
I didn’t feel like revealing the secret of my joking
deceit, so I let the matter rest, even using it now
and then when I felt inclined. I am a strange man,
Mr. Stone, many call me a freak or an eccentric.
But, really, all I ask is to be let alone, all I wish to
do is to enjoy myself in my own way, which never
interferes with the doings of any one else. I am
perhaps a slave to my creature comforts, I own I
like luxurious living and beautiful appointments,
but surely those are innocent hobbies if a man can
afford them.”
“ Entirely so,” Stone said; “ now, 'Mr. Vincent,


856 SPOOKY HOLLOW
we are striving to ﬁnd this Haydock, as we now call
him. You never heard of John Haydock? ”
“ Never, Mr. Stone. Who is he? ”
“ A Chicago broker. Will you please let me see
those cards he brought you? ”
“ Certainly, here they are.”
Stone scrutinized them and noted that one was
considerably soiled, the other comparatively fresh.
“Mr. Vincent,” he said, “ these cards were
given you by Mr. Markheim, who came ﬁrst to see
you about synthetic rubies. Not by Mr. Johnson,
, as he then called himself.”
“I daresay,” Vincent spoke disinterestedly. “ I
don’t remember saying that Johnson left the cards
here. I only said Johnson gave those references, and
I gave the cards to the detectives as a memorandum
of the jewelers' addresses.”
“ I see. Now, as John Haydock was not inter-
ested in making rubies, so Mr. Finch tells me, and
as he gave you a wrong name, do you not think the
man’s motive in coming here was something other
than ruby making? ” ,
“ Good heavens, man, of course I think so. He
came here to kill my sister, to steal her ruby, and
perhaps to kill me, too! Of course, his ruby story


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 357
was a blind! Probably in order to induce my sister
to exhibit her wonderful jewel.”
“ But I think he knew you before he came,
Mr. Vincent.”
“Impossible, or he would never have given the
wrong name.”
“ Perhaps you knew him by both names.”
“ I never knew him by either name. He was a
total stranger to me. They say he knew of my
broken leg, some years since. That he knew of my
sister and my niece. These things may all be so, but
he never knew me, nor did I know him.”
“Well, here we are!” and a young voice an-
nounced the arrival of Fibsy, accompanied by Prout,
the taxi man, lugging an enormous suitcase.
They were followed by Rosemary and young '
Collins, who were anxious to learn the cause of
the excitement.
Prout set down the suitcase, which bore the
initials J. H., and Finch said, at once, “That is
’ Mr. Haydock’s.”
“ Aha,” said Fibsy, with a side wink at Stone,
knowing full well that if the thing turned out to be
of importance, Stone would be the ﬁrst to praise him.


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 359
“ By all means,” said Homer Vincent, seeming
truly interested at last, “let us hear it.”
The portions that Finch read were written dur-
ing the days just preceding Haydock’s late departure
from Chicago for New York.
And to the amazement of everybody, he had gone
to New York, and from there to Hilldale, to see
Rosemary Vincent!
It transpired that ﬁve years ago, at the time
of Carl Vincent’s death, Haydock had been Carl
Vincent’s clerk. He had seen and admired Rose-
mary, though she had never specially noticed him.
He was eight or ten years older than the girl,
but he had never outgrown the infatuation that he
felt for her. He determined to work hard and earn
a fortune, and when this was accomplished, he pro-
posed to go in search of Rosemary and try to win
her for his own.
All this he did, and the diary detailed his journey
to New York, his outﬁtting himself with new cloth—
ing, and his departure for Vermont.
I He had left the diary in his large suitcase,
checked at his hotel, and it was the check for this
that Fibsy had found in Homer Vincent’s second
secret panel and had sent down to the hotel by Prout.


360 SPOOKY HOLLOW
The advent of John Haydock was explained.
There was no further doubt about that. For nobody
could question the sincerity of those entries in the
diary that told of his never-forgotten admiration
and his hopes of yet winning sweet Rosemary
Vincent.
The tears came to the girl’s eyes as she heard the
simple, homely tribute to her charms. She almost
wished she could see and thank the man who admired
and loved her like that.
Bryce Collins looked 'stupeﬁed. Who was this
man coming to seek his Rosemary? But even
these thoughts were quickly supplanted by Fleming
Stone’s stern query, “ How came the check for this
suitcase in your secret cupboard, Mr. Vincent? ”
“ Bless my soul, I don’t know! ” and the man
looked utterly bewildered. “ I can only suspect some
of my servants—-or some intruder—”
“ The same one that put the Chicago man’s bot—
tle of medicine in your bathroom, maybe,” sug-
gested Fibsy.
“ Here’s another reference to your father, Miss
Vincent,” Finch said, as he skimmed through
the diary.
The item referred to some papers of Carl Vin-


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 861
cent’s that Haydock had only recently found. He
mentioned coming across an old box, that he had
thought contained merely old check-books, but on
turning them out, he had discovered underneath a
packet of papers which he thought would be of inter-
est to Rosemary and he proposed to take them to her.
“ Where are they? ” asked the girl, looking won-
deringly about.
“ That’s what I’d like to know,” her uncle said.
“ I, too, am interested in anything pertaining to my
brother, Rosemary.”
“ Yes, Uncle, of course you are. Oh, where do
you suppose Mr. Haydock is? Uncle, the man that
wrote that diary, never could have killed Antan! ”
“ It doesn’t seem so, certainly,” said Vincent,
seeming nonplussed. “ Mr. Stone, here’s a big prob-
lem for you now. Can you work it out? ”
u I can,”
cried Fibsy, “at least, I can help. I
can tell you where Mr. Haydock is,-—-probably.”
The lad looked solemn, and Stone gazed at him
curiously. Was he getting greater than his master?
This was no feeling of jealousy or rivalry on the
part of the older detective. He loved the boy, and
took pride in all his successes. But he was afraid,


362 SPOOKY HOLLOW
in his eagerness and intrepidity, Fibsy might over—
reach himself. _
“ He’s down in Spooky Hollow,” he said, with
such a lugubrious face that they all felt horriﬁed.
“ Sure, McGuire?” asked Stone.
“No, sir, I ain’t quite sure,—but I don’t see
where else he can be. First Off,” he looked round
solemnly at his hearers, “ there’s a fearful quagmire
down in that hollow. It’s about six feet from the
east border. And, you remember, that cigarette-
holder was found on the east lawn.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” exclaimed
Collins.
“ Well, now,” Fibsy went on, too earnest to note
the interruption, “I tried tying up a stone in my
coat, and it sunk in the place. Yesterday after dark,
1—” he seemed to hesitate to tell of his deed,—“ I
bought a whole pig of the butcher, as big a one as
I could manage, and I pushed that in. It went down
in the quicksand of that swamp in less time than
it takes to tell it! The muck is all dark-brown and
quivering. The approach to it is slippery and
treacherous, but there it is. Now listen here. After
Mr. Vincent left that man to go to bed that night
where’d he go? He never prowled the house all


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 363
night long. He went out in the grounds and he—
he fell into that place. As he went down, he ﬂung
his cigarette-holder as far as he could, as a sort
of guide to where he met his death.”
“ That’s why he had no hat or coat,” Stone said,
musingly. “ Probably stepped down off the veran-
dah, not meaning to stay out long.”
“ Poor fellow!” said Vincent, “how horrible.
I had no idea that pit was as bad as that! I’ve been
intending to have it drained and dried; I shall cer-
tainly do so. At least, we can avert another such
tragedy.
“ But, do not avoid the issue, gentlemen. Did
not Haydock necessarily come to his death after he
had killed my sister?”
“ Mr. Vincent,” Stone said, “you know I told
you the man who came to see you was not named
Johnson, was not initialled H. J., did not come to '
discuss making rubies, did not kill your sister, and
did not steal her ruby. To all of those statements
I adhere.”
“ You do? Then ﬁnd the murderer! Find the
man who killed my sister! Can you do that? ”
“I think I can,” and Stone nodded his head,
thoughtfully. '


864 SPOOKY HOLLOW
“ Listen, please, all of you. This murder of Miss
Vincent is in every respect the worst I have ever
known—the most ﬁendishly contrived and the most
brutally carried out The murderer is—Homer
Vincent.”
Vincent stared at the speaker, but smiled a little
indulgently, as one might at a harmless maniac.
“ Then,” Fibsy spoke in an awed whisper, “ then
he’s a double-dyed dastard, for he - murdered
John Haydock! ”
“ What? ” cried Finch.
“ Yes, he did. Out there beside the quagmire
is a piece of planking that has footprints on it.
Those are Mr. Vincent’s prints, but Lord,. there’s
enough else to prove everything! ”
“There is indeed,” Stone added, “and here is
the motive. After you found the second secret panel,
McGuire, I thought there might be a third. There
is - The tiniest speck of a pinhead knob, when
pressed sideways, opens a third concealed recess,
and in it I have found,——ﬁrst, Miss Vincent’s ruby,
now Miss Rosemary’s property, and what is even
more valuable to her,—is this.”
He gave her a folded paper, while Homer Vin-
cent sat as if turned to stone.


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 365
“ You ﬁend! ” he said to Stone, “ you devil
incarnate! ”
“ Keep those epithets for yourself,” the detective
said, coolly. “ Are you going to confess?”
“ I am.” Homer Vincent’s voice rang out. “ I’m
going to tell the truth for the last time in my life.
I did kill John Haydock, because he knew the secret
of my niece’s birth—knew that she is the legitimate
daughter of my brother and his wife, Mary Leslie.
They were married twice, really. The ﬁrst time,
secretly, because her mother objected. Her little
girl was born and baptized, also secretly, but entirely
legally, in France, and’put in an asylum there, be-
cause Mary’s mother would not have forgiven them
had she known of it.
“ Later the mother died, and my brother and his
wife were married again, publicly. Then, when their
baby was born and died, they adopted from the
asylum the little Rosemary, who was their own legiti-
mate child. But, when my brother died, ﬁve years
ago, and left me trustee of Rosemary’s fortune, I
was tempted and fell. I took it all myself, bought
this splendid house, and have lived here in the luxury
I love ever since.
“When Haydock came,—yes, the ruby story I


366 SPOOKY HOLLOW
made up entirely myself,—Haydock never spoke to
me of rubies,-—he talked only of Rosemary’s parent-
' age, so I, remembering the other ruby man, pre-
tended Johnson came on the same business. He told
me himself that he sent in his name as Johnson,
for fear I would refuse to see Haydock. Lord, I
had forgotten him entirely! Well, when he told me
that he knew all about Rosemary, and threatened
to expose the whole story unless I forced her to
marry him, I couldn’t see any way to keep my
beautiful home and to save the girl from a loveless
marriage except by putting Haydock out of the way.
“ It was not diﬂicult. We strolled in the garden,
went down to inspect Spooky Hollow, and—I
pushed him- in. He struggled like fury,—ﬂinging
his arms about. You know the more they struggle,
'the quicker they sink.”
“And your sister?” said Stone, hardly able to
overcome his repugnance at speaking to this creature,
scarce human he seemed.
“ Well,” Vincent looked reminiscent. “ I didn’t
want to—but she declared she was going to tell the
truth about the girl. I couldn’t have that,——can’t
you understand ”—he spoke almost pettishly—“ I
couldn’t live elsewhere than in this house—and of


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 367
course I couldn’t live here if Rosemary took all her
money. I have no money at all. I spent all mine
for this place; it is what my brother left that runs the
establishment.”
“ How did you kill your sister?” asked Stone,
his dark eyes ﬁxed inexorably on Vincent’s face.
“ That you will never know,” and, with a smile
of diabolical cunning, Vincent slipped into his mouth
a small object which Stone knew to be a poison tablet.
But it was too late to stop him, and Stone
thought pityingly‘of Rosemary. Perhaps that death
for ,her uncle was easiest for the niece.
And while there was yet life in the body of the
wicked man, Stone shouted the truth at him.
“ I do know. You stabbed her yourself, after
the door was burst open. You gave her extra sleep-
ing drops to be sure of her sleeping late in the
morning. When they couldn’t waken her, you broke
through the door, rushed in, and bending over the
living woman, stabbed her to the heart, and with the
protection of her long, heavy bed-curtains, you were
able to draw out the knife unseen. The knife you
probably threw into the quicksand. Also, you stole
her ruby! Am I right?”
And With a smile, still horrible, even demonia-


868 SPOOKY HOLLOW
cal, the dying man murmured, “You are right.”
He never spoke again.
At a gesture from Stone, Bryce Collins led Rose-
mary away.
“ Don’t cry so, dearest,” he said, tenderly. “ Such
a ﬁend isn’t worth your tears.' Come, I will take
you at once to my mother—oh, darling, just think,
there is no reason, now, why she won’t receive you! ”
“ Thank God for my birthright,” said the girl,
reverently. “ And,” she added, looking into his
eyes, “ for your love, dear heart.”
“My beloved,” he whispered, as he held her
close, “ as you know, I wanted you with any name
or no name, but I am glad,—glad, dear, that we can
give our children a goodly heritage. Bless you, my
Rosemary, my darling.”
THE END


THE MYSTERY OF
THE SYCAMORE


THE MYSTERY
OF THE SYCAMORE
CHAPTER I
THE LETTER THAT SAID COME
As the character of a woman may be accurately
deduced from her handkerchief, so a man’s mental
status is evident from the way he opens his mail.
Curtis Keefe, engaged in this daily performance,
slit the envelopes neatly and laid the letters down in
three piles. These divisions represented matters
known to be of no great interest; matters known to
be important; and, third, letters with contents as yet
unknown and therefore of problematical value.
The ﬁrst two piles were, as usual, dispatched
quickly, and the real attention of the secretary centred
with pleasant anticipation on the third lot.
“ Gee whiz, Genevieve! ”
As no further pearls of wisdom fell from the lips
of the engrossed reader of letters, the stenographer
gave him a round-eyed glance and then continued
her work.


- 10 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Curtis Keefe was, of course, called Curt by his
intimates, and while it may be the obvious nickname
was brought about by his short and concise manner
of speech, it is more probable that the abbreviation
was largely responsible for his habit of curtness.
Anyway, Keefe had long cultivated a crisp,
abrupt style of conversation. That is, until he fell
in with Samuel Appleby. That worthy ex-governor,
while in the act of engaging Keefe to be his conﬁden-
tial secretary, observed: “They call you Curt, do
they? Well, see to it that it is short for courtesy.”
This was only one of several equally sound bits
of advice from the same source, and as Keefe had
an eye single to the glory of self-advancement, he
kept all these things and pondered them in his heart.
The result was that ten years of association with
Lawyer Appleby had greatly improved the young
man’s manner, and though still brief of speech, his
curtness had lost its unpleasantly sharp edge and his
courtesy had developed into a digniﬁed urbanity,
so that though still Curt Keefe, it was in name only.
“What’s the pretty letter all about, Curtie?”
asked the observant stenographer, who had noticed
his third reading of the short missive.
“ You’ll probably answer it soon, and then you’ll


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 11
know,” was the reply, as Keefe restored the sheet to
its envelope and took up the next letter.
Genevieve Lane produced her vanity-case, and
became absorbed in its possibilities.
“ I wish I didn’t have to work,” she sighed; “ I
wish I was an opera singer.”
“ ‘ Cromwell, I charge thee, ﬂing away ambition,’
murmured Keefe, his eyes still scanning letters;
‘by that sin fell the angels',’ and it’s true you are
angelic, Viva, so down you’ll go, if you fall
for ambition.”
“ How you talk! Ambition is a good thing.”
“ Only when tempered by common sense and per-
spicacity—neither of which you possess to a marked
degree.
“ Pooh! You’re ambitious yourself, Curt.”
“ With the before-mentioned qualiﬁcations. Look
here, Viva, here’s a line for you to remember. I
,7
ran across it in a book. ‘ If you do only what is
absolutely correct and say only what .is absolutely
correct—you can do anything you like.’ How’s
that?”
“ I don’t see any sense in it at all.”
“ No? I told you you lacked common sense.
Most women do.”


12 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Huh! ” and Genevieve tossed her pretty head,
patted her curly ear-muffs, and proceeded with
her work.
Samuel Appleby’s beautiful home graced the
tOwn of Stockﬁeld, in the western end of the Com-
monwealth Of Massachusetts. Former Governor
Appleby was still a political power and a man of
unquestioned force and importance.
It was ﬁfteen years or more since he had held
ofﬁce, and now, a great desire possessed him that his
son should follow in his ways, and that his beloved
state should know another governor of the
Appleby name. '
And young Sam was worthy of the people’s
choice. Himself a man of forty, motherless from
childhood, and brought up sensibly and well by his
father, he listened gravely to the paternal plans for
the campaign.
But there were other candidates, and not without
some strong and deﬁnite inﬂuences could the end
be attained.
Wherefore, Mr. Appleby was quite as much in-
terested as his secretary in the letter which was
in the morning’s mail.
“ Any word from Sycamore Ridge?” he asked,


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 13
as he came into the big, cheerful ofﬁce and nodded a.
kindly good-morning to his two assistants.
“Yes, and a good word,” returned Keefe, smil-
The secretary’s attitude
!”
ing. “ It says: ‘ Come.
toward his employer, though deferential and respect-
ful, was marked by a touch of good-fellowship—a
not unnatural outgrowth of a long term of conﬁden-
tial relations between them. Keefe had made him-
self invaluable to Samuel Appleby and both men
knew it. So, as one had no desire to presume on
the fact and the other no wish to ignore it, serenity
reigned in the well-ordered and well-appointed ofﬁces
of the ex-governor. ,
Even the light-haired, light-hearted and light-
headed Genevieve couldn’t disturb the even tenor of
the routine. If she could have, she would have
been ﬁred.
Though not a handsome man, not even to be
called distinguished looking, Samuel Appleby gave
an impression of power. His strong, lean face be—
tokened obdurate determination and implacable will.
Its deep-graven lines were the result of meeting
many obstacles and surmounting most of them. And
at sixty-two, the hale and hearty frame and the alert,
efficient manner made the man seem years younger.


14 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“You know the conditions on which Wheeler
lives in that house?” Appleby asked, as he looked
over the top of the letter at Keefe.
“ No, sir.”
“ Well, it’s this way. But, no—I’ll not give you
the story now. We’re going down there—to-day.”
“ The whole tribe? ” asked Keefe, brieﬂy.
“Yes; all three of us. Be ready, Miss Lane,
please, at three-thirty.” _
“ Yes, sir,” said Genevieve, reaching for her
vanity-box.
“ And now, Keefe, as to young Sam,” Appleby
went on, running his ﬁngers through his thick, iron-
gray mane. “ If he can put it over, or if I can put
it over for him, it will be only with the help of
Dan Wheeler.”
“ Is Wheeler willing to help? ”
“ Probably not. He must be made willing. I can
do it-—-I think—unless he turns stubborn. I know
Wheeler—if he turns stubborn—well, Balaam’s his-
toric quadruped had nothing on him!”
“ Does Mr. Wheeler know Sam?”
“ No; and it wouldn’t matter either way if he
I did. It’s the platform Wheeler stands on. If I can
keep him in ignorance of that one plank—”


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 15
“ You can’t.”
“ I know it—confound it! He opposed my elec-
tion on that one point—he’ll oppose Sam’s for the
same reason, I know.”
“ Where do I come in? ”
“ Ina general way, I want your help. Wheeler’s
wife and daughter are attractive, and you might
manage to interest them and maybe sway their sym-
7!

pathies toward Sam
“ But they’ll stand by Mr. Wheeler? ”
“ Probably—yes. However, use your head, and
do all you can with it.”
“And where do I come in?” asked Genevieve,
who had been an interested listener.
“You don’t come in at all, Miss. You mostly
stay out. You’re to keep in the background. I have
to take you, for we’re only staying one night at Syca-
more Ridge, and then going on to Boston, and I’ll
need you there.”
“Yes, sir,” and the blue eyes turned from him
and looked absorbedly into a tiny mirror, as Gene~
vieve contemplated her pleasant pink-and-whiteness.
Her vanity and its accompanying box were mat-
ters of indifference to Mr. Appleby and to Keefe,
for the girl’s efficiency and skill outweighed them and


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 17
she enjoyed her chewing-gum, and gazed at the
ceiling beams.
Appleby’s ofﬁces were in his own house, and the
one given over to these two was an attractive room,
ﬁne with mahogany and plate glass, but also pro-
vided with all the paraphernalia of the most up-to—
date of ofﬁce furniture. There were good pictures
and draperies, and a wood ﬁre added to the cheer and
mitigated the chill of the early fall weather.
Sidling from her seat, Miss Lane moved over to a '
chair near the ﬁre.
“ I’ll take those letters when you’re ready,” she
said. “ Why, I don’t' know a single thing about any
Wheeler. Do you?”
“ Not deﬁnitely. He’s a man who had an awful
ﬁght with Mr. Appleby, long ago. I’ve heard allu-
sions to him now and then, but I know no details.”
“ I, either. But, it seems we’re to go there. Only
for a night, and then, on to Boston! Won’t I be glad
to go! ”
“ W e’ll only be there a few days. I’m more inter-
ested in this Wheeler performance. I don’t under-
stand it. Who’s Wheeler, anyhow?”
“ Dunno. If Sammy turns up this morning, he
may enlighten us.”
2


18 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Sammy did turn up, and not long after the con-
versation young Appleby strolled into the ofﬁce.
Though still looked upon as a boy by his father.
the man was of huge proportions and of an impor-
tant, slightly overbearing attitude.
Somewhat like his parent in appearance, young
Sam, as he was always called, had more grace and
ease, if less effect of power. He smiled genially
and impartially; he seemed cordial and friendly to all
' the world, and he was a general favorite. Yet so far
he had achieved no great thing, had no claim to any
especial record in public or private life.
At forty, unmarried and unattached, his was a
case of an able mentality and a ﬁrm, reliable charac-
ter, with no opportunity offered to prove its worth.
A little more initiative and he would have made
opportunities for himself; but a nature that took the
line of least resistance, a philosophy that believed
in a calm acceptance of things as they came, left
Samuel Appleby, junior, pretty much where he was
when he began. If no man could say aught against
him, equally surely no man could say anything very
deﬁnite for him. Yet many agreed that he was a
man whose powers would develop with acquired
responsibilities, and already he had a following.


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 19
“ Hello, little one,” he greeted Genevieve, care-
lessly, as he sat down near Keefe. “ I say, old chap,
you’re going down to the Wheelers’ to-day, I hear.”
“ Yes; this afternoon,” and the secretary looked
up inquiringly.
“ Well, I’ll tell you what. You know the gover-
nor’s going there to get Wheeler’s aid in my election
boom, and I can tell you a way to help things along,
if you agree. See?”
“ Not yet, but go ahead.”
“ Well, it’s this way. Dan Wheeler’s daughter
is devoted to her father. Not only ﬁlial respect and
all that, but she just fairly idolizes the old man.
Now, he recips, of course, and what she says goes.
So—I’m asking you squarely—won’t you put in a
good word to Maida, that’s the girl—and if you do it
with your inimitable dexterity and grace, she’ll fall
for it.”
“ You mean for me to praise you up to Miss
Wheeler and ask her father to give you the beneﬁt
of his inﬂuence? ”
“ How clearly you do put things! That’s exactly
what I mean. It’s no harm, you know—merely the
I,

most innocent sort of electioneering
“ Rather! ” laughed Keefe. “ If all electioneering


20 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
were as innocent as that, the word would carry no
unpleasant meaning.”
“ Then you’ll do it?”
“ Of course I will—if I get opportunity.”
“ Oh, you’ll have that. It’s a big, rambling
country house—a delightful one, too—and there’s tea
in the hall, and tennis on the lawn, and moonlight
’7

on the verandas
“Hold up, Sam,” Keefe warned him, “is the
girl pretty? ”
“ Haven’t seen her for years, but probably, yes.
But that’s nothing to you. You’re working for me,
you see.” Appleby’s glance was direct, and Keefe
understood.
“Of course; I was only joking. I’ll carry out
your commission, if, as I said, I get the chance. Tell
me something of Mr. Wheeler.”
“Oh, he’s a good old chap. Pathetic, rather.
You see, he bumped up against dad once, and got
the worst of it.”
“ How? ”
Sam Appleby hesitated a moment and then said:
“ I see you don’t know the story. But it’s no secret,
and you may as well be told. You listen, too, Miss
Lane, but there’s no call to tattle.”


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 21
“ I’ll go home if you say so,” Genevieve piped up,
a little crisply.
“ No, sit still. Why, it was while dad‘was gov—
ernor—about ﬁfteen years ago, I suppose. And
Daniel Wheeler forged a paper—that is, he said he
didn’t, but twelve other good and true peers of his
said he did. Anyway, he was convicted and sen-
tenced, but father was a good friend of his, and
being governor, he pardoned Wheeler. But the
pardon was on condition—oh, I say—hasn’t dad
ever told you, Keefe? ”
“ Never.”
“ Then, maybe I’d better leave it for him to tell.
If he wants you to know he’ll tell you, and if not,
I mustn’t.”
“Oh, goodness!” cried Genevieve. “What a
way to do! Get us all excited over a thrilling tale,
and then chop it off short! ”
“ Go on with it,” said Keefe; but Appleby said,
“ No; I won’t tell you the condition of the pardon.
But the two men haven’t been friends since, and
won’t be, unless the condition is removed. Of course,
dad can’t do it, but the present governor can make
the pardon complete, and would do so in a minute,
if dad asked him to. So, though he hasn’t said so,


22 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
the assumption is, that father expects to trade a
full pardon of Friend Wheeler for his help in
my campaign.”
“And a good plan,” Keefe nodded his satis-
faction.
“'But,” Sam went on, “ the trouble is that the
very same points and principles that made Wheeler
oppose my father’s election will make him oppose
mine. The party is the same, the platform is the
same, and I can’t hope that the man Wheeler is not
the same stubborn, adamant, unbreakable old hickory
knot he was the other time.”
“ And so, you want me to soften him by persuad-
ing his daughter to line up on our side?”
“ Just that, Keefe. And you can do it, I
am sure.”
“ I’ll try, of course; but I doubt if even a favorite
daughter could inﬂuence the man you describe.”
“ Let me help,” broke in the irrepressible Gene-
vieve. “ I can do lots with a girl. I can do more
than Curt could. I’ll chum up with her and
“Now, Miss Lane, you keep out of this. I
7,

don’t believe in mixing women and politics.”
“ But Miss Wheeler’s a woman.”
“And I don’t want her troubled with politics.
;~


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 23'
Keefe here can persuade her to coax her father just
through her affections—I don’t want her enlightened
as to any of the political details. And I can’t
think your inﬂuence would work half as well as that.
of a man. Moreover, Keefe has discernment, and if
it isn’t a good plan, after all, he’ll know enough to-
discard it—while you’d blunder ahead blindly, and
queer the whole game! ”
“ Oh, well,” and bridling with offended pride,
Genevieve sought refuge in her little mirror.
“ Now, don’t get huffy,” and Sam smiled at her;
“ you’ll probably ﬁnd that Miss Wheeler’s complex-
ion is ﬁner than yours, anyway, and then you’ll hate
her and won’t want to speak to her at all.”
Miss Lane ﬂashed an indignant glance and then
proceeded to go on with her work.
“ Hasn't Wheeler tried for a pardon all this.
time?” Keefe asked.
“ Indeed he has,” Sam returned, “ many times.
But you see, though successive governors were will-
ing to grant it, father always managed to prevent it.
Dad can pull lots of wires, as you know, and since he
doesn’t want Wheeler fully pardoned, why, he
doesn’t get fully pardoned.”
“ And he lives under the stigma.”


24 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Lots of people don’t know about the thing at all.
He lives—well—he lives in Connecticut—and—oh,
of course, there is a certain stigma.”
“ And your father will bring about his full par—
don if he promises—”
“ Let up, Keefe; I’ve said I can’t tell you that
part—you’ll get your instructions in good time.
And, look here, I don’t mean for you to make love
to the girl. In fact, I’m told she has a suitor. But
you’re just to give her a little song and dance about
my suitability for the election, and then adroitly per-
suade her to use her powers of persuasion with her
stubborn father. For he will be stubborn—I know
it! And there’s the mother of the girl . . . tackle
Mrs, Wheeler. Make her see that my father was
justiﬁed in the course he took—and besides, he was
more or less accountable to others—and use as an
argument that years have dulled the old feud and
that bygones ought to be bygones and all that.
“Try to make her see that a full pardon now
will be as much, and in a way more, to Wheeler’s
credit, than if it had been given him at ﬁrst ”

“ I can’t see that,” and Keefe looked quizzical.
“ Neither can I,” Sam confessed, frankly, “but
you can make a woman swallow anything.”


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 25
“ Depends on what sort of woman Mrs. \Vheeler
is,” Keefe mused.
“ I know it. I haven’t seen her for years, and
as I remember, she’s pretty keen, but I’m banking on
you to put over some of your clever work. Not three
men in Boston have your ingenuity, Keefe, when
it comes to sizing up a situation and knowing just
how to handle it. Now, don’t tell father all I’ve said,
for he doesn’t especially hold with such small meas-
ures. He’s all for the one big slam game, and he may
be right. But I’m right, too, and you just go ahead.”
“ All right,” Keefe agreed. “I see What you
mean, and I’ll do all I can that doesn’t in any way
interfere with your father’s directions to me. There’s
a possibility of turning the trick through the women
folks, and if I can do it, you may count on me.”
“ Good! And as for you, Miss Lane, you keep
in the background, and make as little mischief as
you can.”
“ I’m not a mischief-maker,” said the girl, pouting
playfully, for she was not at all afraid of Sam
Appleby.
“ Your blue-eyes and pink cheeks make mischief
wherever you go,” he returned; “ but don’t try them
on old Dan Wheeler. He’s a morose old chap———”


26 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ I should think he would be! ” defended Gene-
vieve; “living all these years under a ban which
may, after all, be undeserved! I’ve heard that he
was entirely innocent of the forgery!”
“ Have you, indeed?” Appleby’s tone was un-
pleasantly sarcastic. “ Other people have also heard
that—from the Wheeler family! Those better in—
formed believe the man guilty, and believe, too, that
my father was too lenient when he granted even
a conditional pardon.”
“ But just think—if he was innocent—how awful
his life has been all these years! You bet he’ll accept
the full pardon and give all his effort and inﬂuence
and any possible help in return.”
“ Hear the child orate! ” exclaimed Sam, gazing
at the enthusiastic little face, as Genevieve voiced
her views.
“ I think he’ll be ready to make the bargain, too,”
declared Keefe. “ Your father has a strong argu-
ment. I fancy Wheeler’s jump at the chance.”
“ Maybe—maybe so. But you don’t know how
opposed he is to our principles. And he’s a man of
immovable convictions. In fact, he and dad are
two mighty strong forces. One or the other must
win out—but I’ve no idea which it will be." I


THE LETTER THAT SAID COME 27
“ How exciting! ” Genevieve’s eyes danced. “ I’m
so glad I’m to go. It’s a pretty place, you say? ”
“Wonderful. A great sweep of rolling country,
a big, long, rambling sort of house, and a splendid
hospitality. You’ll enjoy the experience, but remem-
ber, I told you to be good.”
“ I will remember,” and Genevieve pretended to
look cherubic.


CHAPTER II
NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR
FOR Samuel Appleby to pay a visit to Daniel
Wheeler was of itself an astounding occurrence. The
two men had not seen each other since the day, ﬁfteen
years ago, when Governor Appleby had pardoned the
convicted Wheeler, with a condition, which, though
harsh, had been strictly adhered to.
They had never been friends at heart, for they
were diametrically opposed in their political views,
and were not of similar tastes or pursuits. But they
had been thrown much together, and when the time
came for Wheeler to be tried for forgery, Appleby
lent no assistance to the case. However, through
certain inﬂuences brought to bear, in connection with
the fact that Mrs. Wheeler was related to the
Applebys, the governor pardoned the condemned
man, with a conditional pardon.
Separated ever since, a few letters had passed
between the two men, but they resulted in no change
of conditions.
As the big car ran southward through the Berk-
shire Hills, Appleby’s thoughts were all on the com-
28


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 29
ing meeting, and the scenery of autumn foliage that
provoked wild exclamations of delight from Gene-
vieve and assenting enthusiasm from Keefe left the
other unmoved.
An appreciative nod and grunt were all he vouch-
safed to the girl’s gushing praises, and when at last
they neared their destination he called her attention
to a tall old sycamore tree standing alone on a ridge
not far away.
“That’s the tree that gives the Wheeler place
its name,” he informed. “ Sycamore Ridge is one
of the most beautiful places in Connecticut.”
“ Oh, are we in Connecticut? ” asked Miss
Lane. “I didn’t know we had crossed the border.
What a great old tree! Surely one of the historic
trees of New England, isn’t it? ”
“ Historic to the Wheelers,” was the grim reply,
and then Mr. Appleby again relapsed into silence and
spoke no further word until they reached the
Wheeler home.
A ﬁnely curved sweep of driveway brought them
to the house, and the car stopped at the south
entrance.
The door did not swing open in welcome, and
Mr. Appleby ordered his chauffeur to ring the bell.


30 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
This brought a servant in response, and the visit-
ing trio entered the house.
It was long and low, with many rooms on either
side of the wide hall that went straight through from
south to north. The ﬁrst room to the right was a
large living-room, and into this the guests were
shown and were met by a grave-looking man, who
neither smiled nor offered a hand as his calm gaze
rested on Samuel Appleby.
Indeed, the two men stared at one another, in un-
disguised curiosity. Each seemed to search the
other’s face for information as to his attitude
and intent.
“ Well, Dan,” Appleby said, after the silent scru-
tiny, “you’ve changed some, but you’re the same
good-looking chap you always were.”
Wheeler gave a start and pulled himself
together.
“ Thank you. I suppose I should return the
compliment.”
“ But you can’t conscientiously do it, eh?”
Appleby laughed. “ Never mind. Personal vanity is
not my besetting sin. This is my secretary, Mr.
Keefe, and my assistant, Miss Lane.”
“ Ah, yes, yes. How are you? How do you do?


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 31
My wife and daughter will look after the young
lady. Maida!”
As if awaiting the call, a girl came quickly in
from the hall followed by an older woman. Intro-
ductions followed, and if there was an air of con-
straint on the part of the host the ladies of the'
family showed none. Sunny-faced Maida Wheeler,
with her laughing brown eyes and gold brown hair,
greeted the visitors with charming cordiality, and her
mother was equally kind and courteous.
Genevieve Lane’s wise and appraising eyes
missed no point of appearance or behavior.
“Perfect darlings, both of them!” she com-
mented to herself. “ Whatever ails the old guy, it
hasn’t bitten them. Or else—wait a minute—-”
Genevieve was very observant—“ perhaps they’re
putting on a little. Is their welcome a bit extra, to
help things along? ”
Yet only a most meticulous critic could discern
anything more than true hospitality in the attitude of
Mrs. Wheeler or Maida. The latter took Genevieve
to the room prepared for her and chatted away in
girlish fashion.
“The place is so wonderful!” Genevieve ex-


32 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
claimed, carefully avoiding personal talk. “ Don’t
you just adore it? ”
“ Oh, yes. I’ve loved Sycamore Ridge for nearly
ﬁfteen years.”
“ Have you lived here so long? ” Genevieve was
alert for information. It was ﬁfteen years ago that
the pardon had been granted.
But as Maida merely assented and then changed
the subject, Miss Lane was far too canny to ask
further questions.
\lVith a promptness not entirely due to chance, the
stenographer came downstairs dressed for dinner
some several minutes before the appointed hour.
Assuming her right as a guest, she wandered about
the rooms. ’
The south door, by which they had entered, was
evidently the main entrance, but the opposite, or
north door, gave'on to an even more beautiful view,
and she stepped out on the wide veranda and gazed
admiringly about. The low ridge nearby formed the
western horizon, and the giant sycamore, its straight
branches outlined against the fading sunset, was
impressive and a little weird. She strolled on, and
turned the corner the better to see the ridge. The
veranda ran all round the house, and as she went on


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 33
along the western side, she suddenly became aware
of a silent ﬁgure leaning against a pillar at the
southwest corner.
“It is so quiet it frightens me,” she said to
D'aniel Wheeler, as she neared him.
“ Do you feel that way, too? ” he asked, looking
at her a little absently. “It is the lull before
the storm.”
“ Oh, that sunset doesn’t mean rain,” Genevieve
exclaimed, smiling, “ unless your Connecticut blue
laws interpret weather signs differently from our
Massachusetts prophets. \IVC' are in Connecticut,
aren’t we?”
“ Yes,” and Wheeler sighed unaccountably.
“Yes, Miss Lane, we are. That sycamore is the
ﬁnest tree in the state.”
“ I can well believe it. I never saw such a
grandfather of a tree! It’s all full of little balls.”
“ Yes, buttonballs, they are called. But note its
,,

wonderful symmetry, its majestic appearance
“ And strength! It looks as if it would stand
there forever!”
“ Do you think so?” and the unmistakable note
of disappointment in the man’s tone caused Gene-
3


34 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
vieve to look up in astonishment. “ Well, perhaps
it will,” he added quickly.
“ Oh, no, of course it won’t really! No tree
stands forever. But it will be here long after you
and I are gone.”
“ Are you an authority on trees? ” Wheeler spoke
without a smile.
“ Hardly that; but I was brought up in the coun—
try, and I know something of them. Your daughter
loves the country, too.”
“ Oh, yes—we all do.”
The tone was courteous, but the whole air of the
man was so melancholy, his cheerfulness so palpably
assumed, that Genevieve felt sorry for him, as well
as inordinately curious to know what was the matter.
But her sympathy was the stronger impulse, and
with a desire to entertain him, she said, “ Come for
a few steps in the garden, Mr. Wheeler, won’t you?
Come and show me that quaint little summer-house
near the front door. It is the front door, isn’t it?
It’s 'hard to tell.”
“ Yes, the north door is the front door,” Wheeler
said slowly, as if repeating a lesson. “ The summer-
house you mention is near the front door. But we
won’t visit that now. Come this other way, and


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 35
I’ll show you a Japanese tea-house, much more
attractive.”
But Genevieve Lane was sometimes under the
spell of the Imp of the Perverse. I
“ No, no,” she begged, smilingly, “ let the Japan—
ese contraption wait; please go to the little summer-
house now. See, how it fairly twinkles in the last
gleams of the setting sun! What is the ﬂower that
rambles all over it? Oh, do let’s go there now!
Come, please!” _
With no reason for her foolish insistence save a
whim, Genevieve was amazed to see the look of fury
that came over her host’s face.
“ Appleby put you up to that!” he cried, in a
voice of intense anger. “ He told you to ask me to go
to that place! ” .
“ Why, Mr. Wheeler,” cried the girl, almost
frightened, “ Mr. Appleby did nothing of the sort!
Why should he! I’m not asking anything wrong,
am I? \Vhy is it so dreadful to want to see an arbor
instead of a tea-house? You must be crazy! ”
\Nhen Miss Lane was excited, she was quite
apt to lose her head, and speak in thoughtless fashion.
But Mr. Wheeler didn’t seem to notice her infor-
mality of speech. He only stared at her as if he


36 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
couldn’t quite make her out, and then he suddenly
seemed to lose interest in her or her wishes, and
with a deep sigh, he turned away, and fell into
the same brooding posture as when she had ﬁrst
approached him.
“ Come to dinner, people,” called Maida’s pretty
voice, as, with outstretched hands she came toward
them. “ \Vhy, dads, what are you looking miserable
about? \Vhat have you done to him, Miss Lane?”
“ Maida, child, don’t speak like that! Miss Lane
has been most kindly talking to me, of—of the bean-
ties of Sycamore Ridge.”
“All right, then, and forgive me, Miss Lane.
But you see, the sun rises and sets for me in one
Daniel Wheeler, Esquire, and any shadow on his
face makes me apprehensive of its cause.”
Only for an instant did Genevieve Lane’s sense
of justice rise in revolt, then her common sense
showed her the better way, and she smiled pleas-
antly and returned:
“ I don’t blame you, Miss Wheeler. If I had a
father, I should feel just the same way, I know.
But don’t do any gory-lock-shaking my way. I
assure you I didn’t really scold him. I only kicked
because he wouldn’t humor my whim for visiting


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 37
the summer-house with the blossoms trailing over it!
Was that naughty of me?”
But though Genevieve listened for the answer,
none came.
“Come on in to dinner, daddy, dear,” Maida
repeated. “ Come, Miss Lane, they’re waiting
for us.”
Dinner was a delightful occasion.
Daniel Wheeler, at the head of his own table,
was a charming host, and his melancholy entirely
disappeared as the talk ran along on subjects grave
or gay, but of no personal import.
Appleby, too, was entertaining, and the two men,
with Mrs. Wheeler, carried on most of the conver-
sation, the younger members of the party being by
what seemed common consent left out of it.
Genevieve looked about the dining-room, with
a pleased interest. She dearly loved beautiful ap-
pointments and was really imagining herself mistress
of just such a house, and visioning herself at the
head of such a table. The long room stretched from
north to south, parallel with the hall, though not
adjoining. The table was not in the centre, but
toward the southern end, and Mr. Wheeler, at the


38 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
end near the windows, had Keefe and Miss Lane
on either side of him. , ’
Appleby, as guest of honor, sat at Mrs. Wheeler’s
right, and the whole effect Was that of a formal
dinner party, rather than a group of which two were
merely ofﬁce employés.
“ It is one of the few remaining warm evenings,”
said Mrs. Wheeler, as she rose from the table, “ we
will have our coffee on the veranda. Soon it will
be too cool for that.”
“Which veranda?” asked Genevieve of Maida,
as they went through the hall. “The north one,
I hope.”
“ Your hopes must be dashed,” laughed the other,
“ for it will be the south one. Come along.”
The two girls, followed by Keefe, took possession ’
of a group of chairs near Mrs. Wheeler, while the
two older men sat apart, and soon became engrossed
in their own discussions.
Nor was it long before Samuel Appleby and his
host withdrew to a room which opened on to that
same south veranda, and which was, in fact, Mr,
Wheeler’s den. .
“ Well, Sam,” Keefe heard the other say, ashe


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 89
drew down the blind, “we may as well have it out
now. What are you here for?”
Outwardly placid, but almost consumed with
curiosity, Curt Keefe changed his seat for one nearer
the window of the den. He hoped to hear the dis-
cussion going on inside, but was doomed to disap-
pointment, for though the murmuring of the voices
was audible, the words were not distinct, and Keefe
gathered only enough information to be sure that
there was a heated argument in progress and that
neither party to it was inclined to give in a
single point.
Of course, he decided, the subject was the com-
ing election campaign, but the details of desired
bargaining he could not gather.
Moreover, often, just as he almost heard sen-
tences of interest, the chatter of the girls or some
remark of Mrs. W heeler’s would drown the voices of
the men in the room.
One time, indeed, he heard clearly: “ When the
!,

Sycamore on the ridge goes into Massachusetts
but this was sheer nonsense, and he concluded he must
have misunderstood.
Later, they all forgathered in the living-room and
there was music and general conversation.


40 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Genevieve Lane proved herself decidedly enter-
taining, and though Samuel Appleby looked a little
amusedly at his stenographer, he smiled kindly at her
as he noticed that she in no way overstepped the
bounds of correct demeanor.
Genevieve was thinking of what Keefe had said
to her: “ If you do only what is absolutely correct
and say what is only absolutely correct, you can do
whatever you like.”
She had called it nonsense at the time, but she
was beginning to see the truth of it. She was careful
that her every word and act should be correct, and
she was most decidedly doing as she liked. She made
good with Mrs. Wheeler and Maida with no trouble
at all; but she felt, vaguely, that Mr. Wheeler didn’t
like her. This she set about to remedy.
Going to his side, as he chanced to sit for a
moment alone, she smiled ingratiatingly and said:
“ I wonder if you can imagine, sir, what it means
to me to see the inside of a house like this? ” _
“ Bless my soul, what do you mean?” asked
Wheeler, puzzled at the girl’s manner.
“ It's like a glimpse of Fairyland,” she went on.
“ You see, I’m terribly ambitious—Oh, fearfully so!
And all my ambitions lead to just this sort Of a home.


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 41
Do you suppose I’ll ever achieve it, Mr. Wheeler? ”
Now the girl had truly wonderful magnetic
charm, and even staid old Dan Wheeler was not in-
sensible to the note of longing in her voice, the sim-
ple, honest admission of her hopes.
“Of course you will, little one,” he returned,
kindly. “ I’ve heard that whatever one wants, one
gets, provided the wish is strong enough.” He spoke
directly to her, but his gaze wandered as if his
thoughts were far away.
“ Do you really believe that?” Genevieve’s big
blue eyes begged an affirmation.
“ I didn't say I believed it—I said I have heard
it.” He smiled sadly. “ Not quite the same—so far
as I’m concerned; but quite as assuring to you. Of
course, my belief wouldn’t endorse the possibility.”
“ It would for me,” declared Genevieve. “ I’ve
I!

lots of conﬁdence in other people’s opinions
“ Anybody’s? ”
“ Anybody whom I respect and believe in.”
“ Appleby, for instance? ” '
“ Oh, yes, indeed! I’d trust Mr. Appleby’s opin-
ions on any subject. Let’s go over there and tell
him so."
Samuel Appleby was sitting at the other end,


42 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
the north end of the long room. “ No,” said
Wheeler, “I’m too comfortable here to move—ask
him to come here.”
Genevieve looked at him a little astonished. It
was out of order, she thought, for a host to speak
thus. She pressed the point, saying there was a pic-
ture at the other end of the room she wished
to examine.
“Run along, then,” said Wheeler, coolly.
“Here, Maida, show Miss Lane that etching and tell
her the interesting details about it.”
The girls went away, and soon after Keefe
drifted round to W’heeler’s side.
“You know young Sam Appleby?” he asked,
casually.
“ NO,” Wheeler said, shortly but not sharply.
“ I daresay he’s a most estimable chap.”
“ He’s all of that. He’s a true chip of the Old
block. Both good gubernatorial timber, as I’m sure
you agree.”
“ 	hat makes you so sure, Mr. Keefe?”
Curt Keefe looked straight at him. “ Well,” he
laughed, “ I’m quite ready to admit that the wish was
father to the thought.”
“Why do you call that an admission?”


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 43
“Oh,” Keefe readily returned, “it is usually
looked upon as a confession that one has no reason
for a thought other than a wish.”
“And why is it your wish? ”
“ Because it is the wish of my employer,” said
Keefe, seriously. “ I know of no reason, Mr.
Wheeler, why I shouldn’t say that I hope and trust
you will use your inﬂuence to further the cause of
young Appleby.”
“ What makes you think I can do so? ”
“ While I am not entirely in Mr. Appleby’s con-
ﬁdence, he has told me that the campaign would be
greatly aided by your willingness to help, and so I
can’t help hoping you will exercise it.’f
“ Appleby has told you so much, has he? No
more ? ”
“ No more, I think, regarding yourself, sir. I
know, naturally, the details of the campaign so far
as it is yet mapped out.”
“ And you know why I do not want to lend
my aid?”
“ I know you are not in accordance with the
principles of the Appleby politics
“ That I am not! Nor shall I ever be. Nor shall
!!
7!


I ever pretend to ‘r,


44 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“Pretend? Of course not. But could you not
be persuaded? ”
“ By what means? ”
“ I don’t know, Mr. Wheeler,” and Keefe looked
at him frankly. “ I truly don’t know by what means.
But I do knOw that Mr. Appleby is here to present
to you an argument by which he hopes to persuade
you to help young Sam along—and I earnestly desire
to add any word of mine that may help inﬂuence
your decision. That is why I want to tell you of
the good traits of Sam Appleby, junior. It may be
I can give you a clearer light on his character than
his father could do—that is, I might present it as
J
the opinion of a friend ’

“And not exaggerate his virtues as a fathe1
might do? I see. Well, Mr. Keefe, I appreciate
your attitude, but let me tell you this: whatever I
do or don’t do regarding this coming campaign of
young Appleby will be entirely irrespective of the
character or personality of that young man. It will
all depend on the senior Appleby’s arrangements with
me, and my ability to change his views on some of
the more important planks in his platform. If he
directed you to speak to me as you have done, you
may return that to him as my answer.”


NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR 45
“ You, doubtless, said the same to him, sir? ”
“ Of course I did. I make no secret of my posi-
tion in this matter. Samuel Appleby has a hold over
me—I admit that—but it is not strong enough to
make me forget my ideas of right and wrong to the
public. No inﬂuence of a personal nature should
weigh against any man’s duty to the state, and I will
never agree to pretend to any dissimulation in order
to bring about a happier life for myself.”
“ But need you subscribe to the objectionable
points to use your inﬂuence for young Sam?”
“ Tacitly, of course. And I do not choose even
to appear to agree to principles abhorrent to my sense v
of justice and honesty, thereby secretly gaining some-
thing for myself.”
“Meaning your full pardon?”
Wheeler turned a look of surprise on the speaker.
“ I thought you said you hadn’t Appleby’s full
conﬁdence,” he said.
“ Nor have I. I do know—as do many men—
that you were pardoned with a condition, but
the condition I do not know. It can’t be very
galling.” And Keefe looked about on the pleas-
ant surroundings.
“ You think not? That’s because you don’t know


46 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
the terms. And yet, galling though they are, hateful
though it makes my life, and the lives of my wife
and daughter, we would all rather bear it than to
deviate one iota from the path of strict right.”
“ I must admire you for that, as must any honor-
able man. But are there not degrees or shadings of
J,

right and wron
“ Mr. Keefe, as an old man, I take the privilege
of advising you for your own good. All through
your life I beg you remember this: Anyone who
admits degrees or shadings of right or wrong—is
already wrong. Don’t be offended; you didn’t claim
those things, you merely asked the question. But,
I remember what I said about it.”


CHAPTER III
ONE LAST ARGUMENT
ADJOINING the bedroom of Samuel Appleby at
Sycamore Ridge was a small sitting-room, also at his
disposal. Here, later that same evening he sat in
confab with his two assistants.
“We leave to—morrow afternoon,” he said to
Keefe and Miss Lane. “ But before that, we’ve much
to do. So far, we’ve accomplished nothing. I am a
little discouraged but not disheartened. I still have
a trump card to play, but I don’t want to use it
unless absolutely necessary.”
“ If you were inclined to take us further into
your conﬁdence, Mr. Appleby,” Keefe began, and
the older man interrupted:
“ That’s just what I propose ’to do. The time has
come for it. Perhaps if you both know the situation
you may work more intelligently.”
“ Sure we could!” exclaimed Genevieve. She
was leaning forward in her chair, clasping her knees,
her pretty evening frock disclosing her babyishly
soft neck and arms; but without a trace of self-con-
47


48 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
sciousness, she thought only of the subject they
were discussing.
“There’s something queer,” she went on. “ I
can’t see through it. Why does Mr. Wheeler act so
polite most of the time, and then do some outrageous
thing, likee—”
“ Like what? ”
“ Like refusing to cross the room—or—why, he
declined point-blank to go with me to the north
arbOr, yet was perfectly willing to take me to the
Japanese tea-house! ”
“ That’s just the point of the whole thing,” said
Appleby, seriously; “ here’s the explanation in a
nutshell. Years ago, Daniel Wheeler was pardoned
for a crime he had committed—”
“ He did commit it, then? ” interrupted Keefe.
“He was tried and convicted. He was sen-
tenced. And I, being governor at the time, par-
doned him on the one condition, that he never again
set foot inside the boundaries of the State of
Massachusetts.”
“ Wheel ” exclaimed Genevieve; “ never I go
to Boston! ”
“ Nor anywhere else in the state. But this is the
complication: Mrs. Wheeler, who is, by the way, a


ONE LAST ARGUMENT 49
distant connection of my own family, inherited a
large fortune on condition that she live in Massa-
chusetts. So you see, the situation was peculiar.
To keep her inheritance, Mrs. Wheeler must live in
Massachusetts. Yet Mr. Wheeler could not enter the
state without forfeiting his pardon.”
“What a mess!” cried Genevieve, but Keefe
said: “ You planned that purposely, Mr. Appleby? ”
“ Of course,” was the straightforward reply.
“Then I don’t see how you can expect Mr.
Wheeler’s help in the campaign.”
"' By offering him a complete pardon, of course.”
“ But go on with the story,” demanded .Gene-
vieve. “What did they do about the Massachu-
setts business? ”
“ As you see,” returned Appleby, “this house
is built on the state line between Massachusetts and
Connecticut. It is carefully planned and built, and
all the rooms or parts of rooms that Mr. Wheeler
uses or enters are on the Connecticut side, yet the
house is more than half in Massachusetts, which
secures the estate to Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Well, I never!” Genevieve exclaimed. “ So
that’s why he can’t go to the north arbor—it’s
in Massachusetts! ”
4


50 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Of course it is. Also, he never goes into the
northern end of the dining-room or the living-room.”
“ Or hall.”
“Or hall. In fact, he merely is careful to keep
on his own side of a deﬁnitely drawn line, and there-
fore complies with the restrictions. His den and
his own bedroom and bath are all on the south side,
while Mrs. Wheeler has a sitting-room, boudoir, and
so forth, on the north side. She and Maida can go
all over the house, but Mr. Wheeler is restricted.
However, they’ve lived that way so long, it has be—
come second nature to them, and nobody bothers
much about it.”
“ Do people know? ” asked Keefe. “ The neigh-
bors, I mean.”
“ Oh, yes; but, as I say, it makes little confusion.
The trouble comes, as Miss Lane suggested, when
Wheeler wants to 'go to Boston or anywhere
in Massachusetts.
“Yet that is a small thing, compared with his
freedom,” observed Keefe; “I think he got
off easy.”
“ But with Wheeler it isn’t so much the depriva-
tion as the stigma. He longs for a full pardon, and
would do most anything to have it, but he refuses


ONE LAST ARGUMENT 51
to stand for Sam’s election, even with that for
a bribe.”
“ You can’t pardon him now' that you aren’t gov-
ernor, can you, Mr. Appleby? ” asked Genevieve.
“I can arrange to have it done. In fact, the
present governor is ready and even anxious to par-
don him, but I hold the key to that situation, myself.
You two needn’t know all the details, but now you
know the principal points, and I expect you to util-
ize them.”
“ I’m willing enough,” and Genevieve rocked back
and forth thoughtfully, “ and I may think of a way—
but, for the moment, I don’t.”
“ Get chummy with Maida,” suggested Appleby.
“ Let me do that,” Keefe interrupted. “ Without
undue conceit, I believe I can inﬂuence the young
lady, and I think Miss Lane, now that she knows the
truth, can jolly up Mr. Wheeler to good effect.”
“ But, good gracious! What do you want to
do? ” and Genevieve giggled. “ Say I entice the old
gentleman over the line—then his pardon is canceled
and he’s a criminal—then you agree to ignore the
lapse if he meets your wishes—is that the idea? ”
Appleby smiled. “ A little crude, Miss Lane.
And beside, you couldn’t get him over the line. He’s


52 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
too accustomed to his limitations to be caught nap-
ping, and not even your charms could decoy him
over intentionally.”
“ Think so? Probably you’re right. Well, sup—
pose I try to work through Maida. If I could per-
suade Mr. Wheeler that she suffers from the stigma
of her father’s incomplete pardon ”
“ Yes, that’s it. This thing can’t be accomplished
by brutal threats, it must be done by subtle suggestion
and convincing hints.”
“ That’s my idea,” agreed Keefe. “ If I can talk
straight goods to Miss Wheeler and make her see
how much better it would be for her father in his
latter years to be freed from all touch of the past

disgrace, she might coax him to listen to you.”
“ That’s right. Now, you know what you’re here
for; just do what you can—but don’t make a mess
of things. I’d rather you did nothing than to do
some fool thing! ”
“ Trust us!” Genevieve encouraged him, as she
rose., “ Me and Curt may not put over a big deal,
but we won’t do anything silly.”
The two men smiled as the girl, with a pleasant
good-night, went away to her own room.
“ She’s true blue,” said Keefe.


54 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
thize with the girl in regard to her father’s depriva-
tion he was surprised at her ready acceptance of it.
“ Oh, you know, don’t you, Mr. Keefe! ” she
exclaimed. “ But you don’t know all it means to me.
You see ”—-she blushed but went steadily on—“ you
’7

see, I’m engaged to—‘—to a man I adore. And
“ Don’t ' tell me if you’d rather not,” he
murmured.
“ No, it’s a relief to tell—and, somehow—you
7’
seem so wise and stron .

“ GO on then—please.”
The kind voice helped her and Maida re-
sumed: “ Well, Jeff—Mr. Allen, lives in Boston,
and so——”
“ So it would be very awkward if your father
couldn’t go there.”
“ Not only that—but I’ve made a vow never to
step foot into Massachusetts until my father can do
so, too. Nothing would induce me to break
that vow! ”
“ Not even your lover? ” said Keefe, astonished.
“ No; my father is more to me than any lover.”
“ Then you don’t truly love Mr. Allen.”
“ Oh, yes, I do-—I do! But father is my idol.


ONE LAST ARGUMENT 55
I don’t believe any girl ever adored her father as I do.
All my life I’ve had only the one object—to make
him forget—as far as possible, his trouble. Now,
if I were to marry and leave him—why, I simply
couldn’t do it! ”
“ Can’t Mr. Allen live in Connecticut?”
“ N 0; his business interests are all in Boston, and
he can’t be transplanted. Oh, .if father could only
do what Mr. Appleby wants him to, then we could
all be happy.”
“ Can’t you persuade him?”
“ I’ve tried my best. Mother has tried, too. But,
you see, it’s a matter of principle, and when principle
is involved, we are all in the same boat. Mother and
I would scorn any wrongdoingquite as much as
father does.” .-. . .
“ And you’ll give up your life happiness for
a principle?” . .,,_
“ Of course. Wouldn’t you? 'Wouldn’t every
decent person? I couldn’t live at all, if Iwere know-
ingly doing wrong.” .. .g.
“ But your————” Keefe stopped abruptly. '
“. I know what .you were going to say,” Maida
spoke sadly; “ you were going to say. myfather did
wrong. I don’t believe he did.” . ., v - -


56 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
NI“ “ Don’t you know? ”
“ I know in my own heart. I know he is incapa-
ble of the crime he was charged with. I’m sure he is
shielding some one else, or else some one did it of
whom he has no knowledge. But my father commit
a crime? Never! ”
“ Do you care to tell me the details? ”
“ I don’t know why I shouldn’t. It was long ago,
you know, and dad was accused of forgery. It was
proved on him—or the jury thought it was—and he
was convicted ”
“ And sentenced? ”
“ Yes; to a long prison term. But Governor
Appleby pardoned him with that mean old proviso,
that he never should step into Massachusetts! ”
“ Was your mother then the heir to the Massa-
ch usetts property ? ”
“ N o ; but Mr. Appleby knew she would be. So,
when she did inherit, and had to live in Massachu-
setts to hold the estate, Mr. Appleby thought he had
dad where he wanted him.”
“ Were they foes? ”
“ Politically, yes. Because dad did all he could to
keep Mr. Appleby from being governor.”
“ But didn’t succeed? ”


ONE LAST ARGUMENT » 57
“ No; but almost. So, then, Mr. Appleby did this
pardon trick to get even with father, and I think it
turned out more serious than he anticipated. For
mother took up the feud, and she got lawyers and
all that and arranged to have the house built on the
line between the states! ”
“ Was the estate she inherited on both sides of
the line? ”
“ Oh, no; but it was near the southern border'
of Massachusetts, and she bought enough adjoining
land to make the arrangement possible.”
“ Then the house isn’t on the ground she
inherited? ”
“ Not quite, but the lawyers decided it so that
she really complies with the terms of the will, so it’s
all right.”
“ Was your mother the only heir?”
“ So far as we can ﬁnd out. I believe there Was
another branch of the family, but we haven’t been
able to trace it, so as the years go by, we feel more
and more conﬁdent there’s no other heir. Of course,
should one turn up, his claim would be recognized.”
Further talk quickly convinced Keefe that there
was no hope of persuading Maida Wheeler to in-
ﬂuence or advise her father in any direction other
than his idea of right. No amount of urging or


58 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
arguing would make Wheeler see his duty other
than he now saw it, or make Maida endeavor to
change his views. With a sigh over his failure,
Keefe deftly turned the talk in other channels, and
then they strolled back to the house.
As was to be expected, Genevieve had made no
progress with her part of the plan. Her talk with
Mr. Wheeler had availed nothing. He was cour-
teous and kind; he was amused at her gay, merry
little ways; he politely answered her questions, both
serious and ﬂippant, but absolutely nothing came of
it all.
Samuel Appleby had a short but straightforward
conversation with Mrs. Wheeler.
“ Now, Sara,” he said, “ remember I’m your old
friend as well as your relative.”
“ I don’t call you a relative,” she returned, calmly.
“ A family connection, then; I don’t care what
you call it. And I’m going to speak right out, for I
know better than to try sophistries. If you can get
Dan to play my game regarding my son’s campaign,
I’ll see that Dan gets full pardon, and at once. Then
Maida can marry young Allen and you can all go to
Boston to live.”
“ Sam Appleby, I’d rather never see Boston
again, never have Dan see it, than to have him agree


ONE LAST ARGUMENT 59
to endorse principles that he does not believe! And
Dan feels the same way about it.”
“ But don’t you consider your daughter? Will
p H

you condemn Maida to a broken-hearted life
“ Maida must decide for herself. I think Jeffrey
Allen Will yet persuade her to leave her father. She
is devoted to Dan, but she is deeply in love with Jeff
and it’s only natural she should go with him. Any
other girl would do so without a second thought.
Maida is unusual, but I doubt if she can hold out
much longer against her lover’s pleading.”
“ I think she will. Maida has your own unbreak-
able will.”
“ So be it, then. The child must choose for her-
self. But it doesn’t alter the stand Dan and I
have taken.” ’
“ Nothing can alter that?”
“ Nothing, Samuel Appleby.”
“ That remains-to be seen. Have I your per_
mission to talk to Maida, alone? ”
“ Certainly. Why not? If you can persuade her
to marry Jeff, I’ll be only too glad. If you ﬁnd her
determined to stand by her father, then the case re-
mains as it is at present.”
And so, as Maida. returned from her walk with


60 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Keefe, she was asked to go for another stroll with
Samuel Appleby.
She assented, though with no show of pleasure
at the prospect.
But as they started off, she said: “ I’m glad to
have a talk with you, Mr. Appleby. I want to appeal
to your better nature.”
“ Good! That’s just what I want—to appeal to
yours. Suppose you word your appeal ﬁrst.”
“ Mine is simple to understand. It is only that
having'had your way and having spoiled my father’s
life for ﬁfteen years, I ask you, in the name of
humanity and justice, to arrange matters so that his
latter years of life shall be free from the curse you
put upon him.” .
“I didn’t. put it upon him—he brought it on
himself.”
“ He never committed that crime—~and you
know it! ”
“What do you mean by that?” Appleby gave
her a startled glance.v
Had:.Maida seen this glance, she might have been
enlightened. But her eyes were cast down, and she
went on". _“. I don’t know it surely, but I am. positive
in my own heart father never did it. Howevez
that’s past history. All I ask now is his full pardon—w


ONE LAST ARGUMENT ’ " 61
which, I know, you can bring about if you Want to.”
“ And I will, willingly and gladly, if your father
will grant my request.” ' ” " ‘
“ To put your son in as governor with the same
political views that prevented my father from voting
for you! You know he can’t do that! "
“ And yet you expect me to favor him! ’~’
“ But don’t you see the difference? Your par-
don will mean everything to father . ”
“ And to you! ” - .
“ Yes, but that’s a secondary consideration. I’d
ask this for father just the same, if it meant disaster
for me!” -
“ I believe you would!" and Appleby gazed ad-
mirineg at the sweet, forceful face, and the ear-
nest eyes. . i
“ Of course I should! As I say, it means life’s
happiness to him.”

“ And his consent means justas much to me.”
“ No, it doesn’t. That’s just it. Even though
father doesn’t deﬁnitely help you in your son’s elec-
tion, he will do nothing to hinder. And that’s much
the same.” " ' I '7
“ It’s far from being the same. His positive and
deﬁnite help is a very different matter from his nega-
tive lack of interference. It’s the help ' I want.


62 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
AndI do want it! vDo you suppose I’d come here
and urge it—'beg for it—if I didn’t think it abso-
lutely necessary?”
“ No ; I suppose not. But I know he never will
grant it, so you may as well give up hope.”
“ You know that, do you, Maida? ” Appleby’s
voice was almost wistful.
“ I most certainly do,” and the girl nodded her
head positively. ’
“ Then listen to me. I have one argument yet
unused. I’m going to use it now. And with you.”
Maida looked up in alarm. Appleby’s face was
stern, his tone betokened a ﬁnal, even desperate
decision. ’ _ ,
“Oh, not with me,” she cried; “ I—I’m only a
girl—I don’t know about these things—let’s go
Where father is.” .
“ No; you are the one. In your hands must rest
your father’s fate—.—your father’s future. Sit
here, beneath the old sycamore—you know about
the tree?”
“ Yes, of course.”
“ Never mind that now; I’ve only a few mo—
ments, but that’s time enough. You know, Maida,
how your mother holds this estate? ”


ONE LAST ARGUMENT 63
“Yes—she must live in Massachusetts. Well,
we do. The lawyers said ”
“ That isn’t the point; this is it. There is an-
other heir.”
“We’ve always thought it possible.” Maida
spoke coolly, though a dull fear clutched her heart.
“ It’s more than a possibility, it’s a fact. I know
it—and I know the heir.”
“ Who is it? ” -
“ Never mind for the moment. Sufﬁce it to say
that he doesn’t know it himself—that no one knows
it but me. Now, you and I know. No one else
does. Do you understand? ”
His keen gaze at her made her understand.
“ I—” she faltered.
“ You do understand,” he asserted. “ You
sense my proposition before I make it. And you
have it right—you’re a smart girl, Maida. Yes, I
suggestthat you and I keep our secret, and that in
return for my silence you persuade your father to
meet my wishes. Then, he shall be fully pardoned,
and all will be well.”
“ You criminal! You dishonest and dishonor-
able man!” she cried, her eyes blazing, her cheeks
reddening with her righteous indignation.
“ There, there, my girl, have a care. You haven’t


’64 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
thought it all out yet. Doubtless you’re going to say
that neither your father nor mother want to remain
here, if my statement is true.”
“ Of course I say that! They won’t want to stay
a minute! Who is the heir? Tell me! ”
“ And have you thought what it will mean to
them to leave this place? Have you realized that
your father has no business interests nor can he ﬁnd
any at his age? Do you remember that your mother
has no funds outside the estate she inherited? Do
you want to plunge them into penury, into pauperism,
‘in their declining years? ”
“ Yes—if honesty requires it—— ” but the sweet
voice trembled at the thought.
“ Honesty is a good thing—a ﬁne policy—but
you are a devoted daughter, and I remind you that to
tell this thing I have told you, means disaster-—
ruin for you and your parents. Young Allen can’t
support them—they are unaccustomed to deprivation
—and,” he lowered his voice, “ this heir I speak
of has no knowledge of the truth. He misses noth—
ing, since he hopes for nothing.”
Maida looked at him helplessly.
“I must think,” she said, brokenly. “ Oh, you
are cruel, to put this responsibility on me.”
“ You know why I do it. I am not disinterested.”


CHAPTER IV
THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE
AT the south door the Appleby car stood waiting
Genevieve was saying good—bye to Maida, with
the affection of an old friend.
“ We’re coming back, you know,” she reminded,
“ in two or three days, and please say you’ll be glad
to see me! ”
“ Of course,” Maida assented, but her lip trem-
bled and her eyes showed signs of ready tears.
“ Cheer up,” Genevieve babbled on. “ I’m your
friend—whatever comes with time! ”
“ So am I,” put in Curtis Keefe. “ Good-bye for
a few days, Miss Wheeler.”
How Maida did it, she scarcely knew herself, but
she forced a smile, and even when Samuel Appleby
gave her a warning glance at parting she bravely
responded to his farewell words, and even gaily
waved her hand as the car rolled down the drive.
Once out of earshot, Appleby broke out:
“ I played'my trump card! No. you needn’t ask
me what I was, for I don’t propose to tell you.
85


66 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
But it will take the trick, I’m sure. Why, it’s got to! ”
“It must be something pretty forcible, then,”
said Keefe, “ for it looked to me about as likely as
snow in summertime, that any of those rigid Puri-
tans would ever give in an inch to your persuasions.”
“Or mine,” added Genevieve. “Never before
have I failed so utterly to make any headway when
I set out to be really persuasive.”
“You did your best, Miss Lane,” and Appleby
looked at her with the air of one appraising
the efﬁciency of a salesman. “I confess I didn’t
think Wheeler would be quite such a hardshell—
after all these years.”
“ He’s just like concrete,” Keefe observed.
“ They all are. I didn’t know there were such con—
scientious people left in this wicked old world! ”
“ They’re not really in the world,” Appleby de-
clared. “They’ve merely vegetated in that house
’7

of theirs, never going anywhere _
“ Oh, come now, Mr. Appleby,” and Genevieve
shook her head, “ Boston isn’t the only burg on the
planet! They often go to New York, and that’s
going some! ” v
“ Not really often—I asked Wheeler. He hasn’t
been for ﬁve or six years, and though Maida goes-


THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE 67
occasionally, to visit friends, she soon runs back
home to her father.”
“ It doesn’t matter,” Keefe said, “ they’re by no
means mossbacks or hayseeds. They’re right there
with the goods, when it comes to modern literature or
!,

up-to-date news ,
“ Oh, yes, they’re a highbrow bunch,” Appleby
spoke impatiently; “ but a recluse like that is no sort
of a man! The truth is, I’m at the end of my
patience! I’ve got to put this thing over with less
palaver and circumlocution. I thought I’d give him
a chance—just put the thing up to him squarely once
—and, as he doesn’t see ﬁt to meet me half-way, he’s
got to be the loser, that’s all.”
“ He seems to be the loser, as it is.” This
from Keefe.
“ But nothing to What’s coming to him! Why,
the idea of my sparing him at all is ridiculous! If he
doesn’t come down, he’s got to be wiped out! That’s
what it amounts to! ”
“ Wiped out—how? ”
“ Figuratively and literally! Mentally, morally
and physically! That’s how! I’ve stood all I can—
I’ve waited long enough—too long—and now I’m
going to play the game my own way! As I said, I


68 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
played a trump card—I raised one pretty deﬁnite
ruction just before we left. Now, that may do the
business—and, it may not! If not, then desperate
measures are necessary—and will be used! ”
“ Good gracious, Mr. Appleby! ” Genevieve
piped up from her fur collar which nearly mufﬂed her
little face. “ You sound positively murderous!”
“ Murder! Pooh, I’d kill Dan Wheeler in a min-
ute, if that would help Sam! But I don’t want
Wheeler dead—I want him alive—I want his help—
his inﬂuence—yet, when he sits there looking like a
stone wall, and about as easy to overthrow, I declare
I could kill him! But I don’t intend to. It’s far
more likely he’d kill me! ”
“Why?” exclaimed Keefe. “ Why should he?
And—but you’re joking.”
“ Not at all. Wheeler isn’t Of the murderer type,
or I’d be taking my life in my hands to go into his
house! He hates me with all the strength of a' hard,
bigoted, but strictly just nature. He thinks I was un—
just in the matter of his pardon, he thinks I was
contemptible, and false to our old-time friendship;
and he would be honestly and truly glad if I were
dead. But—thank heaven—he’s no murderer! ”
“ Of course not! ” cried Genevieve. “ How you


THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE 69
do talk! As if murder were an everyday perform-
ance! Why, people in our class don’t kill
each either! ”
The placid assumption of equality of class with
her employer was so consistently Miss Lane’s usual
attitude, that it caused no mental comment from
either of her hearers. Her services were so valuable
that any such little idiosyncrasy was tolerated.
“ Of course we don’t—often,” agreed Appleby,
“ but I’d wager a good bit that if Dan Wheeler
could bump me off without his conscience knowing
it—off I’d go! ”
“ I don’t know about that,” said Genevieve, mus-
ingly—“ but I do believe that girl would do it! ”
“ What?” cried Keefe. “ Maida! ”
“Yes; she’s a lamb for looks, but she’s got a
lion’s heart—if anybody ever had one! Talk about
a tigress protecting her cubs; it would be a milk-and-
water performance beside Maida Wheeler shielding
her father—or ﬁghting for him—yes, or killing
somebody for him! ” _
“ Rubbish!” laughed Appleby. “ Maida might
be willing enough, in that lion heart of hers—but
little girls don’t go around killing people.”


70 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ I know it, and I don’t expect her to. But I only
say she’s capable of it.”
“ Goethe says—(Keefe spoke in his superior
way)—-‘ We are all capable Of crime, even the best
of us.’ ”
“ I remember that phrase,” mused Appleby. “ Is
it Goethe’s? \V ell, I don’t say it’s literally true, for
lots of people are too much of a jellyﬁsh makeup to
have such a capability, But I do believe there are
lots of strong, forcible people, who are absolutely
capableof crime—if the opportunity offers.”
“That’s it,” and Genevieve nodded her head
wisely. “Opportunity is what counts. I’ve read
detective stories, and they prove it. Be careful,
Mr. Appleby, how you trust yourself alone with
Mr. Wheeler.”
“ That will do,” he reprimanded. “ I can take
care of myself, Miss Lane.”
Genevieve always knew when she had gone too
far, and, instead Of sulking, she tactfully changed
the subject and entertained the others with her amus-
ing chatter, at which she was a success.
At that very moment, Maida Wheeler, alone in
her room, was sobbing wildly, yet using every pre-
caution that she shouldn’t be heard.


THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE 71
Thrown across her bed, her face buried in the pil-
lows, she fairly shook with the intensity of her grief.
But, as often happens, after she had brought her
crying spell to a ﬁnish—and exhausted Nature in-
sists on a ﬁnish—she rose and bathed her ﬂushed
face and sat down to think it out calmly.
Yet the more she thought the less calm she grew.
For the ﬁrst time in her life she was face to face
with a great question which she could not refer to
her parents. Always she had conﬁded in them, and
matters that seemed great to her, even though triﬂing
in' themselves, were invariably settled and straight-
ened out by her wise and loving father or mother.
But now, Samuel Appleby had told her a secret—a
dreadful secret—that she must not only weigh and
decide about, but must—at last, until she decided—
keep from her parents.
“ For,” Maida thought, “ if I tell them, they’ll at
once insist on knowing who the. rightful heir is,
they’ll give over the place to him—and what will
become of us? ”
Her conscience was as active as ever it was, her
sense of right and wrong was in no way warped or
blunted, but instinct told her that she must keep this
matter entirely to herself until she had come to her


72 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
own conclusion. Moreover, she realized, the con-
clusion must be her own—the decision must be
arrived at by herself, and unaided.
Finally, accepting all this, she resolved to put the
whole thing out of her mind for the moment. Her
parents were so intimately acquainted with her every
mood or shade of demeanor, they would see at once
that something was troubling her mind, unless she
used the utmost care to prevent it. Care, too, not
to overdo her precaution. It would be quite as evi-
dent that she was concealing something, if she were
unusually gay or carefree of manner.
So the poor child went downstairs, determined to
forget utterly the news she had heard, until such time
as she could be again by herself.
And she succeeded. Though haunted by a vague
sense of being deceitful, she behaved so entirely as
usual, that neither of her parents suspected her
of pretense.
Moreover, the subject of Samuel Appleby’s visit
was such a fruitful source of conversation that there
was less chance of minor considerations.
“ Never will I consent,” her father was reiterat-
ing, as Maida entered the room. “Why, Sara, I’d
rather have the conditional pardon rescinded, rather


THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE ‘73
pay full penalty of my conviction, than stand for
the things young Sam’s campaign must stand for! ”
A clenched ﬁst came down on the table by way
of emphasis.
“ Now, dad,” said Maida, gaily, “ don’t thump
around like that! You look as if you’d like to thump
Mr. Appleby! ”
“And I should! I wish I could bang into his
head just how I feel about it—”
,“ Oh, he knows!” and Mrs. Wheeler smiled.
“He knows perfectly how you feel.”
“ But, truly, mother, don’t you think dad could——
well, not do anything wrong—but just give in to
Mr. Appleby—for—for my sake?”
“ Maida—dear—that is our only stumbling-
block. Your father and I would not budge one step,
for ourselves—but for you, and for Jeffrey—oh, my
dear little girl, that’s what makes it so hard.”
“ For us, then—father, can’t you—for our
sake ”
Maida broke down. It wasn’t for her sake she

was pleading—nor for the sake of her lover. It
was for the sake of her parents—that they might
remain in comfort—and yet, comfort at the expense


74 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
of honesty? Oh, the problem was too great—she
hadn’t worked it out yet. -
“I can’t think,” her father’s grave voice broke
in on her tumultuous thoughts. “I can’t believe,
Maida, that you would want my freedom at the cost_
of my seared conscience.”
“ N 0, oh, no, father, I don’t—you know I don’t.
But what is this dreadful thing you’d have to coun—
tenance if you linked up on the Appleby side? Are
they pirates—or rascals? ”
!
“ Not from their own point of view,’ and Dan
Wheeler smiled. “ They think we are! You can’t
understand politics, child, but you must know that
a man who is heart and soul in sympathy with the
principles of his party can’t conscientiously cross
over and work for the other side.”
“Yes, I know that, and I know that tells the
whole story. But, father, think what there is at
stake. Your freedom—and—ours! ”
“ I know that, Maida dear, and you can never
know how my very soul is torn as I try to persuade
myself that for those reasons it would beright for
me to consent. Yet—”
He passed his hand wearily across his brow, and


THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE 75
then folding his arms on the table he let his head sink
down upon them.
Maida ﬂew to his side. “ Father, dearest,” she
crooned over him, as she caressed his bowed head,
“ don’t think of it for a minute! You know I’d give
up anything—I’d give up Jeff—if it means one speck
of good for you.”
“ I know it, dear child, but—run away, now,
Maida, leave me to myself.”
Understanding, both Maida and her mother
quietly left the room.
“ I’m sorry, girlie dear, that you have to be in-
volved in these scenes,” Mrs. Wheeler said fondly,
as the two went to the sitting-room.
“ Don’t talk that way, mother. I’m part of the
family, and I’m old enough to have a share and a
voice in all these matters. But just think what it
would mean, if father had his pardon! Look at this
room, and think, he has never been in it! Never
has seen the pictures—the-view from the window,
the general coziness of it all.”
“ I know, dear, but that’s an old story. Your
father is accustomed to living only in his own
rooms ”
“ And not to be able to go to the other end of


'76 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
the dining-room or living-room, if he chooses!
It’s outrageous! ”
“ Yes, Maida, I quite agree—but no more out-
rageous than it was last week—or last year.”
“Yes, it is! It grows more outrageous every
minute! Mother, what did that old will say? That
you must live in Massachusetts?”
“ Yes—you know that, dear.”
“ Of course I do. And if you lived elsewhere,
what then? ”
“ I forfeit the inheritance.”
“ And what would become of it? ”
“ In default of any other heirs, it would go to
the State of Massachusetts.”
“ And there are no other heirs? ”
“What ails you, Maida? You know all this.
NO, there are no other heirs.”
“ You’re sure? ”
“ As sure as we can be. Your father had every
possible search made. There were advertisements
kept in the papers for years, and able lawyers did all
they could to ﬁnd heirs if there were any. And,
ﬁnding none, we were advised that there were none,
and we could rest in undisturbed possession.”
“ Suppose} one should appear, what then?”


THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE 77-
“ Then, little girl, we’d give him the keys of the
house, and walk out.”
“ Where would we walk to? ”
“I’ve no idea. In fact, I can’t imagine where
we could walk to. But that, thank heaven, is not
one of our troubles. Your father would indeed be
desperately ﬁxed if it were! You know, Maida,
from a ﬁne capable business man, he became a wreck,
because of that unjust trial.”
“ Father never committed the forgery? ”
“ Of course not, dear.”
‘.‘ Who did? ”
“ We don’t know. It was cleverly done, and the
crime was purposely fastened on your father, because
he was about to be made the rival candidate of
Mr. Appleby, for governor.
“I know. And Mr. Appleby was at the bottom
of it!”
“Your father doesn’t admit that ”
, “ He must have been.”

“ Hush, Maida. These matters are not for you
to judge. You know your father has done all he
honestly could to be fully pardoned, or to discover the
real criminal, and as he hasn’t succeeded, you must
rest content with the knowledge that there was no
stone left unturned.”


78 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“But, mother, suppose Mr. Appleby has some-
thing more up his sleeve. Suppose he comes down
on dad with some unexpected, some unforeseen
blow that ” i
“ Maida, be quiet. Don’t make me sorry that
we have let you into our conﬁdence as far as we
have. These are matters above your head. Should

such a thing as you hint occur, your father can deal
with it.”
“ But I want to help——-”
“ And you can best do that by not trying to help!
Your part is to divert your father, to love him and
cheer him and entertain him. You know this, and
you know for you to undertake to advise or suggest
is not only ridiculous but disastrous.”
“ All right, mother, I’ll be good. I don’t mean
to be silly.”
“You are, when you assume ability you don’t
possess.” Mrs. Wheeler’s loving smile robbed the
words of any harsh effect. “ Run along now, and
see if dad won’t go for a walk with you; and
don’t refer to anything unpleasant.”
Maida went, and found Wheeler quite ready for
a stroll.
“Which way?” he asked as they crossed the
south veranda.


THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE 79
“ Round the park, and bring up under the tree,
and have tea there,” dictated Maida, her heart
already lighter as she obeyed- her mother’s dictum to
avoid unpleasant subjects.
But as they walked on, and trivial talk seemed
to pall, they naturally reverted to the discussion of
their recent guests.
“ Mr, Appleby is an old curmudgeon,” Maida de—
clared; “’Mr. Keefe is nice and well-behaved; but
the little Lane girl is a scream! I never saw any one
_ so funny. Now she was quite a grand lady, and then
she was a common little piece! But underneath it all
she showed a lot of good sense and I’m sure in her
work she has real ability.”
“ Appleby wouldn’t keep her if she didn’t have,”
her father rejoined; “but why 'do you call him a
curmudgeon? He’s very well-mannered.”
“ Oh, yes, he is. And to tell the truth, I’m not
Sure just what a curmudgeon But—he’s it,
anyway.” H
“ I gather you don’t especially admire my old
friend.” " '
I ‘4 Friend! If he’s a friend—give me enemies! ”
“ Fie, ﬁe, Maida, what do you mean? Remember,
he gave me my pardon.”


80 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“Yes, a high old pardon! Say, dad, tell me
again exactly how he worded that letter about
the tree.”
“ I’ve told you a dozen times! He didn’t mean
anything anyhow. He only said, that when the big
sycamore tree went into Massachusetts I could go.”
“ What a crazy thing to say, wasn’t it?”
“It was because we had been talking about the
play of Macbeth. You remember, ‘ Till Birnam
Wood shall come to Dunsinane.”
“ Oh, yes, and then it did come—by a trick.”
“ Yes, the men came, carrying branches. We’d
been talking about it, discussing some point, and
then—it seemed clever, I suppose—t0 Appleby, and
he wrote that about the sycamore.”
“ Meaning—never? ”
“ Meaning never.”
“ But Birnam Wood did go.”
“ Only by a trick, and that would not work in this
case. Why, are you thinking of carrying a branch
of sycamore into Massachusetts?”
Maida returned his smile as she answered: “ I’d
manage to carry the whole tree in, if it would do any
good! But, I s’pose, old Puritan Father, you’re too
conscientious to take advantage of a trick?”


THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE 81
“ Can’t say, till I know the details of the game.
But I doubt Appleby’s being unable to see through
your trick, and then—where are you?”
“That wouldn’t matter. Trick or no trick, if
the big sycamore went into Massachusetts, you
could go. But I don’t see any good plan for getting
it in. And, too, Sycamore Ridge wouldn’t be Syca-
more Ridge without it. Don’t you love the old
tree, dad? ”
“ Of course, as I love every stick and stone about
the place. It has been a real haven to me in my
perturbed life.”
“ Suppose you had to leave it, daddy?”
“ I think I’d die, dear. Unless, that is, we could
go back home.”
“ Isn’t this home? ”
“ It’s the dearest spot on earth—outside my
native state.”
“ There, there, dad, don’t let’s talk about it.
'We’re here for keeps-—”
“ Heaven send we are, dearest! I couldn’t face
the loss of this place. What made you think of
such a thing? ”
“ Oh, I’m thinking of all sorts of things to-day.
But, father, while we’re talking of moving—couldn’t
6


82 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
you—oh, couldn’t you, bring yourself, somehow, to
do what Mr. Appleby wants you to do? I don’t
know much about it—but father, darling, if you
only could!”
“ Maida, my little girl, don’t think I haven’t
tried. Don’t think I don’t realize what it means to
you and Jeff. I know—Oh, I do know how it would
simplify matters if I should go over to the Appleby
side—and push Sam’s campaign—as I could do it. I
know that it would mean my full pardon, my return
to my Old home, my reunion with old scenes and
associations. And more than that, it would mean
the happiness of my only child—my daughter—and
her chosen husband. And yet, Maida, as God is my
judge, I am honest in my assertion that I can’t so
betray my honor and spend my remaining years a
living lie. I can’t do it, Maida—I can’t.”
And the calm, sorrowful countenance he turned
to the girl was more positive and ﬁnal than any fur-
ther protestation could have been.


CHAPTER V
THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS
ALTHOUGH the portions of the house and
grounds that were used by Wheeler included the most
attractive spots, yet there were many forbidden
places that were a real temptation to him.
An especial one was the ﬂower-covered arbor that
had so charmed Genevieve and another was the broad
and beautiful north veranda. To be sure, the south
piazza was equally attractive, but it was galling
to be compelled to avoid any part of his own domain.
However, the passing years had made the conditions
a matter of habit and it was only occasionally that
Wheeler’s annoyance was poignant.
In fact, he and his wife bore the cross better than
did Maida. She had never becomereconciled to the
unjust and arbitrary dictum of the conditional par-
don. She lived in a constant fear lest her father
should some day inadvertently and unintentionally
step on the forbidden ground, and it should be re-
ported. Indeed, knowing her father’s quixotic hon-
esty, she was by no means sure he wouldn’t report
it himself.
88


84 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
It had never occurred—probably never would
occur, and yet, she often imagined some sudden
emergency, such as a ﬁre, or burglars, that might
cause his impulsive invasion of the other side of
the house.
In her anxiety she had spoken Of this to Samuel
Appleby when he was there. But he gave her no
satisfaction. He merely replied: “A condition is
a condition.”
Curtis Keefe had tried to help her cause, by say-
ing: “ Surely a case of danger would prove an ex-
ception to the rule,” but Appleby had only “shaken
his head in denial.
Though care had been taken to have the larger
part of the house on the Massachusetts side of the
line, yet the rooms most used by the family were in
Connecticut. Here was Mr. Wheeler’s den, and this
had come to be the most used room in the whole
house. Mrs. Wheeler’s sitting-room, which her hus—
band never had entered, was also attractive, but both
mother and daughter invaded the den, whenever
leisure hours were to be enjoyed.
The den contained a large south bay window,
which was Maida’s favorite spot. It had a broad,
comfortable window-seat, and here she spent much


THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS 85
of her time, curled up among the cushions, reading.
There were long curtains, which, half-drawn, hid her
from view, and often she was there for hours, with-
out her father’s knowing it.
His own work was engrossing. Cut off from his
established law business in Massachusetts, he had at
ﬁrst felt unable to start it anew in different surround-
ings. Then, owing to his wife’s large fortune, it
was decided that he should give up all business for a
time. And as the time went on, and there was no
real necessity for an added income, Wheeler had in-
dulged in his hobby of book collecting, and had
amassed a library of unique charm as well as goodly
intrinsic value.
Moreover, it kept him interested and occupied,
and prevented his becoming morose or melancholy
over his restricted life. .
So, many long days he worked away at his books,
and Maida, hidden in the window-seat, watched him
lovingly in the intervals of her reading.
Sitting there, the morning after Samuel
Appleby’s departure, she read not at all, although a
book lay open on her lap. She was trying to decide
a big matter, trying to solve a vexed question.
Maida’s was a straightforward nature. She


86 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
never deceived herself. If she did anything against
her better judgment, even against her conscience, it
was with open eyes and understanding mind. She
used no sophistry, no pretence, and if she acted mis-
takenly she was always satisﬁed to abide by the
consequences. I.
And now, she set about her problem, systemati-
cally and methodically, determined to decide upon
her course, and then strictly follow it.
She glanced at her father, absorbed in his book
catalogues and indexes, and a great wave of love and
devotion ﬁlled her heart. Surely no sacriﬁce was
too great that would bring peace or pleasure to that
martyred spirit.
That he was a martyr, Maida was as sure as she
was that she was alive. She knew him too well to
believe for an instant that he had committed a crimi-
nal act; it was an impossibility for one of his charac-
ter. But that she could do nothing about. The
question had been raised and settled when she was
too young to know anything about it, and now, her
simple duty was to do anything she might to case
his burden and to help him to forget.
“ And,” she said to herself, “ ﬁrst of all, he must
stay in this home. He positively must—and that’s


THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS 87
all there is about that. Now, if he knows—if he has
the least hint that there is another heir, he’ll get out
at once—or at least, he’ll move heaven and earth to
ﬁnd the heir, and then we’ll have to move. And
where to? That’s an unanswerable question. Any-
way, I’ve only one sure conviction. I’ve got to keep
from him all knowledge or suspicion of that
other heir!
“ Maybe it isn’t true—maybe Mr. Appleby made
it up—but I don’t think so. At any rate, I have to
proceed as if it were true, and do my best. And,
ﬁrst of all, I’ve got to hush up my own conscience.
I’ve too much of ‘my father’s nature to want to live
here if it rightfully belongs to somebody else. I feel
like a'thief already. But I’m going to bear that—I’m
going to live under that horrid conviction that I’m
living a lie—for father’s sake.”
I Maida was in earnest. By nature and by train-
ing her conscience was acutely sensitive to the ﬁnest
shades of right and wrong. She actually longed to
announce the possibility of another heir and let jus-
tice decide the case. But her ﬁlial devotion was,
in this thing, greater even than her conscience. Her
mother, too, she knew, would be crushed by the reve-
lation of the secret, but would insist onithorough in-


:88 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
vestigatio-n, and, if need be, on renunciation of the
\dear home.
Her mental struggle went on. At times it seemed
.as if she couldn’t live beneath the weight of such a
secret. Then, she knew she must do it. What was
her own peace of mind compared with her father’s?
What was her own freedom of conscience compared
with his tranquillity?
She thought of telling Jeffrey Allen. But, she
argued, he would feel as the others would—indeed,
as she herself did—that the matter must be dragged
out into the open and settled one way or the other.
No ; she must bear the brunt of the thing alone.
She inust never tell any one.
Then, the next point was, would Mr. Appleby
tell? He hadn’t said so, but she felt sure he would.
\Vell, she must do all she could to prevent that. He
was to return in a day or two. By that time she
must work out some plan, must think up some way,
to persuade him not to tell. What the argument
would be, she had no idea, but she was determined
"to try her uttermost.
There was one way—but Maida blushed even at
.the thought.
Sam Appleby—young Sam—wanted to marry


THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS 89
her—had wanted to for a year or more. Many times
she had refused him, and many times he had re-
turned for another attempt at persuasion. To con-
sent to this would enable her to control the senior
Appleby’s revelations.
It would indeed be a last resort—she wouldn’t
even think of it yet; surely there was some other way!
The poor, tortured child was roused from her
desperate plannings by a cheery voice, calling:
“ Maida—Maida! Here’s me! ”
“Jeffrey!” she cried, springing from the
window-seat, and out to greet him.
“Dear!” he said, as he took her in his arms.
“ Dear, dearer, dearest! What is troubling you?”
“Trouble? Nothing! How can I be troubled
when you’re here?”
“ But ou are! You can’t fool me, on know!
. Y y
Never mind, you can tell me later. I’ve got three
whole days—how’s that? ”
“ Splendid! How did it happen?”
“ Old Bennett went off for a week’s rest—doc-
tor’s orders—and he said, if I did up my chores, nice
and proper, I could take a little vacation myself. Oh,
you peach! You’re twice as beautifuller as ever! "'
A whirlwind embrace followed this speech and


90 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
left Maida, breathless and laughing, while her father
smiled benignly upon the pair.
It was some hours later that, as they sat under
the big sycamore, Jeffrey Allen begged Maida to tell
him her troubles.
“ For I know you’re pretty well broken up over
something,” he declared.
“ How do you know? ” she smiled at him.
“ Why, my girl, I know every shadow that
crosses your dear heart.”
“ Do I wear my heart on my sleeve, then? ”
“ You don’t have to, for me to see it. I recognize
the signs from your face, your manner, your voice—
your whole being is trembling with some fear or
some deeply-rooted grief. So tell me all about it.”
And Maida told. Not the last horrible threat
that Samuel Appleby had told her alone, but the
state of things as Appleby had presented it to Daniel
Wheeler himself.
“ And so you see, Jeff, it’s a deadlock. Father
won’t vote for young Sam—I don’t mean only vote,
but throw all his inﬂuence—and that means a lot—on
Sam’s side. And if he doesn’t, Mr. Appleby won’t
get him pardoned—you knOw we hoped he would
,

this year ’


THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS 91
“ Yes, dear ; it would mean so much to us.”
“Yes, and to dad and mother, too. Well, there’s
no hope of that, unless father throws himself heart
and soul into the Appleby campaign.”
“ And he won’t do that? ”
“ Of course not. He couldn’t, Jeff. He’d have
to subscribe to what he doesn’t believe in—practically
)7

subscribe to a lie. And you know father
“ Yes, and you, too—and myself! None of us
would want him to do that, Maida! ”
“ Doesn’t necessity ever justify a fraud, Jeff?”
The question was put so wistfully that the young
man smiled. '
“ N ixy ! and you know that even better than I do,
dear. Why, Maida, what I love you most for—yes,
even more than your dear, sweet, beauty of face, is
the marvellous beautyof your nature, your character.
Your ﬂawless soul attracted me ﬁrst of all—even as
I saw it shining through your clear, honest eyes i
“ Oh, Jeffrey,” and Maida’s clear eyes ﬁlled with
tears, “ I’m not honest, I’m not true blue! ”
“ Then nobody on this green earth is! Don’t say
such things, dear. I know what you mean, that you
think you want your father to sacriﬁce his principles,
in part, at least, to gain his full pardon thereby.


92 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
See how I read your thoughts! But, you don’t really
think that; you only think you think it. If the thing
came to a focus, you’d be the ﬁrst one to forbid
the slightest deviation from the line ofstrictest truth
and honor!”
“ Oh, Jeff, do you think I would? ”
“Of course I think so—I know it! You are a
strange make-up, Maida. On an impulse, I can imag-
ine you doing something wrong—even something
pretty awful—but with even a little time for thought
you couldn’t do a wrong.”
“ \Vhat! ” Maida was truly surprised; “ I could
jump into any sort of wickedness? ”
“ I didn’t quite put it that way,” Jeff laughed,
“ but—well, you know it’s my theory, that given
opportunity, anybody can yield to temptation.”
“ Nonsense! It’s a poor sort of honor that gives
out at a critical moment!”
“ Not at all. Most people can resist anything-—
except temptation ! Given a strongenough temptation
and a perfect opportunity, and your staunchest, most
conscientious spirit is going to succumb.”
“ I don’t believe that.”
“ You don’t have to—and maybe it isn’t
always true. But it often is. Howsomever, it has


THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS 93
no bearing on the present case. Your father is not
going to lose his head—and though you might do
so ”—he smiled at her—“I can’t see you getting a.
chance! You’re not in on the deal, in any way,
are you? ”
“ No; except that Mr. Appleby asked me to use
all my inﬂuence with father.”
“ Which you’ve done? ”
“ Yes; but it made not the slightest impression.”
“ Of course not. I say, Maid, young Sam isn’t
coming down here, is he?”
“ Not that I know of,” but Maida couldn’t help
her rising color, for she knew what Allen was
thinking.
“Just let him try it, that’s all! Just let him
show his rubicund countenance in these parts—if he
wants trouble! ”
“ Does anybody ever want trouble?” Maida
smiled a little.
“ Why, of course they do! Sometimes they want
it so much that they borrow it! ”
“ I’m not doing that! I’ve had it offered to me—
in full measure, heaped up, pressed down, and run-
ning over.”
“ Poor little girl. Don’t take it so hard, dearest.


94. THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
I’ll have a talk with your father, and we’ll. see how
:matters really stand. I doubt it’s as bad as you fear
——and anyway, if no good results come our way,
things are no worse than they have been for years.
Your father has lived fairly contented and happy.
Let things drift, and in another year or ,two, after
the election is a thing of the past, we can pick up the
pardon question again. By that time you and I will
be—where will we be, Maida? ”
“ I don’t know, Je ”
“ Well, we’ll be together, anyway. You’ll be my

wife, and-if we can’t live in Boston—we can live out
of Boston! And that’s all there is about that! ”
“ You’ll have to come here to live. There’s
enough for us all.”
“ Settle down hereand sponge on your mother!
l see it! But, never you mind, lady fair, something
will happen to smooth out our path. Perhaps this
old tree will take it into its head to go over into
Massachusetts, and so blaze a trail for your father
—and you.”
“ Oh, very likely. But I’ve renewed my vow—-
Jeff; unless father can go into the state, I never will !”
“ All right, sweetheart. Renew your vow when-
ever its time limit expires. I’m going to ﬁx things


THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS 95
so no vows will be needed—except our marriage
vows. Will you take them, dear? ” ’
“ When the time comes, yes.” But Maida did not
smile, and Jeff, watching her closely, concluded there
was yet some point on which she had not enlightened
him. However, he asked no further question, but
bided his time. '
“ Guess I’ll chop down the old tree while I’m
here, and ship it into Massachusetts as ﬁrewood,”
he suggested.
“ Fine idea,” Maida acquiesced, “ but you’d onlyv
have your trouble for your pains. You see, the
stipulation was, ‘ without the intervention of
human hands.’ ”
“All right, we’ll chop it down by machinery,
then.”
“ I wish the tree promise meant anything, but it
doesn’t. It was only made as a proof positive how
impossible was any chance of pardon.”
“ But now a chance of pardon has come.”
“ Yes, but a chance that cannot be taken. You’ll
be here, Jeff, when they come back. Then you can
talk with Mr. Appleby, and maybe, as man to man,
you can convince him—”
“ Convince nothing! Don’t you suppose I’ve.-


96 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
tried every argument I know Of, with that old dun-
derhead? I’ve spent hours with him discussing your
father’s case. I’ve talked myself deaf, dumb and
blind, with no scrap of success. But, I don’t mind
telling you, Maida, that I might have moved the Old
duffer to leniency if it hadn’t been for—you.”
“ Me? ”
“ Yes; you know well enough young Sam’s atti—
tude'toward you. And old Appleby as good as said
if I’d give up my claim on your favor, and
give sonny Sam a chance, there’d be hope for
your father.”
“ H’m. Indeed! You don’t say so! And you
replied?”
“ I didn’t reply much of anything. For if I’d said
what I wanted to say, he would have been quite
justiﬁed in thinking that I was no ﬁt 'mate for a
Christian girl! Let’s don’t talk about it.”
That night Maida went to her room, leaving
Allen to have a long serious talk with her father.
She hoped much from the confab, for Jeff Allen
was a man of ideas, and Of good, sound judgment.
He could see straight, and could advise sensibly and
well. And Maida hoped, too, that something would
happen or some way be devised that the secret told


THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS 97
her by Appleby might be of no moment. Perhaps
there was no heir, save in the old man’s imagination.
Or perhaps it was only someone who would inherit
a portion of the property, leaving enough for their
own support and comfort.
At any rate, she went to bed comforted and
chwred by the knowledge that Jeff was there, and
that if there was anything to be done he would do it.
She had vague misgivings because she had not
told him what Appleby had threatened. But, she
argued, if she decided to suppress that bit of news,
she must not breathe it to anybody—not even Jeff.
So, encouraged at the outlook, and exhausted
by her day of worriment, she slept soundly till well
into the night. ‘
Then she was awakened by a strange sound. It
gave her, at ﬁrst, a strange impression of being on an
ocean steamer. She couldn’t think why, for her half-
awake senses responded only to the vague sense of
familiarity with such a sound.
But wide awake in a moment, she heard more of
it, and realized that it was a bugle to which she lis-
tened—the clear, though not loud, notes of a bugle.
Amazed, she jumped from her bed, and looked out
of a window in the direction of the sound.
7


98 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
She saw nothing, and heard the last faint notes
die away, as she listened.
There was no further sound, and she returned to
bed, and after a time fell asleep again.
She pondered over the occurrence while dressing
next morning, wondering what it meant.
Downstairs she found only Jeffrey in the din-
ing-room.
“Hear anything funny in the night, Maida?”
he asked her.
“Yes; a bugle,” she returned. “ Did you
hear it? ”
“ Of course I did. \Vho plays the thing
around here? ”
“No one, that I know of. Wasn’t it rather
strange?” '
“ Rath—er! I should say so. Made me think Of
the old English castles, where spooks walk the para-
pets and play on bugles or bagpipes or some
such doings.”
._ “ Oh, those silly stories! But this was a real
bugle, played by a real man.”
“ How do you know? ”
“ By the sound.”
“ Spook bugles sound just the same.”


THE BUGLE SOUNDED TAPS 99
“ How do you know? ”
“ How could they be heard if they didn’t? Here’s
your father. Good~morning, Mr. Wheeler. Who’s
your musical neighbor?”
But Daniel W'heeler did not smile. '
“ Go up to your mother, Maida, dear,” he said;
“ she—she isn’t well. Cheer her up all you can.”
“ What’s the trouble? ” Allen asked, solicitously,
as Maida ran from the room. - _
“A strange thing, my boy. Did you hear a
bugle call last night? ”
“ Yes, sir; it sounded ‘taps.’ Is there a camp
near by?”
“ No; nothing of the sort. Now—well, to put it
frankly, there is an old tradition in Mrs. Wheeler’s
family that a phantom bugler, in that very way, an-
nounces an approaching death.”
“ Good Lord! You don’t mean she believes that l”
“ She does, and what can I say to disprove her
belief? We all heard it. Who could have done
such a trick?”
“ I don’t know who, but somebody did. That
bugle was played by a pair of good, strong human
lungs—not by a spirit breath!”
“ It sounded so, but that doesn’t affect Mrs.


100 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Wheeler’s belief. If I could produce the bugler,
and get him to admit it, she might believe him, but
otherwise, she’s sure it was the traditional bugler,
and that earthly days are numbered for some one of
our. little family.”
“ You don’t believe this foolishness, sir? "
“I can’t; my nature rejects the very idea of
the supernatural. Yet, who could or would do it?
There’s no neighbor who would, and I know of no
one round here who knows of the tradition.”
“ Oh, pshaw, it’s the merest casual occurrence.
A Boy Scout, like as not—or a gay young chap re—
turning from a merry party. There are lots of ex-
planations, quite apart from spooks!”
“ I hope you can persuade Mrs. Wheeler of that.
She is nervously ill, and will hear of no rational
explanation for the bugle call.”
“ Beg her to come down to breakfast, do; then
we’ll all jolly her up until she loses her fears.”
But though Allen’s attempt was a brave one and
ably seconded by Mrs. Wheeler’s husband and
daughter, they made not the slightest progress to-
ward relieving her fears or disabusing her mind of
her conviction.


CHAPTER VI
THE OTHER HEIR
A GENERAL air of vague foreboding hung over
the Wheeler household. Mrs. Wheeler tried to rally
from the shock of the inexplicable bugle call, but
though she was bright-and cheerful, it was fully
evident that her manner was forced and her
gayety assumed.
Maida, solicitous for her mother, was more than
ever resolved not to disclose the news of another pos-
sible heir to the estate, though the more she thought
about it, the more she felt sure Samuel Appleby had
spoken the truth.
She decided that he had learned of the other heir,
and that he was none too honest to bewilling to keep
the fact a secret, if, in turn, he could serve his own
ends. She did not need to be told that if she would
look on young Sam with favor, her father would per-
force lend his aid to the campaign. And, in that
case, she knew that the other heir would never be
mentioned again.
And yet, the price—the acceptance of young
Sam, was more than she could pay. To give up
101


102 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Jeff Allen, her own true love, and marry a man of
such a different type and calibre as Sam Appleby was
-—it was too much! And Jeff would have something
to say about that! Yet, she must decide for herself.
If she made the supreme sacriﬁce, it must be done as
if of her own volition. If her parents or her lover
guessed that she was acting under compulsion, they
would put an end to the pro ect.
But could she, even if willing to sacriﬁce herself,
could she ask Sam Appleby to take her? Yet she
knew this would be the easiest thing in the world.
A mere hint to Mr. Appleby that she approved of
his son would bring the younger man down to the
houseat once and matters would then take care
of themselves.
- But could she do it? She looked at Jeff, as he sat
talking to her father, his strong, ﬁne face alight with
the earnestness of their discussion. He was a man
of a thousand—her own Jeffrey. No, she could not
break his heart—she had no right to do that. It
would be a. crime to blot out the joy and happiness
from the eager~young face. '
And then she looked at the other dear face. Her
father, worn and aging, but still in rugged health.
Could she let the inevitable happen, and see him


THE OTHER HEIR - 103
turned out .of the home that he loved—the home that
had so long been his sanctuary, his refuge from the
cold injustice of his fellow-men?
_ And her mother, almost ill from her fright and
foreboding. To add the disaster of poverty and
homelessness—no, she couldn’t do that!
And so poor Maida wondered and worried; her
thoughts going round in a circle, and coming back
to the two men she loved, and knew she must break
one heart or the other.
At one moment her duty to her parents seemed
preeminent. Then, again, she realized a duty to
herself and to the man who loved her. ,
“ I don’t know what to do,” she thought, pite—
ously; “ I’ll wait till Mr. Appleby comes back here,
and then I’ll tell him just how I’m placed. Perhaps
I can appeal to his better nature.”
But Maida Wheeler well knew that however she
might appeal to Samuel Appleby, it would be in vain.
She knew from the very fact that he came to her
home, and made the offers and threats that he did
make, that his mind was made up,land no power
on earth could move him from his decision. He had
a strong case, he probably thought; the offer of full
pardon to Dan Wheeler, and the offer to Maida to


104 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
keep quiet about another heir, would, he doubtless
thought, be sufficient to win his cause.
“ What an awful man he is,” she thought. “I
wish he were dead! I know I oughtn’t to wish that.
but I do. I’d kill him myself if it would help father.
I oughtn’t to say that—and I don’t suppose I really
would do it, but it would simplify matters a lot!‘
And somebody said, ‘ We are all capable of crime—
even the best of us.’ Well, of course I wouldn’t
kill the old man, but he’d better not give me a real
good chance! ”
“ What are you thinking about, little girl? ”
asked Allen, turning to her.
Maida looked at him and then at her father, and
said, deliberately:
“ I was just thinking how I’d like to kill Samuel
Appleby.”
- “ Senior, junior, or both?” laughed Allen, who
thought little of her words, save as a jest.
“ Senior, I meant, but we may as well make it
a wholesale slaughter.”
“ Don’t, Maida,” her father looked grieved.
“ Don’t speak ﬂippantly of such subjects.”
“Well, father, why not be honest? Wouldn’t
you like to kill him?”


THE OTHER HEIR 105
“ No, child—not that.”
“ But you’d be glad if he were dead! There,
you needn’t answer. But if you were absolutely
honest, you’d have to admit it.”
“ I’ll admit it,” said her mother, wearily.
“ Samuel Appleby has spoiled all our lives—is still
spoiling them. He does it for his own selﬁsh inter-
ests. He has ruined the happiness of my husband,
myself, my daughter, and my prospective son-in-law.
Is it any wonder that we should honestly wish he
were dead? It may not sound Christian—but it is an
honest expression of human nature.”
“ It is, Mrs. Wheeler,” and Allen’s face looked
more pained than shocked. “ But, all the same, we
oughtn’t to talk like that.”
“ No, indeed,” agreed Wheeler. “ Please, Maida,
darling, don’t say such things. And, Sara, if you
must say them, say them to me when we are alone.
It’s no sort of talk for these young people’s ears.”
“ Why, I said it before mother did!” Maida
broke out. “ And I mean it! I’m at the end of my
rope. If that man is to hound us and torture us all
our lives, I can’t help wishing him dead.”
“ There, there, daughter, please don’t.”
“ I won’t, dad. I’ll never say it again. But I


106 THE- MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
put myself on record, and if the rest of you were
honest, you’d do the same thing!”
“That we’d like to kill him?” asked Allen,
smiling at the idea.
“I didn’t say that—I said we wish him dead.
If a nice, convenient stroke of lightning came his
I,

way, or
“ Maida, hush!” her father spoke stemly; “I
won’t allow such talk! It isn’t like you, my child, and
it isn’t ”
“ Isn’t good form, I s’pose! ” she interrupted.
“ Well, I’ll let up, dads, and I am a little ashamed of
myself. Mother, maybe the phantom bugler was
’ announcing the death of old Appleby! ”
“ Hush, Maida! What has got into you?”
’1


“I’m incorrigible, I guess-
“You are!” and Allen smiled fondly at. her.
- “Come out for a walk in the sunshine with me,
and get these awful thoughts out of your brain.”
“ I know I’m a criminal,” said Maida, as they
walked down a garden path; “but I can’t help it.
I’ve more to bear than you know of, Jeff, and you
must make allowance.”
“I do, sweetheart. And I know how you’re
troubled, and all that, but don’t say such dreadful
things. I know you don’t mean them.”


THE OTHER HEIR 107
“ No, I don’t—at least, I don’t think I do. But
I won’t say them any more. I think I lost my
head ”
“ Forget it. You’re upset and nervous and your

mother’sworry reﬂects itself on you. IS there really
a bugler tradition?”
“ Not over here. There was one connected with
mother’s family long ago, in England, I believe. Of
course, it was just one of those old spook yarns that
most old houses have over there. But mother always
remembered it. She has told everybody who ever
visited here about it, and I think she always expected
to hear the thing. Queer, though, wasn’t it? ”
“ Not very. It"sexplainable by natural means, of
course. Probably we’ll never know who it was, but
it was no phantom, be sure of that.”
“ Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, except that it has
upset mother so dreadfully. But she’ll get over it—
if nothing happens.” I
“ Nothing will happen—if by that you mean a
death in the family. More likely a marriage will
take place! ”
“ Not ours, Jeff. I think that bugler sounded the
death—knell of our hopes.”
“ Maida! What is the matter with you? Why
are you talking like that? I know you’ve something


108 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
on your min-d that you haven’t told me yet. Some-
thing pretty serious, for it makes you say the strang-
est things! Tell me, darling, won’t you?”
“I can’t, Jeff. I mean, there isn’t anything.
Wait till those people come back again. You’ll be
here, won’t you? They’re coming to-morrow.”
“You bet I will! I’ll see what I can do with
old curmudgeon. You know I’m argumentative.”
“ That won’t do any good with Appleby. What
he wants is help from dad. If he doesn’t get that,
he’ll punish us all.”
“ And he can’t get that, for your dad won’t give
it. So it looks as if we must all take our punish-
ment. Well, we’re prepared.”
“You wouldn’t speak so lightly if you knew
everything! ” -
“That’s why I ask you to tell me everything.
Do, Maida, I’m sure I can help you.”
“ Wait till they come,” was all Maida would say
in response to his repeated requests.
And at last they came.
Smiling and hearty, Samuel Appleby reentered
the Wheeler home, apparently as self-assured and
hopeful as when he left it.
Keefe was courteous and polite as always and


THE OTHER H-EIR 109
Genevieve Lane was prettier than ever by reason
of some new Boston-bought clothes.
Allen was introduced to the newcomers and sized
up by one glance of Samuel Appleby’s keen eyes.
Privately he decided that this young man was a very
formidable rival of his son. But he greeted Allen
with great cordiality, which Jeff thought it best to re-
turn, although he felt an instinctive dislike for the
man’s personality.
“ Come along with me, Maida,” and with daring
familiarity, Genevieve put her hand through Maida’s
arm and drew her toward the stairs. “I have the
same room, I s’pose,” she babbled on; “ I’ve lots of
new things I want to show you. And,” she added
as they entered the room, and she closed the door,
“ I want a talkfest with you before the others begin.”
“ What about? " asked Maida, feeling the subject
would be one of importance.
“ Well, it’s just this. And don’t be too shocked
if I speak right out in meetin’. I’ve determined to
marry into this bunch that I’m working for.”
. “ Have you? ” laughed Maida. “ Are they
equally determined? ”
“I’m not joking—I’m in dead earnest. A poor
girl has got to do the best she can for herself in this


110 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
cold world. Well, I’m going to corral one of the
three: old man Appleby, young man Appleby, or
Curt Keefe.”
“Which one, for choice?” Maida still spoke
lightly.
"‘ You don’t think I’m in earnest, but I am. Well,
I’d rather have young Sam. Next, I’d choose his
father; and, lastly, I’m pretty sure I could nail
Curtie Keefe.”
Maida couldn’t help her disapproval showing in
her face, but she said: “It isn’t just the way I’d
go about selecting 'a husband, but if it’s your way,
all right. Can I help you?”
“Doyou mean that?”
“' Why, yes, if I can do anything practical.”
“ Oh, you can! It’s only to keep off the grass,
regarding young Sam.” ' i
“ You mean not to try to charm him myself?”
' “Just about that. And’I’ll tell you why I say
this. It seems Old Appleby has about made up his
mind that “you’re the right and proper mate for
young Appleby. Oh, you needn’t draw yourself -up
in that haughty fashion—he’s good enough for
you, Miss!” I _ _
“ I didn’t‘say he wasn’t,” and Maida laughed in
spite of hers‘elf at Genevieve’s manner. “ But, truly,


THE OTHER HEIR 111
I don’t want him. You see I’m engaged to
Mr. Allen.”
“ I know it, but that cuts no ice with Pa Appleby.
He plans to oust Mr. Allen and put his son in
his place.”
“Oh, he does, does he?” Maida’s heart sank,
for she had anticipated something like this. “ Am I
to be consulted? ”
“ Now, look here, Maida Wheeler. You needn’t
take that attitude, for it won’t get you anywhere.
You don’t know Mr. Appleby as I do. What he says
goes—goes, understand? ” ’
Maida went white. “ But such a thing as you
speak of won’t go! ” she exclaimed.
“ I’m not sure it won’t, if he so ordains it,” Miss
Lane said, gravely. “ But I just wanted your assur-
ance that you don’t hanker after Sammy-boy, so I
can go ahead and annex him myself.”
“ In deﬁance of Mr. Appleby’s intents? ”‘
“ I may be able to circumvent him. I’m some
little schemer myself. And he may die.”
“ What? ”
“ Yep. He has an unsatisfactory heart, and it
may go back on him at any minute.”
“ What a thing to bank on! ”
“ It may happen all the same. But I’ve other


i 112 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
irons in the ﬁre. Run along, now; I’ve work to do.
You’re a dear girl, Maida, and the time may come
when I can help you.”
The round, rosy-checked face looked very serious,
and Maida said, gratefully: “I may be very glad
of such help, Genevieve.”
Then she went away.
Samuel Appleby was lying in wait for her.
“ Here you are, my girl,” he said, as she came
downstairs. “ Come for a ramble with me,
won’t you? ”
And, knowing that the encounter was inevitable,
Maida went.
Appleby wasted no time in preliminaries.
“ I’ve got to go home to-morrow morning,” he
said. “ I’ve got to have this matter of your father’s
help in the campaign settled before I go.”
“ I thought it was settled,” returned Maida,
calmly. “ You know he will never give you the help
you ask. And oh, please, Mr. Appleby, won’t you
give up the question? You have ruined my father’s
life—all our lives; won’t you cease bothering him,
and, whether you let him get his full pardon or not,
won’t you stop trying to coerce his will? ”
“ No; I will not. You are very pleading and


THE OTHER HEIR 113
persuasive, my girl, but I have my own ax to grind.
Now, here’s a proposition. If you—I’ll speak plainly
—if you will consent to marry my son, I’ll get
your father’s full pardon, and I’ll not ask for his
campaign support.”
Maida gasped. All her troubles removed at once
—but at such a price! She thought of Allen, and a
great wave of love surged over her.
“Oh, I can’t—I can’t,” she moaned. “What
are you, Mr. Appleby? I love my chosen mate, my
ﬁancé, Jeffrey Allen. Would you ask me to give
him up and marry your son, whom I esteem highly,
but do not love? ”
“ Certainly; I ask just that. You are free to say
yes or no! ” '
“ Then, I say no. There must be some other
way! Give me some other chance, even though it
be a harder one! ”
“ All right, I will.” Mr. Appleby’s face was
hard now, his lips set in a straight line; he was about
to play his last card. “ All right, I will. Here it is.
The other heir, of whom I’spoke to you the other
day, is Curtis Keefe.”
“ Mr. Keefe! ”
“ Yes—but wait—he doesn’t know it. I hit upon
8


114 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
a clue in his chance reference to his mother’s family,
and unknown to him I investigated genealogies and
all that, and it is positive, he is the heir to all this
estate, and not your mother.”
“ You’re sure? ”
“ Yes, absolutely certain. But, remember, he
doesn’t know it. He has no idea of such a thing.
Now, if you’ll marry Sam, Keefe shall never know.
i ‘ I’ll burn all the papers that I have in evidence. You
and I will forget the secret, and your father and
mother can rest in undisturbed possession here for
the rest of their lives.”
“ And you wouldn’t insist on father’s campaign
work?”
“ If you marry my son, I rather think your
' father will lend his aid—at least in some few matters,
without urging. But he shall not be urged beyond
his wishes, rest assured of that. In a word, Maida,
all that you want or desire shall be yours except your
choice of a husband. And I’ll wager that inside of a
year, you’ll be wondering what you ever saw in
young Allen, and rejoicing that you are the wife of
the governor instead! ”
“I can’t do it—oh, I can’t! And, then, too,
there’s Mr. Keefe—and the heirship! ”


THE OTHER HEIR 115
“ Mr. Keefe and the airship! ” exclaimed Curtis
Keefe himself, as he came round the corner and met
them face to face. “ Am I to go up in an airship?
And when? ”
Appleby ﬂashed a quick glance at Maida, which
she rightly interpreted to mean to let Keefe rest
unenlightened as to his error.
“ You’re not the Mr. Keefe we meant,” said
Appleby, smiling at his secretary. “ There are
others.”
And then Appleby walked away, feeling his best
plan was to let Maida think things over.
“ What Keefe is going up in an airship?” Curt
insisted, his curiosity aroused.
“I don’t know,” said Maida, listlessly. “ Mr.
Appleby was telling me some airship yarn. I didn’t
half listen. I—I can’t bear that man! ”
“ I can’t blame you for that, Miss Wheeler. But
we’re going away to-mo-rrow, and he’ll be out of
your way.”
“ No; he has me in a trap. He has arranged
it so—oh, what am I saying! ”
“ Don’t go on, if you feel you might regret it.
Of course, as Mr. Appleby’s conﬁdential secretary, I
know most of his affairs. May I say that I’m very


116 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
sorry for you, andmay I offer my help, if you can
use me in any way? ”
“ How kind you are, Mr. Keefe. But if you
know the details of the matter, you know that I am
in a fearful dilemma. Oh, if only that man were
out of existence! ” '
“ Oh, Miss Wheeler,” and Keefe looked undis-
guisedly shocked.
“I don’t mean anything wrong,” Maida’s eyes
were piteous, “but I don’t know what to do! I’ve
no one to conﬁde in—no way to turn for help—
9!
for advice '

“\Vhy, Miss Wheeler, you have parent's,
))
friends

“ No one that I can speak to! Forgive me, Mr.
Keefe, but I am nearly out of my mind. Forgive
me, if I ask you to leave me—will you? ” _
“Of course, you poor child! I ought to have
sensed that I was intruding!”
With a courteous bow, he walked away, leaving
Maida alone on the seat beneath the old sycamore.
She thought long and deeply. She seemed to
grow older and more matured of judgment as she
dealt with the big questions in her mind.
After a long time she came to her decision. Torn


THE OTHER HEIR 117
and wracked with emotions, she bravely faced the
many-sided situation, and made up her mind. Then
she got up and walked into the house.
That afternoon, about ﬁve o’clock, Appleby and
Wheeler sat in the latter’s den, talking over the same
old subject. Maida, hidden in the window-seat, was
listening. They did not know she was there, but they
would not have cared. They talked of nothing she
did not already know.
Appleby grew angry and Wheeler grew angry.
I The talk was coming to a climax, both men were
holding on to their tempers, but it was clear one
or the other must give way soon,
Jeffrey Allen, about to go in search of Maida, saw
a wisp of smoke curling from the garage, which from
his seat on the north veranda was in plain view.
He ran toward the smoke, shouting “ Fire!” as
he ran, and in a few minutes the garage was ablaze.
The servants gathered about, Mrs. Wheeler looked
from her bedroom window, and Keefe joined Allen
in attempts to subdue the flames.
And with the efficient help of two chauffeurs and
other willing workers the ﬁre was soon reduced to a
smouldering heap of ashes.
Allen ran, then, to the den, to tell them there that
the danger was past.


118 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
He entered to see Samuel Appleby dead in his
chair, with a bullet through his heart. Daniel
\Vheeler stood beside him, gazing distractedly at the
dead man. Maida, white and trembling, was half
hidden as she stood just inside the curtains of
the window.
Not realizing that there was no hope of life,
Allen shouted for help, and tore open Appleby’s
coat to feel his heart.
“ He’s quite‘dead,” he said, in an awe-stricken
tone. “ But, we must get a doctor at once! ”
“ I’ll telephone,” spoke up Genevieve’s quiet
voice, and with her usual efﬁciency, she found the
number and called the doctor.
“Now the police?” she went on, as if such
matters belonged to her province.
“ Certainly,” said Curtis Keefe, who stood by his
late employer, taking charge, by common consent.
“ Who killed him? ” said Genevieve, in a hushed
tone, as she left the telephone.
All looked from one to another, but nobody
replied.
Mrs. Wheeler came to the doorway.
“ I knew it!” she cried; “ the phantom bugler! ”
“ But the phantom bugler didn’t kill him,” said
Genevieve, “ and we must ﬁnd out who did!”


CHAPTER VII
INQUIRIES
LATE the same evening the Wheeler family and‘.
their guests were gathered in the living-room. Much
had been done in the past few hours. The family/
doctor had been there, the medical examiner had been
called and had given his report, and the police had
come and were still present.
Samuel Appleby, junior—though no longer to
be called by that designation—was expected at
any moment.
Two detectives were there, but one, Hallen by
name, said almost nothing, seeming content to lis-
ten, while his colleague conducted the questioning of
the household.
Burdon, the talkative one, was a quick-thinking,
clear-headed chap, decided of manner and short
of speech.
“ Now, look here,” he was saying, “ this was an
inside job, of course. Might have been one of the
servants, or might have been any of you folks. How
many of you are ready to help me in my investiga-
tions by telling all you know?”
119


120 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“I thought we had to do that, whether we’re
ready to or not,” spoke up Genevieve, who was not
at all abashed by the presence of the authorities.
“ Of course, we’ll all tell all we know—we want to
ﬁnd the murderer just as much as you do.”
Keefe looked at her with a slight frown of
reproof, but said nothing. The others paid no atten-
tion to the girl’s rather forward speech.
In fact, everybody seemed dazed and dumb. The
thing was so sudden and so awful—the possibilities
so many and so terrible—that each was aghast-at
the situation.
The three Wheelers said nothing. Now and then
they looked at one another, but quickly looked away,
and preserved their unbroken silence.
Jeffrey Allen became the spokesman for them.
It seemed inevitable—for some one must answer the
ﬁrst leading questions; and though Curtis Keefe
and Miss Lane were in Appleby’s employ, the detec-
tive seemed more concerned with theWheeler family.
“ Bad blood, wasn’t there, between Mr. Appleby
and Mr. Wheeler? ” Burdon inquired.
“They had not been friends for years,” Allen
replied, straightforwardly, for he felt sure there was
nothing to be gained by misrepresentation.


INQUIRIES ' 121
“ Huh! What was the trouble, Mr. Wheeler?”
Daniel Wheeler gave a start. Then, pulling him-
self together, he answered slowly: “ The trouble was
that Mr. Appleby and myself belonged to different
political parties, and when I opposed his election as
governor, he resented it, and a mutual enmity fol-
lowed which lasted ever since.”
“ Did you kill Mr. Appleby? ”
Wheeler looked at his questioner steadily, and
replied: “ I have nothing to say.”
“ That’s all right, you don’t have to incriminate
yourself.”
“ He didn’t kill him!” cried Maida, unable to
keep still. “I was there, in the room—I could see
that he didn’t kill him!”
“ Who did then?” and the detective turned
to her. '
“ I—I don’t know. I didn’t see who did it.”
“ Are you sure, Miss? Better tell the truth.” '
“ I tell you I didn’t see—I didn’t see anything!
I had heard an alarm of ﬁre, and I was wondering
where it was.”
“ You didn’t get up and go to ﬁnd out? ”'
“ No—no, I stayed where I was.”
“ Where were you? ”


122 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ In the window-seat—in the den.”
“ Meaning the room where the shooting
occurred?”
“ Yes. My father’s study.”
“And from where you sat, you could see the
whole affair? ”
“I might have—if I had looked—but I didn’t.
I was reading.”
“ Thought you were wondering about the ﬁre?”
“Yes,” Maida was quite composed now. “I
raised my eyes from my book when I heard the
ﬁre excitement.”
“ What sort of excitement?”
“ I heard people shouting, and I heard men run-
ning. I was just about to go out toward the north

veranda, where the sounds came from, when I
I can’t go on! ” and Maida broke down'and wept.
“ You must tell your story—maybe it’d be easier
now than later. Can’t you go on, Miss Wheeler?”
“ There’s little to tell. I saw Mr. Appleby fall
over sideways ”
“ Didn’t you hear the shot? ”
“ No—yes—I don’t know.” Maida looked at her
father, as if to gain help from his expression, but his

face showed only agonized concern for her.


INQUIRIES 123
“ Dear child,” he said, “ tell the truth. Tell
just what you saw—or heard.”
“ I didn’t hear anything—I mean the noise from
the people running to the ﬁre so distracted my atten-
tion, I heard no shot or any sound in the room. I

just saw Mr. Appleby fall over ”
“You’re not giving us a straight story, Miss
Wheeler,” said the detective, bluntly. “ Seems to me
you’d better begin all over.”
“ Seems to me you’d better cease questioning
Miss Wheeler,” said Curtis Keefe, looking sympa-
thetically at Maida; “ she’s just about all in, and I
think she’s entitled to some consideration.”
“ H’m. Pretty hard to ﬁnd the right one to ques-
tion. Mrs. Wheeler, now—I’d rather not trouble her
too muc .” I
“ Talk to me,” said Allen. “I can tell you the
facts, and you can draw your deductions afterward.”
“ Me, too,” said Keefe. “ Ask us the hard ques-
tions, and then when you need to, inquire of the
Wheelers. Remember, they’re under great ner-
vous strain.”
“ Well, then,” Burdon seemed willing to take the
advice, “ you start in, Mr. Keefe. You’re Mr.
Appleby’s secretary, I believe? ”


124 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Yes; we were on our way back to his home in
Stockﬁeld—we expected to go there to—morrow.”
“ You got any theory of the shooting?”
“ I’ve nothing to found a theory on. I was out
at the garage helping to put out a small ﬁre that
had started there.”
“ How’d it start?”
“ I don’t know. In the excitement that followed,
I never thought to inquire.”
“ Tell your story of the excitement.”
“I was at the garage with Mr. Allen, and two
chauffeurs—the Wheelers’ man and Mr. Appleby’s
man. Together, and with the help of a gardener or
two, we put the ﬁre out. Then Mr. Allen said:
‘ Let’s go to the house and tell them there’s no dan—
ger. They may be worried.’ Mr._Allen started Off
and I followed. He preceded me into the den "
“ Then you tell what you saw there, Mr. Allen.”

“I saw, ﬁrst of all,” began Jeffrey, “ the ﬁgure
of Mr. Appleby sitting in a chair, near the middle of
the room. His head hung forward limply, and his
whole attitude was unnatural. The thought ﬂashed
through my mind that he had had a stroke Of some
sort, and I went to him—and I saw he was dead.”
“ You knew that at once? ”
“ I judged so, from the look on his face and the


INQUIRIES 125
helpless attitude. Then I felt for his heart and found
it was still.”
“ You a doctor? ”
“ N 0; but I’ve had enough experience to know
when a man is dead.”
“ All right. What was Mr. Wheeler doing? ”
“ Nothing. He stood on the other side of the
room, gazing at his old friend.”
“ And Miss \Vheeler?”
“ She, too, was looking at the scene. She stood
in the bay window.” ’
“ I see. Now, Mr. Keefe, I believe you followed
close on Mr. Allen’s heels. Did you see the place—
much as he has described it? ” v
“ Yes; ” Keefe looked thoughtful. “ Yes, I think
I can corroborate every word of his description.”
“ All right. Now, Miss Lane, where were you? ”
“ I was at the ﬁre. I followed the two men in,
and I saw the same situation they have told you of.”
Genevieve’s quiet, composed air was a relief after
the somewhat excited utterances of the others.
“ What did you do? ”
“ I am accustomed to wait on Mr. Appleby, and
it seemed quite within my province that I should tele-
phone for help for him. I called the doctor—and
then I called the police station.”


126 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“You don’t think you took a great deal on
yourself? ” '
Genevieve stared at him. “ I do not think so. I
only think that I did my duty as I saw it, and in simi-
lar circumstances I should do the same again.”
At this point the other detective was heard from.
“I would like to ask,” Hallen said, “ what Mrs.
\Vheeler meant by crying out that it was the work
of a ‘ phantom burglar ’? ”
“ Not burglar—bugler,” said Mrs. Wheeler, sud-
denly alert.
“ Bugler! ” Hallen stared. “ Please explain,
ma’am.”
“ There is a tradition in my family,” Mrs.
Wheeler said, in a slow, sad voice, “that when a
member of the family is about to die, a phantom
bugler makes an appearance and sounds ‘ taps ’ on
his bugle. This phenomenon occurred last night.”
“Oh, no! - Spooks! But Mr. Appleby is not a
member of your family.”
“ No; but he was under our roof. And so I
know the warning was meant for him.”
“Well, well, we can’t waste time on such rub-
bis ,” interposed Burdon, “the bugle call had noth-
ing to do with the case.”
“How do you explain it, then?” asked Mrs.


INQUIRIES 127
'Wheeler. “ We all heard it, and there’s, no bugler
about here.”
“ Cut it out,” ordered Burdon. “ Take up the
bugler business some other time, if you like—but we
must get down to brass tacks now.”
His proceedings were interrupted, however, by
the arrival of young Samuel Appleby.
The big man came in and a sudden hush fell upon
the group.
Daniel Wheeler rose—and put out a tentative
hand, then half withdrew it as if he feared it would
not be accepted.
Hallen watched this closely. He strongly sus-
pected \Nheeler was the murderer, but he had no
intention of getting himself in bad by jumping at
the conclusion. '
However, Appleby grasped the hand of his host
as if he had no reason for not doing so.
“ I’m sorry, sir, you should have had this tragedy
beneath your roof,” he said.
Hallen listened curiously. It was strange he
should adopt an apologetic tone, as if Wheeler
had been imposed upon.
“ Our sorrow is all for you, Sam,” Dan W'heeler
returned, and then as Appleby passed on to greet


128 THE MYSTERY ‘OF THE SYCAMORE
Maida and her mother, \Vheeler sank back in his
chair and was again 10st in thought. I
The whole scene was one of constraint. Appleby
merely nodded to Genevieve, and spoke a few words
to Keefe, and then asked to see his father.
On his return to the living—room, he had a slightly
different air. He was a little more dictatorial, more
ready to advise what to do.
“ The circumstances are distressing,” he said,
“ and I know, Mr. Wheeler, you will agree with me
that we should take my father back to his home as
soon as possible,
“ That will be done to—morrow morning—as soon
as the necessary formalities can be attended to. Now,
anything I can do for you people, must be‘
done to-night.”
“ You can do a lot,” said Burdon. “ You can
help us pick out the murderer—for, I take it, you
want justice done? ”
“ Yes——‘yes, of course.” Appleby looked sur-
prised. “ Of course I want this deed avenged. But
I can’t help in the matter. I understand you suspect
some one of the—the household. Now, I shall never
be willing to accuse any one of this deed. If it can be
proved the work of an outsider—a burglar or high-


INQUIRIES 129
wayman—or intruder of any sort, I am ready to
prosecute—but if suspicion rests on—on anyone I
know—I shall keep out of it.”
“ You can’t do that, Mr. Appleby,” said Hallen;
“ you’ve got to tell all you know.”
“ But I don’t know anything! I wasn’t here! ”
“ You know about motives,” Hallen said, dog-
gedly. “Tell us now, who bore your father any
ill-will, and also had opportunity to do the shooting?”
“I shan’t pretend I don’t know what you’re
driving at,” and Appleby spoke sternly, “but I’ve no
idea that Mr. Daniel Wheeler did this deed. I know
he and my father were not on friendly terms, but
you need more evidence than that to accuse a man
of murder.”
“ We’ll look after the evidence,” Hallen assured
him. “All you need tell about is the enmity be-
tween the two men.”
“ An enmity of ﬁfteen years’ standing,” Appleby
said, slowly, “ is not apt to break out in sudden ﬂame
of crime. I am not a judge nor am I a detective,
but until Mr. Wheeler himself confesses to the deed,
I shall never believe he shot my father.”
Wheeler looked at the speaker in a sort of
dumb wonder.
9 .


130 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Maida gazed at him with eyes full of thankful-
ness, and the others were deeply impressed by the
just, even noble. attitude of the son of the victim
of the tragedy.
But Hallen mused over this thing. He wondered
why Appleby took such an unusual stand, and de-
cided there was something back of it about which
he knew nothing as yet. And be determined to
ﬁnd out. .
“ We can get in touch with you at any time, Mr.
Appleby? ” he asked.
“Oh, yes, of course. After a few days—after
my father’s funeral, I will be at your disposal. But
as I’ve said, I know nothing that would be of any
use as evidence. Do you need to keep Mr. Keefe
and Miss Lane for any reason?”
“\Vhy, I don’t think so,” the detective said.
“Not longer than to-morrow, anyhow. I’ll take
their depositions, but they have little testimony to
give. However, you’re none of you very far away.”
“ No; you can always get us at Stockﬁeld. Mr.
Keefe will probably be willing to stay on and settle
up my father’s affairs, and I know we shall be
glad of Miss Lane’s services for a time.” Appleby
glanced at the two as he spoke, and they nodded.
“Well, we’re going to stay right here,” and


INQUIRIES 131
Burdon spoke decidedly. “ Whatever the truth of
the matter may be, it’s clear to be seen that suspicion
must naturally point toward the Wheeler family, or
some intruder. Though how an intruder could get
in the room, unseen by either Mr. Wheeler or his
daughter, is pretty inexplicable. But those things
we’re here to ﬁnd out. And we’ll do it, Mr.
Appleby. I’m taking it for granted you want the
criminal found? ”
“ Oh—I say, Mr.—er—Burdon, have a little com-
mon decency! Don’t come at me with questions of
that sort, when I’m just about knocked out' with this
whole fearful occurrence! Have a heart, man, give
me time to realize my loss, before you talk to me
of avenging it!”
“ That’s right,” said Curt Keefe. “ I think Mr.
Appleby deserves more consideration. Suppose we
excuse him for the night.”
Somewhat reluctantly the detective was brought
to consent, and then Daniel Wheeler asked that he
and his wife and daughter also be excused from
further grilling that night. '
“ W e’re not going to run away,” he said, patheti-
cally. “ VVe’ll meet you in the morning, Mr. Burdon,
but please realize our stunned condition at present.”


132 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ My mother must be excused,” Maida put in.
“I am sure she can stand no more,” and with a
solicitous care, she assisted Mrs. Wheeler to rise
from her chair.
“ Yes, I am ill,” the elder woman said, and so
white and weak did she look that no one could doubt
her word.
The three Wheelers went to their room, and
Genevieve Lane went off with them, leaving Allen
and Keefe, with Sam Appleby, to face the two detec-
tives’ ﬁre of questions.
“You vamoose, too, Sam,” Keefe advised.
“ There’s no use in your staying here and listening
to harrowing details. Mr. Allen and I will have a
talk with the detectives, and you can talk to-morrow
morning, if you wish.”
“ All right,” and Appleby rose. “ But, look here,
Keefe. I loved and respected my father, and I
revere his memory—and, yes, I want justice done-—
of course, but, all the same, if Wheeler shot dad,
I don’t want that poor old chap 'prosecuted. You
know, I never fully sympathized with father’s treat-
ment of him, and I’d like to make amends to Wheeler
by giving him the beneﬁt of the doubt—if it can
be done.”


INQUIRIES 133
“It can’t be done!” declared Burdon, unwilling
to agree to this heresy. “ The law can’t be set aside
by personal sympathy, Mr. Appleby! ”
“Well, I only said, if it can be,” and the man
wearily turned and left the room.
“ Now, then,” said Keefe, “let’s talk this thing
out. I know your position, Allen, and I’m sorry for
you. And I want to say, right now, if I can help in
any way, I will. I like the Wheelers, and I must
say I subscribe to the ideas of Sam Appleby. But
all that’s up to the detectives. I’ve got to go away
to-morrow, so I’m going to ask you, Mr. Burdon, to
get through with me to—night. I’ve lots to do at the
other end of the route, and I must get busy. But I
do want to help here, too. So, at any rate, ﬁre your
questions at me—that is, if you know what you want
to as .”
“ I’ll ask one, right off, Mr. Keefe,” and Hallen
spoke mildly but straightforwardly. “ Can you give
me any fact or suggest to me any theory that points
toward any one but Mr. Daniel Wheeler as the
murderer of Samuel Appleby? ” ’
Curtis Keefe was dismayed. What could he
reply to this very deﬁnite question? A negative an-
t yes,”
‘
swer implicated Wheeler at once—while a


184 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
would necessitate the disclosure of another suspect.
And Keefe was not blind to the fact that Hallen’s
eyes had strayed more than once toward Maida
Wheeler with a curious glance.
Quickly making up his mind, Keefe returned:
“ No fact, but a theory based on my disbelief in
Mr. Wheeler’s guilt, and implying the intrusion of
some murderous-minded person.”
“ Meaning some marauder? ” Hallen looked
disdainful.
“ Some intruder,” Keefe said. “ I don’t know
who, or for what reason, but I don’t think it fair
to accuse Mr. Wheeler without investigating every
possible alternative.”
“ There are several alternatives,” Burdon de-
clared; “I may as well say right out, that I’ve no
more deﬁnite suspicion of Mr. Wheeler than I have
of Mrs. Wheeler or Miss Wheeler.”
“ \Vhat! ” and Jeffrey Allen looked almost mur-
derous himself.
“ Don’t get excited, sir. It’s my business to sus-
pect. Suspicion is not accusation. You must admit
all three of the Wheeler family had a motive. That
is, they would, one and all, have been glad to be re-
leased from the thrall in which Mr. Appleby held


INQUIRIES 135
them. And no one else present had a motive! I
might suspect you, Mr. Allen, but that you were at
the ﬁre at the time, according to the direct testimony
of Mr. Keefe.”
’ “ Oh, yes, we were at the ﬁre, all right,” Allen
agreed, “ and I’d knock you down for saying to me
what you did, only you are justiﬁed. I would far
rather be suspected of the murder of Mr. Appleby
than to have any of the Wheelers suspected. But
owing to Keefe’s being an eye-witness of me at the
time, I can’t falsify about it. However, you may
set it right down that none of the three Wheelers
did do it, and I’ll prove it!”
“ G0 to it, Allen,” Keefe cried. “ I’ll help.”
“ You’re two loyal friends of the Wheeler fam-
ily,” said Hallen in his quiet way, “ but you can’t
put anything over. There’s no way out. I know
all about the governor’s pardon and all that. I
know the feud between the two men was beyond all
hope of patching up. And I know that to-night had
brought about a climax that had to result in tragedy.
If Wheeler hadn’t killed Appleby—Appleby would
have killed Wheeler.”
“ Self-defence? ” asked Allen.
“ No, sir, not that. But one or the other had to


136 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
be out of the running. I know the whole story, and
I know what men will do in a political crisis that they
wouldn’t dream of at any other time. Wheeler’s the
guilty party—unless—well, unless that daughter of
his—”
“ Hush! ” cried Allen. “ I won’t stand for it! ”
“ I only meant that the girl’s great love and
loyalty to her father might have made her lose
her head ”
“ No ; she didn’t do it,” said Allen, more quietly.
“ Oh, I say, man, let’s try to ﬁnd this intruder that
Mr. Keefe has ”
“ Has invented! ” put in Burdon. “ No, gentle-


men, they ain’t no such animile! Now, you tell me
over again, while I take it down, just what you two
saw when you came to the door of that den, as they
call it.”
And so Allen and Keefe reluctantly, but truth-
fully, again detailed the scene that met their eyes as
they returned from the ﬁre they had put out.
“ The case is only too plain,” declaredBurdon, as
he snapped a rubber band over his notebook.
“ Sorry, gentlemen, but your story leaves no loop-
hole for any other suspect than one of the three
Wheelers. Good-night.”


CHAPTER VIII
CONFESSION
BEFORE Sam Appleby left the next morning, he
conﬁded to Keefe that he had little if any faith in the
detective prowess of the two men investigating
the case.
“ \Vhen I come back,” he said, “I may bring a
real detective, and—I may not. I want to think this
thing over ﬁrst—and, though I may be a queer
Dick, I’m not sure I want the slayer of my
father found.”
I“ I see,” and Keefe nodded his head under-
standingly.
But Jeffrey Allen demurred. “ You say that, Mr.
Appleby, because you think one of the l/Vheeler
family is the guilty party. But I know better. I
7)

know them so well
“ Not as well asI do,” interrupted Appleby, “ and
neither do you know all the points of the feud that
has festered for so many years. If you’ll take my
advice, Mr. Allen, you’ll delay action until my return,
at least.”
137


138 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ The detectives won’t do that,” objected Jeffrey.
“ The detectives will run round in circles and get
nowhere,” scoffed Appleby. “ I shall be back as soon
as possible, and I don’t mind telling you now that
there will be no election campaign for me.”
“ What! ” exclaimed Curtis Keefe. “ You’re out
of the running?”
“ Positively! I may take it up again some other
year, but this campaign will not include my name.”
“ My, gracious! ” exclaimed Genevieve, who
knew a great deal about current politics. “ Who’ll
take your place? ”
“ A dark horse, likely,” returned Appleby, speak-
ing in an absorbed, preoccupied manner, as if caring
little who fell heir to his candidacy.
“ I don’t agree with you, Mr. Appleby,” spoke up
Jeff Allen, “ as to the inefficiency of the two men on
this case. Seems to me they’re doing all they can,
and I can’t help thinking they may get at the truth.”
“ All right, if they get at the truth, but it’s my
opinion that the truth of this matter is not going to be
so easily discovered, and those two bunglers may do
a great deal of harm. Good-bye, Maida, keep up a
good heart, my girl.”
The group on the veranda said good-bye to Sam


CONFESSION 139
Appleby, and he turned back as he stepped into the
car to say:
“ I’ll be back as soon as the funeral is over, and
until then, be careful what you say—all of you.”
He looked seriously at Maida, but his glance]
turned toward the den where Mr. Wheeler sat
in solitude.
“ I heard him,” stormed Burdon, as the car drove
' away, and the detective came around the corner of
the veranda. “I heard what \he said about me and
Hallen. Well, we’ll show him! Of course, the
reason he talks like that ”
“ Don’t tell us the reason just now,” interrupted

Keefe. “ We men will have a. little session of our
own, without the ladies present. There’s no call
for their participation in our talk.”
“ That’s right,” said Allen. “ Maida, you and
Miss Lane run away, and we’ll go to the den for
a chat.” ‘
“ No, not there,” objected Burdon. “ Come over
and sit under the big sycamore.”
And so, beneath the historic tree, the three men
sat down for a serious talk. Hallen soon joined
them, but he said little.
“I’m leaving myself, soon after noon,” said


140 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Keefe. “ I’ll be back in a day or two, but there are
matters of importance connected with Mr. Appleby’s
estate that must be looked after.”
“I should think there must be! ” exclaimed
Burdon. “I don’t see how you can leave to come
back very soon.”
Keefe reddened slightly, for the real reason for
his intended return was centred in Maida Wheeler’s
charm, to which he had incontinently succumbed.
He knew Allen was her suitor, but his nature was
such that he believed in his own powers of persuasion
to induce the girl to transfer her affections to his
more desirable self.
But he only looked thoughtfully at Burdon and
said: “ There are matters here, also, that require
attention in Mr. Appleby’s interests.”
“ Well,” Burdon went on, “ as to the murder,
there’s no doubt that it was the work of one of the
three Wheelers. Nobody else had any reason to wish
Old Appleby out of the world.”
I
“ You forget me,’ said Allen, in a tense voice.
“ My interests are one with the Wheelers. If they
had such a motive as you ascribe to them—I had
the same.”
' “ Don’t waste time in such talk,” said Curt Keefe.
!


CONFESSION' 141
“ I saw you, Allen, at the ﬁre during the whole time
that covered the opportunity for the murder.”
“ Of course,” agreed Burdon, “I’ve looked into
all that. And so, as I say, it must have been one
member of the Wheeler family, for there’s no one
else to suspect.”
“ Including Mrs. Wheeler,” quietly put in Hallen.
“ How absurd!” ﬂared out Allen. “It’s bad
enough to suspect the other two, but to think of Mrs.
Wheeler is ridiculous!”
“ Not at all,” said Burdon, “ she had the same
motive—she had opportunity——”
“ How do you know? ” asked Keefe.
“ She ran down from her room at that very mo-
ment,” stated Burdon. “I have the testimony of
one of the upstairs maids, and, also, I believe Miss
Wheeler saw her mother in the den.”
“ Look here,” said Hallen, in his slow, drawling
tones, “let’s reconstruct the situation. You two
men were at the ﬁre—that much is certain—s0 you
can’t be suspected. But all three of the Wheelers
had absolute opportunity, and they had motive.
Now, as I look at it—one of those three was the
criminal, and the other two saw the deed. Where-


142 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
fore, the two onlookers will do all they can to shield
the murderer.”
Keefe stared at him. “ You really believe that! ”
he said.
“ Sure I do! Nobody else had either motive or
opportunity. I don’t for one minute believe in an
outsider. Who could happen along at that particular
moment, get away with the shooting, and then get
away himself? ” '
“Why, it could have been done,” mused Keefe,
and Allen broke in eagerly:
“ Of course it could! There’s nothing to prove
it impossible.”
“You two say that, because you want it to be
that way,” said Burdon, smiling at the two young
men. “ That’s all right—you’re both friends of the
family, and can’t bear to suspect any one of them.
But facts remain. Now, let’s see which of the three
it most likely was.”
“ The old man,” declared Hallen, promptly.
“ Nonsense! ” cried Allen. “ Mr. Wheeler is in_
capable of a deed like that! Why, I’ve known him
,1

for years
“ Don’t talk about incapable of anything! ” said
Burdon. “ Most murderers are people whom their


CONFESSION 143
friends consider ‘ incapable of such a deed.’ A man
who is generally adjudged ‘ capable ’ of it is not found
in polite society.”
“Where’s the weapon,” asked Keefe, abruptly,
“if Mr. Wheeler did it?”
“ Where’s the weapon, whoever did it?” coun-
tered Burdon. “The weapon hasn’t been found.
though I’ve hunted hard. But that helps to prove
it one of the family, for they would know where to
hide a revolver securely.”
“ If it was Mr. Wheeler, he’d have to hide it in
the den,” said Allen. “ He never goes over to the
other side of the house, you know.”
“ It isn’t in the den,” Hallen spoke positively;
“ I hunted that myself.”
“ You seem sure of your statement,” said Keefe.
“ Couldn’t you have overlooked it?”
“ Positively not.” _
“ No, he couldn’t,” concurred Burdon. “ Hal-
len’s a wonderful hunter. If that revolver had been
hidden in the den, he’d have found it. That’s why I
think it was Mrs. Wheeler, and she took it back to
her own rooms.”
“ Oh, not Mrs. Wheeler!” groaned Jeff Allen.
D
“ That dear, sweet woman couldn’t


v 144 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE ’
“ Incapable of murder, I s’pose! ” ironically said
Burdon. “ Let me tell you, sir, many a time a dear, ’
sweet woman has done extraordinary things for the
sake of her husband or children.”
“ But what motive would Mrs. Wheeler have? ”
“ The same as the others. Appleby was a thorn
in their ﬂesh, an enemy of many years’ standing.
And I’ve heard hints of another reason for the fam-
ily’s hating him, besides that conditional pardon busi-
ness. But no matter about that now. What I want
is evidence against somebody—against one of three
suspects. Until I get some deﬁnite evidence I can’t
tell which of the three is most likely the one.”
“ Seems to me the fact that Mrs. Wheeler ran
downstairs and back again is enough to indicate some
pretty close questioning of her,” suggested Hallen.
“ Oh, please,” begged Allen, “ she’s so upset and
)7

distracte
“ Of course she is. But that’s the reason we must
ask her about it now. When she gets calmed down,
and gets a ﬁne yarn concocted, there’ll be small use
asking her anything! ” ~ ,
“I’d tackle the old man ﬁrst,” said Hallen; “ I
think, on general principles, he’s the one to make
inquiries of before you go to the ladies. Let’s go to
him now.”


CONFESSION 145
“ No; ” proposed Burdon, “ let’s send for him to
come here. This is away from the house, and we can
talk more freely.”
“ I’ll go for him,” offered Allen, seeing they were
determined to carry out their plan.
“ Not much! ” said Burdon. “ You’re just ach-
ing to put a ﬂea in his ear! You go for him, Hallen.”
The detective went to the house, and returned
with Daniel Wheeler at his side.
The suspected man stood straight and held him-
self fearlessly. Not an old man, he was grayed
with care and trouble, but this morning he’seemed
strong and alert as any of them.
“Put your questions,” he said, brieﬂy, as he
seated himself on one of the many seats beneath the
old sycamore.
“ First of all, who do you think killed Samuel
Appleby? ”
This question was shot at him by Burdon, and all
waited in silence for the answer.
“ I killed him myself,” was the straightfor-
ward reply.
“ That settles it,” said Hallen, “it was one of
the women.”
“ What do you mean by that?” cried \Vheeler,
turning quickly toward the speaker.
10


146 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ I mean, that either your wife or daughter did
the deed, and you are taking the crime on yourself
to save her.”
“ N o; ” reasserted Dan \Vheeler, “ you’re wrong.
I killed Appleby for good and sufﬁcient reason. I’m
not sorry, and I accept my fate.”
“Wait a minute,” said Hallen, as Keefe was
about to protest; “ where was your daughter, Miss
Maida, when you killed your man? ”
“ I—I don’t know. I think she had gone to the
ﬁre—which had just broken out.”
) ! '
“ You’re not sure

“I am not.”
“ She had been with you, in the den? ”
“I don’t know.”
“ Well, I know. She had. She had been sitting
in her favorite window-seat, in the large bay, and
was there while you and Mr. Appleby were talking
together. Also, she did not leave the room to go to
the ﬁre, for no one saw her anywhere near the burn-
ing garage.”
“As to that, I can’t say,” went on Wheeler,
slowly, “but she was not in the den, to my knowl~
edge, at the time of the shooting.”
“ Very well, let that pass. Now, then, Mr.


CONFESSION ' 147
Wheeler, if you shot Mr. 'Appleby, what did you
afterward do with your revolver?”
“ I—I don’t know.” The man’s face was con-
vincing. His frank eyes testiﬁed to the truth of his
words. “ I assure you, I don’t know. I was 50—50
bewildered—that I must have dropped it—some-
where. I never thought of it again.”
“ But if you had merely dropped it, it must have
been found. And it hasn’t been.”
“ Somebody else found it and secreted it,” sug-
gested Hallen. “ Probably Mr. Wheeler’s wife
or daughter.”
“ Perhaps so,” assented Wheeler, calmly. “ They
might have thought to help me by secreting it. Have
you asked them?”
“ Yes, and they deny all knowledge of it.”
“ So do I. But surely it will be found.”
“ It must be found. And, therefore, it is impera-
tive that the rooms of the ladies as well as your own
rooms, sir, be thoroughly searched.”
“ All right—g0 ahead and search! ” Wheeler
spoke sharply. “ I’ve confessed the crime, now waste
no time in useless chattering. Get the evidence, get
the proofs, and let the law take its course.”
“ You will not leave the premises,” put in Hallen,


148 ’THE MYSTERY OF SYCAMORE
and his tone was that of command rather than
inquiry.
“ I most certainly shall not,” declared Wheeler.
“But I do ask you, gentlemen, to trouble and
annoy my wife and daughter as little as possible.
Their grief is sufficient reason for their being
let alone.”
“ H’m,” grunted Burdon. “ Well, sir, I can
promise not to trouble the ladies more than is neces-
sary—but I can’t help feeling necessity will demand
a great deal.”
Mrs. Wheeler was next interviewed, and the
confab took place in her own sitting-room.
None of her family was allowed to be present,
and the four men ﬁled into the room with various
expressions of face. The two detectives were stolid-
looking, but eagerly determined to do their work,
while Allen and Keefe were alertly interested in
ﬁnding out some way to be of help to Mrs. Wheeler.
She received the men quietly, even graciously,
sensing what they had come for.
“To start with, Mrs. Wheeler,” said Burdon,
frankly but not unkindly, “ who do you think killed
Mr. Appleby? ”
“ Oh—I don’t know—I don’t know,” she wailed,
losing her calm and becoming greatly agitated.


CONFESSION 149
“ Where were you when the shot was ﬁre-d? ”
asked Hallen.
“ I don’t know—I didn’t hear it ”
“ Then you were up in your own room? ”

“ I suppose so—I don’t know.”
“ You were up there when the ﬁre broke out?”
“ Yes—I think I was—”
“ But you must know, Mrs.'Wheeler—that is,
you must know where you were when you ﬁrst heard
of the ﬁre ”
“ Yes, yes; I was up in my bedroom.”
“ And who told you of the ﬁre?”
“ My maid—Rachel.”
“ And then what did you do? ”
“ I—I—I don’t remember.”

“ You ran downstairs, didn’t you? ”
“ I don’t remember—”
“Yes, you did!” Burdon took up the reins.
“ You ran downstairs, and just as you got down to
the den you saw—you saw your husband shoot
Mr. Appleby! ”
His harsh manner, as he intended, frightened
the nervous woman, and reduced her to the verge
of collapse.
But after a gasping moment, she recovered her-


150 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
self, and cried out: “ I did not! I shot Mr. Appleby
myself. That’s why I’m so agitated.”
“ I knew it! ” exclaimed Burdon. “ Mr.
Wheeler’s confession was merely to save his wife.
Now, Mrs. Wheeler, I believe your story, and I
want all the particulars. First, why did you
kill him? ”
“ Be—because he was my husband’s enemy—and
I had stood it as long as I could.”
“ H’m. And what did you do with the weapon
you used? ”
“ I threw it out of the Window.”
“And it dropped on the lawn?”
“ Not dropped; I threw it far out—as far as
I could.”
“ Oh, I see. Out of which window? ”
“ Why—why, the one in the den—the bay
window.”
“ But your daughter—Miss Maida—was sitting
in the bay window.”
“ No, she was not,” Mrs. Wheeler spoke em-
phatically now. “ She was not in the room at all.
.She had gone to the ﬁre.”
“Oh, is that so? And then—what happened
next?”
“ Why-:nothing. I—I ran upstairs again.”


CONFESSION 151
“ Appalled at what you had done?”
“ Not appalled—so much as—as——”
“ Unnerved? ”
“ Yes; unnerved. I fell on my bed, and Rachel
looked after me.”
“ Ah, yes; we will interview! Rachel, and so save
you further harrowing details. Come on, men, let’s
strike while these irons are hot.”
The four ﬁled from the room, and Burdon spoke
in a low tone, but excitedly:
“ Come quickly! There goes Miss Maida across
the lawn. We will take her next. The maid, Rachel,
can wait.”
In’wardly rebelling, but urged on by the others,
Jeff Allen went along, and as Burdon stopped Maida,
on her quick walk across the lawn, Jeff put his arm
through that of the girl, and said: “ Do as they tell
you, dear. It’s best to have this matter settled
at once.”
Again the party grouped themselves under the old
sycamore, and this time Maida was the target for
their queries. '
“ Tell me all you know of the case,” she said,
peremptorily; “ then I’ll tell you what I know.”
“ We know that the murder was committed by
one of you three Wheelers,” said Burdon, brutally.


152 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Now, both your parents have confessed to being
the criminal ”
“ What?” Maida cried, her face white and her
eyes big and frightened.

“ Yes, ma’am, just that! Now, what have you
to say? Are you going to confess also? ”
“ Of course I am! For I am thereal criminal!
Can’t you see that my father and mother are both
trying to shield me? I did it, because of that awful
man’s hold on my father! Take my confession, and
do with me what you will! ”
“ Here’s a state of things! ” cried Burdon, truly
surprised at this new development.
“ The girl is telling the truth,” exclaimed Curtis
Keefe, not because he really thought so but his quick
mind told him that it would be easier to get a young
girl acquitted than an older person, and he saw the
plausibility of the detectives’ theory that it must have
been one of the three I/Vheelers.
“ All right,” Burdon went on, “ then, ' Miss
Wheeler, enlighten us as to details. Where’s
the weapon? ”
“ I don’t have to tell you anything except that I
did it. Do I, Jeffrey? Do I, Mr. Keefe?” She
looked at these two for help.


CONFESSION 153
“ No, Miss Wheeler,” Keefe assured her, “ you
needn’t say a word without legal advice.”
“ But, Maida,” Jeffrey groaned, “ you didn’t
do it—you know! You couldn’t have!”
“ Yes, I did, Jeff.” Maida’s eyes were glit-
tering, and her voice was steady. “ Of course I did.
I’d do anything to save father from any more perse-
cution by that man! And there was to be more!
Oh, don’t let me talk! I mustn’t! ”
“ N 0, you mustn’t,” agreed Keefe. “ Now, Bur-
don, you’ve got three confessions! What are you
going to do with them?”
“Going to ﬁnd out which is the true one,” an-
swered Burdon, with a dogged expression. “ I knew
all the time it was one of the three, and I’m not sur-
prised that the other two are willing to perjure them—
selves to save the criminal.”
“ Also, there may have been collusion,” sug-
gested Hallen.
“ Of course,” the other agreed. “ But we’ll ﬁnd
out. The whole thing rests among the three. They
must not be allowed to escape—”
“ I’ve no intention of running away! ” said
Maida, proudly. ’
“ No one will run away,’
,
opined Hallen, saga-


154 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
ciously. “ The criminal will stand by the other two,
and the other two will stand by him.”
“ Or her, as the case may be,” supplemented
Burdon.
“ Her,” Maida assured him. “ In the ﬁrst place,
my mother was upstairs in her own room, and my
father was not in the den at the time. I was
there alone.”
“Oh, yes, your father was in the den,” cried
Jeffrey, imploringly.
“ No,” said Maida, not catching his meaning.
But Hallen caught it.
“ Where was Mr. Wheeler? ” he asked.
“ I—I don’t know,” Maida said.
“ Well, if he wasn’t in the den, and if he wasn’t
upstairs, maybe he was in the big living-room, look~
ing out at the ﬁre.”
“ Yes—yes, I think he was! ” Maida agreed.
“Then,” Hallen went on, “then, Mr. Wheeler
broke his parole—and is due for punishment.”
“ Oh, no,” Maida moaned, seeing where her state-
ments had led. “ I—I guess he was in the den—
after all.”
“ And I guess you’re making up as you go along,”
opined Mr. Hallen.


CHAPTER IX
COUNTER-CONFESSIONS
BEFORE Keefe went away, young Allen had a
serious talk with him.
“ I want to ask your advice,” Allen said; “shall
I confess to that crime? ”
“ Man alive, what are you talking about? ” Keefe
cried, astounded at the suggestion.
“ Talking sense,” Jeffrey stoutly asserted. “I
don’t believe any one of those three did it—they’re
saying they did to shield one another—and so——”
“ And so, you want to get into the game! ” Keefe
smiled at him. “You’re very young, my boy, to
think such crude methods would get over, even with
such muffs as those two booby sleuths! No, Allen,
don’t add another perjury that can be of no possible
use. You didn’t do the killing, did you? ”
“ Of course not! But neither did the Wheelers! ”
“ No one of them? ”
“ Certainly not.”
“Who did, then?”
“ I don’t know; but you yourself insisted on
some marauder.”
155


156 THE STERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Only to get suspicion away from the family.
But there’s no hope of ﬁnding any evidence of an
outside job. You see, I’ve made some inquiries
myself, and the servants’ tales make it pretty sure
that no intruder could have been here. So, the
Wheelers are the only suspects left.”
“ And am I not as good for a suspect as they
are—if I make due confession? ”
“No, Allen, you’re not. You’re in love with
Miss Maida ”
“ I’m engaged to her! ”
“ All right; don’t you see, then, the absurdity
of expecting any one to believe that you, a decent,

law-abiding young citizen, would commit a murder
which would positively render impossible a marriage
with the girl you love?”
“ I didn’t think of that! ”
“ Of course you didn’t. But that would make it
unlikely that those detectives would believe your tale
for a moment. No, it’s ridiculous for any more
people to confess to this murder. Three avowed
criminals are quite enough for the crime! ”
“ But none of them really did it.”
“ How you harp on that string! Now, look here,
Allen, I’m as loath to believe it as you are, but we


COUNTER—CONFESSIONS 157
must face facts. Those three people had motive and
opportunity. Moreover, they’re a most united fam-
ily, and if any one thought either of the other two
guilty, that one is quite capable of falsely avowing
the crime.”
“ Yes—I see that ”—Allen spoke impatiently.
" What I want to know is, what we’re going to do
about it?”
“ There I can’t advise you. I have to get away
now, but, as I said, I’ll return. I’ve more than a
little taste for investigation myself, and when I come
back, I’ve no doubt I can he
7)

“ But—Keefe—I don’t want you to help—to in-
vestigate—if it’s going to prove anything on any
of the NVheelers.”
“ But you believe them innocent! ”
“ Yes; but crime has been fastened on the
innocent.”
“ Look here, Allen, you do believe them innocent
—but you fear your belief is a mistaken one! ”
“ God help me, I do fear that, Keefe! Oh, what
can we do?”
“ It’s a bad lookout! All I can say now, is, to
preserve anon-committal demeanor, and keep things
stationary as much as you can. Maybe when I come


158 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
back, we can—well, at least muddle things so—————”
“Complicate the evidence! So that it won’t
indicate ”

“ Be careful now! You know what compound-
ing a felony means, don’t you? Oh, Allen, you’re so
young and impulsive, and the Wheelers are so emo-
tional and indiscreet, I wonder what will happen
before I get back! ”
“ Somebody ought to be in charge here.”
“ Yes, some good lawyer, or some level-headed
person who would hold back those fool detectives,
and look out for the interests of the Wheelers.”
“ I wish you could stay.”
“I wish so, too, but I’ll do all I can to return
quickly. And Mr. Wheeler ought to be able to look
after his own affairs! ”
“ I know he ought to—but he isn’t. Also, I ought
to, but I’m not!”
“ Yes you are, Jeffrey,” cried Maida, who had
happened along in time to hear the young man’s
depreciation of himself.
“ Hello, Maida,” he turned to her. “ What did
you mean by making up that string of falsehoods? ”
“ Don’t talk about it, Jeff,” and the girl’s face
went white. “ If you do, I shall go mad!”


COUNTER—CONFESSIONS 159
“I don’t wonder, Miss Wheeler,” said Keefe,
sympathetically. “Now, as I’ve just told Allen,
~ I’m coming back as soon as I can make it, and until
I do, vwon’t you try to hold off those men? Don’t
let them pound you and your parents into admissions
better left unmade. I’m not asking you any
questions, I’ve no right to, but I beg of you to
keep your own counsel. If you are shielding some-
one, say as little as possible. If you are guilty
yourself, say nothing.”
“ ‘ Guilty herself! ’ You’ve no right to say such
a thing! ” Allen cried out.
“ Of course I have,” Keefe returned, “ when I
heard Miss Wheeler avow the crime! But I must
go now. Here’s the car. Good-bye, both of you,
and—Miss Wheeler, if I may advise, don’t conﬁde
too much—in anybody.”
The last words were spoken in an aside, and if
Allen heard them he gave no sign. He bade Keefe
good—bye with a preoccupied air, and as others joined
them then, he waited till the car started, and then
took Maida’s arm and led her away, toward
the garden.
Miss Lane, of course, went with Keefe, and as


160 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
the girls parted Maida had suddenly felt a sense
of loneliness.
“ I liked Genevieve a lot,” she said to Allen, as
they walked away.
“ I didn’t,” he returned.
“ Oh, Jeff, you are so quick to take prejudices
against people. I don’t mean I’m specially fond of
Genevieve, but she was kind to me, and now I do
seem so alone.”
“ Alone, Maida? When you have your parents
and me? What do you mean? ”
“ I can’t tell you, exactly, but I seem to want
someone—someone with wide experience and edu-
cated judgment—to whom I can go for advice.”
“ Won’t I do, dear?”
“ You’re kind enough and loving enough—but,
Jeff, you don’t know things! I mean, you haven’t
77

had experience in—in criminal cases
“ Come on, Maida, let’s have it out. What about
this criminal case of ours? For it’s mine as much.
as it’s yours.”
“ Oh, no, it isn’t, Jeff. You’ve nothing to- do
with it. I must bear my burden alone—and—I must
ask you to release me from our engagement—’
“ Which I will never-do! How absurd! Now,


COUNTER—CONFESSIONS 161
Maida mine, if you won’t speak out, I must. I know
perfectly well you never killed Mr. Appleby. I
know, too, that you saw either your father or mother
kill him and you’re trying to shield the criminal.
Very right, too, except that you mustn’t keep the
truth from me. How can I help you, dear, unless I
know what you’re doing—or trying to do? So, tell
me the truth—now.”
“ I can’t tell you more than I have, Jeff,” Maida
spoke with a long-drawn sigh. “ You must believe
me. And as a—a murderer, I never, of course,
shall marry.”
“ Maida, you’re a transparent little prevaricator!
Don’t think I don’t realize the awful situation, for
I do, but I can’t—I won’t let you sacriﬁce yourself
for either of your parents. I don’t ask you which
one it was—in fact, I’d rather you wouldn’t tell
me—but I do ask you to believe that I know it wasn’t
you. Now, drop that foolishness.”
“ Jeffrey,” and Maida spoke very solemnly.
“ don’t you believe that I could kill a man? If he
was so cruel, so dangerous to my father—my dear
father, that I couldn’t stand it another minute, don’t
\you believe I’d be capable of killing him? ”
“We’ve spoken of that before, Maida, and I
11


162 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
think I said I believed you would be capable, in a mo-
ment of sudden, intense anger and excitement ”
“ Well, then, why do you doubt my word? I
told the detectives—I tell you, that the moment came

—I saw my father, under stress of terrible anger—in
immediate, desperate danger from Samuel Appleby.
I—I shot—to kill ” the girl broke down and
Jeffrey took the slender, quivering form in his arms.
“ All right, sweetheart,” he whispered, “ don’t
say another word—I understand. I don’t blame you
—how could you think I would! I just want to help
you. How can I best do that?”
But Maida could not tell him. Her tears, once

started, came in torrents. Her whole frame shook
with the intensity of her sobs, and, unable to control
herself at all, she ran from him into the house and
up to her own room.
“ What did you ﬁnd out?” Burdon asked, com-
ing out from behinda nearby clump of shrubbery.
“You sneak, you cad! ” Allen cried, but the de-
tective stopped him.
“ Now, look here, Mr. Allen,” he said, “ we’re
here to do our duty, said duty being to discover the
perpetrator of a pretty awful crime. You may be so
minded as to let the murderer go scot-free, even help


COUNTER-CONFESSIONS 163
him or her to make a getaway, but I can’t indulge in
any such philanthropic scheme. Mr. Appleby’s been
foully murdered, and it’s up to the law to ﬁnd out
the killer and see justice done. My job is not a
pleasant one, but I’ve got to see it through, and that’s
all there is about that! Now, this case is what we
call open-and-shut. The murderer is sure and posi-
tively one of three people—said three people being
known to us. So, I’ve just got to use all my powers
to discover which of the three I’m really after, and
when I ﬁnd that out, then make my arrest. But I’ve
no desire to nab the wrong one.”
“ Which one do you think it is? ” demanded
Allen, angrily.
“ I’ve got no right nor reason to think it’s either
One. I’ve got to ﬁnd out for sure, not just think it.
So, I ask you what you learned just now from Miss
Wheeler, and why did she run to the house, weeping
like a willow tree? ”
“ I found out nothing that would throw any light
on your quest, and she wept because her nerves
are strained to the breaking point with worry
and exhaustion.”
“ And I don’t wonder! ” the detective spoke sym-
pathetically. “ But all the same, I’m obliged to keep


164 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
on investigating, and I must ask you what she said
to you just now.”
Allen thought over the conversation he had had
with Maida. Then he said: “ I am telling the truth
when I say there was no word said between us that
would be of any real use to you. Miss Wheeler is
my ﬁancée, and I tried to comfort her, and also to
assure her anew of my faithfulness and devotion in
her trouble.”
“ And what did she say? ”
“ Without remembering her words exactly, I
think I can state that she said nothing more than to
reiterate that she had killed Mr. Appleby. But I
want to state also, that I believe she said it, as she
said it to you, to shield some one else.”
“ Her parents—or, one of them? ”
“ That is the reasonable supposition. But I do
not accuse either of the elder Wheelers. I still sus-
pect an intruder from outside.”
“ Of course you do. . . . Anybody in your
position would. But there was none such. It was
one of the three Wheelers, and I’ll proceed to ﬁnd
out which one.”
“Just how do you propose to ﬁnd out? ”
“ Well, the one that did it is very likely to give it


COUNTER—CONFESSIONS 165
away. It’s mighty difﬁcult to be on your guard every
minute, and with one guilty, and two shielding, and
all three knowing, which is which, as I’ve no doubt
they do, why, it’s a cinch that one of the three breaks
down through sheer overcarefulness pretty soon.”
“That’s true enough,” Allen agreed, ruefully.
“ Is that your Only plan? ”
“_ Yes, except to look up the weapon. It’s a
great help, always, to ﬁnd the revolver.”
“ Hoping to ﬁnd the criminal’s initials on it? ”
“ Well, no, they don’t mark ﬁrearms in real life,
as they do in story-books. But to ﬁnd the weapon
gives a lot of evidence as to where it was ﬁred from,
and what was done with it afterward, and to whom it
belongs. Not that the owner is always the murderer.
More often the reverse is true. But the weapon we
want and want pretty badly. By the way, I’m
told that young Appleby is out of the running for
governor now that his father isn’t here to help
him through.”
“ More, I take it, because of his grief for his
father’s untimely end.”
“Be that as it may, he’ll withdraw his name
from the candidates.”
“ \Vho told you? ”


166 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ I heard Mr. Keefe telling Miss Lane.”
“ You hear a lot, Burdon.”
“ I do, Mr. Allen. It’s my business to do so.
N ow, here’s another thing. About that garage ﬁre.”
“ Well, what about it? ”
“ It was a mighty mysterious ﬁre, that’s all. No-
body knows how it started, or where.”
“ They must know where! ”
“ Not exactly. It seemed to start in the vicinity
of Mr. Appleby’s own car. But there was nothing
inﬂammable around that part of the garage.”
“ Well, what does that prove or indicate? Any-
thing prejudicial to the Wheelers? ”
“ Not so far as I can see. Only it’s queer,
that’s all.”
“ Perhaps Mr. Appleby kept tobacco and matches
in his car.”
“ Perhaps so. Anyway, that’s where the ﬁre
originated, and also about where it stopped. They
soon put it out.”
“ Glad they did. .I can’t see that the ﬁre has
any, bearing whatever on the murder.”
“ Neither can I, Mr. Allen. But Hallen, now, he
thinks it has.”
_ “Just how?”


COUNTER—CONFESSIONS 167
“I can’t say. Hallen doesn’t know himself. But
he says there’s a connection.”
“ There may be. But unless it’s a connection that
will free the Wheelers from suspicion, it doesn’t
interest me.”
Allen left the detective, who made no effort to
detain him, and went to the den for a talk with
Mr. l/Vheeler.
But that gentleman, locked in the room, declared
through the closed door that he would see nobody.
“ Sorry, jeff,” he said, in a kindly tone, “ but
you must excuse me at present. Give me the day to
myself. I’ll see you late this afternoon.”
As it was already noon, Allen made no further
attempt at an interview and went in search of Mrs.
Wheeler. It seemed to him he must talk to some of
the family, and he hadn’t the heart to disturb Maida,
who might be resting.
Mrs. Wheeler’s maid said that her mistress would
see him in a few minutes. And it was only a few
minutes later that the lady came downstairs and
greeted Allen, who awaited her in the living-room.
“ What are we going to do? ” she exclaimed to
him. “ Do help us, Jeff. Did I do right? ”


168 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“In lying to save some one you love? Yes, I
suppose so.”
But Sara Wheeler had very acute hearing. Even
as they spoke, she heard a slight movement on the
porch outside, and realized at once that a detective
was listening to her every word.
Allen couldn’t be sure whether this changed her
mental attitude or whether she continued as she had
meant to when she began.
But she said: “Oh, I don’t mean that! I mean,
did I do right to confess my crime at once? You
know they would discover it sooner or later, and I
thought it would save time and trouble for me to
own up immediately.”
“ Dear Mrs. Wheeler, don’t quibble with me. I
know you didn’t do it ”
“ Oh, yes, I did, Jeff. Who else could it have
been? And, too, you know about the bugler,

don’t you?”
“ Yes.”
“ Well, that’s what made me do it. You see, I
thought if a death occurred, that would be the death
the bugler was heralding, and if it wasn’t Mr.
Appleby it might have been Dan himself.”
She leaned forward as she spoke, her voice


COUNTER—CONFESSIONS 169
dropped to a mere whisper, and her large eyes took on
a glassy stare, while her white face was drawn and
set with an agonized expression as of a dread-
ful memory. ,
“ And you killed Appleby for that reason? ”
cried Allen.
“ Oh, no—I killed him because—because ”——-her
mind seemed to wander—“ oh, yes,” she resumed,
“ because he was a menace to Dan. To my husband.”
For the ﬁrst time Allen began to doubt her sanity.
Her eyes were wild, her ﬁngers nervously interlaced
and her speech was jerky and stammering.
“ A menace, how? ” he asked, softly.
“ In different ways,” Mrs. Wheeler returned, in
so low a voice that the listener outside could scarcely
hear. “ Through me, because of something he knew;
through Maida—because of—of something he
wanted; and, of course, through Dan himself, be-
cause of that old conditional pardon.”
“ What do you mean about Maida? ” Allen
caught at the thing that most impressed him. “ Did
old Appleby want to marry Maida?”
“ Yes, he did. Of course, neither her father
nor I would hear of such a thing, but Mr. Appleby


170 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
was an insistent man—insistent and inexorable—and
he wanted Maida ”
“ Mother dear, I want you to come away now,”

and Maida came into the room. “ Come, you have
talked too long. It does no good, to you or to any
one else. Did you call her down, Jeffrey? ”
“ Yes,” and Allen deeply regretted his act. “ But
I want to talk to somebody, Maida. Will you take
your mother away—and return? ”
“ Yes, I will,” and the girl left the room, guiding
the slow footsteps of her mother.
When she came back, Allen took her out under
the .old sycamore.
“ Now, Maida,” he said, gently, “the truth. N o
matter what it is, you must tell me. We are here
alone, that eavesdropping detective can’t overhear us,
and you must tell me whom you are shielding and the
full details for the crime.”
“I can’t tell you all the details, jetf,” the girl
returned, “they include a secret that is not mine
to divulge.”
“ You can divulge anything in a crisis like
this, Maida.”
“ No, I cannot. Before he—before he died, Mr.


COUNTER—CONFESSIONS 171
Appleby told me something that I will never tell,
unless my conscience makes me do’so.”
“ Isn’t it a matter of conscience already? "
“ I don’t know, Jeff; truly, I can’t tell. But much
as I am bound by my principles of right, and you
know, dear, I am conscientious, I would willingly
throw them all to the winds if they interfered with
my parents’ happiness, well-being or safety.”
“ Let me get this straight, Maida. You would
stiﬂe your conscience, would act directly against its
dictates for the sake of your parents?”
“Yes, Jeffrey; right or wrong, that’s what I
should do.” _
“ Who am I that I should judge you, dear? I
know well your lifelong submission to your con—
science, even when your inclinations were strong the
other way. Now, if you have thrown over principle,
honor, conscience and right, for what you consider
a stronger motive, I can only accept your decision.
But I wish you would conﬁde in me more fully. Do
you mean in regard to Mr. Appleby? ”
“ Of course I mean in regard to Mr. Appleby.
And I’m going to ask you, Jeff, to believe what I
tell 'you.”
“ Of course I’ll do that, Maida”


17% THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ No; you won’t want to. But I ask you to be-
lieve it implicitly and to act accordingly. Do you
promise me this? ”
The girl’s face was turned to his, her great, sor-
rowful eyes were full of dumb agony and showed
unshed tears, but her voice was clear and strong as
of one whose purpose was unshakable.
“ Yes, dear,” and Jeffrey took her hands in his
and looked deep into her eyes, whose blank despair
haunted him long after, “ yes, Maida, I promise.”
“ Well, then, I killed Mr. Appleby, and you
must do whatever you think best for us all. What
shall we do ﬁrst, Jeffrey?”
And with the clutch of an icy dread at his heart,
Allen replied, brokenly, “ I don’t know, Maida, dar-
ling, but I will‘ﬁnd out what is best, and we will
do it——”


CHAPTER X
THE PHANTOM BUGLER
THE day after the funeral of Samuel Appleby,
Keefe returned to Sycamore Ridge.
“ I came, Mr. \Vheeler,” he said, “to offer you
my services. I express no opinion as to who killed
Mr. Appleby, but I do know that his son is going
to use every means to discover his father’s murderer,
and I can’t help thinking you’d be wise to let me
take up your case.”
“ As a criminal lawyer?” asked Dan Wheeler,
quietly.
“No, sir; as a friend and adviser.- If you ﬁnd
you need a criminal lawyer, I’ll suggest one—and a
good one. But I mean, I’d like to help you in a
general way, by consultation and advice. You, if
you will pardon me, have lived so long out of the
modern world that you are unﬁtted to cope with
this whole situation. I speak frankly—because I
9!

am deeply intereste
“Just why are you so deeply interested, Mr.
Keefe?” Wheeler’s tone was kindly but his glance
was sharp at his would-be benefactor.
173


174 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ I may as well own up,” Keefe said, “ I am hard
hit by your daughter. Oh, yes, I know she is en-
gaged to young Allen, and I’ve no hope she would
ever throw him over for me, but I’m anxious to serve
her in any way I can—and I feel pretty sure that I
can be of help to you and your family.”
“ Well spoken, young man. And your promises
are right. I am out of touch with the world, and I
should be glad indeed of the advice of an experienced
man of business. But, ﬁrst of all, will you tell me
who you think killed Appleby? ”
“I will, sir. I’ve no idea it was any of you
three people, who have all confessed to the deed, in
order to shield one another.”
“ Whom then do you suspect?”
“ An outside intruder. I have held to this theory
from the start, and I am sure it is the true one.
Moreover, I think the murderer is the man who blew
the bugle ”
“ The phantom bugler! ”

“ No phantom, but a live man. Phantoms do not
blow on bugles except in old English legends. A
bugle sounded in New England and heard by several
people, was blown by human lungs. Find your bugler
and you’ve found your murderer.”


THE PHANTOM BUGLER 175
“ I wonder if you can be right! ”
Wheeler fell into a brown study and Keefe
watched him closely. His bugler theory was offered
in an effort to ﬁnd out what Wheeler thought of it,
and Wheeler’s response ought to show whether his
own knowledge of the murder precluded the bugler
or not.
Apparently it did, for he sighed and said: “ Of
course the person who sounded that bugle was a live
person, but I cannot think it had any connection
with Mr. Appleby’s death. Even granting somebody
might have been wicked enough to try to frighten my
wife, yet there is no reason to think any one wishing
to kill Samuel Appleby would know of the old legend
in Mrs. Wheeler’s family.”
“True enough. But it is possible, and, in my
opinion, that is the only direction to look.”
“ But what direction? How can you ﬁnd out
who blew that bugle? ”
“ I don’t know yet, but I shall try to ﬁnd out.
As a matter of fact very little inquiry has been made.
Those two detectives, while intelligent enough, don’t
have a very wide horizon. They’ve concluded that
the assassin was—well, was named Wheeler—and
they’re only concerned to discover the ﬁrst name.


176 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Forgive my plain speaking, but to save yourself and
the other two, we must be outspoken.”
“ Yes, yes—pray don’t hesitate to say anything
you think. I am in a. terrible position, Mr. Keefe—
more terrible than you can know, and while I am
willing to make any sacriﬁce for my dear ones—it
7,
may be in vain

The two men had been alone in the den, but now
were joined by Burdon and young Allen.
“ Glad to see you back, Mr. Keefe,” Burdon
said; “ usually we detectives don’t hanker after out-
side help, but you’ve a good, keen mind, and I notice
you generally put your ﬁnger on the right spot.”
“ All right, Burdon, we’ll work together. Now.
Mr. Wheeler, I’m going to ask you to leave us—for
there are some details to discuss——”
Dan Wheeler was only too glad to be excused,
and with a sigh of relief he went away to his up-
stairs quarters.
“ Now, it’s this way,” Keefe began; “ I’ve been
sounding Mr. Wheeler, but I didn’t get any real satis—
faction. But here’s a point. Either he did or didn’t
kill Mr. Appleby, but in either case, he’s in bad.”
“ What do you mean? ” asked Allen.
“ Why, I’ve inquired about among the servants


THE PHANTOM BUGLER 177
and, adding our own testimony, I’ve ﬁgured it out
that Mr. Wheeler was either the murderer or he was
over the line on the other Side of the house, and in
that case has broken his parole and is subject to
the law.”
“ How do you prove that?” inquired Burdon,
interestedly.
“ By the story of Miss Wheeler, who says her
father was not in the den at all at the time Mr.
Appleby was shot. Now, as we know, Mrs. Wheeler
ran downstairs at that time, and she, too, says her
husband was not in the den. Also she says he was
not in the living-room, nor in the hall. This leaves
only her own sitting-room, from which Mr. Wheeler
could see the ﬁre and into which he was most likely
to go for that purpose.”
“He wouldn’t go in that room for any pur—
pose,” declared Allen.
“ Not ordinarily, but in the excitement of a
ﬁre, men can scarcely refrain from running to look
at it, and if he was not in the places he had a right
to be, he must have been over on the forbidden
ground. SO, it comes back to this: either Mr.
Wheeler was the murderer, and his wife and daughter
have perjured themselves to save him, or he was
12


178 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
in a plaoe which, by virtue of the conditions, cancels
his pardon. This, I take it, explains Mr. Wheeler’s
present perturbed state of mind—for he is bewil-
dered and worried in many ways.”
“ Well,” said Allen, “ where does all this
lead us? ”
“ It leads us,” Keefe returned, “ to the necessity
of a lot of hard work. I’m willing to go on record
as desiring to ﬁnd a criminal outside of the Wheeler
family. Or to put it bluntly, I want to acquit all
9,
three of them—even if

“ Even if one of them is guilty? ” said Burdon.
“ Well, yes—just that. But, of course I don’t
mean to hang an innocent man! What I want is to
get a verdict for persons unknown.”
“I’m with you,” said Allen. “It’s all wrong, I
know, but—well, I can’t believe any of the Wheelers
really did it.”
“You do believe it, though!” Keefe turned on
him, sharply. “ And what’s more, you believe the
criminal is the one of the three whom you least want
it to be!”
Keefe’s meaning was unmistakable, and Allen’s
ﬂushed and crestfallen face betrayed his unwilling
assent. Unable to retort—even unable to speak, he
quickly left the room.


THE PHANTOM BUGLER 179
Keefe closed the door and turned to Burdon.
“ That was a test,” he said; “ I’m not sure
whether Allen suspects Miss Wheeler—or not ”

“ He sure acts as if he does,” Burdon said, his
face drawn with perplexity. “ But, I say, Mr. Keefe,
haven’t you ever thought it might have been Jeffrey
Allen himself? ”
“ Who did the shooting? ”
“ Yes; he had all the motives the others had ”
“ But not opportunity. Why, he was at the

)7
garage ﬁre—where I was
“ Yes, but he might have got away long enough
7,

for

“Nonsense, man, nothing of the sort! We
were together, ﬁghting the ﬂames. The tWO
chauffeurs were with us—the Wheelers’ man,
and Mr. Appleby’s. We used those chemical
extinguishers ”
“ I know all that—but then—he might have
slipped away, and in the excitement you didn’t

n0tice———”
“ Not a. chance! No, take my word for it, the
three Wheelers are the exclusive suspects—unless
we can work in that bugler individual.”
“ It’s too many for me,” Burdon sighed. “ And
Hallen, he’s at his wit’s end. But you’re clever at


180 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
such things, sir, and Mr. Appleby, he’s going to get
a big detective from the city.”
“ You don’t seem to mind being discarded! ”
“ No, sir. If anybody’s to fasten a crime on one
of those Wheelers, I don’t want to be the one to
do it.”
“ Look here, Burdon, how about Wheeler’s doing
it in self-defence? I know a lot about those two men,
and Appleby was just as much interested in getting
\Vheeler out of his way as vice 'Z/e’rsa. If Appleby
attacked and Wheeler defended, we can get him
off easy.”
“Maybe so, but it’s all speculation, Mr. Keefe.
What we ought to get is evidence—testimony—and
that’s hard, for the only people to ask about
,,

it are
“ Are the criminals themselves.”
“ The suspected criminals—yes, sir.”
“ There are others. HaVe you quizzed all the
servants ? ”
“ I don’t take much stock in servants" stories.”
“You’re wrong there, my man. That principle
is a good one in ordinary matters, but when it comes
to a murder case, a servant’s testimony is as good
as his master’s.”
Burdon made no direct response to Keefe’s sug-


THE PHANTOM BUGLER 181
gestion, but he mulled it over in his slow-going mind,
and as a result, he had a talk with Rachel, who was
ladies’ maid to both Maida and her mother.
The girl bridled a little when Burdon began to _
question her.
“ Nobody seemed to think it worth while to ask
me anything,” she said, “ so I held my tongue. But
if so be you want information, you ask and
I’ll answer.”
“ I doubt if she really knows anything,” Burdon
thought to himself, judging from her air of self-
importance, but he said!
“ Tell me anything you know of the circum-
stances at the time of the murder.”
“ Circumstances? ” repeated Rachel, wrinkling
her brow. j
“ Yes; for instance, where was Mrs. Wheeler '
when you heard the shot? ”
“ I didn’t say I heard the shot.”
“ Didn’t you? ”
“ Yes.”
“ G0 on, then; don’t be foolish, or you’ll be sorry
for it!”
“ Well, then, Mrs. Wheeler was downstairs—she
7

had just left her room ’
“Here, let me get this story straight. How


182 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
long had she been in her room? Were you there
with her?” '
“Yes; we had been there half an hour or so.
.Then, we heard noise and excitement and a cry of
ﬁre. Mrs. Wheeler rushed out of her room and ran
downstairs—and I followed, naturally.”
“ Yes; and what did you see? ”
“ Nothing special—I saw a blaze of light,
through the front door ”
“ The north door? ”
“ Of course—the one toward the garage—and I

saw the garage was on ﬁre. so I thought of nothing
else—then.” .
“ Then? What did you think of later? ”
“I remembered that I saw Mr. Wheeler in the
. living-room—in the north end of it—where he
Y!

never goes
“ You know about his restrictions? ”
“ Oh, yes, sir. The servants all know—we have
to. Well, it was natural, poor man, that he should
go to look at the ﬁre! ”
i “ You’re sure of this, Rachel? ”
“ Sure, yes; but don’t let’s tell, for it might get
the master in trouble.”
“ On the contrary it may get him out of trouble.


THE PHANTOM BUGLER 183
To break his parole is not as serious a crime as mur-
der. And if he was in the north end of the living
room he couldn’t have been in the den shooting
Mr. Appleby.”
“That’s true enough. And neither could Mrs.
Wheeler have done it.” I
“ Why not? ”
“ Well—that is—she was right ahead of me ”'~

“ Did you keep her in sight?”
“ No; I was so excited myself, I ran past her
and out to the garage.” /
“ Who was there? ”
“ Mr. Allen and Mr. Keefe and the two chauf-
feurs and the head gardener and well, most all the
servants. The men were ﬁghting the ﬁre, and the
women were standing back, looking on.”
“ Yelling, I suppose.”
“ N0 ; they were mostly quiet. Cook was scream-
ing, but nobody paid any attention to her.”
“ The ﬁre was soon over?”
“ Yes, it was a little one. I suppose that chauf-
feur of Mr. Appleby’s dropped a match or some-
thing—for our servants are too well trained to do
anything of the sort. We’re all afraid of ﬁre.”
“ Well, the ﬁre amounted to little, as you say.


184 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Curious it should occur at the time of the murder.”
“ Curious, indeed, sir. Do you make anything
out of that?”
“ Can’t see anything in it. Unless the murderer
started the ﬁre to distract attention from himself.
In that case, it couldn’t have been any of the
	heelers.”
“ That it couldn’t. They were all in the house.”
“ Miss Maida—did you see her at the time? ”
“I caught a glimpse of her as I ran through
the hall.”
“ Where was she? ”
“ In the den; standing near the bay window.”
“Well, we’ve pretty well planted the three.
Mrs. Wheeler on the stairs, Mr. Wheeler, you say,
in the living-room, where he had no right to be, and
Miss Maida ”
“Oh, Miss Maida didn’t do it! She couldn’t!
That lovely young lady! ”
“There, Rachel, that will do. You’ve given
your testimony, now it’s not for you to pass judg-
ment. Go about your business, and keep a quiet
tongue. No babbling—you understand? ”
“ Yes, sir,” and the maid went away, her attitude
still one of importance, and her face wearing a
vague smile.


THE PHANTOM BUGLER 185
Meantime Curtis Keefe was having a serious talk
with Maida.
His attitude was kindly and deferential, but he -
spoke with a determined air as he said :
“ Miss Wheeler, you know, I am sure, how much
I want to help you, and how glad I will be if I can do
so. But, ﬁrst of all I must ask you a question. What
did Mr. Appleby mean when he said to you some-
thing about Keefe and the airship? ”
Maida looked at him with a troubled glance.
For a minute she did not speak, then she said, calmly :
“ I am not at liberty to tell you what we were talking
about then, Mr. Keefe, but don’t you remember Mr.
Appleby said that you were not the Keefe re-
ferred to? ” -
“ I know he said that, but—I don’t believe it.”
-“I am not responsible for your disbelief,” she
drew herself up with a digniﬁed air. “ And I must
ask you not to refer to that matter again.”
“ Don’t take that attitude,” he begged. “ At
least tell me what Keefe he did mean. There can
be no breach of conﬁdence in that.”
“ Why do you want to know?”
“ Because I know Mr. Appleby had a big airship
project under'consideration. Because I know he
contemplated letting me in on the deal, and it was


186 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
a most proﬁtable deal. Had he lived, I should have
asked him about it, but since he is dead, I admit
I want to know anything you can tell me of
the matter.”
Involuntarily Maida smiled a little, and the
lovely face, usually so sad, seemed more beautiful
than ever to the man who looked at her.
“ Why do you smile?” he cried, “but whatever
the reason, keep on doing so! Oh, Maida, how won-
(lerful you are! ”
A glance of astonishment made him quickly
apologize for his speech.
“ But,” he said, “I couldn’t help it. Forgive me,
Miss Wheeler, and, since you can smile over it, I’m
more than ever anxious to know about the air-
ship dea .”
.“ And I can tell you nothing,” she declared, “ be-
cause I know nothing of any such matter. If Mr.
Appleby was interested in an airship project, I know
nothing of it. The matter he mentioned to me was,
I am positively certain, not the deal you speak of.”
“ I believe that. Your face is too honest for
you to speak an untruth so convincingly. And now
assure me that I am not the Keefe he referred to, and
I will never open the subject again.”


THE PHANTOM BUGLER 187
But this Maida could not say truthfully, and ’
though she tried, her assertion was belied by droop-
ing eyes and quivering lips.
“ You were not,” she uttered, but she did not look
at him, and this time Curtis Keefe did not be-
lieve her.
“ I was,” he said calmly, but he made no further
effort to get the whole truth from her. “ I’m sorry
you can’t conﬁde fully in me, but I shall doubtless
learn all I want to know from Mr. Appleby’s papers.”
“ You—you have them in charge?” Maida asked,
quite evidently agitated at the thought.
“ Yes, of course, I’m his conﬁdential secretary.
That’s why, Miss Wheeler, it’s better for you to be
frank with me—in all things. Has it never occurred
to you that I’m the man who can best help you in
this whole moil of troubles? ”
“Why, no,” she said, slowly, “ I don’t believe
it ever has.”
“ Then realize it now. Truly, dear Miss
Wheeler, I am not only the one who can best help
you, but I am the only one who can help you at all—-
please try to see that.” ' i
“ Why should I want help?”
“ For half a dozen very good reasons. First, I


188 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
suppose you know that you are in no enviable posi-
tion regarding the death of Mr. Appleby. Oh, I
know you didn’t kill him ”
“ But I did!”
“ If you did, you couldn’t take it so calmly—”
“ How dare you say I take it calmly? What do
you know about it? Just because I don’t go about in

hysterics—that’s not my nature—is no sign that I’m
1
not suffering tortures ’

“You poor, sweet child—I know you are! Oh,
little girl, dear little girl—can’t you—won’t you let
me look out- for you ’
The words were right enough, but the tone in

which they were uttered, the look that accompanied
them, frightened Maida. She knew at once how this
man regarded her.
Intuition told her it was better not to resent his
speech or meaning, so she only said, quietly:
“ Look out for me—how? ”
“ Every way. Give yourself to me—be my own,
own little Maida ” .
“ Mr. Keefe, stop! You forget you are talking

,7

to an engaged girl
“ I did forget—please forgive me.” In a mo-
ment he was humble and penitent. “ I lost my head.


THE PHANTOM BUGLER 189
No, Miss Wheeler, 1 ask no reward, I want to help'
you in any and every way—remembering you are
to be the bride of Mr. Allen.”
“ Only after I’m acquitted of this crime. They
never convict a woman, do they, Mr. Keefe?”
“ So that’s what you’re banking on! And safely,
too. No, Miss Wheeler, no judge or jury would
ever convict you of murder. But, all the same, it’s
a mighty unpleasant process that brings about your
acquittal, and I advise you not to go through with it.”
“ But I’ve got to. I’ve confessed my crime; now
they have to try me—don’t they? ”
“ You innocent baby. Unless—look here, you’re
not—er—stringing me, are you?”
“ What does that mean? ”
“ I mean, you didn’t really do the job, did you? ”
“ I did.” The calm glance of despair might have
carried conviction to a less skeptical hearer, but
Keefe only looked puzzled. I
“ I can’t quite make you out,” he declared;
I!

“ either you’re a very brave heroine—or
“ Or?” queried Maida.
“ Or you’re nutty! ”
Maida laughed outright. “ That’s it,” she said,
and her laughter became a little hysterical. “ I am


190 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
nutty, and I own up to it. Do you think we can enter
a plea of insanity? ”
Keefe looked at her, a new thought dawning in
his mind.
“That might not be at all a bad plan,” he said,
slowly; “are you in earnest?”
“ I don’t know. Honestly, I think of so many
plans, and discard them one after the other. But I
don’t want to be convicted! ”
“ And you shan’t! There are more persons in
this world than the three Wheelers! And one of .
them may easily be the murderer we’re seeking.”
“ Which one? ” asked Maida.
“ The Phantom Bugler,” returned Keefe.


CHAPTER XI
FLEMING STONE
NEXT day brought the advent of two men and a
boy to Sycamore Ridge.
Samuel Appleby, determined to discover the mur-
derer of his father and convinced that it was none
Of the Wheeler family, had brought Fleming Stone,
the detective, to investigate the case. Stone had a
young assistant who always accompanied him, and
this lad, Terence McGuire by name, was a lively,
irrepressible chap, with red hair and freckles.
But his quick thinking and native wit rendered
him invaluable to Stone, who had already hinted
that McGuire might some day become his successor.
The Wheeler family, Jeffrey Allen, Curtis Keefe,
and Burdon, the local detective, were all gathered in
Mr. Wheeler’s den to recount the ivhole story to
Fleming Stone.
With grave attention, Stone listened, and young
McGuire eagerly drank in each word, as if com-
mitting a lesson to memory. Which, indeed, he was,
for Stone depended on his helper to remember all
facts, theories and suggestions put forward by
the speakers.
191


192 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Long experience had made Fleming Stone a con—
‘
noisseur in ‘ case-s,” and, by a classiﬁcation of his
own, he divided them into “ express” and “local.”
By this distinction he meant that in the former cases,
he arrived quickly at the solution, without stop or
hindrance. The latter kind involved necessary stops,
even side issues, and a generally impeded course, by
reason of conﬂicting motives and tangled clues.
As he listened to the story unfolded by the mem-
bers of the party, he sighed, for he knew this was ‘no
lightning express affair. He foresaw much investi-
gation ahead of him, and he already suspected false
evidence and perhaps bribed witnesses.
Yet these conclusions of his were based quite as
much on intuition as on evidence, and Stone did not
wholly trust intuition.
Samuel Appleby was the principal spokesman,
as he was the one chieﬂy concerned in the discovery
of the criminal and the avenging of his father’s
death. Moreover, he was positive the deed had not
been done by any one of the Wheeler family, and
he greatly desired to prove himself right in this.
“ But you were not here at the time, Mr.
Appleby,” Stone said, “and I must get the story
from those who were. Mr. Keefe, you came with


FLEMING STONE 193
Mr. Appleby, senior, and, also, as his conﬁdential
secretary you are in a position to know of his mental
attitudes. Had he, to your knowledge, any fear, any
premonition of evil befalling him?”
“ Not at all,” answered Keefe, promptly. “ If
he had, I do not know of it, but I think I can afﬁrm
that he had not. For, when Mr. Appleby was
anxious, he always showed it. In many ways it was
noticeable, if he had a perplexity on his mind. In
such a case he was irritable, quick-tempered, and
often absent-minded. The day we came down here,
Mr. Appleby was genial, affable and in a kindly
mood. This, to my mind, quite precludes the idea
that he looked for anything untoward.”
“ How did he impress you, Mr. Wheeler? ” Stone
went on. “ You had not seen him for some time,
I believe.”
“Not for ﬁfteen years,” Dan Wheeler spoke
calmly, and with an air of determined reserve. “ Our
meeting was such as might be expected between two
long-time enemies, but Appleby was polite and so
was I.”
“ He came to ask a favor of you? ”
“ Rather to. drive a bargain. He offered me a
full pardon in return for my assistance in his son’s
ls


194 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
political campaign. You, I am sure, know all this
from Mr. Appleby, the son.”
“ Yes, I do; I’m asking you if Mr. Appleby, the
father, showed in his conversation with you, any
apprehension or gave any intimation of a fear
of disaster?”
“ Mr. Stone,” returned Wheeler, “1 have con-
fessed that I killed Mr. Appleby; I hold, therefore,
that I need say nothing that will inﬂuence my
own case.”
"Well, you see, Mr. W-heeler, this case is un-
usual—perhaps unique, in that three people have con-
fessed to the crime. SO far, I am preserving an open
mind. Though it is possible you and your wife and
daughter acted in collusion, only one of you could
have ﬁred the fatal shot; yet you all three claim
to have done so. There is no conclusion to be drawn
from this but that one is guilty and the other two are
shielding that one.” .
“ Draw any conclusion you wish,” said Wheeler,
still imperturbably. “But I’ve no objection to re-
plying to the question you asked me. Sam Appleby
said no word to me that hinted at a fear for his
personal safety. If he had any such fear, he kept it
to himself.”


FLEMING STONE 195
“ He knew of your enmity toward him? ”
“ Of course. He did me an unforgivable injus-
tice and I never pretended that I did not resent it.”
“ And you refused to meet his wishes regarding
his son’s campaign?”
“ I most certainly did, for the same reasons I
opposed his own election many years ago.”
“ Yes; all those details I have from Mr. Appleby,
junior. Now, Mr. Appleby does not believe that his
father was killed by any member of your family,
Mr. Wheeler.”
“ Can he, then, produce the man whom he does
suspect? ”
“ No; he suspects no one deﬁnitely, but he thinks
that by investigation, I can ﬁnd out the real criminal.”
“ You may as well save your time and trouble,
Mr. Stone. I am the man you seek, I freely confess
my crime, and I accept my fate, whatever it be. Can
I do more?”
“ Yes; if you are telling the truth, go on, and
relate details. What weapon did you use?”
“ My own revolver.”
“ Where is it?”
“I threw it out of the window.”
“ Which window? ”


196 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE-
“ The—the bay window, in my den.”
“In this room?”
“ Yes.”
“That window there?” Stone pointed to the
big bay.
“ Yes.”
“ You were sitting there at the time of the shot,
were you not, Miss Wheeler?” Stone turned to
Maida, who, white-faced and trembling, listened to
her father’s statements.
“I was sitting the-re before the shot,” the girl
returned, speaking in quiet, steady tones, though a
red spot burned in either cheek. “ And then, when
Mr. Appleby threatened my father, I shot him my-
self. My father is untruthful for my sake. In his
love for me he is trying to take my crime on himself.
Oh, believe me, Mr. Stone! Others can testify that
'I said, long ago, that I could willingly kill Mr.
Appleby. He has made my dear father’s life a living
grave! He has changed a brilliant, capable man of
affairs to a sad and broken-hearted recluse. A man
who had everything to live for, everything to inter-
est and occupy his mind, was condemned to a solitary
imprisonment, save for the company of his family!
My father’s career would have been notable, cele-
brated; but that Samuel Appleby put an end to ﬁfteen


FLEMING STONE 197
years ago, for no reason but petty spite and mean
revenge! I had never seen the man, save as a small
child, and when I learned he was at last coming here,
my primitive passions were stirred, my sense of
justice awoke and my whole soul was absorbed in a
wild impulse to rid the World of such a demon in
human form! I told my parents I was capable of
killing him; they reproved me, so I said no more.
But I brooded over the project, and made ready, and
then—when Mr. Appleby threatened my father,
talked to him brutally, scathingly, fairly turning the
iron in his soul—I could stand it no longer, and I
shot him down as I would have killed a venomous
serpent! I do not regret the act—though I do fear
the consequences.”
Maida almost collapsed, but pulled herself to-
gether, to add: .
“That is the truth. You must disregard and
disbelieve my father’s noble efforts to save me by
trying to pretend the crime was his own.”
Stone looked at her pityingly. McGuire stared
ﬁxedly; the boy’s eyes round with amazement at this
outburst of self-condemnation.
Then Stone said, almost casually: “You, too,
Mrs. Wheeler, confess to this crime, I believe.”
“ I am the real criminal,” Sara Wheeler asserted,


198 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
speaking very quietly but with a steady gaze into the
eyes of the listening detective. “You can readily
understand that my husband and daughter are trying
to shield me, when I tell you that only I had oppor-
tunity. I had possessed myself of Mr. Wheeler’s
pistol and as I ran downstairs—well knowing the
conversation that was going on, I shot through the
doors as I passed and running on, threw the weapon
far out into the shrubbery. It can doubtless be
found. I must beg of you, Mr. Stone, that you
thoroughly investigate these three stories, and I
assure you you will ﬁnd mine the true one, and the
assertions of my husband and daughter merely lov—
ing but futile attempts to save me from the conse-
quences of my act.”
Fleming Stone smiled, a queer, tender little smile.
“ It is certainly a new experience for me,” he
said, “ when a whole family insist on being consid-
ered criminals._ But I will reserve decision until I
can look into matters a little more fully. Now, who
can give me any information on the matter, outside
of the identity of the criminal?”
Jeffrey Allen volunteered the story of the ﬁre,
and Keefe told of the strange bugle call that had
been heard.


FLEMING STONE 199
“ You heard it, Mr. Keefe?” asked Stone, after
listening to the account.
“ No; I was with Mr. Appleby on a trip to Bos-
ton. I tell it as I heard the tale from the house-
hold here.” _
Whereupon the Wheeler family corroborated
Keefe’s story, and Fleming Stone listened attentively
to the various repetitions.
“ You ﬁnd that bugler, and you’ve got your mur-
der-er,” Curtis Keefe said, bluntly. “ You agree.
don’t you, Mr. Stone, that it was no phantom who
blew audible notes on a bugle?”
“ I most certainly agree to that. I’ve heard many
legends, in foreign countries, of ghostly drummers,
buglers and bagpipers, but they are merely legends—
I’ve never found anyone who really heard the sounds.
And, moreover, those things aren’t even legends in
America. Any bugling done in this country is done
by human lungs. Now, this bugler interests me. I
think, with you, Mr. Keefe, that to know his identity
would help us—whether he proves to be the criminal
or not.” i
“ He’s the criminal,” Keefe declared, again.
“ Forgive me, Mr. Stone, if my certainty seems to
you presumptuous or forward, but I’m so thoroughly


200 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
convinced of the innocence of the Wheeler family,
that perhaps I am overenthusiastic in my theory.”
“ A theory doesn’t depend on enthusiasm,” re-
turned Stone, “but on evidence and proof. Now,
how can we set about ﬁnding this mysterious bugler
—~whether phantom or human? ”
“ I thought that’s what you’re here to do,” Sam
Appleby said, looking helplessly at Fleming Stone.
“ We are,” piped up Terence McGuire, as Stone
made no reply. “ That’s our business, and, conse-
quentially, it shall be done.”
The boy assumed an air of importance that was
saved from being objectionable by his good-humored
face and frank, serious eyes. “I’ll just start in and
get busy now,” he went on, and rising, he bobbed
a funny little bow that included all present, and left
the room.
It was mid-afternoon, and as they looked out
on the wide lawn they saw McGuire strolling slowly,
hands in pockets and seemingly more absorbed in the
.birds and ﬂowers than in his vaunted “ business.”
“ Perhaps McGuire'needs a little explanation,”
Stone smiled. “ He is my right-hand man, and a
great help in detail work. But he has a not alto-
gether unearned reputation for untruthfulness. In-


FLEMING STONE 201
deed, his nickname is Fibsy, because of a congenital
habit of telling ﬁbs. . I advise you of this, because I
prefer you should not place implicit conﬁdence in
his statements.”
“But, Mr. Stone,” cried Maida, greatly inter-
ested, “ how can he be of any help to you if you
can't depend on what he says? ”
“ Oh, he doesn’t lie to me,” Stone assured her;
“ nor does he tell Whoppers at any time. Only, it’s
his habit to shade the truth when it seems to him ad—
visable. I do not defend this habit; in fact, I have
persuaded him to stop it, to a degree. But you know
how hard it is to reform entirely.”
“ It won’t affect his usefulness, since he doesn’t
lie to his employer,” Appleby said, “ and, too, it’s
none of our business. I’ve engaged Mr. Stone to
solve the mystery of my father’s death, and I’m
prepared to give him full powers. He may conduct
his investigations on any plan he chooses. My only
stipulation is that he shall ﬁnd a criminal outside
the Wheeler family.”
“ A difficult and somewhat unusual stipulation,”
remarked Stone.
“ Why difﬁcult? ” Dan Wheeler said, quickly.
“ Because, with three people confessing a crime,


202 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
and no one else even remotely suspected, save a
mysterious and perhaps mythical bugle-player, it
does not seem an easy job to hunt up and then hunt
down a slayer.”
“ But you’ll do it,” begged Appleby, almost plead~
ingly, “ for it must be done.”
“ We’ll see,” Stone replied. “And now tell me
more about the ﬁre in the garage. It occurred at the
time of the shooting, you say? What started it?”
But nobody knew what started it.
“ How could we know? ” asked Jeff Allen. “ It
was only a small ﬁre and the most it burned was the
robe in Mr. Appleby’s own car and a motor coat that
was also in the car.” I
“ Whose coat?” asked Stone.
“ Mine,” said Keefe, ruefully. “A bit of bad
luck, 'too, for it was a new one. I had to get an-
other in place of it.”
“And you think the ﬁre was the result of a
dropped cigarette or match by Mr. Appleby’s
chauffeur? ”
“ I don’t know,” returned Keefe. “ He denies it,
of course, but it must have been that or an incen-
diary act of some one.”
I
“ Maybe the bugler person,’ suggested Stone.


FLEMING STONE 203
“Maybe,” assented Keefe, though he did not
look convinced.
“I think Mr. Keefe thinks it was the work of
my own men,” said Dan W'heeler. “ And it may
have been. There’s one in my employ who has an
ignorant, brutal spirit of revenge, and if he thought
Samuel Appleby was inimical to me, he would be
quite capable of setting ﬁre to the Appleby car. That
may be the fact of the case.”
“ It may be,” agreed Stone. “ Doubtless we can
I!

ﬁnd ou
“ How?” asked Allen. “ That would be magi-
cian’s work, I think.”
“ A detective has to be a magician,” Stone smiled
at him. “ We quite often do more astounding tricks
than that.”
“ Go to it, then!” cried Appleby. “ That’s the
talk I like to hear. Questions and answers any of us
can put over. But the real detecting is like magic.
At least, I can’t see how it’s done. Duff in, Mr.
Stone. Get busy.”
The group dispersed then, Fleming Stone going
to his room and the others straying off by twos
or threes.
Burdon, who had said almost nothing during


204 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
the confab, declared he wanted a talk with the great
detective alone, and would await his pleasure.
So Burdon sat by himself, brooding, on the ver-
anda, and presently saw the boy, .Fibsy, returning
toward the house.
“ Come here, young one,” Burdon called out.
“ N ixy, old one,” was the saucy retort.
“ Why not?” in a conciliatory tone.
“ ’Cause you spoke disrespectful like. I’m a de-
tective, you know.”
“ All right, o-ld pal; come here, will you?”
Fibsy grinned and came, seating himself on a
cushioned swing nearby.
“ Whatcha want?” he demanded.
“ Only a line 0’ talk. Your Mr. Stone, now, do
you think he’ll show up soon, or has he gone for
a nap? ”
“ Fleming Stone doesn’t take naps,” Fibsy said,
disdainfully; “ he isn’t that sort.”
“ Then he’ll be down again shortly?”
“ Dunno. Maybe he’s begun his fasting and
prayer over this phenomenal case.”
“ Does he do that? ”
“ How do I know? I’m not of a curious turn of
mind, me havin’ other sins to answer for.”


FLEMING STONE 205
“ I know. Mr. Stone told us you have no respect
for the truth.”
“Did he, now! well, he’s some mistaken! I
have such a profound respect for the truth that I
never use it except on very special occasions.”
“ Is this one?”
“ It is not! Don’t believe a word I say just now.
In fact, I’m so lit up with the beauties and glories
of this place, that I hardly know what I am a-saying!
Ain’t it the show-place, though! ”
“Yes, it is. Looky here, youngster, can’t you
go up and coax Mr. Stone to see me—just a few
minutes? ”
“ Nope; can’t do that. But you spill it to me, and
if it’s worth it, I’ll repeat it to him. I’m really along
for that very purpose, you see.”
“ But I haven’t anything special to tell him ’
7

“ Oh, I see! Just want the glory and honor of
chinning with the great Stone! ”
As this so nearly expressed Burdon’s intention, he
grinned sheepishly, and Fibsy understood.
“ No go, Old top,” he assured him. “ F. Stone
will send for you if he thinks you’ll interest him in
the slightest degree. Better wait for the sending—
it’ll mean a more satisfactory interview all round.”


206 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Well, then, let’s you and me chat a bit.”
“ Oho, coming round to sort of like me, are you?
Well, I’m willing. Tell me this: how far from the
victim did the shooter stand? ”
“ The doctor said, as nearly as he could judge,
about ten feet or so away.”
“ H’m,” and Fibsy looked thoughtful. “ That
would just about suit all three of the present claim-
ants for the honor, wouldn’t it?”
“ Yes; and would preclude anybody not inside
the room.”
“Unless he was close to the window.”
“ Sure. But it ain’t likely, is it now, that a rank
outsider would come right up to the window and
ﬁre through it, and not be seen by anybody? ”
“ No; it isn’t. And, of course, if that had hap-
pened, and any one of the three Wheelers had seen
it, they would be only too glad to tell of it. I won-
der they haven’t made up some such yarn as that."
“ You don’t know the Wheelers. I do, and I
can see how they would perjure themselves—any of
them—and confess to a crime they didn’t commit.
to save each other—but it wouldn’t occur to them to
invent a murderer—or to say they saw some one they
didn’t see. Do you get the difference? ”


FLEMING STONE 207
“ Being an expert in the lyin’ game, I do,” and
Fibsy winked.
“It isn’t only that. It’s not only that they’re
unwilling to lie about it, but they haven’t the—the,
well, ingenuity to contrive a plausible yarn.”
“ Not being lying experts, just as I said,”
Fibsy observed. “Well, we all have our own kind
of cleverness. Now, mine is ﬁnding things. Want
to see an example?”
“ Yes, I do.” .
“ All right. How far did you say the shooter
person stood from his victim? ”
“ About ten feet—but I daresay it might be two
or three feet, more or less.”
“ No ; they can judge closer’n that by the powder
marks. The truth wouldn’t vary more’n a foot or so,
from their say. Now, s’posin’ the shooter did throw
the revolver out of the bay window, as the three
Wheelers agree, severally, they did do, where would
it most likely land? ”
“ In that clump of rhododendrons.”
“ Yep; if they threw it straight ahead. I s’pose
you’ve looked there for it? ”
“ Yes, raked the place thoroughly.”


208 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“All right. Now if they slung the thing over
toward the right, where would it land?”
“ On the smooth lawn.”
“ And you didn’t ﬁnd it there! ”
“ No. What are you doing? Stringing me?”
“ Oh, no, sir; oh, no! Now, once again. If they
chanced to ﬂing said revolver far to the left, where
would it land? ”
“ Why—in that big bed of ferns—if they threw
it far enoug .”
“ Looked there? ”
“ No; I haven’t.”
“ C’mon, let’s take a squin .”
Fibsy rose and lounged over toward the fern bed,
Burdon following, almost certain he was being made
game of.


CHAPTER XII
THE GARAGE FIRE
“ Now, watch me,” he said, and with a quick
thrust of his arm down among the ferns, he drew
forth a revolver, which he turned over to Burdon.
“Land 0’ goodness!” exclaimed that worthy.
“ How ja know it was there? ”
“ Knew it must be—looked for it—saw it,” re-
turned the boy, nonchalantly, and then, hearing a
short, sharp whistle, he looked up at the house
to see Fleming Stone regarding him from an
upper window.
“ Found the weapon, Fibs? ” he inquired.
“ Yes, Mr. Stone.”
“ All right. Bring it up here, and ask Mr.
Burdon to come along.”
Delighted at the summons, Burdon followed the
boy’s ﬂying feet and they went up to Stone’s rooms.
A small and pleasant sitting-room had been given
over to the detective, and he admitted his two visit-
ors, then closed the door.
“ Doing the spectacular, Terence? ” Stone said,
smiling a little.
14 209


210 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ just one grandstand play,” the boy confessed.
As a matter of fact, he had located the pistol some-
time earlier, but waited to make the discovery
seem sensational.
“ All right; let’s take a look at it.”
Without hesitation, Burdon pronounced the re—
volver Mr. Wheeler’s. _ It had no initials on it, but
from Wheeler’s minute description, Burdon recog-
nized it beyond reasonable doubt. One bullet had
been ﬁred from it, and the calibre corresponded to the
shot that had killed Samuel Appleby.
“ Oh, it’s the right gun, all right,” Burdon said,
“ but I never thought of looking over that way for it.
Must have been thrown by a left-handed man.”
“ Oh, not necessarily,” said Stone. “ But it was
thrown with a conscious desire to hide it, and not
ﬂung away in a careless or preoccupied moment.”
“ And what do you deduce from that? ” asked
Burdon, quite prepared to hear the descrip-
tion of the murderer’s physical appearance and
mental attainments.
“Nothing very deﬁnite,” Stone mused. “We
might say it looked more like the act of a strong—
willed man such as Mr. Wheeler, than of a fright-
ened and nervously agitated woman.”


THE GARAGE FIRE 211
“If either of those two women did it,” Burdon
offered, “ she wasn’t nervous or agitated. They’re
not that sort. They may go to pieces afterward, but
whatever Mrs. Wheeler or Maida undertake to do,
they put it over all right. I’ve known ’em for years,
and I never knew either of them to show the
white feather.”
“Well, it was not much of an indication, any-
way,” Stone admitted, “but it does prove a steady
nerve and a planning brain that would realize the
advisability of ﬂinging the weapon where it would
not be probably sought. Now, as this is Mr.
Wheeler’s revolver, there’s no use asking the three
suspects anything about it. For each has declared
he or she used it and ﬂung it away. That in itself is
odd—I mean that they should all tell the same story.
It suggests not collusion so much as the idea that
whoever did the shooting was seen by one or both
of the others.”
“ Then you believe it was one of the three
Wheelers?” asked Burdon.
“ I don’t say that, yet,” returned Stone. “ But
they must be reckoned with. I want to eliminate the
innocent two and put the guilt on the third—if that
is where it belongs.”


212 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ And if not, which way are you looking? ”
“Toward the ﬁre. That most opportune ﬁre
in the garage seems to me indicative of a criminal
who wanted to create a panic so he could carry out
his murderous design with neatness and despatch.”
“And that lets out the women?”
“ Not if, as you say, they’re of the daring and
capable sort.”
“Oh, they are! If Maida Wheeler did this
thing, she could stage the ﬁre easily enough. Or
Mrs. Wheeler could, either. They’re hummers when
it comes to efﬁciency and actually doing things! ”
“You surprise me. Mrs. Wheeler seems such
a gentle, delicate personality.”
“ Yep; till she’s roused. Then she’s full of tiger!
Oh, I know Sara Wheeler. You ask my wife what
Mrs. Wheeler can do!”
“ Tell me a little more of this conditional pardon
matter. Is it possible that for ﬁfteen years Mr.
Wheeler has never stepped over to the forbidden
side of his own house? ”
“ Perfectly true. But it isn’t his house, it’s Mrs.
Wheeler’s. Her folks are connected with the
Applebys and it was the work of old Appleby that the
property came to Sara with that tag attached, that
l


THE GARAGE FIRE 213
she must live in Massachusetts. Also, Appleby par-
doned Wheeler on condition that he never stepped
foot into Massachusetts. And there they were. It
was Sara Wheeler’s ingenuity and determination
that planned the house on the state line, and she
has seen to it that Dan \Nheeler never broke parole.
It’s second nature to him now, of course.”
“ But I’m told that he did step over the night of
the murder. That he went into the sitting-room of
his wife—or maybe into the forbidden end of that
long living-room—to see the ﬁre. It would be a.
. most natural thing for him to do.”
“ Not natural, no, sir.” Burdon rubbed his brow
thoughtfully. “ Yet he might ’a’ done it. But one
misstep like that ought to be overlooked, I think.”
“ And would be by his friends—but suppose
there’s an enemy at work. Suppose, just as a theory,
that somebody is ready to take advantage of the
peculiar situation, that seems to prove Dan \Vheeler
was either outside his prescribed territory—or he
was the murderer. To my way of thinking, at pres-
ent, that man’s alibi is his absence from the scene of
the crime. And, if he was absent, he must have been
over the line. I know this from talks I’ve had with
the servants and the family and guests, and I’m pretty


214 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
conﬁdent that Wheeler was either in the den or in the
forbidden north part of the house at the moment
of the murder.”
“Why don’t you know which it was?” asked
Burdon, bluntly.
“ Because,” said Stone, not resenting the ques-
tion, “because I can’t place any dependence on the
truth of the family’s statements. For three respect-
able, God-fearing citizens, they are most astonish-
ingly willing, even eager, to perjure themselves. Of
course, I know they do it for one another’s sake.
They have a strange conscience that allows them to
lie outright for the sake of a loved one. And, it
may be, commit murder for the sake of a loved one!
But all this I shall straighten out when I get further
along. The case is so widespread, so full of ramiﬁ-
cations and possible side issues, I have to go care-
fully at ﬁrst, and not get entangled in false clues.”
“ Got any clue, sir? Any real ones? ”
“Meaning dropped handkerchiefs and broken
cuff-links?” Stone chaffed him. “Well, there’s
the pistol. That’s a material clue. But, no, I can’t
produce anything else—at present. Well, Terence,
what luck?”
Fibsy, who had slipped from the room at the
very beginning of this interview, now returned.


THE GARAGE FIRE 215
“It’s puzzlin’—that’s what it is, puzzlin’,” he
declared, throwing himself astride of a chair. “ I’ve
raked that old garage fore and aft, but I can’t track
down the startings of that ﬁre. You see, the place is
stucco and all that, and besides the discipline of this
whole layout is along the lines of p’ison neatness!
Everybody that works at Sycamore Ridge has to be a
very old maid for keeping things clean! So, there’s
no chance for accumulated rubbish or old rags or
spontaneous combustion or anything of the sort.
Nextly, none of the three men who have any call
to go into the garage ever smoke in there._ That’s
a Mede and Persian law. Gee, Mr. Wheeler is some
efﬁcient boss! Well, anyway, after the ﬁre, though
they tried every way to ﬁnd out what started it,
they couldn’t ﬁnd a thing! There was no explana-
tion but a brand dropped from the skies, or a stroke
of lightning! And there was no storm on. It
wouldn’t all be so sure, but the morning after, it
seems, Mr. Allen aner. Keefe were doin’ some
sleuthin’ on, their own, and they couldn’t ﬁnd out
how the ﬁre started. So, they put it up to the garage
men, and they hunted, too. It seems nothing was
burnt but some things in Mr. Appleby’s car, which,
of course, lets out his chauffeur, who had no call


‘216 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
to burn up his own duds. And a coat of his was
burned and also a coat of Mr. Keefe’s.”
“What were those coats doing in an unused
Icar? ” asked Stone.
“ Oh, they were extra motor coats, or raincoats,
-or something like that, and they always staid in
the car.” '
“ Where, in the car? ”
“ I asked that,” Fibsy returned, “ and they were
hanging on the coat-rail. I thought there might have
been matches in the pockets, but they say no. There
never had been matches in those coat pockets, nor
.any matches in the Appleby car, for that matter.”
“ Well, the ﬁre is pretty well mixed up in the
murder,” declared Stone. “Now it’s up to us to ﬁnd
out how.”
“Ex-cuse me, Mr. Stone,” and Burdon shook
'his head; “ you’ll never get at it that way.”
“ Ex-cuse me, Mr. Burdon,” Fibsy ﬂared back,
“Mr. Stone will get at it that way, if he thinks
that’s the way to look. You don’t know F. Stone
,1
yet

“Hush up, Fibs; Mr. Burdon will know if I
succeed, and, perhaps he’s right as to the unim-
-_portance of the ﬁre, after all.”


THE GARAGE FIRE 217
“You see,” Burdon went on, unabashed, “Mr.
Keefe—now, he’s some smart in the detective line——
he said, ﬁnd your phantom bugler, and you’ve got
your murderer! Now, what nonsense that is! As
if a marauding villain would announce himself by
playing on a bugle! ”
“ Yet there may be something in it,” demurred
Stone. “ It may well be that the dramatic mind that
staged this whole mysterious affair is responsible for
the bugle call, the ﬁre, and the ﬁnal crime.”
“ In that case, it’s one of the women,” Burdon
said. “ They could do all that, either of them, if they
wanted to; but Dan Wheeler, while he could kill a
man on provocation—it would be an impulsive act—
not a premeditated one. No, sir! Wheeler could
see red, and go Berserk, but he couldn’t plan
out a complicated affair like you’re turning this
case into!”
“ I’m not turning it into anything,” Stone -
laughed. “ I’m taking it as it is presented to me, but
I do hold that the phantom bugler and the opportune
ﬁre are theatrical elements.”
“ A theatrical element, too, is the big syca-
more,” and Burdon smiled. “Now, if that tree
should take a notion to walk over into Massachusetts,
it would help out some.”


218 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ What’s that?” cried Fibsy. “What do you
mean? ”
“ Well, the Wheelers have got a letter from
Appleby, written while he" was still governor, and
it says that when the big sycamore goes into Massa-
chusetts, Wheeler can go, too. But it can’t be done
by a trick. I mean, they can’t transplant the thing,
or chop it down and take the wood over. It’s got to
go of its own accord.”
“ Mere teasing,” said Stone.
“ Yes, sir, just that. Appleby had a great streak
of teasing. He used to tease everybody just for the
fun of seeing them squirm. This whole Wheeler
business was the outcome of Appleby’s distorted
love of fun. And Wheeler took it so seriously that
Appleby kept it up. I’ll warrant, if Wheeler had
treated the whole thing as a joke, Appleby would
have let up on him. But Dan Wheeler is a solemn
old chap, and he saw no fun in the whole matter.”
“ I don’t blame him,” commented Stone. “ Won’t
he get pardoned now?”
“ No, sir, he won’t. Some folks think he will,
but I know better. The present governor isn’t much
for pardoning old sentences—ehe says it establishes


THE GARAGE FIRE 219
precedent and all that. And the next governor is
more than likely to say the same.”
“ I hear young Mr. Appleby isn’t going to run.”
“No, sir, he ain’t. Though I daresay he will
some other time. But this death of his father and
the mystery and all, is no sort of help to a campaign.
And, too, young Appleby hasn’t the necessary qualiﬁ-
cations-to conduct a campaign, however good he
might be as governor after he got elected. No; Sam
won’t run.”
“ Who will? ”
“ Dunno, I’m sure. But there’ll be lots ready
and eager for a try at it.”
“ I suppose so. Well, Burdon, I’m going down
now to ask some questions of the servants. You
know they’re a mine of information usually.”
“ Kin I go? ” asked Fibsy.
“ Not now, son. You stay here, or do what you
like. But don’t say much and don’t antagonize
anybody.”
“ Not me, F. Stone!”
“ Well, don’t shock anybody, then. Behave like
a gentleman and a scholar.”
“ Yessir,” Fibsy ducked a comical bow, and
Burdon, understanding he was dismissed, went home.


220 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
To the dining-room Stone made his way, and
asked a maid there if he might see the cook.
Greatly frightened, the waitress brought the cook
to the dining-room.
But the newcomer, a typical, strong-armed,
strong-minded individual, was not at all abashed.
“ What! is it you do be wantin’, sor? ” she asked,
civilly enough, but a triﬂe sullenly.
“ Only a few answers to direct questions. Where
were you when you ﬁrst heard the alarm of the
garage ﬁre? ”
“ I was in me kitchen, cleanin’ up after dinner.”
“ What did you do?”
“ I ran out the kitchen door and, seein’ ﬂames, I
ran toward the garage.”
“ Before you ran, you were at the rear of the
house—I mean the south side, weren’t you? ”
“ Yes, sor, I was.”
' “ You passed along the south veranda?”
“ Not along it,” the cook looked at him wonder-
ingly—“ but by the end of it, like.”
“ And did you see any one on the veranda? Any
one at all?”
The woman thought hard. “ Well, I sh’d have
said no—ﬁrst off—but now you speak of it, I must


THE GARAGE FIRE 221
say I do have a remimbrance of seein’ a ﬁgger—but
sort of vague like.”
“ You mean your memory of it is-vague—you
don’t mean a shadowy ﬁgure? ”
“ No, sor. I mean I can’t mind it rightly, now,
for I was thinkin’ intirely of the ﬁre, and so as I was
runnin’ past the end of the verandy all I can say is,
I just glimpsed like, a person standin’ there.”
“ Standing? ”
“ Well, he might have been moving—I dunno.”
“ Are you sure it was a man? ”
“ I’m not. I’m thinkin’ it was, but yet, I couldn’t
speak it for sure.”
“ Then you went on to the ﬁre? ”
“ Yes, sor.”
“ And thought no more about the person on
the veranda?”
“ No, sor. And it niver wud have entered me
head again, savin’ your speakin’ of it now. Why—-
was it the—the man that ”
“ Oh, probably not. But everything I can learn
is of help in discovering the criminal and perhaps

freeing your employers from suspicion.”
“ And I wish that might be! To put it on the


222 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
good man, now! And worse, upon the ladies—
angels, both of them! ”
“ You are fond of the family, then?”
“I am that! I’ve worked here for eight years,
and never a cross word from the missus or the mas-
ter. As for Miss Maida—she’s my darlint.”
“They’re fortunate in having you here,” said
Stone, kindly. “ That’s all, now, cook, unless you
can remember anything more of that person
you saw.”
“ Nothin’ more, sor. If I do, I’ll tell you.”
Thinking hard, Stone left her.
It was the most unusual case he had ever. at—
tempted. If he looked no further for the murderer
than the Wheeler family, he still had enough to do
in deciding which one of the three was guilty. But
he yearned for another suspect. Not a foolish phan-
tom that went around piping, or a perhaps imaginary
pro'wler stalking on the piazza, but a real suspect with
a sound, plausible motive. '
Though, to be sure, the Wheelers had motive
enough. To be condemned to an absurd restriction
and then teased about it, was enough to make life
gall and wormwood to a sensitive man like Wheeler.
And who could say what words had passed be-


THE GARAGE FIRE ' 223
tween them at that ﬁnal interview? Perhaps Ap-
pleby had goaded him to the breaking point; perhaps
Wheeler had stood it, but his wife, descending the
stairs and hearing the men talk, had grown desperate
at last; or,‘ and Stone knew he thought this most
plausible of all, perhaps Maida, in her window-seat,
had stood as long as she could the aspersions and
tauntings directed at her adored father, and had,
with a reckless disregard of consequences, _silenced
the enemy forever. "
Of young Allen, Stone had no slightestsuspicion.
To be sure, his interests were one with the Wheeler
family, and moreover, he had hoped for a release
from restrictions that would let the Wheelers go into
Massachusetts and thereby make possible his home
there with Maida.
For Maida’s vow that she would never go into the
state if her father could not go, too, was, Allen
knew, inviolable. -
All this Stone mulled over, yet had no thought
that Allen was the one he was seeking. Also, Curtis
Keefe had testiﬁed that Allen was with him at the
ﬁre, during the time that included the moment
of shooting.


224 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Strolling out into the gardens, the detective made
his way to the great tree, the big sycamore.
Here Fibsy joined him, and at Stone’s tacit nod
of permission, the boy sat down beside his superior
on the bench under the tree.
“ What’s this about the tree going to Massachu-
setts? ” Fibsy asked, his freckled face earnestly
inquiring.
“ One of old Appleby’s jokes,” Stone returned.
“ Doubtless made just after a reading of ‘ Macbeth.’
You know, or if you don’t, you must read it up for
yourself, there’s a scene there that hinges on Birnam
Wood going to Dunsinane. I can’t take time to tell
you about it, but quite evidently it pleased the old wag
to tell Mr. Wheeler that he could go into his native
state when this great tree went there.”
“ Meaning not at all, I s’pose.”
“ Of course. And any human intervention was
not allowed. So though Birnam \Vood was brought
to Dunsinane, such a trick is not permissible in his
,case. However, that’s beside the point just now.
Have you seen any of the servants?”
“ Some. But I got nothing. They’re willing
enough to talk, but they don’t know anything. They
say I’d better tackle the ladies’ maid, a fair Rachel.


THE GARAGE FIRE ' 225
So I’m going for her. But I bet I won’t strike
pay-dirt.”
“ You may. Skip along, now, for here comes
Miss Maida, and she’s probably looking for me.”
F ibsy departed, and Maida, looking relieved to
ﬁnd Stone alone, came quickly toward him.
I
“ You see, Mr. Stone,” she began, ‘ you must
start straight in this thing._ And the only start pos-
sible is for you to be convinced that I killed
Mr. Appleby.” I
“ But you must admit, Miss Wheeler, that I
am not too absurd in thinking that though you say
you did it, you are saying it to shield some one else—
some one who is near and dear to you.”
“ I know you think that—*but it isn’t so. How
can I convince you? ”
“ Only by circumstantial evidence. Let me
question you a bit. Where did you get the revolver ?”
“ From my father’s desk drawer, where he
always keeps it.”
“ You are familiar with ﬁrearms?”
“ My father taught me to shoot years ago. I’m
not a crack shot—but that was not necessary.”
“ You premeditated the deed? ”
15


226 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“For some time I have felt that I wanted to
kill that man.”
“ Your conscience?”
“ Is very active. I deliberately went against its
dictates for my father’s sake.”
“ And you killed Mr. Appleby because he
hounded your father in addition to the long depriva-
tion he had imposed on him? ”
“ No, not that alone. Oh, I don’t want to tell
you—but, if you won’t believe me otherwise, Mr.
Stone, I will admit that I had a new motive——”
“ A new one?”
“ Yes, a secret that I learned only a day or so
before—before Mr. Appleby’s death.”
“The secret was Appleby’s? ”
“ Yes; that is, he knew it. He told it to me
If any one else should know it, it would mean the
utter ruin and desolation of the lives of my parents,
compared to which this present condition of living is
Paradise itself! ”
“ This is true, Miss Wheeler?”
“Absolutely true. Now, do you understand
why I killed him?”


CHAPTER XIII
SARA WHEELER
FLEMING STONE was deeply interested in the
Appleby case.
While his logical brain could see no possible way
to look save toward one of the three Wheelers, yet
his soul revolted at the thought that any one of them
was the criminal.
Stone was well aware of the fact that the least
seemingly guilty often proved to be a ieep-dyed
villain, yet he hesitated to think that Dan Wheeler
had killed his old enemy, and he could not believe it
was a woman’s work. He was impressed by Maida’s
story, especially by the fact that a recent develop-
ment had made her more strongly desirous to be rid
of old Appleby. He wondered if it did not have
something to do with young App-leby’s desire to
marry her, and determined to persuade her to conﬁde
further in him regarding the secret she mentioned.
But ﬁrst, he decided to interview Mrs. Wheeler.
This could not be done offhand, so he waited a con-
venient season, and asked for a conference when he
felt sure it would be granted.
227


228 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Sara Wheeler received the detective in her sitting_
room, and her manner was calm and collected as she
asked him to make the interview as brief as possible.
“ You are not well, Mrs. Wheeler?” Stone
asked, courteously.
“I am not ill, Mr. Stone, but naturally these
dreadful days have upset me, and the horror and
suspense are still hanging over me. Can you not
bring matters to a crisis? Anything would be better
than present conditions! ”
“ 1. some member of your family would tell me
the trut 1,” Stone said frankly, “ it would help a great
deal. You know, Mrs. 	heeler, when three people
insist on being regarded as the criminal, it’s difﬁcult
to choose among them. Now, won’t you, at least,
admit that you didn’t shoot Mr. Appleby? ”
“ But I did,” and the serene eyes looked at
Stone calmly.
“ Can you prove it—I mean, to my satisfaction?
Tell me this: where did you get a pistol?”
“ I used Mr. W'heeler’s revolver.”
“ Where did you get it?”
“ From the drawer in his desk, where he always
keeps it.”
Stone sighed. Of course, both Maida and her


SARA WHEELER 229
mother knew where the revolver was kept, so this
was no test of their veracity as to the crime.
“When did you take it from the drawer?”
Sara Wheeler hesitated for an instant and from
that, Stone knew that she had to think before she
spoke. Had she been telling the truth, he argued,
she would have answered at once.
But immediately she spoke, though with a shade
of hesitation.
“ I took it earlier in the day—I had it up in my
own room.”
“ Yes; where did you conceal it there? ”
“ In—in a dresser drawer.”
“ And, when you heard the alarm of ﬁre, you
ran downstairs in consequence—but you paused to
get the revolver and take it with you! ”
This sounded absurd, but Sara Wheeler could
see no way out of it, so she assented.
“Feeling sure that you would ﬁnd your hus-
band and Mr. Appleby in such a desperate quarrel
that you would be called upon to shoot? ”
“ I—I overheard the quarrel from upstairs,” she
faltered, her eyes piteous now with a baﬁied despair.
“ Then you went down because of the quarreling
voices—not because of the ﬁre-alarm?” I


230 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Unable to meet Stone’s inexorable gaze, Mrs.
VVheeler’s eyes fell and she nervously responded:
“ Well, it was both.”
“ Now, see here,” Stone said, kindly; “ you want
to do anything you can, don’t you, to help your hus-
band and daughter?”
“ Yes, of course! ” and the wide-open eyes now
looked at him hopefully.
“ Then will you trust me far enough to believe
that I think you will best help them by telling
the truth? ”
“ Oh, I can’t!” and with a low moan the dis-
tracted woman hid her face in her hands.
>_“ Please do; your attitude proves you are con-
cealing important information. I am more than ever
sure you are not the guilty one—and I am not at all
sure that it was either of the other two.”
“Then who could it have been?” and Sara
Wheeler looked amazed.
“ That we don’t know. If I had a hint of any
direction to look I’d be glad. But if you will shed
what light you can, it may be of greathelp.”
“ Even if it seems to incriminate my—”
“What can incriminate them more than their
own confessions? ”


SARA WHEELER ' 231
“ Their confessions contradict each other. They
_ can’t both be guilty.” '
“And you don’t know which one is?”
“ N—no,” came the faltering reply.
“ But that admission contradicts your own con-
fession. Come now, Mrs. Wheeler, own up to me
that you didn’t do it, and I’ll not tell any one else,
unless it becomes necessary.” '
“I will tell you, for I can’t bear this burden
alone any longer! I did go downstairs because of
the alarm of ﬁre, Mr. Stone. Just before I came to
the open door of the den, I heard a shot, and as
I passed the door of the den, I saw Mr. Appleby,
fallen slightly forward in his chair, my husband
standing at a little distance looking at him, and
Maida in the bay window, also staring at them both.
“ What did you do? Go in? ”
“ N o ; I was so bewildered, I scarcely knew which
way to turn, and in my fear and horror I ran into
my own sitting-room and fell on the couch there
in sheer collapse.” ’
“ You stayed there? ”
“ Until I heard voices in the den—the men came
back from the ﬁre and discovered the—the tragedy.
At least, I think that’s the way it was. It’s all mixed


232 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
up in my mind. Usually I’m very clear-headed and
strong nerved, but that scene seemed to take away
all my will-power—all my vitality.”
“ I don’t wonder. What did you do or say? ”
“ I had a vague fear that my husband or daughter
would be accused of the crime, and so, at once, I
declared it was the work of the phantom bugler.
You’ve heard about him? ”
“ Yes. You didn’t think it was he, though,
did you? ”
“ I wanted to—yes, I think I did. You see, I
don’t think the bugler was a phantom, but I do think
he was a criminal. I mean, I think it was somebody
who meant harm to my husband. I—well—I think
maybe the shot was meant for Mr. \Vheeler.”
Stone looked at her sharply, and said: “ Please,
Mrs. Wheeler, be honest with me, whatever you may
pretend to others. Are you not springing that theory
in a further attempt to direct suspicion away from
Mr. Wheeler?”
She gave a gesture of helplessness. “ I see I
can hide nothing from you, Mr. Stone! You are
right—but may there not be a chance that it is a
true theory after all? ” ’
“ Possibly; if we can ﬁnd any hint of the bugler’s


SARA WHEELER 233
identity. Mr. Keefe says, ﬁnd the bugler and you’ve
found the murderer.”
“ I knowihe does, but Keefe is—as I am—very
anxious to direct suspicion away from the Wheeler
family. You see, Mr. Keefe is in love with my
daughter ”

“As who isn’t? All the young men fall down
before her charms! ”
“ It is so. Although she is engaged to Mr. Allen.
both Mr. Keefe and Mr. Sam Appleby are hopeful
of yet winning her regard. To me it is not surpris-
ing, for I think Maida the very ﬂower of lovely girl-
hood, but I also think those men should recognize
Jeffrey Allen’s rights and cease paying Maida such
deﬁnite attentions.”
“ It is hard to repress an ardent admirer,” Stone
admitted, “ and as you say, that is probably Keefe’s
intent in insisting on the ﬁnding of the bugler. You
do not, then, believe in your old legend?”
“ I do and I don’t. My mind has a tendency to
revere and love the old traditions of my family, but
when it comes to real belief I can’t say I am willing
to stand by them. Yet where else can we look for a
criminal——other than my own people? ”
“ Please tell me just what you saw when you


234 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
looked into the den immediately after you heard the
shot. You must realize how important this testi-
mony is.”
“ I do,” was the solemn reply. “ I saw, as I told
you, both my husband and my daughter looking at
Mr. Appleby as he sat in his chair. I did not know
then that he was dead, but he must have been dead or
dying. The doctors said the death was practi-
cally instantaneous.” ‘
“ And from their attitude or their facial ex-
pression could you assume either your husband or
daughter to have been the guilty one?”
“I can only say they both looked stunned and
horriﬁed. Just as one would expect them to look on
the occasion of witnessing a horrible tragedy.”
“ Whether they were responsible for it or not? ”
“ Yes. But I’m not sure the attitude would have
been different in the case of a criminal or a witness.
I mean the fright and horror I saw on their faces
would be the same if they had committed a crime or
had seen it done.”
Stone considered this. “ You may be right,” he
said; “ I daresay absolute horror would ﬁll the soul
in either case, and would produce much the same
.effect in appearance. Now, let us suppose for a mo-


SARA WHEELER 235
ment, that one or other of the two did do the shoot—
ing—wait a moment! ” as Mrs. Wheeler swayed un-
certainly in her chair. “ Don’t faint. I’m supposing
this only in the interests of you and yours. Sup-
pose, I say, that either Mr. Wheeler or Miss Wheeler
had ﬁred the weapon—as they have both confessed
to doing—which would you assume, from their ap-
pearance, had done it?”
Controlling herself by a strong effort, Sara
Wheeler answered steadily, “ I could not say. Hon-
estly, to my startled eyes they seemed equally horri-
ﬁed and stunned.”
“ Of course they would. You see, Mrs. Wheeler,
the fact that they both confess it, makes it look as if
one of them did do it, and the other having witnessed
the deed, takes over the blame to save the guilty one.
This sounds harsh, but we have to face the facts.
Then, if we can get more or different facts, so much
the better.”
“ You’re suggesting, then, that one of my peo—
ple did do it, and the other saw it done? ”
“ I’m suggesting that that might be the truth,
and so far as we can see now, is the most appar—
ent solution. But I’m not saying it is the truth,
nor shall I relax my efforts to ﬁnd another answer to


236 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
our problem. And I want to tell you that you have
helped materially by withdrawing your own confes-
sion. Every step I can take toward the truth is
helpful. You have lessened the suspects from three
to two; now if I can eliminate another we will have
but one; and if I can clear that one, we shall have
to look elsewhere.”
“That is specious argument, Mr. Stone,” and
Sara Wheeler ﬁxed her large, sad eyes upon his face.
“ For, if you succeeded in elimination of one of the
two, it may be you cannot eliminate the third-—
and then ”

“ And then your loving perjuries will be useless.
True, but I must do my duty—and that means my
duty to you all. I may tell you that Mr. Appleby,
who employed me, asked me to ﬁnd a criminal out-
’ side of your family, whether the real one or not.”
“ He put it that way! ”
“ He did; and while I do want to ﬁnd the outside
criminal, I can’t ﬁnd him if he doesn’t exist.”
“ Of course not. I daresay I shall regret what
3’

I’ve told you, but
“ But you couldn’t help it, I know. Don’t worry,
Mrs. Wheeler. If you’ve no great faith in me, try


SARA WHEELER 287
to have a hopeful trust, and I assure you I will not
betray it.”
“ Well, Mr. McGuire,” Stone said to his adoring
satellite, a little later, “ there’s one out.”
“ Mother Wheeler? ”
“ Yes, you young scamp; how did you know? ”
“ Saw you hobnobbing with her—she being took
with a sudden attack of the conﬁdentials—and, any-
how, two of ’em—at least—has got to cave in. You
can ferret out which of ’em is George Washingtons
and which isn’t.”
“ Well, here’s the way it seems to stand now.
Mind, I only say seems to stand."
“ Yessir.”
“ The father and daughter—both of whom con-
fess to the shooting, were seen in the room immedi-
ately after the event. Now, they were on opposite
sides of the room, the victim being about midway
between them. Consequently, if one shot, the other
was witness thereto. And, owing to the deep devo-
tion obtaining between them, either father or daugh-
ter would confess to the crime to save the other.”
“ Then,” Fibsy summed up, “ Mr. Wheeler and
Maida don’t suspect each other; one did it, and both
know which one.”


238 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Well put. Now, which is which? ”
“ More likely the girl did the shooting. She’s
awful impulsive, awful high strung and awful fond
of her father. Say the old Appleby gentleman was
beratin’ and oratin’ and iratin’ against Friend
Wheeler, and say he went a leetle too far for Miss
Maida to stand, and say she had that new secret. or
whatever it is that’s eatin’ her—well, it wouldn’t
surprise me overly, if she up and shot the varmint.”
“ Having held the pistol in readiness? ”
“ Not nec’ess’rily. She coulda sprung across the
room, lifted the weapon from its 'customed place in
the drawer, and ﬁred, all in a fleetin’ instant 0’ time.
And she’s the girl to do it! That Maida, now, she
could do anything! And she loves the old man
enough to do anything. Touch and go—that’s what
she is! Especially go! ”
“Well, all right. Yet, maybe it was the other
way. Maybe, Wheeler, at the end of his patience,
and knowing the ‘secret,’ whatever it may be, ﬂung
away discretion and grabbed up his own pistol
and ﬁred.”
“ Coulda been, F. Stone. Coulda been—easily.
But—I lean to the Maida theory. Maida for mine,
ﬁrst, last, and all the time.”


SARA WHEELER 239
“ For an admirer of hers, and you’re not by your-
self in that, you seem cheerfully willing to subscribe
to her guilt.”
“ Well, I ain’t! But I do want to get the truth
as to the three Wheelers. And once I get it fastened
0n the lovely Maida, I’ll set to work to get it off
again. But, I’ll know where I’m at.”
“ And suppose we fasten it on the lovely
Daniel?”
“ That’s a serious proposition, F. Stone. For,
if he did it, he did it. And if Maida did it—-she
didn’t do it. See?”
"‘ Not very clearly; but never mind, you needn’t
expound. It doesn’t interest me."
Fibsy looked comically chagrined, as he often
did when Stone scorned his ideas, but he said noth-
ing except:
“ Orders, sir?”
“ Yes, Terence. Hunt up Rachel, the maid, and
ﬁnd out all she knows. Use your phenomenal powers
of enchantment and make her come across.”
“ ’Tis the same as done, sir!” declared the boy,
and he departed at once in search of Rachel.
He sauntered out of the north door and took
a roundabout way to the kitchen quarters.


240 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Finally he found the cook, and putting on his best
and most endearing little boy effects, he appealed
for something to eat.
“ Not but what I’m well treated at the table," he
said, “ but, you know what boys are.”
“ I do that,” and the good-natured woman fur-
nished him with liberal pieces of pie and cake.
“ Great,” said Fibsy, eating the last crumb as he
guilefully complimented her culinary skill, “ and now
I’ve got to ﬁnd a person name 0’ Rachel. Where
might she be?” '
“ She might be ’most anywhere, but she isn’t
anywhere,” was the cryptic reply.
“ Why for? ”
“ Well, she’s plain disappeared, if you know what
that means.”
“ Vamoosed? Skipped? Faded? Slid? Oozed
out? ”
“ Yes; all those. Anyway, she isn’t on the place.”
“ Since when? ”
“ Why, I saw her last about two hours ago.
Then when Mrs. Wheeler wanted her she wasn’t to
be found.”
“ And hasn’t sence ben sane? ”
“Just so. And as you are part and parcel of


SARA WHEELER 241
that detective layout that’s infestin’ the house an’
grounds, I wish you’d ﬁnd the hussy.”
“Why, why, what langwitch! Why call her
names?”
“ She’s a caution! Get along now, and if you
can’t ﬁnd her, at least you can quit botherin’ rne.”
“ All right. But tell me this. before we part.
Did she conﬁde to your willin’ ears anything about
the murder? ”
“ Uncanny you are, lad! How’d you guess it? ”
“ I’m a limb of Satan. What did she tell you?
and when? ”
“ Only this morning; early, before she ﬂew off.”
“ Couldn’t very well have told you after she
started.”
“ No impidence now. Well, she told me that the
night of the murder, as she ran from here to the
garage, she saw on the south veranda a man with
a bugle pipe! ”
“ A pipe dream! ”
“ I dunno. But she told it like gospel truth."
“ Just what did she say? ”
“ Said she saw a man—a live man, no phantom
foolishness, on the south veranda, and he carried
a bugle.”
l6


242 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Did he play on it? ”
“ No; just carried it like. But she says he musta
been the murderer, and by the same token it’s the
man I saw!”
“ Oho, you saw him, too? "
“ As I told your master, I saw him, but not plain,
as I ran along to the ﬁre. Rachel, now, she saw him
plain, so he musta been there. Well, belike, he
was the murderer and that sets my people free.”
“ Important if true, but are you both sure? And
why, oh, why does the valuable Rachel choose this
time to vanish? Won’t she come back? ”
“ \Vho knows? She didn’t take any lug-
gage—” '
“ How did she go?”
“ Nobody knows. She walked, of course—”
“Then she couldn’t have gone far.”
“ Oh, well, she could walk to the railway station.
It’s only a fairish tramp. But why did she go? ”
“ I ask you why.”
“ And I don’t know. But I suppose it was be-
cause she didn’t want to be questioned about the
man who shot.”
“What! You didn’t say she saw him shoot!"
“Yes. I did. Or I meant to. Anyway that’s


SARA WHEELER 243
what Rachel said. The man with the bugle shot
through the window and that’s what killed Mr.
Appleby.”
“ Oh, come now, this is too big a yarn to be
true, especially when the yarner lights out at once
after telling it!”
“ Well, Rachel has her faults, but I never knew
her to lie. And if it was the man I saw—why, that
proves, at least, there was a man there.”
“ But you didn’t see him clearly.”
“ But I saw him.”
“ Then he must be reckoned with. Now, Cookie,
dear, we must ﬁnd Rachel. \Ve must! Do you
hear? You help me and I bet we’ll get her.”

“ But I’ve no idea where she went "
“ Of course you haven’t. But think; has she any
friends or relatives nearby? ”
“ Not one.”
“ Are there any trains about the time she left? ”
“ I don’t know What time she left, but there’s
been no train since nine-thirty, and I doubt she was
in time for that.”
“ She took no luggage? ”
“ No, I’ll vouch for that.”
“ Then she’s likely in the neighborhood. Is


244 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
there any inn or place she could get a room
and board? ”
“ Oh, land, she hasn’t gone away to stay. She’s
scart at something most likely, and she’ll be back
by nightfall.”
“ She may and she may not. She must be found.
Wait, has she a lover?”
“Well, they do say Fulton, the chauffeur, is
sweet on her, but I never noticed it much.”
“ Who said he was?”
“ Mostly she said it herself.”
“ She Ought to know! Me for Fulton. Good-
!
bye, Cookie, for the nonce,’ and waving a smiling
farewell, F ibsy went off toward the garage.


CHAPTER XIV
RACHEL’S STORY
“HELLO, Fult,” Fibsy sang out gaily to the
chauffeur, and received a pleasant response, for few
could resist the contagious smile of the round,
freckled face of the boy.
“ Hello, Mr. Fibsy,” the other returned, “how
you getting on with your detective work?”
“ Fine; but I want a little help from you.”
“ Me? I don’t know anything about anything.”
,“ Well, then tell me what you don’t know. That
ﬁre now, here in the garage, the night of the mur-
der, did you ever ﬁnd out how it started?”
Fulton’s face took on a perplexed look and he
said: “ N 0, we didn’t—and it’s a queer thing. It
must have been started by some one purposely, for
there’s no way it could have come about by accident.”
“ Spontaneous combustion? ”
“ Whatever made you think of that? And it
couldn’t have been from old paint rags, or such, for
there’s nothing like that about. But—well, here’s
what I found.”
Fulton produced a small bottle. It was empty
245


246 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
and had no label or stopper, and Fibsy looked at
it blankly.
“What is it?” he asked.
“ Never see one like it? ”
“ No; have you 1' ”
“ Yes, I have. I was in the war, and bottles like
that contained acid which, when combined with an-
other acid, caused spontaneous combustion.”
“ Combined—110w? ” i
“ \lVell, they used to saturate some cloth or old
clothes with the other acid, and throw them about.
Then, when the time came they threw a little bottle
like that, ﬁlled with acid, and with only a paper
stopper, in among the clothes. The acid slowly ate
out the paper stopper, and then the two acids caused
combustion. So, by the time the ﬁre started, the
man who was responsible for it was far away from
the scene.”
“ Whew! And you think that happened here? ”
“There’s the bottle. The ﬁre began in Mr.
Appleby’s car. Two coats and a rug were burned——
now, mightn’t they have been sprinkled with the
I?

other acid
“ Of course that’s what happened! Why haven’t
you told this before? ”


RACHEL’S STORY 247
“ I only found the bottle this morning. It had
been kicked under a bench, and the sweeper found
it. Then I fell a-thinking, for it’s the very same
sort of bottle I saw used over there. Somebody-who
knew that trick did it.”
“And whoever did it is either Mr. Appleby’s
murderer, or an accomplice.”
“ You think the two crimes are connected,
then?”
“ Haven’t a doubt of it. You’re a clever chap,
Fulton, t0 dope this out "

“ Well, there was no other explanation. Any-
thing else hinted at carelessness of my management
of this place, and that hurt my pride, for I like to
think this garage the pink of perfection as to cleanli-
ness and order.”
“ Mr. Wheeler is fortunate in having such a man
as you. - Now, one more thing, Fulton; where
is Rachel?”
“ Rachel! ”
’ “ Yes, your blush gives you away. If you
know where she is, tell me. If she’s done nothing
wrong it can do no harm to ﬁnd her. If she has
done anything wrong, she must be found.”
“I don’t know where she is, Mr. Fibs
9’


248 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Call me McGuire. And if you don’t know
where she is, you know something about her disap-
pearance. When did she go away?”
“ I saw her last night. She said nothing about
going away, but she seemed nervous and worried,
and I couldn’t say anything to please her.”
“ Can’t you form any idea of where she might
have gone? Be frank, Fulton, for much depends on
getting hold of that girl.”
“I can only say I’ve no idea where she is, but
she may communicate with me. In that case—”
“ In that case, let me know at once,” Fibsy com—
manded, and having learned all he could there, he
went off to think up some other means of ﬁnding the
lost Rachel.
Meantime Sam Appleby was taking his
departure.
“ I have to go,” he said, in response to the
Wheelers’ invitation to tarry longer; “ because Keefe
is coming down to-morrow. One of us ought to be
in father’s ofﬁce all the time now, there’s so much
to attend to.”
“ Why is Mr. Keefe coming here?” asked Maida.
“ Mr. Stone wants to see him,” Appleby informed
her. “ You know, Keefe is more or less of a detec—


RACHEL’S STORY 249
tive himself, and Mr. Stone thinks he may be helpful
in ﬁnding the criminal. Miss Lane is coming also,
she begged to, mostly, I think, because she took such
a liking to you.”
“I liked her, too,” returned Maida; “she’s a
funny girl but a sincere, thorough nature.”
“ Yes, she is. Well, they’ll only stay over a day
or two, I can’t spare them longer. Of course, they
may be of help to Mr. Stone, and they may not. But
I don’t want to miss a trick in this investigation.
What a queer little chap that boy of Stone’s is! ”
“ Fibsy? ” and Maida smiled. “ Yes, he’s a
case! And he’s my devoted slave.”
“ As who isn’t?” exclaimed Appleby. “ Oh,
Maida, do give me a little encouragement. After
this awful business is all over, mayn’t I come back
with a hope that you’ll smile on me? ”
“Don’t talk that way, Sam. You know I’m
engaged to Jeffrey.” '
“ Oh, no, you’re not. I mean, it can be possible
for you to change your mind. Girls are often en-
' gaged to several men before they marry.”
“ I’m not that sort,” and Maida smiled a little
sadly.
“ Be that sort, then.”


250 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ You seem to forget that I may be openly
accused of crime at any moment. And a crime that
hits you pretty closely.”
“Don’t say such things, dear. Neither you nor
any of your people are responsible for the dreadful
thing that happened to father—or, if you are, I
never want to know it. And I do want you, Maida
7
dear—so much ’

“ Hush, Sam; I won't listen to anything like that
from you.”
“Not now, but later on,” he urged. “Tell me
that I may come back, Maida dear.”
“ Of course you may come here, whenever you
like, but I hold out no hope of the sort you ask for."
“ I shall hope all the same. I’d die if I didn’t!
Good-bye, Maida, for this time.”
He went away to the train, and later, came Keefe
and Genevieve Lane.
“ Oh,” the girl cried, “I’m so glad to be back
here again, Maida. My, but you’re prettier than
ever! If you’d only touch up those pale cheeks—
just a little bit—here, let me———-—-"
She opened her ever-ready vanity box, and was
about to apply a touch of rouge, but Maida sprang
away from her.


RACHEL’S STORY I 251
“ No, no, Genevieve, I never use it.”
“ Silly girl! You don’t deserve the beauty nature
gave you, if you’re not willing to help it along
a little yourself! How do you do, Mrs. Wheeler
and Mr. Wheeler?”
She greeted them prettily, and Keefe, too, ex-
changed greetings with the family.
“Anything being done? ” he asked, ﬁnally. “ Has
Mr. Stone discovered anything of importance?”
“ Nothing very deﬁnite, I fear," returned Daniel
Wheeler. He spoke wearily, and almost despair-
ingly. Anxiety and worry had aged him, even in
the last few days. “I do hope, Keefe, that you
can be of assistance. You have a keen eye for
details, and may know or remember some points
that escaped our notice.” .
“ I’m hoping I can help,” Keefe returned with
a serious face. “ Can I see Stone shortly? ”
“Yes, now. Come along into the den, he’s
in here.”
The two men went to the den, where Stone and
Fibsy were in deep consultation.
“Very glad to see you, Mr. Keefe,” Fleming
Stone acknowledged the introduction. “This is


252 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
McGuire, my young assistant. You may speak
frankly before him.”
“If I have anything to speak,” said Keefe. “I
don’t really know anything I haven’t told, but
I may remind Mr. \Vheeler of some points he
has forgotten.”
“Well, let’s talk it all over,” Stone suggested,
and they did.
Keefe was greatly surprised and impressed by
the story of the cook’s having seen a man on the
south veranda at the time of the shooting.
“ But she didn’t see him clearly,” Fibsy added.
“ Couldn’t she describe him?”
“ No ; she didn’t see him plain enough. But the
maid, Rachel, told cook that she saw the man, too,
and that he carried a ,bugle. Cook didn’t see
the bugle.”
“Naturally ' not, if she only saw the man
vaguely,” said Wheeler. “ But, it begins to look as
if there must have been a man there and if so, he
may have been the criminal.”
“ Let us hope,” said Keefe, earnestly. “ Now,
can you ﬁnd this man, Mr. Stone? ”
“ We’ve got to ﬁnd him,” Stone returned,
“ whether we can or not. It’s really a baﬂling case.


RACHEL’S STORY 253
I think we’ve discovered the origin of the ﬁre in
the garage."
He told the story that Fibsy had learned from
the chauffeur, and Keefe was greatly interested.
“ What are the acids?” he asked.
“ I don’t know the exact names,” Stone admitted,
“but they are of just such powers as Fulton de-
scribed, and the thing is plausible. Here’s the bot—
tle.” He offered the little vial for inspection and
Keefe looked at it with some curiosity.
“ The theory being,” he said, “ that the murderer
ﬁrst arranged for a ﬁre in our car—in Mr. Appleby’s
car—and then waited for the ﬁre to come off as
planned. Then, at the moment of greatest excite-
ment, he, being probably the man the servants saw—
shot through the bay window and killed Mr.
Appleby. You were fortunate, Miss Maida, that
you weren’t hit ﬁrst!”
“ Oh, I was in no danger. I sat well back in the
window-seat, and over to one side, out of range
of a shot from outside. And, too, Mr. Keefe, I can
scarcely discuss this matter of the shot from outside,
as I am, myself, the confessed criminal.”
“ Co-nfessing only to save me from suspicion,”
said her father, with an affectionate glance. “ But it


254 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
won’t do any good, dear. I take the burden of the
crime and I own up that I did it. This man on the
veranda—if, indeed, there was such a one, may
have been any of the men servants about the place,
startled by the cry of ﬁre, and running to assure
himself of the safety of the house and family. He,
doubtless, hesitates to divulge his identity lest he
be suspected of shooting.”
“ That’s all right,” declared Fibsy, “ but if it was
one of your men, he’d own up by this time. He’d
know he wouldn’t be suspected of shooting Mr.
Appleby. Why should he do it? ”
“Why should anybody do it, except myself?”
asked Dan Wheeler. “ Not all the detectives in the
world can ﬁnd any one else with a motive and oppor-
tunity. The fact that both my wife and daughter
tried to take the crime off my shoulders only makes
me more determined to tell the truth.”
“But you’re not telling the truth, dad,” and
Maida looked at him. “You know I did it—you
know I had threatened to do itfyou know I felt I
just could not stand Mr. Appleby’s oppression of you
another day! And so—and so, I—”
“ Go on, Miss Wheeler,” urged Stone, “ and so
you—what did you do?”


RACHEL’S STORY 255
“ I ran across the den to the drawer where father
keeps his pistol; I took it and shot—then I ran back
to the Window-seat ”
“ What did you do with the pistol? ”
“ Threw it out of the window.”
“ Toward the right or left?”
“ Why, I don’t know.”
“ Try to think. Stand up there now, and remem-

ber which way you ﬂung it.”
Reluctantly, Maida went to the bay window, and
stood there thinking.
!
“I don’t know,’ she said, at last. “I can’t
remember.” _
“It doesn’t matter,” said Keefe. “ I think we
can prove that it was none of the Wheelers, but there
was a man, an intruder, on the veranda who shot.
Even if we never ﬁnd out his identity, we may prove
that he was really there. Where is this maid who
saw him clearly? Rachel—is that her name?”
“ That’s a pretty thing, too!” Fibsy spoke up.
“ She has ﬂew the coop.”
“ Gone! Where?” Keefe showed his disap-
pointment.
“ Nobody knows where. She just simply lit out.
Even her lover doesn’t know where she is.”


256 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Who is her lover? ” .
“ Fulton, the chauffeur. He’s just about crazy
over her disappearance.” _
“ Oh, she’ll return,” surmised Stone. “ She be-
came frightened at something and ran off. I think
she’ll come back. If not, we’ll have to give chase.
We must ﬁnd her, as she’s the principal witness of
the man on the veranda. Cook is not so sure
about him.”
“ Who could he have been?” Keefe said.
“ Doubtless some enemy of Mr. Appleby, in no way
connected with the Wheelers.”
“ Probably,” agreed Stone.
“ We found the pistol, you know, Mr. Keefe,”
remarked Fibsy.
“ You did! Well, you have made progress.
Where was it?”
“In the fern bed, not far from the veranda
railing.”
“Just where the man would have thrown it!”
exclaimed Keefe.
“ Or where I threw it,” put in Daniel Wheeler.
“ I’d like to see the exact place it was found,”
Keefe said.
.___. _.4.‘1 v _
L_.. Lghq-“d


RACHEL’S STORY 257
“Come on, I’ll show you,” offered Fibsy and
the two_started away together.
“ Here you are,” and Fibsy showed the bed of
ferns, which, growing closely together, made a dense
hiding place.”
“ A wonder you ever found it,” said Keefe.
“ How’d you happen to? ”
“ Oh, I just snooped around till I came to it.
I says to myself, ‘ Either the murderer ﬂung it away
or he didn’t. If he did, why it must be somewheres,’
and it was.”
“ I see; and does Mr. Stone think the ﬁnding of
it here points to either of the Wheelers? ”
“ Not necess’rily. You see, if the man we’re
looking for did the shooting, he’s the one who threw
the pistol in this here fern bed. And, you know
yourself, it’s more likely a 'man threw this farther
than a woman.”
“ Miss Wheeler is athletic.”
“I know, but I’m convinced that Miss Wheeler
didn’t do the deed. Ain’t you?”
“ Oh, I can’t think she did it, of course. But
it’s all very mysterious.”
“ Not mysterious a bit. It’s hard sled-din’, but
there ain’t much mystery about it. Why, look a-here.
17


258 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
If either the father or daughter did it, they both
know which one it was. Therefore, one is telling
the truth and one isn’t. It won't be hard to ﬁnd out
which is which, but F. Stone, he’s trying to ﬁnd
some one that’ll let the Wheelers both out.”
“Oh, that’s his idea? And a mighty good one.
I’ll help all I can. Of course, the thing to do is to
trace the pistol.”
“ Oh, it was Mr. Wheeler’s pistol, all right.”
“It was!” Keefe looked dismayed. “Then
how can we suspect an outsider? ”
“ Well, he could have stolen Mr. Wheeler’s pis-
tol for the purpose of casting suspicion on him.”
“Yes; that’s so. Now to ﬁnd that Rachel.”
“ Oh, do ﬁnd her,” Maida cried, overhearing the
remark as she and Genevieve crossed the lawn to~
' ward Keefe and Fibsy.
The lad had not yet seen Miss Lane and he
frankly admired her at once. Perhaps a sympathetic
chord was struck by the similarity of their natures.
Perhaps they intuitively recognized each other’s gay
impudence, for they engaged in a clash of words
that immediately made them friends.
“ Maybe Rachel’d come back if she knew you


RACHEL’S STORY 259
were here,” he said. “I’m sure she’d admire to
wait on such a pretty lady.”
“ Just tell her that you saw me,” Genevieve said,
“and I’ll be glad to have her back. She’s a ﬁrst-
class ladies’ maid.”
“ Oh, then she only waits on ﬁrst-class ladies?”
“ Yes; that’s why she’s so fond of me. Do
hunt her up.”
“Well, cutie, just for you, I’ll do that same.
\Vhere shall I go to look for her?”
“ How should I know? But you keep watch of
Fulton, and I’ll bet he gets some word from her.”
“ Yes, they’re sweethearts. Now, how do sweet-
hearts get word to each other? You ought to know
all about sweethearting.”
“ I don’t,” said Genevieve, demurely.
“ Pshaw, now, that’s too bad. Want me to
teach you?”
“ Yes—if you don’t mind.”
7
“ Saunter away with me, then,’ and the saucy
boy led Miss Lane off for a stroll round the grounds.
“ Honest, now, do you want to help? ” he asked.
“ Yes, I do,” she asserted. “ I’m downright
fond of Maida, and though I know she didn’t do it,
yet she and her father will be suspected unless we can


260 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
ﬁnd this other person. And the only way to get a
line on him, seems to be through Rachel. Why do
you suppose she ran away?”
“ Can’t imagine. Don’t see how she could get
scared.”
“ No; what would scare her? I think she’s at
some neighbor’s.”
“Let’s you and me go to all the neighbors
and see.”
“ All right. We’ll go in the Wheelers’ little car.
Fulton will take us.”
“ Don’t we get permission?”
“ Nixy. They might say no, by' mistake for a
yes. Come on—we’ll just hook Jack.”
To the garage they went and easily persuaded
Fulton to take them around to some of the neigh-
boring houses.
And at the third one they visited they found
Rachel. A friend of hers was a maid there, and she
had taken Rachel in for a few days.
“ Why did you run off? ” queried Fulton.
“ Oh, I don’t know,” and Rachel shuddered.
“ It all got on my nerves. \Vho’s over there now? ”
“Just the family, and the detectives and Mr.
Keefe,” Fulton answered. “ Will you come home? ”


RACHEL’S STORY Q61
“ She will,” F ibsy answered for her. “ She will
get right into this car and go at once—in the
name of the law!” he added sternly, as Rachel
seemed undecided.
F ibsy often used this phrase, and, delivered in an
awe-inspiring tone, it was usually effective.
Rachel did get into the car, and they returned
to Sycamore Lodge in triumph.
“ Good work, Fibs,” Stone nodded his approval.
“ Now, Rachel, sit right down here on the veranda,
and tell us about that man you saw.”
The girl was clearly frightened and her voice
trembled, but she tried to tell her story.
“ There’s nothing to fear,” Curtis Keefe said,
kindly. “ Just tell slowly and simply the story of
your seeing the man and then you may be excused.”
She gave him a grateful look, and seemed to
take courage.
“ Well, I was passing the veranda
U

“ Coming from where and going where? ” inter-
rupted Stone, speaking gently.
“ Why, I—I was coming from the—the
garage
“ Where you had been talking to Fulton? ”
“ Yes, sir.”
7,


262’ THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ All right, go on.”
“ And I was going—going to go up to Mrs.
Wheeler’s room. I thought she might want me.
And as I went by the veranda, I saw the man. He
was a big man, and he carried a bugle.”
“ He didn’t blow on it? ”
“ No, sir. Just waved it about like.”
“ You didn’t see that he had a pistol? ”
“ I—I couldn’t say, sir.”
“ Of course you couldn’t,” said Keefe. “Men
with pistols don’t brandish them until they get ready
to shoot.”
“ But you saw this man shoot? ” went on Stone.
“ Yes, sir,” Rachel said; “ I saw him shoot
through the bay window and then I ran away.”
Whereupon, she repeated the action at the con-
clusion of her statement, and hurried away.
“ Humph! ” said Fleming Stone.


CHAPTER XV
THE AWFUL TRUTH
“ WELL, Fibs,” said Stone, as the two sat alone
in conclave, “ what about Rachel’s story?”
“You know, F. Stone, how I hate to doubt a
lady’s word, but—not to put too ﬁne a point upon it.
the fair Rachel lied.”
“You think so, too, eh? And just why?”
“ Under orders. She was coached in her part.
Told exactly what to say ”

“ By whom? ”
“ Oh, you know as well as I do. You’re just lead-
ing me on! Well, he coached her, all right, and she
got scared before the performance came off and
that’s why she ran away.”
“Yes, I agree to all that. Keefe, of course, be-
ing the coach.”
“Yessir. Hedoing it, to save the Wheelers.
You see, he’s so desperately in love with Miss Maida,
that it sort of blinds his judgment and cleverness.”
“ Just how?”
“Well, you know his is love at ﬁrst sight“
practically.”
263


264 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Look here, Terence, you know a great deal
about love.”
“ Yessir, it—-it comes natural to me. I’m a born
lover, I am.”
“ Had much experience? ”
“ Not yet. But my day’s coming. Well, never
mind me—to get back to Friend Keefe. Here’s the
way it is. Miss Wheeler is sort of engaged to Mr.
Allen, and yet the matter isn’t quite settled, either.
I get that from the servants—mean to gossip, but
all’s fair in love and sleuthing. Now, Mr. Keefe
comes along, sees the lovely Maida, and, zip! his
heart is cracked! All might yet be well, but for the
wily Genevieve. She has her cap set for Keefe,
and he knows it, and was satisﬁed it should be so, till
he saw Miss Wheeler. Now, the fat’s in the ﬁre,
and no pitch hot.”
“ You do pick up a lot of general information.”
“ It’s necess’ry, sir.” The red-head nodded em-
phatically. “These sidelights often point the way
to the great and shinin’ truth! For, don’t you see,
Mr. Keefe, being so gone on Miss Maida, naturally
doesn’t want her or her people suspected of this
crime—even if one Of them is guilty. So he ﬁxes up
a cock-and-bull story about a bugler man—on the


THE AWFUL TRUTH 265
south veranda. This man, he argues, did the shoot-
ing. He gets Rachel—he must have some hold on
her, bribery wouldn’t be enough—and he fair crams
the bugler yarn down her throat, and orders her to
recite it as Gospel truth.”
“Then she gets scared and runs away.”
“ Exactly. You see it that way, don’t you,
Mr. Stone?”
The earnest little face looked up to the master.
Terence McGuire was developing a wonderful gift
for psychological detective work, and sometimes he
let his imagination run away with him. In such cases
Stone tripped him up and turned him back to the
right track. Both had an inkling that the day might
eventually come when Stone would retire and Mc-
Guire would reign in his stead But this was, as yet,
merely a dream, and at present they worked together
in unison and harmony.
“ Yes, Fibsy—at least, I see it may have been
that way. But it’s a big order to put on—to
Mr. Keefe.”
" I know, but he’s a big man. I mean a man of
big notions and projects. Anybody can see that.
Now, he’s awful anxious Miss Wheeler and Mr.
Wheeler shall be cleared of all s’picion—even if he


266 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
thinks one of ’em is guilty. He doesn’t consider
Mrs. Wheeler—I guess nobody does now.”
“ Probably not. Go on.”
“ Well, so Keeﬁe, he thinks if he can get this
bugler person guaranteed, by areliable and respon-
sible witness—which, of course, Rachel would seem ’
to be—then, Mr. Keefe thinks, he’s got the Wheelers
cleared. Now, Rachel, getting cold feet about it all,
goes back on Keefe—0h, I could see it in his face! ”
“ Yes, he looked decidedly annoyed at Rachel’s
failure of a convincing performance.”
“He did so! Now, Mr. Stone, even if he bol-
sters up Rachel’s story or gets her to tell it more
convincingly—we know, you and I, that it isn’t true.
There wasn’t any man on the south veranda.”
“Sure, Terence?”
“ Yessir, I’m pretty sure. For, what became of
him? Where did he vanish to? Who was he?
There never was any bugler—41 mean as a murderer.
The piper who piped some nights previous had noth-
ing to do with the case! ”
“ Sure, Terence? ”
“ Oh, come now, Mr. Stone—I was sure, till you
say that at me, so dubious like—and then I’m not
so sure.”
._~.,-k e

__ ‘rL .4 ..__. M


THE AWFUL TRUTH 267
“Well, go on with your theory, and let’s see
where you come out. You may be on the right track,
after all. I’m not sure of many points myself yet.”
“ All right. To my mind, it comes back to a
toss-up between Miss Maida and her father, with the
odds in favor of the old gentleman. Agree?”
“I might, if I understood your English. The
odds in favor of Mr. Wheeler indicating his guilt
or innocence?”
“ His guilt, I meant, F. Stone. I can’t think
that sweet young lady would do it, and this isn’t be-
cause she is a sweet young lady, but because it isn’t
hardly plausible that she’s put the thing over, even
though she was willing enough to do so.”
“ It seems so to me, too, but we can’t bank on that.'
Maida Wheeler is a very impulsive girl, very vigor-
ous and athletic, and very devoted to her father.
She worships him, and she has been known to say she
would willingly kill old Mr. Appleby. These things
must be remembered, Fibsy.”
“ That’s so. But I’ve noticed that when folks
threaten to kill people they most generally don’t
do it.”
“ I’ve also noticed that. But, striking out Maida’s
name, leaves us only Mr. \Nheeler.”


268 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“Well, ain’t he the one? Ain’t he the down-
trodden, oppressed victim, who, at last, has oppor-
tunity, and who is goaded to the point of desperation
by the arguments of his enemy? ”
“ You grow oratorical! But, I admit, you have
an argument.”
“ ’Course I have. Now, say we’ve got to choose
between Miss Wheeler and Mr. Wheeler, how do
we go about it?”
“ How? ”
“Why, we ﬁnd out how Mr. Appleby was sit-
ting, how Mr. Wheeler was facing at the moment,
and also Miss Maida’s position. Then, we ﬁnd out
the direction from which the bullet entered the body,
'and then we can tell who ﬁred the shot.”
“ I’ve done all that, Fibs,” Stone returned, with
no note of superiority in his voice. “ I found out
all those things, and the result proves that the bullet
entered Mr. Appleby’s body from the direction of
Miss Maida, in the bay window, and directly oppo-
site from what would have been its direction if
ﬁred by Mr. Wheeler, from where he stood, when
seen directly after the shot.”
Fibsy looked dejected. He made no response
to this disclosure for a moment, then he said:


THE AWFUL TRUTH ‘ 269
“All right, F. Stone. In that case I’m going
over to Mr. Keefe’s side, and I’m going to hunt up
the bugler.”
“ A ﬁctitious person? ”
“ Maybe he ain’t so ﬁctitious after all,” and the
red-head shook doggedly.
A tap at the door of Stone’s sitting-room was
followed by a “ May I come in?” and the entrance
of Daniel Wheeler.
“ The time has come, Mr. Wheeler,” Stone be-
gan a little abruptly, “to put all our cards on the
table. I’ve investigated things pretty thoroughly,
and, though I’m not all through with my quest, I
feel as if I must know the truth as to what you know
about the murder.” . .
“ I have confessed,” \Vheeler began, but Stone
stopped him.
“ That won’t do,” he said, very seriously. “ I’ve
proved positively that from where you stood, you
could not have ﬁred the shot. It came from the
opposite direction. Now it’s useless for you to keep
up that pretence of being the criminal, which, I’ve no
doubt, you’re doing to shield your daughter. Con-
ﬁde in me, Mr. Wheeler, it will not harm the case.”
“ God help me, I must conﬁde in somebody,”


270 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
cried the desperate man. “ She did do it! I saw
Maida ﬁre the shot! Oh, can you save her? I
wouldn’t tell you this, but I think—I hope you can
help better if you know. You’d ﬁnd it out
,7

anyway
“ Of course I should. Now, let us be strictly
truthful. You saw Miss Maida ﬁre the pistol?”
“ Yes; I was sitting almost beside Appleby; he
Was nearer Maida than I was, and she sat in the bay
window, reading. She sits there much of the time,
and I’m so accustomed to her presence that I don’t
even think about it. We were talking pretty angrily,
Appleby and I, really renewing the old feud, and
adding fuel to its ﬂame with every word. I suppose
Maida, listening, grew more and more indignant at
his injustice and cruelty to me—those terms are not
too strong !—and she being of an impulsive nature,
even revengeful when her love for me is touched. and
I suppose she, somehow, possessed herself of my
pistol and ﬁred it.”
“ You were not looking at her before the shot? ”
“Oh, no; the shot rang out, Appleby fell for—
ward, and even as I rose to go to his aid, I instinct-
ively turned toward the direction from which the
sound of the shot had come. There I saw Maida,


THE AWFUL TRUTH Q71
standing white-faced and frightened, but with a look
of satisﬁed revenge on her dear face. I felt no
resentment at her act, then—indeed, I was incapable
of coherent thought of any sort. I stepped to
Appleby’s side, and I saw at once that he was dead—
had died instantly. I cannot tell you just what hap-
pened next. It seemed ages before anybody came,
and then, suddenly the room was full of people.
Allen and Keefe came, running—the servants gath-
ered about, my wife appeared, and Maida was there.
I had a strange undercurrent of thought that kept
hammering at my brain to the effect that I must
convince everybody that I did it, to save my girl. I
was clear-headed to the extent of planning my words
in an effort to carry conviction of my guilt, but that
effort so absorbed my attention that I gave no heed
to what happened otherwise.”
“ Thank you, Mr. Wheeler, for your kindness.
I assure you you will not regret it.”
" You’re going to save her? You can save my
little girl? Oh, Mr. Stone, I beg of you ”
The agonized father broke down completely, and

Stone said, kindly:
“ Keep up a good heart, Mr. Wheeler. That will
help your daughter more than anything else you can


272 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
do. I assumed that if one of you were guilty the
other was shielding the criminal, but your story has
straightened out the tangle considerably.”
“ Lemme ask something, please,” broke in Fibsy.
“ Say, Mr. Wheeler, did you see the pistol in Miss
Maida’s hands?”
“ I can’t say I did or didn’t,” Wheeler replied,
listlessly. “ I looked only at her face. I know my
daughter’s mind so well, that I at once recognized
her expression of horror mingled with relief. She
had really desired the death of her father’s enemy,
and she was glad it had been accomplished! It’s
a terrible thing to say of one’s own child, but I’ve
made up my mind to be honest with you, Mr. Stone,
in the hope of your help. I should have persisted in
my own story of guilt, had I not perceived it was
futile in the face of your clear-sighted logic and
knowledge of the exact circumstances.”
“ You did wisely. But say nothing to any one
else, for the present. Do not even talk to Miss
Maida about it, until I have time to plan our next
step. It is still a difﬁcult and a very delicate case. A
single false move may queer the whole game.”
“ You think, then, you can save Maida—oh, do
give a tortured father a gleam of hope! ”


THE AWFUL TRUTH 27 3
“I shall do my best. You know they rarely,
if ever, convict a woman—and, too, Miss Wheeler
had great provocation. Then—what about self-
defence? ”
“ Appleby threatened neither of us,” Wheeler
said. “ That can’t be used.”
“ Well, we’ll do everything we can, you may de-
pend on that,” Stone assured him. And Wheeler
went away, relieved at the new turn things had taken,
though also newly concerned for Maida’s safety.
“ Nice old chap,” said Fibsy to Stone. “He
stuck to his faked yarn as long as the sticking was
good, and then he caved in.”
“ Open and shut case, Terence? ”
“ Open—but not yet shut, F. Stone. Now, where
do we go from here?”
“ You go where you like, boy. Leave me to
grub at this alone.”
Without another word Fibsy left the room. He
well knew when Stone spoke in that serious tone
that great thoughts were forming in that fertile brain
and sooner or later he would know of themQ But
at present his company was not desired.
The boy- drifted out on the terraced lawn and
18


274 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
wandered about among the gardens. He, too,
thought, but he could see no light ahead.
“ S’long as the old man saw her,” he observed
to himself, “ there’s no more to be said. He never’d
say he saw her shoot, if he hadn’t seen her. He’s
at the end of his rope, and even if they acquit the
lady I don’t want to see her dragged through a trial.
But where’s any way of escape? What can turn up
to contradict a straight story like that? Who else
can testify except the eye-witness who has just
spoken? I wonder if he realized himself how con-
clusive his statement was? But he trusted in
F. Stone to get Maida off, somehow. Queer, how
most folks think a detective is a magician, and can
do the impossible trick! ”
In a brown study he walked slowly along the
garden paths, and was seen by Keefe and Maida, who
sat under the big sycamore tree.
“Crazy idea, Stone bringing that kid,” Keefe
said, with a laugh.
“Yes, but he’s a very bright boy,” Maida re-
turned. “I’ve been surprised at his wise obser-
vations.”
“ Poppycock! He gets off his speeches with
that funny mixture of newsboy slang and detective
jargon, and you think they’re cleverer than they are.”


THE AWFUL TRUTH ' 275
“ Perhaps,” agreed Maida, not greatly interested.
“But what a strange story Rachel told. Do you
believe it, Mr. Keefe? ”
“ Yes, I do. The girl was frightened, I think;
ﬁrst, at the information she tried to divulge, and sec-
ond, by ﬁnding herself in the limelight. She seems
' to be shy, and I daresay the sudden publicity shook
her nerves. But why shouldn’t her story be true?
Why should she invent all that? ”
“ I don’t know, I’m sure. But it didn’t sound
like Rachel—the whole thing, I mean. She seemed
acting a part.”
“ Nonsense! You imagine that. But never mind
her, I’ve something to tell you. I know—Maida,
mind you, I know what Mr. Appleby meant by
the speech which I took to be ‘Mr. Keefe and
the airship.’ ”
Maida’s face went white.
“ Oh, no! ” she cried, involuntarily. “ Oh, no! ”
“ Yes,” Keefe went on, “ and I know now he said
heirship. Not strange I misunderstood, for the
words are of the same sound—and, then I had no
reason to think of myself in connection with
an heirship! ”
“ And—and have you now? ”


276 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
' “Yes, I have. I’ve been over Mr. Appleby’s
papers—as I had a right to do. You know I was
his conﬁdential secretary, and he kept no secrets
from me—except those he wanted to keep! ”
“ Go on,” said Maida, calm now, and her eyes
glistening with an expression of despair.
“Need I go on? You know the truth. You
know that I am the rightful heir of this whole place.
Sycamore Ridge is mine, and not your mother’s.”
“Yes.” The word was scarce audible. Poor
Maida felt as if the last blow had fallen. She had
seared her conscienoe, deﬁed her sense of honor,
cruciﬁed her very soul to keep this dreadful secret
from her parents for their own sake, and now all
her efforts were of no avail!
Curtis Keefe knew that the great estate was
legally his, and now her dear parents would be turned
out, homeless, penniless and broken down by sorrow
and grief.
Even though he might allow them to stay there,
they wouldn’t, she knew, consent to any such
arrangement.
She lifted a blanched, strained face to his, as
she said: “ What—what are you going to do? ”
“Just what you say,” Keefe replied, drawing


THE AWFUL TRUTH 277
closer to her side. “ It’s. all up to you, Maida dear.
Don’t look offended; surely you know I love you—
surely you know my one great desire is to make
you my wife. Give your consent; say you will be
mine, and rest assured, dearest, there will be no
trouble about the ‘ heirship.’ If you will marry me,
I will promise never to divulge the secret so long
as either of your parents live. They may keep this
place, and, besides that, darling, I will guarantee to
get your father a full pardon. I—well, I’m not
speaking of it yet—but I’ll tell you that there is
a possibility of my running for governor myself,
since young Sam is voluntarily out of it. But, in
any case, I have inﬂuence enough in certain quar-
ters—inﬂuence increased by knowledge that I have
gleaned here and there among the late Mr. Appleby’s
papers—t0 secure a full and free pardon for your
father. Now, Maida, girl, even if you don’t love
me very much yet, can’t you say yes, in view of what
I offer you?”
“ How can you torture me so? Surely you know
that I am engaged to Mr. Allen.”
“ I didn’t know it was a positive engagement—
but, anyway,” his voice grew hard, “ it seems to me
that any one so solicitous for her parents’ welfare


278 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
and happiness as you have shown yourself, will not
hesitate at a step which means so much more than
others you have taken.”
“ Oh, I don’t know what to do-—-what to say—let
me think.”
“ Yes, dear, think all you like. Take it quietly
now. Remember that a decision in my favor means
also a calm, peaceful and happy life insured to your
parents. Refusal means a broken, shattered life, a
precarious existence, and never a happy day for them
again. Can you hesitate? I’m not so very unpre-
sentable as a husband. You may not love me now,
but you will! I’ll be so good to you that you can’t
help it. Nor do I mean to win your heart only by
what I shall do for you. For, Maida dearest, love
begets love, and you will ﬁnd yourself slowly per-
haps, but surely, giving me your heart. And we will
be so happy! Is it yes, my darling? ”
The girl stared at him, her big brown eyes full
of agony.
“ You forget something,” she said, slowly. “I
am a murderess!”
“ Hush! Don’t say that awful word! You are
not—and even if you were, I’ll prove you are not!
Listen, Maida, if you’ll promise to marry me, I’ll


THE AWFUL TRUTH 279
ﬁnd the real murderer—not you or your father, but
the real murderer. I’ll get a signed confession—I’ll
acquit you and your family of any implication in the
deed, and I’ll produce the criminal himself. Now,
will you say yes? ”
“ You can’t do all that,” she said, speaking in an
awestruck whisper, as if he had proposed to perform
a miracle.
“ I can—I swear it! ”
“ Then, if you can do that, you ought to do it,
anyway! In the interests of right and justice, in
common honesty and decency, you ought to tell
what you know! ”
“ Maida, I am a man and I am in love with you.
That explains much. I will do all I have promised,
to gain you as my bride—but not otherwise. As to
right and justice—you’ve confessed the crime,
haven’t you? ” ‘
“ Yes.”
“ Do you confess it to me, now? Do you say
to me that you killed Samuel Appleby? ”
There was but a moment’s pause, and then Maida
said, in a low tone: " Yes—I confess it to you,
Mr. Keefe.”
“ Then, do you see what I mean when I say I


280 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
will produce the—murderer? Do you see that I
mean to save you from the consequences of your
own rash act—and prove you, to the world at
large, innocent?”
Keefe looked straight into Maida’s eyes, and her
.own fell in confusion.
“ Can you do it?” she asked, tremulously.
“When I say I will do a thing, I’ve already
proved to my own satisfaction that I can do it. But,
I’ll do it only at my own price. The price being you
—you dear, delicious thing! Oh, Maida, you’ve no
idea what it means to be loved as I love you! I’ll
make you happy, my darling! I’ll make you forget
all this horrible episode; I’ll give you a fairyland
life. You shall be happier than you ever dreamed of.”
“ But—jeffrey—oh, I can’t.”
“ Then—Miss Wheeler, you must take the conse-
quences—all the consequences. Can you do that? ”
“ No,” Maida said, after an interval of silence.
“ I can’t. I am forced to accept your offer,
Mr. Keefe ”
“ You may not accept it with that address.”
“ Curtis, then. Curtis, 1’ say, yes.”


CHAPTER XVI
MAIDA’S DECISION
“ MAIDA, it cannot be. I shall never let you
marry Mr. Keefe when I know how you love
Jeffrey.” Sara Wheeler spoke quietly, but her
agonized face and tear-ﬁlled eyes told of her deep
distress. Though not demonstrative, she loved her
daughter, her only child, with an affection that was
almost idolatry, and she had been glad of the idea
of Maida’s marriage to Jeffrey, for she knew of his
sterling worth, and she knew the depth and sincerity
of their attachment.
“ Don’t say you won’t let me, mother,” Maida
spoke in a dull, sad tone—a tone of calm despair.
“ It must be so. I’m not saying I love him—I’m not
saying much about it all—but I tell you solemnly-—
it must be. And you must not raise a single word of
objection—if you do, you will only make my hard
lot harder.” I
“ But, dear, you must explain. I am your
mother—I’ve always had your conﬁdence, and I
ought to be told why you are doing this thing.”
“That’s just the trouble, mother. I can’t tell
281


282 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
you. And because of the conﬁdence that has always
been between us, you must trust me and believe that
I am doing right—and doing the only possible thing.
Oh, it is all hard enough, without having to argue
about it. Why, my will power may give out! My
soul strength may break down! Mother! don’t—
don't combat me! Don’t tempt me aside from the
only straight line of duty and of right!”
“ Child, you are not doing right! You cannot
have a duty of which _I know nothing! Of which
your father knows nothing! Maida, my little girl,
what is this thing that has warped your sense of
right and wrong? Has Curtis Keefe won your heart
!!

away from _Ietfrey .
“ No—oh, no! Never that! But it would be
a wrong to Jeffrey for me to marry him—it would
be a wrong to—to all of us! By marrying Mr. Keefe
I can make everything right—and

” she suddenly
assumed an air of cold, stern determination.
“ Mother, my mind is made up. You cannot change
it, nor can you help me by trying. You only make
it harder for me, and I beg of you to stop. And then
—you know, mother—I killed Mr. Appleb ”
“ Hush, Maida, you never did! I know you
didn’t!”


MAIDA’S DECISION 283
“ But it was either I or father! You don’t be-
lieve he did, do you?”
“ God help me! I don’t know what to believe!
But I tried to say I did it—only I couldn’t carry it
out—nor can you, dear.”
“ Nor can father, then. Oh, mother, I did do
that shooting! I did! I did! ”
“ Every assertion like that makes me more cer-
tain you didn’t,” and Mrs. Wheeler fondly caressed
the head that lay on her breast. Maida was not hys-
terical, but so deeply troubled that she was nervously
unstrung and now gave way to torrents of tears, and
then ceased ciwing and bravely announced her plans.
“ Please, mother darling, don’t talk about that.
Suppose I tell you that even that matter will be all
set right if I marry Curtis Keefe—and by no other
means. Even Mr. Stone can’t ﬁnd any other suspect
than us three Wheelers. He. doesn’t at all believe
in the ‘ bugler.’ Nobody does.”
“ I do.”
“ Only as a last chance to free father and me.
Mother it’s an awful situation. Worse, far worse
than you know anything about. \Von’t you trust me
to do .what I know to be right—and when I tell you
I must marry Mr. Keefe, won’t you believe me?


284 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
And not only believe me but help me. Help me in
every way you can—for God knows I need help.”
“What can I do, darling,” asked Sara Wheeler,
awed by the look of utter hopelessness on Maida’s
face.
‘_‘ Stand by me, mother. Urge father not to
oppose this marriage. Help me to tell Jeffrey—you
tell him, can’t you, mother? I can’t—oh, I can’t!”
Again Sara \Vheeler broke out into protestations
against this sacriﬁce of her loved daughter, and
again Maida had to reafﬁrm her decision, until, both
worn out, they separated, Sara promising to do just
as Maida wished in all things.
And in fulﬁllment of this promise, Sara told
young Allen.
As she expected, he was stunned by the news,
but where she had supposed he would show anger
or rage, he showed only a deep sympathy for Maida.
“ Poor little girl,” he said, the quick tears spring-
ing to his eyes; “ what dreadful thing can that man
have held over her to force her to this? And what
is the best way for me to go about remedying the
situation? You know, Mrs. Wheeler, Maida
wouldn’t talk like that unless she had arrived at a
H

very desperate crisis


MAIDA’S DECISION 4 285
“ If she killed Mr. Appleby ”
“ She never did! No power on earth can make

me believe that! Why, when Maida’s own confes-
sion doesn’t convince me, what else could? No;
there’s some deep mystery behind that murder. I
mean something far deeper and more mysterious
than any of us yet realize. I think Mr. Stone is on
track of the solution, but he cannot have made much
progress—or, if he has, he hasn’t told of it yet. But,
I’m not a detective—nor is any needed when Mr.
Stone is on the case, but I am out to protect and clear
my Maida—my darling. Poor child, how she is suf-
fering! Where is she?”
“ Don’t go to her, Jeff. At least, not just now.
She begged that you wouldn’t—”
“ But I must—I’ve got to!-”
“ No; for her sake—Jeffrey dear, for our
Maida’s sake, leave her alone for the present. She
is so worried and anxious, so wrought up to the very
verge of collapse, that if you try to talk to her she
will go all to pieces.”
“ But that’s all wrong. I ought to soothe her, to
comfort her—not make her more troubled!”
“ You ought to, I know, but you wouldn’t. Oh,
it isn’t your fault—it isn’t that you don’t love her


286 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
enough—not that she doesn’t love you enough—in
fact, that’s just the trouble. Try to see it, Jeff.
Maida is in the clutch of circumstances. I don’t
know the facts, you don’t; but it is true that the
kindest thing we can do for her just now is to leave
her alone. She will do right—”
“As she sees it, yes! But she sees wrong, I
know she does! The child has always been overcon-
scientious—and I’m positive that whatever she is up
to, it’s something to save her father! ”
“ Oh, Jeff—then you believe he is ”
“ Why, Mrs. Wheeler, don’t you know whether
your husband killed Mr. Appleby or not? ”

“I don’t know! Heaven help me—how can I

know? The two of them, shielding each other ”
“ Wait a minute, if they are shielding each other
—they’re both innocent! ”
“ But it isn’t that way. Mr. Whaler said to me,
at ﬁrst: “ Of course, either Maida or I did it. We
both know which one did it, but if we don’t tell, no
one else can know.”
“I see that point; but I should think, knowing
both so closely as you do, you could discern the
truth—and "—he gazed at her steadily—“ you have.”
“ Yes—I have. Of course, as you say, in such


MAIDA’S DECISION 287
intimacy as we three are, it would be impossible
for me not to know.”
“ And—it was Maida? ”
“ Yes, Jeffrey.”
“ How are you certain?”
“ Her father saw her.”
“ Saw her shoot? ”
“ Yes.”
“ Then, I’m glad you told me. I’m going to
marry her at once, and have all rights of her protec-
tion through the trial—if it comes to that. Nothing
else could have convinced me of her act! Poor, dear
little Maida. I’ve known her capability for sudden,
impulsive action but—oh, well, if Mr. Wheeler saw
her—that’s all there is to be said. Now, dear Mrs.
Wheeler, you must let me go to my Maida! ”
“But, Jeffrey, I only told you that to persuade
you to let her alone. Let her have her own way.
She says that to marry Curtis Keefe will save her
from prosecution—even from suspicion. She says
he can free her from all implication in the matter.”
“ By a fraud? ”
“ I don’t know ”
“I won’t have it! If Maida did that shooting
she had ample excuse—motive, rather. Not a man


288 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
on a jury would convict her. And I’d rather she’d
stand trial and ” _
“ Oh, no, Jeffrey, don’t talk like that! I’d con-
sent to anything to save that girl from a trial—oh,

you can’t mean you want her tried!”
“ Rather than to see her married to any man but
me, I’d—”
“ Wait, Jeff. We mustn’t be selﬁsh. I’m her
mother, and much as I’d hate to see her marry Keefe,
I’d far prefer it—for her sake, than ”
“ No! a. thousand times,‘no! Why, I won't give

her up! Keefe is a ﬁne man—I’ve nothing
against him—but she’s my Maida—my own
little sweetheart ”
“And for that reason—for your own sake—

you’re going to claim her?”
“It isn’t only for my own sake”—-Jeff spoke
more humbly; “ but I know—I know how she loves
me. To let her marry another would be to do her
)7
a grievous wrong

“ Not if she wants to—look there! ”
Mrs. Wheeler pointed from the window, and they
saw Maida walking across the lawn in deep and ear-
nest conversation with Curtis Keefe. He was tall
and handsome and the deferential air and courteous
I


MAIDA’S DECISION 289
attitude all spoke in his favor. Maida was appar-
.ently listening with interest to his talk, and they
went on slowly toward the old sycamore and sat
down on the bench beneath it.
I “ Our trysting-place!” Jeffrey murmured, his
eyes fastened 0n the pair.
It did not require over-close observation to see
that Maida was listening willingly to Keefe. Nor
was there room for doubt that he was saying some-
thing that pleased her. She was brighter and more
cheerful than she had been for days.
“You see,” said Sara Wheeler, sadly. “And
he is a worth-while man. Mr. Appleby thought very
highly of him.”
“ I don’t!” said Allen, brieﬂy, and unable to
stand any more, he left the room.
He went straight to the two who were sitting
under the big tree, and spoke directly: i
“ What does this mean, Maida? Your mother
I,
tells me you

“ Let me answer,” spoke up Keefe, gaily; “ it
means that Miss Wheeler has promised to marry me.
And we ask your congratulations.”
“ Are you not aware,” Jeff’s face was white but
19


290 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
his voice was controlled and steady,~ “that Miss
Wheeler is my ﬁancée? ”
“ Hardly that,” demurred Keefe. “ I believe
there was what is called an understanding, but I’m
assured it has never been announced. However, the
lady will speak for herself.”
“ Go away, Jeff,” Maida pleaded; “ please,
go away.”
“ Not until you tell me yourself, Maida, what
you are doing. Why does Mr. Keefe say these
things?”
“ It is true.” Maida’s face was as white as
Allen’s. “ I am going to marry Mr. Keefe. If you
considered me bound to you, I—hereby break it off.
Please go away! ” the last words were wrung from
her in a choked, agonized voice, as if she were at the
end of her composure.
“I’m going,” Allen said, and went off in a daze.
He was convinced of one thing only. That
Maida was in the power of something or some per-
son—some combination of circumstances that forced
her to this. He had no doubt she meant what she
said; had no doubt she would really marry Keefe—
but he couldn’t think she had ceased to love him—her


MAIDA’S DECISION 291
own Jeffrey! If he thought that, he was ready
to die!
He walked along half blindly, thinking round in
circles, always coming back to the possibility—now
practically a certainty—of Maida being the mur-
derer, and wondering how Keefe meant to save her
from the clutches of the law. He was perturbed—
almost dazed, and as he went along unseeingly,
Genevieve Lane met him, turned and walked by
his side.
“What’s Curtie Keefe doing with your girl?”
_she asked, for the rolling lawn was so free of trees,
the pair beneath the sycamore could be plainly seen.
“I don’t know! ” said Allen, honestly enough,
as he looked in the good-humored face of the
stenographer.
“ I don’t want him making love to her,” Miss
Lane went on, pouting a little, “ ﬁrst, because she’s
altogether too much of a belle anyway; and sec-
ond—because—”
She paused, almost scared at the desperate gaze
Allen gave her.
“ I hope you mean because you look upon him
as your property,” he said, but without smiling.
“ Now, just why do you hope that?”


292 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“Because in that case, surely you can get
him back ”
“Oh, what an aspersion on Miss Wheeler’s

fascinations! ”
“Hush; I’m in no mood for chafﬁng. Are you
and Keefe special friends?”
Genevieve looked at him a moment, and then said,
very frankly: “ If we’re not, it isn’t my fault. And
——to tell you the bald truth, we would have been, had
not Miss Wheeler come between us.”
“ Are you sure of that?”
“ How rude you are! But, yes—I’m practically
sure. Nobody can be sure till they’re certain,
you know.”
“ Don’t try to joke with me. Look here, Miss
Lane, suppose you and I try to work together for our
respective ends.”
“ Meaning just what, Mr. Allen? ”
“Meaning that we try to separate Keefe and
Maida—not just at this moment—but seriously and
permanently. You, because youv want him, and I,
because I want her. Isn’t it logical? ”
“Yes; but if I could get him back, don't you
suppose I would?”


MAIDA’S DECISION 293
“ You don’t get' the idea. You’re to work for me,
and I for you.”
“ Oh—I try to make Maida give him up—and
7!

you
“Yes; but we must have some pretty strong
arguments. Now, have you any idea why Maida
,,
has

“ Has picked him up with the tongs? I have a
very decided idea! In fact, I know.”
“ You do! Is it a secret?”
“ It is. Such a big secret, that if it leaked out,
the whole universe, so far as it affects the Wheeler,
family, would be turned topsy-turvy! ”
“ Connected with the—the death of Mr.
Appleby? ”
“ Not with the murder—if that’s what you mean.
But it was because of the death of Mr. Appleby that
the secret came to light.”
“ Can you tell me?”
“ I can—but do I want to?”
“ What would make you want to?”
“ Why—only if you could do what you sort of
suggested—make Mr. Keefe resume his attentions to
poor little Genevieve and leave the lovely Maida
to you.”


294 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ But how can I do that?”
“ Dunno, I’m sure! Do you want me to tell you
the secret, and then try to get my own reward by
my own efforts? ”
“ Oh, I don’t know what I want! I’m nearly dis-
tracted. But "—he pulled himself together—“ I’m
on the job! And I’m going to accomplish some-
thing—a lot! Now, I’m not going to dicker with
you. Size it up for yourself. Don’t you believe
that if you told me that secret—eonﬁdentially—ex-
cept as it can be used in the furtherance of right and
happiness for all concerned—don’t you believe that
I might use it in a way that would incidentally result
in a better adjustment of the present Keefe—Wheeler
combination?” He nodded toward the two under
the sycamore.
“ Maybe,” Genevieve said, slowly and thought-
fully, “I thought of telling Mr. Stone—bu ”'
“ Tell me ﬁrst, and let me advise you.”

“I will; I have conﬁdence in you, Mr. Allen,
and, too, it may be a good thing to keep the secret in
the family. The truth is, then, that Mrs. Wheeler
is not legally the heir to this estate.”
“ She is, if she lives in Massachusetts, and the
,
house is so built ’


296 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
matters. \V ell, then—he was killed to prevent the
information going any farther.”
“ Killed by whom? ”
' Genevieve shrugged her shoulders. “ I can’t
say. Any one of the three Wheelers might have done
it for that reason.”
“ No; you’re wrong. Neither Mr. nor Mrs.
Wheeler would have. They’d give up the place
at once.”
“ Your mental reservation speaks for itself!
That leaves Maida! Suppose she knew it and the
rest didn’t. Suppose, in order to keep the knowledge
from her parents ”
“ Don’t go on! “ he begged. “ I see it—maybe it
was so. But—what next?”

“ N ext—alas, Curt Keefe has fallen a victim to
Maida’s smiles. That’s what’s making more trouble
than anything else. I’m positive he is arguing that if
she will marry him he will keep quiet about his being
the heir. Then, her parents can live here in peace
for the rest of their lives.”
“I begin to see.”
“ I knew you would. Now, knowing this, and
being bound to secrecy concerning it, except, as you


MAIDA’S DECISION 297
agreed, if it can serve our ends, where do we go
from here? ”
Allen looked at her steadily. “ Do you expect,
Miss Lane, that I will consent to keep this secret
from the Wheelers? ”
“ You’ll have to,” she returned, simply. “ Maida
knows it, therefore it’s her secret now. If she
doesn’t want her parents told—you can’t presume to
tell them! ”
Allen looked blank. “ And you mean, she’d
marry Keefe, to keep the secret from her parents? ”
“ Exactly that; and there’d be no harm in keep-
ing the secret that way, for if Curt Keefe were her
husband, it wouldn’t matter whether he was the right—
ful heir or not, if he didn’t choose to exercise or even
make known his rights.”
“ I see. And——as to the ”
“ The murder? ” Genevieve helped him. “ Well,
I don’t know. If Maida did it—and I can’t see any
way out of that conclusion, Curt will do whatever

he can to get her off easily. Perhaps he can divert
suspicion elsewhere—you know he made up that
bugler man, and has stuck to him—maybe he can get
a persons unknown verdict—or maybe, with money
and inﬂuence, he can hush the whole thing up—and,


298 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
anyway—Maida would never be convicted. Why,
possibly, the threat of Mr. Appleby—if he did
threaten—could be called blackmail. Anyhow, if
there’s a loophole, Curtis Keefe will ﬁnd it!
He’s as smart as they make ’em. Now, you know
the probabilities—almost the inevitabilities, I might
say, what are we going to do about it?”
“ Something pretty desperate, I can tell you! ”
“ Fine talk, but what’s the ﬁrst step? ”
“ Do you want to know what I think? ”
“I sure do.”
“ Then, I say, let’s take the whole story to
Fleming Stone—and at once.”


CHAPTER XVII
MAIDA AND HER FATHER
GENEVIEVE hesitated. Although she had thought
of doing this herself, yet she was not quite sure she
wanted to.
But Allen insisted.
“ Come with me or not, as you choose,” he said;
“but I’m going to tell Stone. A secret like that
must be divulged—in the interests of law and jus-
tice and ”

“ Justice to whom? ” asked Genevieve.
“ \Vhy, to all concerned.” Allen stopped to
think. “ To—to Keefe, for one,” he concluded, a
little lamely.
“ Yes, and to yourself for two! ” Genevieve ex—
claimed. “You want the secret to come out so
Maida won’t marry Curt to keep it quiet! Own
up, now.” .
Allen couldn’t deny this, but back of it was his
instinctive desire for justice all round, and he dog-
gedly stuck to his determination of laying the matter
before Fleming Stone.
299


300 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
Genevieve accompanied him, and together they
sought Stone in his sitting-room.
F ibsy was there and the two were in deep
consultation.
“ Come in,” Stone said, as his visitors appeared.
“You have something to tell me, I gather from
your eager faces.” p
“ We have,” Allen returned, and he began to tell
his story.
“Let me tell it,” Miss Lane interrupted him,
impatiently. “ You see, Mr. Stone, Mr. Allen is in
love with Miss Wheeler, and he can’t help coloring
things in her favor.”
“And you’re in love with Mr. Keefe,” Stone
said, but without a smile, “ and you can’t help color-
ing things in his favor.”
The girl bridled a little, but was in no way em-
barrassed at the assertion.
“Take your choice, then,” she said, ﬂippantly.
“ Who do you want to tell you the secret we’re ready
to give away?” '
“ Both,” Fibsy spoke up. “ I’ll bet it’s a worth-
while yarn, and we’ll hear both sides—if you please.
Ladies ﬁrst; pipe up, Miss Lane.”
“ The actual secret can be quickly told,” the girl


MAIDA AND HER FATHER 301
said, speaking a little shortly. “ The truth is, that
Mrs. Wheeler is not the legal heir to this estate of
Sycamore Ridge—but, Mr. Keefe is.”
“Curtis Keefe!” Stone exclaimed, and Fibsy
gave a sharp, explosive whistle.
“ Yes,” said Genevieve, well pleased at the sensa-
tion her words had produced.
Not that her hearers made any further demon-
stration of surprise. Stone fell into a brown study,
and F ibsy got up and walked up and down the room,
his hands in his pockets, and whistling softly under
his breath.
“ W_ell! ” the boy said, ﬁnally, returning to his
chair. “Well, F. Stone, things is changed since
gran’ma died! Hey?” '
“In many ways!” Stone assented. “You’re
sure of this, of course?” he asked Genevieve.
“ How do you know? ”
“ W ell, I learned it from Mr. Appleby’s
7

papers ’
“ Private papers?”
“Yes, of course. He didn’t have ’em framed
and hanging on his wall. You see, Mr. Keefe, being
Mr. Appleby’s conﬁdential secretary, had access to
all his papers after the old gentleman died.”


302 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ His son? ”
“ Of course, young Sam is the heir, and owns
everything, but he kept Curt on, in the same position,
and so, Curt—Mr. Keefe went over all the papers.
As stenographer and general assistant, I couldn’t
very well help knowing the contents of the papers
and so I learned the truth, that Mr. Keefe, who is of
another branch of the family, is really the principal
heir to the estate that is now in Mrs. Wheeler’s pos-
session. I can’t give you all the actual details, but
you can, of course, verify my statements.”
“Of course.” mused Stone. “And Mr. Keefe
hasn’t announced this himself—because _”
“ That’s it,” Genevieve nodded assent to his
meaning glance. ‘ “ Because he wants to marry

Maida, and if she’ll marry him, he’ll keep quiet
about the heirship. Or, rather, in that case, it won’t
matter, as the elder Wheelers can live here if it’s the
property of their son-in—law. But, if not, then when
Mr. Keefe walks in—the Wheeler family must walk
out. And where would they go? ”
“I can take care of them,” declared Allen.
“Maida is my promised wife; if she consents to
marry Keefe, it will be under compulsion. For she
knew this secret, and she dared not tell her people


MAIDA AND HER FATHER 303
because it meant poverty and homelessness for them.
You know, Mr. Wheeler is incapable of lucrative
work, and Mrs. Wheeler, brought up to affluence
and comfort, can’t be expected to live in want. But
I can take care of them—that is, I could—if they
could only live in Boston. My business is there,
and we could all live on my earnings if we
could live together.” ‘
The boy—for young Allen seemed scarcely more
than a boy—was really thinking aloud as he voiced
these plans and suggestions. But he shook his head
sadly as he realized that Daniel Wheeler couldn’t go
to Boston, and that a marriage between Keefe and .
Maida was the only way to preserve to them their
present home.
“ Some situation!” remarked Fibsy. “And the
secret is no secret really, for if Miss Wheeler doesn’t
marry Mr. Keefe, he’ll tell it at once. And if she
does, the whole matter doesn’t matter at all! But
I think she will, for what else can she do? ”
Jeffrey Allen looked angrily at the boy, but
Fibsy’s funny little face showed such a serious inter-
est that it was impossible to chide him.
“ I think she won’t!” Allen said, “ but I’m not
sure just yet how I’m going to prevent it.”


304 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ You won’t have to,” said Stone; “ Miss
Wheeler will prevent it herself—or I miss my
guess!” He looked kindly at the young man, but
received only a half smile in return.
“If we all do our share in the matter, perhaps
we can arrange things,” Genevieve said, speaking
very seriously. “ I’ve something to say, for I am en-
gaged to Curtis Keefe myself.”
“Does he think you are?” Stone said, rather
casually.
Miss Lane had the grace to blush, through her
rouge, but she declared: “ He doesn’t want to,” and
added, “ but he ought to. He has made love to me,
and he once asked me to marry him. But since then
he has said he didn’t mean it. I don’t suppose I’ve
enough evidence for a breach of promise suit, but—
oh, well,” and she tossed her pretty head, “ I’ve not
the least doubt that if Miss Wheeler were out of the
question—say, safely married to Mr. Allen, I’d have
no trouble in whistling my Curt'ie back.”
“I’ll bet'you wouldn’t!” Fibsy looked at her
admiringly. “ If I were only a few years older ”
“ Hush, Terence,” said Fleming Stone, “ don’t
talk nonsense.”

Immediately Fibsy’s face became serious and he


MAIDA AND HER FATHER 305
turned his attention away from the fascinating
Genevieve.
“ But all this is aside the question of the mur-
derer, Mr. Stone,” said Allen. “ How are you pro-
gressing with that investigation?”
“ Better than I’ve disclosed as yet,” Stone re-
turned, speaking slowly; “ recent developments have
been helpful, and I hope to be ready soon to give
a report.”
“ You expect Mr. Appleby down?”
“ Yes; to-night or to-morrow. By that time I
hope to be ready to make an arrest.”
“ Maida! ” cried Jeffrey, the word seeming
wrung from him against his will.
“ Forgive me, if I do not reply,” said Stone, with
an earnest glance at the questioner. “ But I’d like
to talk to Miss Wheeler. Will you go for her,
Mr. Allen?” ' v
“ I’d—I’d rather not—you see
9!.

“Yes, I see,” said Stone, kindly. “ You go,
Fibs.”
“ I’ll go,” offered Genevieve, with the result that
she and McGuire ﬂew out of the room at the
same time.
“ All right, Beauteous One, we’ll both go,” Fibsy
20


306 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
said, as they went along the hall side by side.
“ Where is the lady? ”
“ Donno; but we’ll ﬁnd her. I say, Terence,
come down on the veranda just a minute, ﬁrst.”
Leading him to a far corner, where there was no
danger of eavesdroppers, Genevieve made another
attempt to gain an ally for her own cause.
“ I say,” she began, “ you have a lot. of inﬂuence
with your Mr. Stone, don’t you? ”
“ Oh, heaps! ” and F ibsy’s sweeping gesture indi-
cated a wide expanse of imagination, at least.
“ N O fooling; I know you have. Now, you use
that inﬂuence for me and I’ll do something for you.”
“ VVhat’ll you do? ”
“ I don’t know; nothing particular. But, I mean
if, at any time I can help you in any way—I’ve in-
ﬂuence, too, with big men in the ﬁnancial and busi-
ness world. I haven’t always worked for the
Applebys, and wherever I’ve been I’ve made friends
that I can count on.”
“ Oh, you mean a tip on the stock market or
something of that sort?”
“ Yes, or a position in a big, worth-while oﬂice.
You’re not always going to be a detective’s appren-
tice, are you? ”


MAIDA AND HER FATHER 307
“You bet I am! \Vatcha talking about? Me
leave F. Stone! Not on your ﬂeeting existence!
But, never mind that part of the argument, I’ll re-
member your offer, and some day, when I have a
million dollars to invest, I’ll ask your advice where
to lose it. But, now, you tell me what you want.”
“ Only for you to hint to Mr. Stone that he’d
better advise'Miss Wheeler not to marry Mr. Keefe.”
“ So’s you can have him.”
“ Never mind that. There are other reasons—
truly there are.”
“ WVell, then, my orders are to advise‘F. Stone to
advise M. Wheeler not to wed one C. Keefe.”
“ That’s just it. But don’t say it right out to
him. Use tact, which I know you have—though
nobody’d guess it to look at you—and sort of argue
around, so he’ll see it’s wiser for her not to marry
him ”
“ \Vhy? ”
Miss Lane stamped her foot impatiently. “ I’m
not saying why. I That’s enough for me to know.

You’ll get along better not knowing.”
“ Does he know she’s the—the
“ I don’t wonder you can’t say it! I can’t, either.
Yes, he knows she’s—it—but he’s so crazy about her,
7,


308 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
he doesn’t care. vWhat is there in that girl that gets
all the men! ”
“ It’s her sweetness,” said F ibsy, with a positive
nod of his head, as if he were simply stating an
axiom. “ Yep, Keefe is clean gone daffy over her.
I don’t blame him—though, of course my taste runs
more to——” i
“ Don’t you dare! ” cried Genevieve, coquettishly.
“ To the rouged type,” F ibsy went on, placidly.
“ To’my mind a complexion dabbed on is far more
attractive than nature’s tints.”
Miss Lane burst into laughter and, far from
offended, she said:
“ You’re a darling boy, and I’ll never forget you
-——even in my will; now, to come back to our dear old
brass tacks. Will you tip a gentle hint to the
great Stone?”
“ Oh, lord, yes—I’ll tip him a dozen—tactfully,
too. Don’t worry as to my discretion. But I don’t
mind telling you I might as well tip the Washington
monument. You see, F. S. has made up his mind.”
“ As to the murderer? ”
“ Yep.”
“ Who is it?”


MAIDA AND HER FATHER 309
“Haven’t an idea—and if I had, I’d say I
hadn’t. You see, I’m his trusty.”
“ Oh, well, in any case, you can put in a word
against Mr. Keefe, can’t you?”
But Genevieve had lost interest in her project.
She realized if Mr. Stone had accomplished his pur-
pose and had solved the murder mystery he would
be apt to take small interest in the love affairs of
herself or Maida Wheeler, either.
“ He won’t think much of his cherished trusty,
if you don’t do the errand he sent you on,” she said,
rather crossly.
Fibsy gave her a reproachful glance. “This,
from you!” he said, dramatically. “ Farewell, fair
but false! I go to seek a fairer maiden, and I know
where to ﬁnd her! ”
He went ﬂying across the lawn, for he had caught
a glimpse of Maida in the garden.
“Miss Wheeler,” he said, as he reached her,
“ will you please come now to see Mr. Stone? He
wants you.”
“ Certainly,” she replied, and turning, followed
him. ‘
Genevieve joined them, and the three went to
Stone’s rooms.


310 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Miss Wheeler,” the detective said, without pre-
amble, “ I want you to tell me a few things, please.
You’ll excuse me if my questions seem rather
pointed, also, if they seem to be queries already
answered. Did you kill Mr. Appleby? ”
“ Yes,” said Maida, speaking wearily, as if tired
of making the assertion.
“ You know no one believes that statement?”
“ I can’t help that, Mr. Stone,” she said, with a
listless manner.
“ That is, no one but one person—your father.
He believes it.”
“ Father!” exclaimed the girl in evident amaze-
ment.
“ Yes; he believes you for the best of all possible
reasons: He saw you shoot.”
“ What, Mr. Stone? My father! Saw me shoot
Mr. Appleby! ” ‘
“ Yes; he says so. That is not strange, when,
as you say, you ﬁred the pistol from where you stood
in the bay window, and Mr. Wheeler stood by or
near the victim.”
“ But—I don’t understand. You say, father says
he saw me? ”
“ Yes, he told me that.”


MAIDA AND HER FATHER I ' 811"
Maida was silent, but she was evidently thinking
deeply and rapidly. .
“ This is a trap of some sort, Mr. Stone,” she
said at last. “ My father didn’t see me shoot—he
couldn’t have seen me, and consequently he couldn’t
say he did! He wouldn’t lie about it! ” _
“ But he said, at one time,- that hedid- the shoot-
ing himself. Was not that an untruth? ”
“ Of a quite different sort. He said that in a
justiﬁable effort to save me. But this other matter—
for him to say he saw me shoot—when he didn’t—-
he couldn’t—” _ . .-1
“Why couldn’t he, Miss Wheeler? Why was
it so impossible for your father to see-youcommit
that crime, when he was right there? ” - 1! i it:
“ Because—because—oh, Mr. Stone; .1 don’t
know what to say! I feel sure I mustn’t say any-
thing, or I shall regret it.” _ ._. - ,1 ;;,.
“ Would you like your father to come here and
tell us about it?” -;-. “on”: ii '
“ No;—-or, yes. Oh, I don’t: ;v know. .1, Jeffrey,
help me!” -.,,,,, -_
sallthrough this
conversation. He had not looked;at,Maida,.keeping
-Allen had sat silently brooding
- A
his gaze turned out of the window. He was sorely


312 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
hurt at her attitude in the Keefe matter; he was
puzzled at her speech regarding her father; and he
was utterly uncertain as to his own duty or privilege
in the whole affair. But at her appeal, he turned
joyfully toward her.
“Oh, Maida,” he cried, “let me help you. Do
get your father here, now, and settle this question.
. Then, we’ll see what next.” -
“Call him, then,” said Maida, but she‘turned
very white, and paid no further attention to Allen.
She was still lost in thought, when her father arrived
and joined the group.
“ You said, Mr. \Vheeler,” Stone began at once,
“ that you saw your daughter ﬁre the shot that killed
Mr. Appleby? ”
“I did say that,” Daniel Wheeler replied, “ be-
cause it is true. And because I am convinced that
the truth will help us all better than any further
endeavor to prove a falsehood. I did see you,
Maida darling, and I tried very hard to take the
blame myself. But it has been proved to me by
Mr. Stone that my pretence is useless, and so I’ve
concluded that the fact must come out, in hope of a
better result than from concealment. Do not fear,
my darling, no harm shall come to you.”


MAIDA AND HER FATHER 313
“ And you said you did it, father, and mother
said she did it.” .
“ Yes, of course, I told your mother the truth,
and we plottedéyes, plotted for each of us to confess
to the deed, in a wild hope of somehow saving our
little girl.” ..
“ And you saw me shoot, father? ”
“ Why, yes, dear—that is, I heard the shot, and
looked up to see you standing there with consterna-
tion and guilt on your dear face. Your arm had
then dropped to your side, but your whole attitude
was unmistakable. I couldn’t shut my eyes to the
evident fact that there was no one else who could
have done the deed.”
“ There must have been, father—for—I didn’t
do it.”
“I knew you didn’t! Oh, Maida! ” With a
bound Allen was at her side and his arm went round
her. But she moved away from him, and went on
talking—still in a strained, unnatural voice, but
steadily and straightforwardly.
“No; I didn’t shoot Mr. Appleby. I’ve been
saying so, to shield my father. I thought he did it.”
“ Maida! Is it possible?” and Daniel Wheeler
looked perplexed. “ But, oh, I’m so glad to hear
your statement.”


314 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“But who did do it, then?” Miss Lane asked,
bluntly.
“Who cares, so long as it wasn’t any of the
\Vheelers! ” exclaimed Jeffrey Allen, unable to con-
tain his gladness. “Oh, Maida ”
But again she waved him away from her.
“ I don’t understand, Mr. Stone,” she began; “ I
don’t know where these disclosures will lead. I

,

hope, not back to my mother ’
“ N0, Maida,” said her father, “ there’s no fear
of that.”
Reassured, Maida went on. “ Perhaps I can’t be
believed now, after my previous insistence on my
guilt, but God knows it is the truth ;_I am utterly inno-
cent of the crime.” I
“ I believe it,” said Fleming Stone. “ There was
little evidenoezagainst you, except your own confes-
sion. Now you’ve retracted that it only remains
for me to ﬁnd the real crimina .”
“ Can you,” cried Fibsy excitedly, “ can you,
F. Stone? ”
“ Don’t you know which way to look, Terence? ”
“ I do—and I don’t—” the boy murmured; “ oh,
lordy! I do+and—I don’t! ”
“ But there’s another matter to be agreed upon,”


MAIDA AND HER FATHER 315
said Maida, who had not at all regained her normal
poise or appearance. Her face was white and her_
eyes blurred with tears. But she persisted in speech.
“I want it understood that I am engaged to
marry Mr. Keefe,” she said, not looking at Jeffrey
at all. “I announce my engagement, and I desire
him to be looked upon and considered as my future
husband.”
“ Maida! ” came simultaneously from the lips of
her father and Allen. ‘
“Yes, that is positive and irrevocable.- I have
my own reasons for this, and one of them’ is”—
she paused—“ one very important one is, that Mr.
Keefe knows who shot Mr. Appleby, and can produce
the criminal and guarantee his ; confession to
the deed.”
“ W'ow! ” Fibsy remarked, exPlosive-ly, and
Fleming Stone stared at the girl. '- ' :1‘1" .
“ He used this as an argument toipe'rSuade' you
to marry him, Miss Wheeler?” ' 4 i *' U
“ I don’t put it that way, ‘Mr. Stone, but I-have
Mr. Keefe’s assurance that he will do 5511014 you,
and also that he will arrange to have a full and free
pardon granted to my father for the old sentence he
is still suffering under.”


316 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Well, Maida, I don't wonder you consented,”
said Miss Lane, her round eyes wide with surprise.
“And I suppose he's going to renounce all claim to
this estate? ”
“Yes,” said Maida, calmly.
“ Anything else? ” said Allen, unable to keep an
ironic note out of his voice.
“Yes,” put in Fibsy, “ he’s going to be gover-
nor of Massachusetts.”
“ Oh, my heavens and earth! ” gasped Genevieve,
“ what rubbish!”
“Rubbish, nothing!” Fibsy defended his state-
ment. “ You know he’s after it.”
“I felt sure he would, when Sam Appleby gave
up the running—but—I didn’t know he had taken
any public steps.”
“ Nevei' mind what Mr. Keefe is going to do, or
not going to do,” said Maida, in a tone of ﬁnality,
“ I expect to marry him—and soon.”
“ Well,” said Stone, in a business-like way, “I
think our next one to confer with must be
Mr. Keefe.”


CHAPTER XVIII
A FINAL CONFESSION
INQUIRY for Keefe brought the information that
he had gone to a nearby town, but would be back at
dinner-time. - ,
Mr. Appleby was also expected to arrive for
dinner, coming from home in his motor car“:
But in the late afternoon a severe storm set in.
The wind rose rapidly and gained great velocity
while the rain fell steadily and hard. Curtis Keefe
arrived, very wet indeed, though he had protecting
clothing. But a telephone message from Sam
Appleby said that he was obliged to give up all idea
of reaching Sycamore Ridge that night. He had
stopped at a roadhouse, and owing to the gale he
dared not venture forth again until the storm was
over. He would therefore not arrive until next day.
“ Lucky we got his word,” said Mr. Wheeler.
“ This storm will soon put many telephone wires out
of commission.” '
When Keefe came down at the dinner hour, he
found Maida alone in the living-room, evidently
awaiting him.
“My darling!” he exclaimed, going quickly to
317


318 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
her side, “my own little girl! Are you here to
greet me?” _ p
“ Yes,” she said, and suffered rather than wel-
comed his caressing hand on’her shoulder. “ Curtis.
I told them"'you' would tell them who killed
Mr.v Apple’b’y.”"' '
“ So I will, dearest, after dinner. Let’s not have
unpleasaﬁt's’ubje’cts' discussed at table. I’ve been
to Rushﬁ'eld’arid I’ve’found out all the particulars
that I’h’adn’t ’a‘lfeady learned, and—I’ve got actual
proofs! _’ wa,’ ’who’s a cleverer detective than
the ” v v
‘ that’s all right. Now, are you sure you
can get father freed? ” ‘
“VIII’5hoPe5toédear. That’s all I can say at present.
Do you takerne for a‘magician? I assure you I’m
only‘aiilprdjpary citizen. But I——”

.‘5 But youE promised . ” _
_ “ Yes, my little love,-I did, and I well know that
you promised because I did! Well, I fancy I shall
keep every promise I made you, but not every one as
promptly: aslthiswexposurejof the criminal.”
“ But you’ll surely ﬁx it so father can go into
Massachusetts—can go to Boston?”
“ Well, rather! I expect—though you mustn’t


A FINAL CONFESSION 319
say anything about it—but I’ve an idea that you
may yet be a governor’s wife! And it wouldn’t do
then to have your father barred from the state! ”
Maida sighed. The hopes Keefe held out were
the realization of her dearest wishes—but, oh, the
price she must pay! Yet she was strong-willed. She
determined to give no thought whatever to Jeffrey,
for if she did she knew her purpose would falter.
Nor did she even allow herself the doubtful privilege
of feeling sorry for him. Well she knew that that
way madness lay. And, thought the poor child, sad
and broken-hearted though Jeff may be, his sadness
and heartbreak are no worse than mine. Not so bad,
for I have to take the initiative! I have to take the
brunt of the whole situation.
The others assembled, and at dinner no word was
said of the tragedy. Save for Maida and Jeffrey
Allen, the party was almost a merry one.
Daniel Wheeler and his wife were so relieved at
the disclosure of Maida’s innocence that they felt
they didn’t care~much what happened next. Fibsy
ﬂirted openly with Genevieve and Fleming Stone
himself was quietly entertaining.
Later in the evening they gathered in the den
and Keefe revealed his discoveries.


320 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“I felt all along,” he said, “that there was—
there must have been a man on the south veranda
who did the shooting. Didn’t you think that,
Mr. Stone?”
“1 did at times,” Stone replied, truthfully. “I
confess, though my opinion changed once or twice.”
“ And at the present moment?” insisted Keefe.
“ At the present moment, Mr. Keefe, your atti-
tude tells me that you exPect to prove that there was
such a factor in the case, so I would be foolish indeed
to say I doubted it. But, to speak deﬁnitely—yes, I
do think there was a man there, and he was the mur-
derer. He shot thrOugh the window, past Miss
Wheeler, and most naturally, her father thought she
ﬁred the shot herself. You see, it came from ex-
actly her direction.”
‘
“ Yes; ” agreed Keefe, ‘ and moreover, you re-
member, Rachel saw the man on the veranda—and
U
the cook also saw him '

“Yes——the cook saw him!” Fibsy put in, and
though the words were innocent enough, his tone
indicated a hidden meaning.
But beyond a careless glance, Keefe didn’t notice
the interruption and went on, earnestly:
“ Now, the man the servants saw was the mur-


A FINAL CONFESSION 321
derer. And I have traced him, found him, and—
secured his signed confession.”
\Vith unconcealed pride in his achievement,
Keefe took a folded paper from his pocket and
handed it to Daniel Wheeler.
“Why the written confession? Where is the
man?” asked Stone, his dark eyes alight with
interest.
“ Gee! ” muttered F ibsy, under his breath, “ go-
ing some! ”
Genevieve Lane stared, round-eyed and excited,
while Allen and the Wheelers breathlesst awaited
developments.
“ John Mills!” exclaimed Mr. Wheeler, looking
at the paper. “ Oh, the faithful old man! Listen,
Stone. This is a signed confession of a man on his
death-bed ”
“No longer that,” said Keefe, solemnly, “he

died this afternoon.”
“ And signed this just before he died? ”
“ Yes, Mr. Wheeler. In the hospital. The wit-
nesses, as you see, are the nurses .there.”
The paper merely stated that the undersigned
was the slayer of Samuel Appleby. That the deed
was committed in order to free Daniel Wheeler
21


322 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
from wicked and unjust molestation and tyranny.
The signature, though faintly scrawled, was per-
fectly legible and duly witnessed. I
“ He was an old servant of mine,” Wheeler
said, th0ughtfully, “ and very devoted to us all. He
always resented Appleby’s attitude toward me—for
Mills was my butler when the trouble occurred, and
knew all about it. He has been an invalid for a year,
but has been very ill only recently.”
“ Since the shooting, in fact,” said Keefe,
signiﬁcantly.
“ It must have been a hard task for one so weak,”
Wheeler said, “ but the old fellow was a true friend
to me all his life. Tell us more of the circumstances,
Mr. Keefe.”
‘ “I did it all by thinking,” said Keefe, his man-
ner not at all superior, nor did he look toward
Fleming Stone, who: was listening attentively. “ I
felt sure there was some man from outside. And 'I
thought ﬁrst of some enemy of Mr. Appleby’s. But
later, I thought it might have been some enemy of
Mr. Wheeler’s and the shot was possibly meant
for-him.”
W'h'eeler nodded at this. “ I thought that, too,”
he‘observed. ' ' > -


A FINAL CONFESSION 323
“ Well, then later, I began to think maybe it
was some friend—not an enemy. A friend, of
course, of Mr. Wheeler’s. On this principle I
searched for a suspect. I inquired among the ser-
vants, being careful to arouse no suspicion of my
real intent. At last, I found this old Mills had always
been devoted to the whole family here. More than
devoted, indeed. He revered Mr. Wheeler and he
fairly worshipped the ladies. He has been ill a long
time of a slow and incurable malady, and quite lately
was taken to the hospital. When I reached him I
saw the poor chap had but a very short time to live.”
,“ And you suspected him of crime with no more
evidence than that?” Fleming Stone asked.
“ I daresay it was a sort of intuition, Mr. Stone,”
Keefe returned, smiling a little at the detective.
“ Oh, I don’t wonder you feel rather miffed to have
your thunder stolen by a mere business man—and I
fear it’s unprofessional for me to put the thing
through without consulting you, but I felt the case
required careful handling—somewhat psychological
handling, indeed ”
“ Very much so,” Stone nodded.
“And so,” Keefe was a little disconcerted by
the detective’s demeanor. but others set it down to a

very natural chagrin on Stone’s part.


324 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
F ibsy sat back in his chair, his bright eyes nar-
rowed to mere slits and darting from the face of
Keefe to that of Stone continually.
“ And so,” Keefe went on, “ I inquired from the
servants and also, cautiously from the members of
the family, and I learned that this Mills was of a
ﬁery, even revengeful, nature ”
“ He was,” Mr. Wheeler nodded, emphatically.
“ Yes, sir. And I found out from Rachel
that—” Y
“ Rachel! ” F ibsy fairly shot out the word, but a
look from Stone made him say no more.

“ Yes, Rachel, the maid,” went on Keefe, “ and
I found that the man she saw on the veranda was of
the same general size and appearance as Mills. Well,
I somehow felt that it was Mills—and so I went to
see him.” _
“ At the hospital? ” asked Wheeler.
“ Yes; some days ago. He was then very weak,
and the nurses didn't want me to arouse him to any
3!

excitement. But I knew it was my duty
“ Of course,” put in Stone, and Keefe gave him
a patronizing look.
“ So, against the wishes of the nurses and doc-
tors, I had an interview alone with Mills, and I
found he was the criminal.”


A FINAL CONFESSION 325
“ He confessed? ” asked Stone.
“ Yes; and though he refused to sign a written
confession, he agreed he would confess in the pres-
ence of Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Stone. But—that was
only this morning—and the doctor assured me the
man couldn’t live the day out. So I persuaded the
dying man to sign this confession, which I drew up
and read to him in the presence of the nurses. He
signed—they witnessed—and there it is.”
With evident modesty, Keefe pointed to the paper
still in Wheeler’s hands, and said no more.
For a moment nobody spoke. The storm was at
its height. The wind whistled and roared, the rain
fell noisily, and the elements seemed to be doing
their very worst.
Genevieve shuddered—she always was sensitive
to weather conditions, and that wind was enough
to disturb even equable nerves.
“ And this same Mills was the phantom bugler? ”
asked Stone.
“ Yes—he told me so,” returned Keefe. “ He
knew about the legend, you see, and he thought he’d
work on the superstition of the family to divert
attention from himself.”
Genevieve gasped, but quickly suppressed all
show of agitation.


326 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
F ibsy whistled—just a few notes of the bugle
call that the “ phantom ” had played.
At the sound Keefe turned quickly, a strange look
on his face, and the Wheelers, too, looked startled
at the familiar strain.
“ Be quiet, Terence,” Stone said, rather severely,
and the boy subsided.
“Now, Mr. Keefe,” Fleming Stone said, “ you
must not think—as I fear you do—that I grudge
admiration for your success, or appreciation of your
cleverness. I do not. I tell you, very sincerely, that
what you have accomplished is as ﬁne a piece of
work as I have ever run across in my whole career
as detective. Your intuition was remarkable and
your following it up a masterpiece! By the way,
I suppose that it was Mills, then, who started the
ﬁre in the garage?”
“Yes, it was,” said Keefe. “You see, he is
a clever genius, in a sly way. He reasoned that if
a ﬁre occurred, everybody would run to it except
Mr. Wheeler, who cannot go over the line. He
hoped that, therefore, Mr. Appleby would not go
either—for Mr. Appleby suffered from ﬂatfoot—at
any rate, he took a chance that the ﬁre would give
him opportunity to shoot unnoticed. Which it did.”
\
P


A FINAL CONFESSION 327
“It certainly did. Now, Mr. Keefe, did he tell
you how he set that ﬁre? ”
“ No, he did not,” was the short reply. “ More-
over, Mr. Stone, I resent your mode of questioning.
I'm not on the witness stand. I’ve solved a mystery
that bafﬂed you, and though I understand your
embarrassment at the situation, yet it does not give
you free rein to make what seem to me like endeavors
to trip me up!”
“ Trip you up! ” Stone lifted his eyebrows.
“What a strange expression to use. As if I sus-
pected you of faking his tale.”
“It speaks for itself,” and Keefe glanced non-
chalantly at the paper he had brought. “There’s
the signed confession—if you can prove that signa-
ture a fake—go ahead.” '
“ No,” said Daniel Wheeler, decidedly; “ that’s
John Mills’ autograph. I know it perfectly. He
wrote that himself. And a dying man is not going
to sign a lie. There’s no loophole of doubt, Mr.
Stone. I think you must admit Mr. Keefe’s en-
tire success.”
“ I do admit Mr. Keefe’s entire success,”v Stone’s
dark eyes ﬂashed, “ up to this point. From here on,
I shall undertake to prove‘my own entire success,


328 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
since that is the phrase we are using. Mr. Wheeler,
your present cook was here when John Mills worked
. for you?”
“ She was, Mr. Stone, but you don’t need her cor-
roboration of this signature. I tell you I know it
to be Mills’.”
“ Will you send for the cook, please?”
Half unwillingly, Wheeler agreed, and Maida
stepped out of the room and summoned the cook.
‘The woman came in, and Stone spoke to her
at once.
“ Is that John Mills’ signature? ” he asked, show-
ing her the paper.
“ It is, sir,” she replied, looking at him in wonder.
A satisﬁed smile played on Keefe’s face, only to
be eﬁ‘aced at Stone’s next question. I
“ And was John Mills the person you saw—
vaguely—on the south veranda that night of Mr.
Appleby’s murder? ”
“ That he was not! ” she cried, emphatically.
“ It was a man not a bit like Mills, and be the same
token, John Mills was in his bed enable to walk
at all, at all.”
“That will do, Mr. Wheeler,” and Stone dis-
missed the cook with a glance. “ Now, Mr. Keefe? ”


A FINAL CONFESSION 329
“ As if that woman’s story mattered,” Keefe
sneered, contemptuously, “ she is merely mistaken,
that’s all. The word of the maid, Rachel, is as good
as that of the cook———”
“ Oh, no, it isn’t!” Stone interrupted, but, pay-
ing no heed to him, Keefe went on; “ and you can
scarcely doubt the signature after Mr. Wheeler and
your friend the cook have both veriﬁed it.”
Though his demeanor was quiet, Keefe’s face
wore a deﬁant expression and his voice was a trifle
blustering.
“I do not doubt the signature,” Stone declared,
“ nor do I doubt that you obtained it at the hospital
exactly as you have described that incident.”
Keefe’s face relaxed at that, and he recovered his
jaunty manner, as he said: “ Then you admit I have
beaten you at your own game, Mr. Stone?”
“N 0, Mr. Keefe, but I have beaten you at yours.”
A silence fell for a moment. There was some—
thing about Stone’s manner of speaking that made
for conviction in the minds of his hearers that he
said truth. -
“ Wait a minute! Oh, wait a minute! ” It was
Genevieve Lane who cried out the words, and then
she sprang from her chair and ran to Keefe’s side.


330 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
F linging her arms about him, she whispered
close to his ear.
He listened, and then, with a scornful gesture he
ﬂung her off.
“ No! ” he said to her; “ no! a thousand times,
no! Do your worst.”
“ I shall!” replied Genevieve, and without an-
other word she resumed her seat.
“Yes,” went on Stone, this interruption being
over, “ your ingenious ‘ success ’ in the way of de-
tecting is doomed to an ignominious end. You see,
sir,” he turned to Daniel Wheeler, “the clever ruse
Mr. Keefe has worked, is but a ruse—a stratagem, to
deceive us all and to turn the just suspicion of the
criminal in an unjust direction.”
“ Explain, Mr. Stone,” said Wheeler, apparently
not much impressed with what he deemed a last
attempt on the part of the detective to redeem
his reputation.
“ Yes, Mr. Stone,” said Keefe, “if my solution
of this mystery is a ruse—a stratagem—what
have you to offer in its place? You admit the
signed confession? ”
a . “I admit the signature, but not the confession.
John Mills signed that paper, Mr. Keefe, but he is
not the murderer.”


A FINAL CONFESSION 331
“ Who is, then? ”
“ You are! ”
Keefe laughed and shrugged his shoulders, but
at that moment there was such a blast of wind and
storm, accompanied by a fearful crash, that what he
said could not be heard.
“ Explain, please, Mr. Stone,” Wheeler said
again, after a pause, but his voice now showed
more interest.
“ I will. The time has come for it. Mr. Wheeler,
do you and Mr. Allen see to it, that Mr. Keefe does
not leave the room. Terence—keep your eyes open.”
Keefe still smiled, but his smile was a frozen one.
His eyes began to widen and his hands clenched
themselves upon his knees.
“Curtis Keefe killed Samuel Appleby,” Stone
went on, speaking clearly but rapidly. “ His motive
was an ambition to be governor of Massachusetts.
He thought that with the elder Appleby out of the
way, his son would have neither power nor inclina—
tion to make a campaign. There were other, minor
motives, but that was his primary one; That, and
the fact that the elder Appleby had a hold on Mr.
Keefe, and of late had pressed it home uncomfortably
hard. The murder was long premeditated. The trip


332 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
here brought it about, because it offered a chance
where others might reasonably be suspected. Keefe
was the man on the veranda, whom the cook saw—
but not clearly enough to distinguish his identity.
Though she did know it was not John Mills.”
“ But—Mr. Stone ” interrupted Wheeler,
greatly perturbed, “ think what you're saying! Have

you evidence to prove your statements? ”
“ I have, Mr. \Vheeler, as you shall see. Let me
tell my story and judge me then. A ﬁrst proof is—
Terence, you may tell of the bugle.”
“I went, at Mr. Stone's orders,” the boy stated,
simply, “ to all the shops or little stores in this vicin-
ity where a bugle might have been bought; I found
one was bought in a very small shop in Rushﬁeld
and bought by a man who corresponded to Mr.
Keefe’s description, and who, when he stopped at
the shop, was in a motor car whose description and
occupants were the Appleby bunch. Well, anyway—
Miss Lane here knows that Mr. Keefe bought that
bugle—don’t you? ” He turned to Genevieve, who,
after a glance at Keefe, nodded afﬁrmation.
“ And so,” Stone went on, “ Mr. Keefe used
that bugle—”
“ How did he get opportunity? " asked Wheeler.


A FINAL CONFESSION 333
“ I’ll tell you,” offered Genevieve. “ We all staid
over night in Rushﬁeld, and I heard Mr. Keefe go
out of doors in the night. I watched him from my
window. He returned about three hours later.”
It was clear to all listening, that when Genevieve
had whispered to Keefe and he had told her to do
her worst, they were now hearing the “ worst.”
“ So,” Stone narrated, “Mr. Keefe came over
here and did the bugling as a preliminary to his fur-
ther schemes. You admit that, Mr. Keefe? ”
“ I admit nothing. Tell your silly story as
you please.”
“ I will. Then, the day of the murder, Mr. Keefe
arranged for the ﬁre in the garage. He used the acids
as the man Fulton described, and as Keefe’s own
coat was burned and his employer’s car he felt sure
suspicion would not turn toward him. When the
ﬁre broke out—which as it depended on the action of
those acids, he was waiting for, Keefe ran with
Mr. Allen to the garage. But—and this I have
veriﬁed from Mr. Allen, Keefe disappeared for a
moment, and, later was again at Allen’s side. In
that moment—Mr. Wheeler, that psychological mo-
ment, Curtis Keefe shot and killed Samuel Appleby.”
“ And Mills? ”


A FINAL CONFESSION 335
i!
“ Certainly,
less confession.
Keefe stepped to the table desk, where the paper
lay, but as he laid his left hand upon it, with his
right he quickly pulled open a drawer, grasped the
pistol that was in it, and saying, with a slight smile:
“A life for a life!” drew the trigger and fell to
the ﬂoor.
From the gruesome situation, its silence made
worse by the noise of the storm outside, Daniel
Wheeler led his wife and daughter. Jeffrey Allen
followed quickly and sought his loved Maida.
Reaction from the strain made her break down,
said Stone, glancing at the worth~
and sobbing in his arms she asked and received full
forgiveness for her enforoed desertion of him.
“I couldn’t do anything else, Jeff,” she sobbed.
“I had to say yes to him for dad’s sake—and
mother’s.”
“ Of course you did, darling; don’t think about
it. Oh, Maida, look! The wind has torn up the
)!

sycamore! Unrooted it, and it has fallen over
“ Over into Massachusetts! ” Maida cried;
“ Jeffrey, think what that means! ”
“ Why—why !
“ Yes; the sycamore has gone into Massachu-
setts—and father can go! ”

” Allen was speechless.


836 THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
“ Is that real, Maida—is it truly a permission?”
“ Of course it is! We’ve got Governor Appleby’s
letter, saying so—written when he was governor.
you know! Jeffrey—I’m so happy! It makes me
forget that awful—”
“ Do forget it all you can, dearest,” and beneath
her lover’s caresses, Maida did forget, for the mo-
ment at least.
“It’s the only inexplicable thing about it all,
Fibs,” Fleming Stone observed, after the case was
among the annals of the past, “ that the old sycamore
fell over and fell the right way.”
“ Mighty curious, F. Stone,” rejoined the boy,
with an expressionless face.
“ You didn’t help it along, did you? You
know the injunction was, ‘ without intervention of
human hands.’ ”
“ I didn’t intervent my hands, Mr. Stone,” said
the boy, earnestly, “ honest I didn’t. But—it wasn’t
nominated in the bond that I shouldn’t kick around,
those old decaying roots with my foot—just so’s
if it should take a notion to fall it would fall head-
ing north ! ”


THE CURVED BLADES


THE CURVED BLADES
I
MISS LUCY CARRINGTON
“GARDEN Steps” was one of the show-places
of Merivale Park, Long Island. In summer it
was an enchanting spot, and the dazzling white
marble steps which led to the sunken gardens
justiﬁed their right to give the place its name.
Other stone steps gave on terraces and ﬂower
banks, others still led to the Italian landscape
gardens, and a few rustic steps of a wooden
stile transported one to an old-fashioned garden,
whose larkspur and Canterbury bells were the
ﬁnest of their sort.
The house seemed an integral part of this
setting. Its wide verandahs, or more often log-
gias, were so lavishly furnished with ﬂowering
plants, its windows so boxed with them, that the
whole effect was that of a. marvellously well-
planned horticultural exhibition.
But all this was of the summer. In winter—
for it was an all-round-the-year home—only the
varied and extraordinary collection of ever-
greens shared with the steps the honor of mak-
ing picturesque and beautiful the View from the
house Windows.
7


8 _ THE CURVED BLADES
And now, in January, one of the all too sel-
dom enjoyed white snow storms had gloriﬁed the
whole estate. Wind-swept drifts half hid, half
disclosed the curving marble balustrades, and
turned the steps to snowy fairyland ﬂights.
And, for it was night, a cold, clear, perfect
winter night, a supercilious moon looked down,
a little haughtin and condescended to illumine
the scene in stunning, if a bit theatric, fashion.
“Ripping picture, eh?” said Gray Haviland,
as he held back the heavy curtain for the golden_
haired young woman at his side to look out.
“Oh, isn’t it a wonderful sight!” And
as Anita Frayne took a step forward, toward
the easement, Haviland let the curtain fall be-
hind him and the two were alone in the deep em-
brasure of the Wide bay-window.
“Not nearly such a wonderful sight as you
are!” Haviland swung her round to face him,
and stood gazing at the pretty, doll-like face
that half laughed, half frowned into his own.
“Me! I’m not like a moonlit landscape!”
“No, you’re just a golden morsel of summer
sunshine—” Haviland’s eulogy was inter-
rupted by a petulant voice calling shrilly:
“Where are you two“! I hear you talking;
come on. I’m waiting.”
“Oh, Lord! come on,” and, holding the cur-


MISS LUCY CARRINGTON ' 9
tain aside, he let Anita pass and then followed
her. '
“Here we are, Cousin Lucy, all ready for
the fray. Good evening, Count.”
Count Charlier bowed Frenchily, and Anita
gave him the bright, ﬂashing smile that she kept
on hand for mankind in general, and which was
quite different from that she used on special
occasions or for special friends.
Annoyed at the duration of this delaying
smile, Miss Lucy Carrington tapped impatiently
on the bridge table, and looked her impatience
most unmistakably.
Mistress of Garden Steps, wealthy, well-born,
of assured social position, capable and eﬂicient,
Miss Carrington lacked the one gift of Fate for
which she would have bartered all else. She
was not beautiful, and had not even enough pre-
tension to good looks to think herself beautiful.
Plain features, graying hair—dyed red—big,
prominent light-blue eyes, and a pasty, pudgy
complexion left no hope for the miracles worked
by beauty doctors to avail in her case. Her
ﬁgure was short and dumpy, the despair of her
staymakers, and her taste in dress ran to the
extremes in coloring and fashion.
Passionately fond of all beauty, Miss Car~
rington felt keenly her own lack of it, and to this


10 THE CURVED BLADES
lack she attributed the fact that she was a.
spinster. Those who knew her felt there might
be other reasons why her suitors had been few,
but, as a matter of fact, the acidity of her dis-
position was a direct result of her disappointed,
loveless life, and even yet, though nearing ﬁfty,
Miss Lucy Carrington had by no means laid
aside all thoughts of matrimonial adventure.
Heiress to immense wealth, there had been
fortune-seekers who asked her hand, but Lucy
Carrington would none of these. Aristocratic
and high-minded, she had unerring perception
of motives, and the men who had been willing to
marry her face as well as her fortune had been
of such unworth that the lady scorned them.
But now, looming on her hopes’ horizon was
a welcome possibility. Count Henri Charlier,
a visitor of a neighbor, seemingly admired the
mistress of Garden Steps and had fallen into the
habit of frequent calling. Courteous and pol-
ished of manner, he ﬂattered Miss Carrington
in such wise that his attitude was acceptable if
not indubitably sincere. Her closest scrutiny
and most challenging provocation failed to sur-
prise any admission of her lack of perfection in
his eyes, and his splendid physique and brilliant
mind commanded her complete approval and
admiration. There had been hints that his title


MISS LUCY CARRINGTON 11
could not be read entirely clear, but this was not
sufﬁcient to condemn him in Miss Carrington’s
eyes.
To be sure, the Count had as yet said no word
that could be construed as of deﬁnite intention,
but there had been certain signs, deemed por-
tentous by the willing mind of the lady in
question.
Bridge was Miss Carring'ton’s favorite di-
version, and, as the Count also enjoyed it, fre-
quent evenings were devoted to the game.
It was, perhaps, a mistake that Miss Car-
rington should have allowed this, for her temper,
always uncertain, lost all restraint 'when she
suffered ill-luck at cards. A poor hand always
brought down violent objurgation on the head of
her partner and sarcastic comment or criticism
on her adversaries. These exhibitions of wrath
were not good policy if she wished to charm the
French visitor, but, as he invariably kept his
own temper, his irate hostess made little effort
to curb hers.
“What are you doing, Anita?” cried Miss
Oarrington, petulantly, as they settled them-
selves at the table. “You know I always play
with the blue cards, and you are dealing them!”
“Sure enough! Pardon me, Lady Lucy, I
will take the red ones.”


112 THE CURVED BLADES
‘ ‘ Then, pray, wait till I make them up. There.
No, let the Count cut them! Have you no notion
of bridge rules"! You are quite the most inat-
tentive player! Will you kindly concentrate on
the game?”
“Yes, indeed,” and Anita Frayne smiled as
:she deftly dealt the red cards. “I hope you
have a good hand.”
“You hope I have a good hand! A strange
idea for an adversary!”
“But I know you like to win,” and Miss
Frayne hastily gathered up her own cards.
“I do not like to have you want me to win!
That’s babyish. I like to win by superior skill,
not merely by lucky cards !”
This was an awful Whopper, and all at the
table knew it, but it was ignored and the game
'began. .
Miss Carrington—Lady Lucy, as she liked to
'be called—did not hold good hands. On the con_
"trary, she had a run of bad luck that made her
more and more irate with each hand dealt. Miss
Frayne, who was her protégée and social secre-
tary, watched with growing apprehension the
red spots that appeared in Miss Carrington’s
cheeks, infallible danger signals of an impend-
Iing outbreak.
It came.


MISS LUCY CARRINGTON 13
“Another handful of blanks!” Miss Carring-
ton exclaimed, angrily, and ﬂung the offending
thirteen cards across the wide room.
“ There now, Cousin Lucy,” said Gray Havi-
land, determined to keeprthe peace if possible,
‘ ‘ that was a clever idea! It will certainly change
your luck! I’ll collect the pasteboards, and we ’11
start fresh.”
Easily, the big, good-looking young chap
sauntered across the room and gathered up the
cards, chatting meanwhile. “You don ’t lose
your deal, you know; so try again, Cousin Lucy,
and good luck to you!”
In angry silence Miss Carrington dealt
again, and examined her hand. “Nothing
above a nine spot l” she declared, throwing them,
backs up, on the table.
“Too bad!” murmured Miss Frayne, care-
lessly picking up the hand. “Why, you didn’t
look closely! Here’s an ace and two queens
- and—”
“They’re nothing! How dare you dispute
my word? I say the hand is worthless l” She
fairly snatched the cards from the girl and
turned them face down again.
“But mad’moiselle,” began the Count, “if
you have an ace and two queens, I could have
played a no-trump hand grand,——ah, splendid l”


14 THE CURVED BLADES
“Yes, you could have played it! You want
to play all the open hands! You want me to
sit here a dummy, a ﬁgure-head, every time!”
“Now, now, Lady Lucy—” and Anita
Frayne laughed pleasantly.
“Be quiet! You’re worse yet! You want
to deal me good hands to humor me! I believe
you would cheat to do it! I don’t want good
cards that way!’ ’
“Ah,” begged the Count, seeing Anita ﬂush,
“do not tell the young lady she cheats! Do not
do that!” ‘
‘ ‘ I ’ll tell her what I choose ! Gray, say some-
thing! You sit there like a mummy, while these
people are insulting me right and left! Tell
Anita that I am right in not wishing her to deal
me good cards purposely.”
“But she didn’t,” declared Haviland; “you
know she didn’t. Why, she couldn’t, even if
she wanted to !’ ’ .
“Oh, yes, she could!” and Miss Carrington
gave a disagreeable sneer. “She’s quite clever
enough for any deceit or treachery.” _
“Stop, Cousin Lucy! I can’t let you talk so
about Miss Frayne in my presence!”
“Oh, you can’t, can ’t you? And, pray, what
right have you to defend her? Go away, both
of you! I ’11 play with you no longer. Go away


MISS LUCY CARRINGTON 15
and send Pauline and Mr. Illsley in here. They,
at least, will play fair.”
Anita Frayne rose without a word. Havi-
land rose too, but talking volubly. “Let up,
Cousin Lucy” he said sternly. “You’ve no
right to treat Miss Frayne so. You ought to
apologize to her for such rudeness.”
“' Apologize! ” Miss Carrington fairly
shrieked; “she’ll do the apologizing, and you,
too, my foolish young cousin. You little know
what’s going to happen to me! To-morrow you
may sing another song!”
Haviland looked at her in astonishment; the
Count, thoughtfully. The same idea was in
both their minds. Could she mean that she was
expecting the Count to propose to her that
evening?
“ Nothing nice can happen to you unless you
learn to control that temper of yours,” and
Haviland swung away after Anita.
He found her in the next room, nestled in
the corner of a big davenport, weeping into a
sympathetic sofa-cushion.
“G0 and ﬁnd the others,” she whispered, as
he came near her. “Make them go and play
with her!’ ’ .
Obediently, Haviland went. In the glassed
sun-parlor he found Pauline Stuart, Miss Car-


16 THE CURVED BLADES
rington’s niece, and Stephen Illsley, one of the
most favored of ‘Pauline’s many suitors.
“For goodness’ sake, people,” he began,
“do go and play bridge with the Lady of the
Manor! She’s in a peach of a fury, and you’ll
have to take your life in your hands, but go !’ ’
“I won’t,” said Pauline, bluntly; “It’s An-
ita’s turn to-night. She said she’d do it.”
“ She did! But she came off second best,
and she’s weeping buckets on the best Empire
embroidery sofa-cushions! I’m going to com-
fort her, but you must go and keep the gentle
Lucy from pulling the house down about our
ears! She’s sure queering herself with his nibs!
He can’t admire her sweet, ﬂower-like soul after
this night’s exhibition. ’ ’
“I don’t want to go a bit, but I suppose we’ll
have to,” and Pauline smiled at her guest.
“Oh, go on,” said Haviland, as he turned to
leave them; ‘ ‘ and, for Heaven’s sake, give her all
the good cards. Can you manage that, Illsley‘l”
“I am afraid not. Her eyes are too sharp.”
“Well, if her luck stays bad, get her to play
mumble~peg or something, instead of bridge.”
Haviland disappeared and Pauline rose un-
willingly. “I do so hate to play with Aunt
Lucy,” she said, ‘ ‘but it must be done. Are you
willing to sacriﬁce yourself?”


MISS LUCY CARRINGTON 1'7
“For you“! Always!” And the two went.
to the cardroom.
Pauline Stuart, tall, dark, graceful, was a strik-r
ing-looking girl. Only twenty-four, she carried.
herself with the dignity and poise of a duchess,
and her heavy, dark brows gave her face an ex-
pression of strength and will-power that con
trasted forcibly with the delicate Dresden china
beauty of Anita Frayne. The two girls were not.
especially friendly, though never deﬁnitely at
odds. Anita was envious of the more fortunate
Pauline. The latter, Miss Carrington’s niece,
would inherit a goodly part of her aunt’s large
fortune, While the humble position of the secre-
tary commanded only a liberal, not muniﬁcent,
salary.
The girls, however, were at one in their
dread of Miss Lucy’s ebullitions of temper and
their resentment of the biting sarcasms and an-
gry diatribes she ﬂung at them in her frequent
spasms of fury.
Illsley, a well-set-up chap of good address,
followed Pauline into her aunt’s presence.
“You waited long enough,” grumbled Miss
Garrington. “Sit down. It’s your deal now,
Pauline.” ..
Matters went well for a time. Miss Lucy
held good cards, and once or twice she triumphed
2


18 THE CURVED BLADES
through a mistake of her adversaries, which she
fortunately did not discover was made on pur-
pose. .
Count Charlier’s little bright black eyes
darted inquiringly from aunt to niece, but he
made no comment. All four played well, and
when at last Miss Carrington made a grand
slam her joy was effervescent.
“Good play,” she ﬂattered herself. “You
must admit, Count, that it was clever of me to
take that difﬁcult ﬁnesse just at that critical
point.”
“Clever indeed, mademoiselle. You have the
analytical mind; you should have been a diplo-
mat. Also, Fortune favors you. You arebe-
loved of the ﬁckle goddess. ”
“Let us liope so,” and for a moment Miss
Carrington looked grave.
' And then, with the perversity of that same
goddess, the card luck changed. Pauline and
Illsley held all the high cards, Miss Lucy and
the Count only the low ones. a
Storm signals showed. Whiter grew the
stern, set face; tighter drew the thin, wide lips;
and rigid muscles set themselves in the angry,
swelling throat. Then, as she scanned a hand
of cards, all below the ten, again they went in a
shower across the room, and she cried, angrily:


MISS LUCY CARRINGTON 19
‘ ‘ A Yarborough !’ ’ reverting to the old-fashioned
term. '
‘ ‘N ever mind, Aunt Lucy, "and Pauline tried
to laugh it oﬂ’; “this is not your lucky night.
Let’s give up bridge for to-night. Let’s have
some music.”
“Yes! because you love music and hate
bridge! It makes no difference what I want.
My wishes are never considered. You and An-
ita are just alike! Selﬁsh, ungrateful, caring for
nothing but your own pleasure. Mr. Illsley,
don’t you think young girls should pay some
slight attention to the wishes of one who does
everything for them? Where would either of
them be but for me“! Are you not sorry for me? ”
“Why,—I—you must excuse me, I am not
sure I understand—’ ’
“Yes, you understand, perfectly well. You
know the girls slight me and snub me evei'y
chance they get. But it will not always be thus.
To-morrow—”
“Come, Aunt Lucy,” pleaded Pauline, “let
us have some music. You know there are some
new records, just arrived to-day. Let us hear
them.”
“Are there new records? Did you get the
ones I wanted?”
“ Some of them. We couldn’t get them all.”


20 THE CURVED BLADES
“Oh, no, of ecurse not! But if you had
wanted certain records they would have been
found!”
“But, Auntie Lucy, we couldn’t get them if
they aren’t made, could we? Gray tried his
best.”
“Oh, tried his best! He forgot to ask for
them, so he says he ‘tried his best,’ to excuse his
carelessness. If Anita had wanted them—-’ ’
The starting of the music drowned further
ﬂow of the lady’s grievances.


II
IA CLASH OF TONGUES
TRUE to its reputation for calming the im-
pulses of the turbulent spirit, the music soothed
Miss Carrington’s rufﬂed temper, and She waxed
amiable and even gay. Enthroned on her fa-
vorite red velvet chair, resplendent in an e1abo~
rately decorated gown of sapphire blue satin,
with her bright auburn locks piled high and
topped by an enormous comb of carved tortoise~
shell, she dominated the little group and gave
orders that must be obeyed.
She wore, among other jewels, a magniﬁcent
rope of pearls. So remarkable were these, that
the Count, who had never seen them before, ven_
tured to refer to them.
“Yes,” agreed Miss Carrington, “they are
wonderful. Practically priceless, I assure you.
It took my agent years to collect them.”
“And you grace an informal home evening
with these regal gems?”
“Not usually, no. But you know, Count
Charlier, pearls must be worn frequently to pre_
serve their lustre. Laid away a long time, they
grow dead and dull-looking.”
“You keep them here? Is it safe, think
you?”
21


22 THE CURVED BLADES
“I don’t keep them here all the time. Indeed,
I got these from the Safe Deposit only this morn-
ing. I shall return them there in a few days.
While here, I shall wear them all I can to liven
them up.”
“You brought a lot of your other jewels,
didn’t you, Aunt Lucy?” said Pauline, casually;
“why did you? Are you going to a ball?”
“No: I wish to—to look them over and plan
to have some reset.”
“But are they safe?” inquired the Count
again; “do you not fear thieves?”
“No, we never have such things as robbery in
Merivale Park. It is a quiet, well-behaved neigh-
borhood.” '
“But you have a safe?” went on the Count;
‘ ‘you take at least that precaution?’ ’ I i
“ Oh, yes, I have a safe in my boudoir. There
is really no danger. Count Charlier, would you
like to hear me sing? Find one of my records,
Gray.’ ’
Miss Carrington’s singing voice had been a
ﬁne” one and was still fair. She sometimes
amused herself by making records for her phono-
graph, and Gray Haviland managed the mechan-
ical part of it.
“Which one, Lady Lucy?” he asked, as he
rummaged in the record cabinet. '


A CLASH OF TONGUES 23
“Any of those pretty love songs,” and Miss
Carrington glanced coyly at the Count.
“Here’s a ﬁne one,” and Haviland placed a
disk in the machine.
“Listen,” he said, smiling; “don’t miss the
introduction. ’ ’
The needle touched the record, and Miss
Lucy’s laugh rang out, so clear and true, it was
difﬁcult to believe it was a recorded laugh and
not a sound from the lady herself. Then the
recorded voice said: “This song is one of Carr’s
favorites, I’ll sing it for him.” And then, with
only a few seconds’ interval, Miss Carrington’s
voice sang, “Believe me, if all those endearing
young charms.”
It was well sung, and a perfect record, so that
the incident of the singer listening to her own
voice was interesting in itself.
“Capital!” applauded the Count, as it was
ﬁnished. “It is indeed pleasant to preserve
one’s songs thus. May I not some time record
my own amateur attempt?” -
“Delighted to have you, Count,” said Havi-
land, cordially. “Come over some morning, and
we’ll do up a lot of records.”
“Since when have you been master here,
Gray?” said Miss Lucy, with ﬁne scorn. “I
will give the invitations to my own house, if you


24 THE CURVED BLADES
please! Count Charlier, if you will come to-
morrow afternoon I will instruct Mr. Haviland
to make the records.”
It was not so much the words as the manner
of their utterance that was offensive, and Havi-
land set his lips in stiﬂed anger. It was not at
all unusual, this sort of rebuff, but he could not
endure it as patiently as the two girls did. Havi-
land was a second cousin of Miss Carrington,
and, while he lived with her in the capacity of a
business secretary and general man of affairs,
the post was a sinecure, for the services of her
lawyer and of her social secretary left little for
Haviland to do. His salary was a generous one
and he was substantially remembered in her will,
but he sometimes thought the annoying and irri-
tating ﬂeers he had to accept smilingly, were
worth more than he was receiving. He was
continually made to feel himself a dependent and
an inferior.
These trials also fell to the lot of the two
girls. Pauline, although her aunt’s heiress to
the extent of half the fortune, the other half to go
to an absent cousin, was by no means treated as
an equal of Miss Garrington herself. It seemed
to give the elder lady delight to domineer over
her niece and in every possible way make her life
uneasy and uncomfortable. As to the social sec-


A CLASH OF TONGUES 25
retary, Miss Frayne, she was scolded for every-
thing she did, right or wrong.
Often had the three young people declared
intentions of leaving Garden Steps, but so far
none of them had made good the threat.
Vanity was the key-note of Lucy Carring-
ton ’s nature, and, knowing this, they could, if
they chose, keep her fairly sweet-tempered by
inordinate ﬂattery often administered. This
proceeding hurt their self-respect, jarred their
tempers, and galled their very souls, but it was
that or dismissal, and thus far they had stayed.
Matters were nearing a crisis, however, and
Haviland’s patience was so sorely strained that
he was secretly looking for another position.
Anita Frayne, whose pretty blonde doll-face be-
lied a very ﬁery disposition, was on the verge of
a serious break with her employer, and Pauline
Stuart continually assured herself that she could
not go on this way.
Pauline was the orphaned daughter of Lucy’s
sister, and had lived with her aunt for many
years. Carrington Loria, the son of another
sister, was engaged in antiquarian research in
Egypt, where he had been since his graduation
as an engineer. He, too, was an orphan and had
lived with Lucy in his younger days, and he and
Pauline were equal heirs to their aunt’s wealth.


26 THE CURVED BLADES
The father of the three Carrington sisters,
having become angered at his two daughters
who married against his Wishes, had left his en
tire fortune to Lucy, his only remaining child.
Thus her niece and nephew were her only direct
heirs, and, save for some comparatively small
bequests, the Carrington estate would eventually
be theirs. Y
Pauline well knew that if she left her aunt’s
roof it meant complete disinheritance, for Lucy
Carrington was proud of her beautiful niece,
and, too, was fond of her in her own way. But
the ungovernable‘temper of the lady made her
home an almOst unbearable abiding-place.
Since childhood years Carrington Loria had
lived there only during his college vacations;
but had been back occasionally for short visits
from his now permanent Egyptian occupation.
He had always come laden with gifts of Oriental
products, and the rooms at Garden Steps showed
many rare specimens of cunning handiwork and
rich fabrics and emb'roideries. ‘
To break the awkward pause that followed
Miss Carrington’s rude speech to Gray Havi-
land, Pauline picked up an antique scarab from
a side table and drew the Count ’5 attention to its
inscription.
' He expressed a polite interest, but cast fur-


A CLASH OF TONGUES 27
tive glances at his hostess, as if afraid of a
further outbreak.
N'or were his fears unjustiﬁed. Miss Car-
rington administered a scathing reproach to
Pauline for intruding herself upon the Count’s
attention, and bade her put aside the scarab and
hold her tongue.
“Don’t speak to me like that, Aunt Lucy; I
am not a child!” And Pauline, unable to con-
trol herself longer, faced her angry aunt with
an air of righteous wrath.
“I’ll speak to you as I choose, miss! It is
for you to mend your tone in addressing me! If
you don’t, you may have cause to regret it.
Count Charlier came here to see me, and I refuse
to countenance your clumsy attempts to engage
his interest in your silly babble !’ ’ I
“But—I insist—” stammered the greatly
embarrassed Count, “allow me, madame, let me
say, I call on you all—all ”
“Nothing of the sort!” declared Miss Lucy;
‘ ‘you came, Count, to play bridge with us. Our
opponents behaved so rudely and played so
badly it was impossible for us to continue the
game. Nor can we enjoy music in this inhar-
monious atmosphere. Let us stroll in the con-
servatory, you and I.”
She rose, trailing her heavy silks and ﬂash-


28 THE CURVED BLADES
ing her sparkling jewels, and the Count, a little
hesitatingly, followed her. They crossed the
great hall, and, going through a reception room
and the delightful sun-parlor, came to the warm,
heavily-scented conservatory.
“Poor old Charlier!” said Haviland, as the
pair disappeared; “he’s in for it now! Do you
suppose the palms and orchids will bring him up
to the scratch? ’Nita, I’ll bet you a box of gloves
against a box of simple little cigarettes that he
doesn’t propose to the lady to-night?”
‘ ‘Done !” cried Miss Frayne, who was spark-
ling again, now that the dread presence was re-
moved. ‘ ‘ I doubt he can help himself. She has
him at her mercy. And he’s too good-mannered
to disappoint her wish. ” _
“He’ll propose,” said Pauline, with an air
of conviction. “He’s a typical fortune-hunter,
that man. Indeed, I am not sure he’s a Count
at all. Do you know, Mr. Illsley’l”
‘ ‘ I know almost nothing of the man, save that
he’s a guest of the Frothinghams. That’s not
entirely in his favor, I think.”
‘ ‘Right you are !” agreed Haviland. ‘ ‘ Those
people are,—well, they’re to be queried. But I
say, Polly, if the two do hit it off, it’s grinding
poverty for us, eh!”
“It may be a blessed relief, Gray. She’ll


A CLASH OF TON GUES 29
give us something, of course, and send us away
from here. I, for one, shouldn’t be sorry to go.
She is getting too impossible!”
“She is!” put in Anita; “every day she
pounds us worse! I’d like to kill her!”
The ﬁerce words and would-be menacing
glance of the little blonde beauty were about as
convincing as a kitten declaring himself a war
lord, and even the stately Pauline smiled at the
picture. '
“She ought to be killed, ” declared Haviland,
“and I say this dispassionately. I wouldn’t do
it, because killing is not in my line, but the eter-
nal ﬁtness of things requires her removal to an—
other sphere of usefulness. She makes life a
burden to three perfectly good people, and some
several servants. Not one would mourn her,
and ”
‘ ‘ Oh, stop, Gray ! ’ ’cried Pauline; “don ’t talk
in that strain! Don’t listen to him, Mr. Illsley.
He often says such things, but he doesn’t mean
them. Mr. Haviland loves to talk at random, to
make a sensational hearing. ”
“Nothing of the sort, Polly. I do mean it.
Lucy Carrington is a misery dispenser, and such
are not wanted in this nice little old world. ’ ’
“But perhaps,” Pauline looked thoughtful,
“the fault is in us. We don’t like her, and so


30 THE CURVED BLADES
we see nothing good in what she does. Now,
Carrington Loria adores her. She had a letter
from him to-day—”
“Yes, Loria adores her!” interrupted Havi-
land, “because he doesn’t live with her! She
sends him love-letters and money, and he doesn’t
know the everlasting torture of living under her
roof, year in and year out! But he caught on
a little the last time he was here. He said,—
well, in his quaint Oriental fashion, he said,
‘ Gee! she’s the limit!’ that’s what he said. ”
“Well, she is,” pouted Anita. “I can’t
do a thing to suit her. To-day I wrote a letter
over six times before she was satisﬁed. And
every change she wanted made was so foolish
she wanted it changed back again. She nearly
drove me crazy!”
“ But I have to put up with her morning, noon,
and night,” sighed Pauline. “You have your
hours off, Anita, but I never do. She even
wakens me in the night to read to her, or to
help her plan her new gowns. ”
‘ ‘It is awfully hard for you,’ ’ began Mr. Ills~
ley, and then all stopped short, for the object of
their discussion returned to the room.
It was plain to be seen Miss Carrington was
in a state of suppressed excitement. She
giggled almost hysterically, and tapped the


A CLASH OF TONGUES 31
Count playfully on the arm with her fan, as she
' bade him say good-night and go.
The interested ones watching her could not
learn whether the Count had declared himself or
not. The presumption was negative, for, had
he done so, surely Miss Carrington would have
told the good news.
Charlier himself was distinctly non-com-
mittal. Debonair as always, he made his adieux,
no more demonstrative to his hostess than to the
others, and went away. Illsley followed, and
the household dispersed. The clock struck mid-
night as the ladies went upstairs.
Following custom, they all three went to Miss
Lucy’s boudoir. It was by way of reporting for
to-morrow’s orders, and was a duty never neg-
lected.
The exquisite apartment, from which opened
the bedroom andbath, was softly lighted and
fragrant with ﬂowers.
“How do you like Count Henri Charlier?”
Miss Carrington quickly demanded of her
satellites. Y
‘ ‘ Charming, ” said the voluble Anita. ‘ ‘Just
a typical French nobleman, isn’t he? And how
he adores our Lady Lucy!”
The whole speech rang false, but the vanity
of the lady addressed swallowed it as truest sin-


32 THE CURVED BLADES
cerity. “Yes,” she returned, “he is infatuated,
I have reason to think. But—we shall see what -
we shall see! Curb your impatience, girls!
You shall know all in due time.”
“Can I do anything for you, Auntie, to-night
or to-morrow?” asked Pauline, and, though she
tried to speak with enthusiasm, her tone did
sound perfunctory.
“Not if you offer in that manner,” and Miss
Carrington looked at her niece coldly. “One
would think, Pauline, that it must be an irksome
task to do the smallest favor for your aunt and
benefactor! Do you feel no pleasure in doing
what triﬂes you can for one who does everything
for you?”
“I would feel a pleasure, Aunt Lucy, if you
were kinder to me. But—’ ’
“Kinder!” shrieked her aunt; “kinder!
Girl, have you taken leave of your senses? I
give you a home, ﬁne dresses, money, everything
you can want, and you ask me to be kinder to
you! Go ! never let me see you again, after that
speech!”
“Oh, auntie, don’t! I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean to exasperate me beyond
endurance? No, of course you meant to stop
short of that! But you have done it. I mean
this, Pauline: to-morrow you go elsewhere to


A .CLASH OF TONGUES 33
live. No longer will I give a home to such a
monster of ingratitude !’ ’
“But, Miss Carrington” — and Anita
Frayne’s soft voice implored gently
“don ’t be hasty. Pauline didn’t mean ”
“What!” and Lucy Carrington turned on
her, “you take her part? Then you go, too! I
want no ingrates here. Leave me, both of you.
This night is your last beneath this roof! You
are two unworthy girls, to scorn and slight the
hand that has fed and clothed you and given you
luxury and comfort such as you will never see
again! Go, I’ve done With you! Send me
Estelle. She, at least, has some small affection
for me. ’ ’ >
The two girls left the room. The scene was
not without precedent. Before this they had
been ordered to leave the house forever, but al-
ways forgiveness and reinstatement had fol-
lowed. This time, however, the Lady Lucy had
been rather more in earnest, and the girls looked
at each other uncertainly as they turned toward
their rooms.
Anita summoned Estelle, the French maid,
and then told her to haSten immediately to Miss
Carrington.
‘ ‘ Don’t undress me,” said the mistress as the
maid appeared; “I’m not retiring at once. Get


3


34 THE CURVED BLADES
me out of this gown and give me a negligée and
slippers.”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” and Estelle deftly
obeyed orders and brought a white boudoir gown
edged with swans-down.
“Not that!” cried Miss Carrington. “Bring
the gold-embroidered one,—the Oriental.”
“Ah, the green one, from Monsieur Loria?”
“Yes, the one my nephew sent me at Christ-
mas time. My, but it’s handsome, isn’t it,
Estelle?”
“Gorgeous!” declared the maid, and she
spoke truly. Young Loria knew his aunt’s taste,
and he had sent her a typical Egyptian robe, of
pale green silk, heavy with gold embroideries.
In it Miss Carrington looked like one attired for
a masquerade.
“Shall I take down mademoiselle’s hair?”
asked Estelle, lingering.
“No. I want to be alone. I will read
awhile. You need not return. I will do for my-
self.”
“There is your glass of milk, ma ’mzelle, on
the bed-table. ”
“ Silly! I suppose I can see it for myself.”
‘ ‘Yes, ma’am. And you will have your tea at
eight in the morning?”
"‘ Of course, my tea at eight. As always. You


A CLASH OF TONGUES 35
might remember that much yourself. But no-
body remembers things for my comfort.’ ’
“Pardon, but sometimes it is eight, and,
again, it must be half-past. ”
“Eight! Now, will you go? You are most
exasperating! Why do you stand there like a
gibbering idiot? ’ ’
“The jewels, mademoiselle; the pearls?
Shall I not put them in safety? ”
“No! I will put them in the safe myself.
Where is the key?”
“There, mademoiselle, on your dresser. But
if I might ’ ’
“You mayn’t do anything except to get out
and stay out! Do you hear? Shall I never be
obeyed?”
“Yes, mademoiselle ; good-night. ’ ’
The soft tone was fully belied by the evil
glare of the French girl’s eyes, but that was not
seen by Miss Lucy Carrington.


III
THE TRAGEDY
THE house faced the east, and, built on an
English model, was far Wider than deep. A
broad hall ran through the centre from front to
back, and on either side there were successive
rooms whose windows looked out on equally
beautiful scenes, both front and back. On the
right of the hall, as one entered, was the long
living room, and beyond it, the library and music
room. The other side of the hall was a recep-
tion room, opening into the sun parlor, and on
to the conservatory, and back of these, the dining
room and smaller breakfast room.
Breakfast was served at nine, and the
members of the family were usually all pres-
ent. Miss Carrington, herself, made a point of
being on time partly from habit, and also be-
cause it gave her opportunity to chide those who
were late.
When she was not in her place, on the morn-
ing after the stormy bridge game, Pauline ex
pressed surprise, and Haviland echoed her
words.
But Anita said scornfully, “She went to bed
in an awful tantrum and probably didn’t sleep
well. ’ ’
so


THE TRAGEDY 37
Miss Frayne was looking her prettiest, and '
her roseleaf face with its ﬂuffy golden halo,
was like a Greuze picture. She wore a frivolous
little house gown of blue crepe de chine that just
matched her forget-me-not eyes. Not especially
appropriate garb for a secretary, but Miss Car-
rington preferred her household to be well-
dressed, and really commanded pretty tints and
fabrics for the two girls. Pauline was in white
serge, of rather severe cut, but which suited her
as no frills and ﬂounces could. Her black hair
was smoothly parted and coiled low over her
ears, and her clear ivory-tinted skin was ﬂushed
faintly pink from the glow of the big, crackling
wood ﬁre.
“It’s most unusual,” went on Pauline, after
a few moments more had passed, and the Lady
Lucy had not appeared. “I’m going up to see
if she is ill,—or H
“Or merely in a tantrum extraordinary!”
said Anita, her blue eyes full of laughing dis-
respect for her employer.
“’Nita,” said Haviland, as Pauline disap-
peared, “hold your breakfast napkin up in front
of your face, quick!”
“Why?” said the girl, wonderingly, as she
did his bidding.
“Because, if you hadn’t, I should have ﬂown


38 THE CURVED BLADES
' at you and kissed you! And I mustn’t now, for
Haskins is approaching with mufﬁns.”
Down came the shielding napkin and only the
arrival of the mufﬁn-laden Haskins saved the
lovely laughing face from Haviland’s impetuous
caress.
The old butler fussed about, and several
minutes passed, when Pauline called from above
stairs, “Gray! Come here, at once!”
“Desperate case!” and Haviland rose, and
unhurriedly left the room, pinching Anita’s
little ear as he passed her.
Another moment and Miss Frayne heard an
exclamation from Haviland that made her rise
from the table and go ﬂying upstairs herself.
The door of Miss Lucy’s boudoir was open,
and entering, she saw Pauline and Haviland with
horror-stricken faces, gazing at a terrible sight.
Miss Lucy Carrington, seated before her
dressing-table, her face white and ghastly, her
large eyes staring wide——staring horribly,—but,
without doubt, unseeing. Nor was this all of
the strangeness of the sight. She was robed in
an embroidered Oriental-looking gown,and wore
many jewels. Her red-dyed hair, dressed elabo-
rately, as she had worn it the night before, was
still crowned with the enormous comb of carved
tortoise-shell, but the comb was broken to bits.


THE TRAGEDY 39
One portion, still standing upright, rose above
the disordered coiffure, but the rest, in broken
scraps, lay scattered over the puffs of hair,—
over the white hands clasped in her lap,—and
on the ﬂoor at her feet.
“What does it mean?” whispered Anita,
shuddering, “is she—is she dead?”
“Yes,” answered Haviland, brieﬂy. He
stood, hands in pockets, gazing at the startling
ﬁgure. ..
“W'ho‘?—What?—~—” Anita’s eyes riveted
themselves on something else.
Around the neck of Miss Lucy was,—yes, it
was—a snake!
With a low scream, Anita ﬂung herself into
Haviland’s arms, but he put her gently away
from him.
Aghast at this repulse, Anita put her hand
across her eyes and turned to leave the room.
“Mind Where you go, ’Nita!” called out
Haviland, and the girl stopped just in time to
save herself from stepping into a mass of débris.
“Why!” she cried, “why, it’s Miss Lucy’s
tray!”
It was. The silver tray that had held the
breakfast tea was on the ﬂoor, and near it a
jumbled heap of silver and broken china that had
once been a costly Sevres set. Dainty white ser-


40 THE CURVED BLADES
viettes were stained with the spilled tea and a
huge wet spot was near the overturned silver
teapot.
Hastily Anita ran from the room, but she
sank down on a couch in the hall just outside the
door, utterly unable to go-further.
Fascinated by the beady eyes of the green
snake, Pauline stared at it, with clenched hands.
Haviland stepped nearer and lightly touched' it.
“Is it—is it alive “2.? ’ gasped Pauline.
“It’s paper,’ ’ replied Haviland quietly. ‘ ‘ A
paper snake, a toy,—you know. ”
“But who put it there!2 Aunt Lucy is deathly
afraid of snakes! Did fright kill her“.z Gray, is
she—murdered ? ’ ’
“Yes, Pauline, she has been killed. But
could it be—fright? Impossible!”
“Not for her! You don’t know her horror
of snakes. Why, going through the Japanese
department of a shop, I’ve seen her turn white
and fairly ﬂy from the counter where those
paper things were displayed.”
“But what else killed her? There is no
wound, no shot, no blood.”
‘ ‘ Get the doctor, Gray! Don’t wait a minute.
Telephone at once. ”
“He can do nothing, Pauline. ' She is dead.’ ’
Haviland spoke like a man in a daze.


THE TRAGEDY 41
“But no matter, we must call him. Shall I ’2 ”
“No, I will.”
“Go into her bedroom,—use that telephone
by her bedside.”
Obediently, Haviland went on to the adjoin-
ing room, the soft rugs giving forth no sound of
his footfallsv
The door was ajar, and as he opened it, he
called, “Come here, Pauline; look, the night
lights are burning, and the bed untouched. She
hasn’t been to bed at all.”
“Of course she hasn’t. She has her hair as
it was last evening. But her comb is broken. ”
“Broken! It’s smashed! It’s in tiny bits!
She has been hit on the head,—don’t touch her,
Pauline! You mustn’t! I’ll call Dr. Stanton.
You go out of the room. Go and ﬁnd Anita.”
But Pauline staid. Turning her back to the
still ﬁgure in the chair, she gazed curiously at
the upset tra'y on the ﬂoor. She stooped, when
Haviland’s voice came sharply from the next
room. ‘ ‘ Don’t touch a thing, Pauline!” he cried,
as he held his hand over the transmitter.
She looked up, and then as she saw him turn
back to speak into the instrument, she stooped
swiftly and picking up something from the ﬂoor
she hurried from the room.
She found Anita on the couch in the hall, and


42 THE CURVED BLADES
speaking somewhat sharply, Pauline said,
“Where’s Estelle?”
“Mercy! I don’t know!” and Anita’s blue
eyes stared coldly. “How should I know any-
thing about Estelle‘? ”
“But she must have brought that tray an
hour ago. Did she upset it, or who?”
“Pauline, why do you act as if I knew any-
thing about this matter. Is it because you do? ’ ’
The blue eyes, cold like steel, and the dark
ones, ﬂashing ﬁre from their shadows, looked
steadily at each other.
Gray Haviland came hurriedly out to the
hall.
“The doctor will be here at once,” he said;
“and he will call the coroner.”
“Coroner!” screamed Anita; and ran away
to her own room. '
“Let her alone,” said Pauline, contemptu-
ously; “but Gray, we must nerve 'ourselves up
to this thing. Don’t you think we ought to—to
put away the jewels"? It’s wrong to let any one
come into a room where a fortune in jewels is
displayed like that.”
“But Doctor Stanton said to touch nothing,
—nothing at all. You see, Pauline, in a murder
case,—”
“Oh, I knew; ‘nothing disturbed till the Con


THE TRAGEDY 43
oner comes,’ and all that. But this is different,
Gray. Doctor Stanton didn’t know there are
two hundred thousand dollars ’ worth of jewelry
on that—that—on her. ’ ’
“How do you know so exactly!”
“I’m not exact, but she has told me times
enough that the rope of pearls cost one hundred
- thousand, and that corsage ornament she, is
wearing and her rings and ear-rings are easily
worth the same sum. I tell you there will be po-
licemen here, and it isn’t right to throw tempta-
tion in their way. ”
‘ ‘Besides,” and Anita’s voice spoke again
as she reappeared in the doorway, “besides,
Pauline, they are all yours now, and you should
be careful of them!”
The tone more than the words conveyed a
veiled insolence, and Pauline accepted it for
such. With a sudden determined movement, she
went swiftly to her aunt’s side, and unfastened
the long rope of pearls, the wonderful glittering
sunburst, and a large diamond and emerald cres-
cent that held together the glistening silk folds.
The rings and ear-rings she could not bring her-
self to touch.
“It is only right, ’ ’ she contended, as if trying
to persuade herself, “these are too valuable to
risk; no one could fail to be tempted by them.”


THE TRAGEDY 45
“A burglar !” exclaimed Pauline.
‘ ‘ Of course; who else would deal such a blow?
It was powerful,—dealt by a strong arm—it
has driven bits of this broken shell stuff into the
brain. But it was the force of the concussion
that killed her. Here is a deep dent,~—a'nd yet.—
Tell me the circumstances. Why is she rigged
out like this “2”
“I’ve no idea,” answered Pauline, taking
the initiative. “When I left her last night, she
had on an evening gown. But this negligée is not
unusual; it is one of her favorites. Though why
she has on that spangled scarf, I can’t imagine. ”
“She seems to have been posing before the
mirror, rather than engaged in making a toi-
lette.” Dr. Stanton was a pompous middle-
aged man of fussy manner. He did not again
touch the body, but he stepped about, noting the
strange conditions and commenting on them.
“This paper snake,—tight round her neck!
What does that mean?”
“What can it mean?” returned Pauline.
“She had an intense hatred,—even fear of
snakes; I’ve never seen it before. Could it have
been placed there to frighten her to death “I ’ ’
“No; she didn’t die of fright. See, her
expression is placid,—even smiling. But the
shattered comb and dented skull have but one ex-


46 THE CURVED BLADES
planation,—a stunning blow. Did she have on
the comb last evening?”
“Yes; it is a favorite one with her. An heir-
loom, from a Colonial ancestor. It encircled
the entire back of her head, when whole.”
“At what time was she killed?” asked Gray
Haviland. He had stood, till now, a silent
listener to the conversation between Pauline and
the Doctor.
“Oh, many hours ago,” returned Stanton;
“ six or eight at least. Evidently she was prepar-
ing for bed, and trying the effect of some new
ﬁnery.”
“Those things are not new,” put in Anita;
“she has had them all a long time. But she
must have been admiring herself, for when we
found her she had on all her ﬁnest jewels.”
“What?” cried Dr. Stanton; “where are
they?”
“I took most of them off,” replied Pauline,
quietly, “and put them in the safe. If the police
people must come, I am not willing to have a
fortune in jewels here to tempt their cupidity.
And I have a right. It is no secret that my
cousin Carrington and I are her heirs. But that
snake perplexes me beyond all else. If you '
knew her aversion to them,—even pictured
ones——-”


THE TRAGEDY 47
‘ ‘I do know it,” returned the doctor; ‘ ‘ I have
often heard her say so. Ah,” as he stepped care-
fully about, “she was adorning herself; see, here
is powder scattered on the ﬂoor. She used this
powder-puff, shaking it over the rug and ﬂoor.”
“I saw that the ﬁrst thing!” cried Pauline,
excitedly; “and there was a—” she stopped,
looking in amazement at the White dust on the
ﬂoor. For where she had seen a distinct foot-
print, as of a stockinged foot, there was now
merely a blurred Whirl! Some one had obliter-
ated that footprint!
“A What?” asked the doctor, sharply.
“Nothing. A—a lot of powder spilled,--I
was going to say.”
Gray Haviland looked at her. “Tell the
truth, Pauline,” he said.
“I have,” she replied, with a calm quite
equalling his own. “Must we have the Coroner,
Dr. Stanton?”
‘ ‘Yes, yes, of course; I will telephone at once.
There Will be police and detectives,—~0h, it is
a terrible case! Nothing must be touched, noth-
ing! If there is any clue to this mystery, do not
let it be disturbed.”
“But you say it was without doubt a burglar
who did it,” said Anita, her wide eyes gleaming
blue.


48 THE CURVED BLADES
“It must have been. ’ ’
“Then why were none of her jewels stolen?"
“Bless my soul!” and Dr. Stanton looked as
if a bomb had exploded at his feet. “Sure
enough! It cannot have been a burglar! Who,
then? What other motive than robbery—”
“It was a. burglar,” declared Pauline, “and
he was—he was frightened away by—by a noise
—or something—” 7
“Not likely!” said Anita, “with all those
gems in easy reach!’ ’
“The Coroner and the police must get here
at once!” and the doctor wiped his perspiring
brow. “Never have I seen such an inexplicable
state of affairs! Was—was Miss Carrington
indisposed at all last evening? Did she say or
do anything unusual?”
‘ ‘Not at all, ’ ’ began Pauline, but Anita inter-
rupted; “Yes, she did! She said, ‘You little
know what’s going to happen to me! To-
morrow you may sing another tune!’ ’ ’
' “What did she mean by that?”
“I’ve no idea. Could it mean suicide!”
“No ! ” thundered the doctor; “her skull was
fractured by some one bent on wilful murder!
As there is no robbery, we must look for a
deeper motive and a cleverer villain than any
professional burglar!’ ’


IV
A PAPER SNAKE
ON the third ﬂoor was the bedroom of the
maid, Estelle, and before its locked door stood
Pauline and Anita, demanding admittance.
There was no response from inside, until Pauline
said sternly, “Unless you open this door at
once, Estelle, the police will force it open.”
The key turned, the door moved slowly ajar,
and Estelle’s face appeared, wearing an expres-
sion of amazement.
“What is it you say, Miss Pauline? The
police? Why?”
The maid was making a very evident effort
to appear composed, and was succeeding won-
derfully well. Her eyes were reddened with
weeping,—a condition which a hasty dabbing of
powder had not concealed. She was nervously
trembling, but her air of injured innocence, if
assumed, was admirable.
‘ ‘Estelle, ’ ’ and Pauline loomed tall and mag-
niﬁcent as an accusing angel, “what do you
know of your mistress’ death?”
Estelle gave a shriek and threw herself on
her bed in apparent hysterics.
“Don’t begin that!” ordered Pauline, “sit
up here and tell the truth.”
4 49


A PAPER SNAKE 51
“ The murder,” said Pauline calmly. “But
she will tell us nothing. It is useless to question
her. The Coroner will attend to it, anyway.”
“The Coroner,” and Anita looked fright-
ened. “Will he question all of us?”
“Of'course he will. And, Anita,” Pauline
whirled on her suddenly, “what are you going
to say was the errand that took you to Aunt
Lucy’s room after one o’clock last night?”
“I! Nothing of the sort! I was not in her
room after we left it together.”
“I saw you. Don’t trouble to deny it,” and
Pauline dropped her eyelids as one bored by a
conversation.
“You did!” and Anita’s ﬂower face turned
rosy pink and her blue eyes blazed with an in-
tensity that Pauline’s dark ones could never
match. “Be careful, Pauline Stuart, or I shall
tell what I know! You dare to make up such a
story! It was I who saw you come from your
aunt’s room at a late hour! What have you to
say now?”
“Nothing—to you,” and Pauline swept from
the room and returned slowly down the stairway
to the second ﬂoor. ,
The sight of two police ofﬁcers in the hall
gave her a sudden start. How had they ap-
peared, so soon? And how dreadful to see them


52 THE CURVED BLADES
in the palatial home that had heretofore housed
only gentle-mannered aristocrats and obsequi-
ous liveried servants! The men looked ill at
ease as they stood against the rich background
of tapestry hangings and tropical palms, but
their faces showed a-stern appreciation of their
duty, and they looked at Pauline with deferential
but acute scrutiny.
Not noticing them in any way, the girl, her
head held high, went straight to her aunt’s room.
Sergeant Flake was in charge, and he refused
her admission.
“Coroner’s orders, ma ’am,” he said; “he’ll
be here himself shortly, and then you can see
him.”
“Come away, Pauline,” and Haviland ap~
peared and took her by the arm; “where’s
Anita?”
“I left her in Estelle’s. room. Oh Gray, that
girl——”
“Hush!” and gripping her ﬁrmly, Haviland
led her to a small sitting room and shut the
door. “Now listen, Pauline; mind. what I say.
Don’t give the least bit of information or express
the slightest notion of opinion except to the
chief authorities. And not to them until they
ask you. This is a terrible affair, and a mighty
strange one.”


A PAPER SNAKE 53
“Who did it, Gray?”
“Never you mind. Don’t even ask ques-
tions. The very walls have ears!”
‘ ‘Who upset that breakfast tray”! ’ ’
“Estelle, of course.”
“She says she didn’t.”
“ She lies. Everybody will lie; why, Pauline,
you must lie yourself. ’ ’
“I won’t do it! I have no reason to!”
“You may ﬁnd that you have. But, at least,
Pauline, I beg of you, that you will keep your
mouth shut. There will be developments soon,
—there must be,—and then we will know what to
do.”
The two returned to the boudoir. At ﬁrst
glance it seemed to be full of men. The beau-
tiful room, with its ornate but harmonious
furnishings and appointments of the Marie An-
toinette period, was occupied with eager repre-
sentatives of the law and justice hunting for any
indication of the ruthless hand that had felled
the owner of all that elegance.
Coroner Scoﬁeld was receiving the report of
Doctor Moore, who had arrived with him.
Dr. Moore agreed with Dr. Stanton that the
deceased had been struck with a heavy weapon
that had fractured the skull, but he admitted
the wounds showed some strange conditions


54 THE CURVED BLADES
which could only be explained by further inves-
tigation.
The Coroner was deep in thought as he
studied the face of the dead woman.
“It is most mysterious,” he declared; “that
face is almost smiling! it is the face of a happy
woman. Clearly, she did not know of her ap-
proaching fate.”
“The blow was struck from behind,” in-
formed Dr. Moore.
“Even so, why didn’t she see the approach of
the assailant in the mirror? She is looking
straight into the large glass,——must have been
looking in it at the moment of her death. Why
receive that death blow without a tremor of fear
or even a glance of startled inquiry?”
Inspector Brunt stood by, gravely, and for
the most part silently, watching and listening.
“That might imply,” he said, slowly, “that
if she did see the assailant, it was some one she
knew, and of whom she had no fear.” '
Gray Haviland looked up suddenly. A deep
red spread over his face and then, seeing him-
self narrowly watched by the detectives present,
he set his lips ﬁrmly together and said no word.
Pauline turned white and trembled, but she
too said nothing. '
“Why is she sitting in this large easy chair!”


A PAPER SNAKE ‘ 55
went on the Coroner; “Is it not customary for
ladies at their dressing tables to use a light side-
chair?”
This showed decidedly astute perception, and
the Inspector looked interestedly at the chair in
question, which he had not especially noticed
before.
Being tacitly appealed to by the Coroner’s
inquiring eyes, Pauline replied: “It is true that
my aunt usually sat at her dressing-table in a
small chair,—that one, in fact,” and she pointed
to a dainty chair of gilded cane. “I have no
idea why she should choose the heavy, cushioned
one.” ‘
“It would seem,” the Coroner mused, “as
if she might have sat down there to admire the
effect of her belongings rather than to arrange
her hair or toilette.”
Absorbedly, all present watched Coroner
Scoﬁeld’s movements.
It was true, the quietly reposeful attitude of
the still ﬁgure leaning back against the brocaded
upholstery, and so evidently looking in the great
gold-framed mirror, was that of one admiring or
criticising her own appearance. Added to this,
the fact of her bizarre costume and strange
adornments, it seemed certain that Miss Car-
rington had come to her death while innocently


56 THE CURVED BLADES
happy in the feminine employment of dressing
up in the elaborate ﬁnery that she loved.
But the snake!
Carefully Coroner Scoﬁeld removed the in
explicable thing. He held it up that all might
see. A Japanese paper snake, a cheap toy, such
as is found together with fans and lanterns in
the Oriental department of large shops.
“Could this have been placed round her neck
after death?” Scoﬁeld inquired of the doctors.
The two physicians agreed, that though that
was possible, yet the appearance of the ﬂesh be-
neath it seemed to indicate its having encircled
the throat during life.
“Never!” cried Pauline, excitedly. “Aunt
Lucy couldn’t have sat there and smiled, with a
snake anywhere near her!”
“That would seem so,” and Dr. Stanton
nodded his head. “I well know of my late pa~
tient’s aversion to snakes. It amounted almost
to a mania! It is not an uncommon one, many
women feel the same, though seldom to so great
an extent.”
“That deepens the mystery,” said Coroner
Scoﬁeld; “unless, indeed, the snake was put on
after the crime. But that is even more mysteri-
ous. I shall now remove these valuable jewels,
and give them to ’ ’


A PAPER SNAKE 57
He looked inquiringly at Haviland and
Pauline, and the latter immediately responded:
“Give them to me, Mr. Scoﬁeld. I am now mis-
tress here.”
Haviland said nothing, but he looked at
Pauline as if in disapproval.
“Is this of great worth?” inquired Scoﬁeld,
as he carefully removed the scarf from the
shoulders it surrounded.
“Only moderately so,” returned Pauline.
“It is a Syrian scarf and was sent to her by her
nephew who lives in Egypt. It is not new, he
sent several to us about a year ago.”
She took the long, heavy, white- and silver
drapery, and laid it in a nearby wardrobe. Then
the Coroner unfastened the large pearls from
their place as eardrops, and taking up one life-
less hand removed its rings. All these he
handed to Pauline without a word.
“What is this?” he exclaimed suddenly; and
opening the curled-up ﬁngers of the other hand
he drew forth a crumpled gray object. It was a
glove, of soft suéde, and so tightly had it been
held that it was deeply creased.
“A man’s glove!” said the Coroner, smooth-
ing it out. “Will the wonders of this case
never cease?”
He scrutinized it, but remarking only that it


58 THE CURVED BLADES
was of medium size and superior quality, he laid
it carefully aside for the time.
From the same arm he removed the scarab
bracelet, also handing that to Pauline.
“The lady was fond of Oriental jewelry,”
he observed.
“Yes,” returned Haviland, before Pauline
could speak. “Her nephew Sent or brought
home much of it. But, as we informed you,
Miss Carrington was also wearing pearls and
diamonds of enormous value, compared to which
these trinkets are as nothing.”
“But scarabs, I am told, are of great price.”
“Some- are,” returned Haviland. “That
bracelet, however, is not genuine, nor of great
value.”
Then the Coroner, with delicate touch, re-
moved the bits of broken tortoise-shell from the
puffs of hair, and carefully laid them together on
a small silver tray he appropriated from the
dressing-table litter.
“I think,” said Inspector Brunt, in his
grave, slow way, “that it will be wise to photo-
graph the whole picture from several points of
view before the autopsy is performed.”
Arrangements had been made for this, and
Detective Hardy, a young man from Headquar-
ters, stepped forward with his camera.


A PAPER SNAKE 59
As those who were asked to left the room,
Pauline and Gray went out together, and met
Anita just outside in the hall.
“ Oh, tell me, Gray! Who did it? What does
it all mean?” she cried, and grasped him by the
arm.
“Tell her about it, Gray,” said Pauline, and
leaving the two together, she went swiftly along
the hall to her own room.
The alert eyes of the guarding policemen fol-
lowed her, but also they followed the movements
of every one else, and if they had, as yet, any
suspicions, no one knew of them.
Meantime, the grewsome work of photog-
raphy went on. '
Surely never was such a strange subject for
the camera! Denuded of her jewels, but still
robed in her gorgeous dressing-gown, and still
leaning back in her luxurious arm-chair, with
that strange smile of happy expectancy, Miss
Lucy Carrington presented the same air of regal
authority she had always worn in life. Her eyes
were widely staring, but there was no trace or
hint of fear in her peaceful attitude of repose.
“There’s no solution!” said Inspector
Brunt, deeply thoughtful. “No one could or
would crack a skull like that, but an experienced
and professional burglar and housebreaker.


' 60 THE CURVED BLADES
And such a one could have but one motive, rob-
bery, and the jewels were not stolen!”
“Inside job,” observed Scoﬁeld, brieﬂy, his
eyes on his work.
“Maybe the burglar was frightened away at
the critical moment.”
“N 0. Whatever frightened him would be
known to some member of the family.”
“Maybe it is.”
“Hey? Have you a theory?” and the Coro-
ner looked up suddenly.
“Anything but! There’s no possible theory
that will ﬁt the facts. ”
“Except the truth. ”
“Yes, except the truth. But it will be long
before we ﬁnd that, I’m afraid. It strikes me
it’s at the bottom of an unusually deep well.”
“Well, you’d better ﬁnd it. It’d be a nice
how (1’ y’ do for you to fall down on this case l”
“There’s no falling down been done yet.
And it may well be that the very fact of there
being such strange and irreconcilable conditions
shall prove a help rather than a hindrance. ’ ’
And then, all being in readiness, the lifeless
form of Miss Carrington, ence the proud domi-
neering autocrat, now laid low, was borne to a
distant room, for the autopsy that might cast a
further light on the mystery of her tragic death.


V
A MAN’S GLOVE
INSPECTOR BRUNT and the young detective,
Hardy, were interviewing the members of the
household in the library, and the task was not
an easy one. The two girls were distinctly at
odds, and Gray Haviland, whether authorita-
tively or not, persisted in assuming a major role.
“It seems to me,” Haviland said, “that it is
the most remarkable mystery that has ever oc-
curred in the experience of you police people.
Now, I think the wisest plan is to call in a big de-
tective,—no offence, Mr. Hardy,—but I mean a
noted fellow, like Stone, say, and let him get at
the root of the crime.”
“I think, Gray,” and Pauline looked very
haughty, “that any such suggestion would come
better from me. I am now mistress of the
place, and it is for me to say what we shall do.”
“I know it,” and Haviland looked no Whit
abashed, ‘ ‘but you know Carr Loria is equally in
authority, even if he isn’t here, and you
see—”
“I don’t see that Carr’s absence gives you
any authority!”
“But it does, in a way. As Miss Lucy’s man
of affairs, I ought to look out for the interests of
61


62 THE CURVED BLADES
her heirs, at least, for the absent one. I’m sure
Loria would want to do everything possible to
ﬁnd the murderer.”
“Has this nephew been notiﬁed yet?” asked
Inspector Brunt.
“Yes,” returned Pauline; “we’ve tele-
phoned a cablegram to the city to be sent to
him in Egypt; But I don ’-t know when he will
get it, nor when we’ll get a response.”
“Where is he?”
“His permanent address is Cairo, but he is
off in the desert, or somewhere, so much that
sometimes he is away from communication for
weeks at a time. Still I’ve sent it, that’s all I
can do.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I made it rather long and circumstantial. I
told him of Aunt Lucy’s death, and that she was
killed by a blow on the head by a burglar, which
fractured her skull. I asked him if he would
come home or if we should go there. You see, we
were intending to sail for Egypt in February.’ ’
“Who were?”
“Myself, my aunt, Miss Frayne and Mr.
Haviland. Carrington Loria has been begging
us to make the trip, and at last Aunt Lucy de-
cided to go. Our passage is engaged, and all
plans made.”


A MAN’S GLOVE 63
“And now ?”
“Now, I do not know. . Everything is uncer-
tain. But if the burglar can be found, and pun-
ished, I see no reason why I, at least, shouldn’t '
go on and make the trip. The others must
please themselves.”
Pauline looked at Anita and at Haviland
with a' detached air, as if now they were no
longer members of the household, and their
plans did not concern her. -
Not so Haviland. “Sure I’ll go,” he cried;
“I fancy Carr will be mighty glad to keep me on
in the same capacity I served Miss Carrington.
He’ll need a representative in this country. I
doubt he’ll come over,——there’s no need, if I
look after all business matters for him.”
“What does he do in Egypt?” asked the In-
spector, who was half engrossed looking over
his memoranda, and really took slight interest
in the absent heir.
“He’s excaVating wonderful temples and
things,” volunteered Anita, for Pauline and
Gray were looking, amazed, at a man who came
into the room. He was the detective who had
been left in charge of the boudoir, and he carried
a strange-looking object.
“What is it? ” cried Pauline.
“It’s a black-jack.” replied the detective.


64 THE CURVED BLADES
“I found it, Inspector, just under the edge of the
tassel trimmin’ of the lounge. The fellow slung
it away, and it hid under the fringe, out of sight. ’ ’
Gravely, Inspector Brunt took the weapon.
It was rudely made, of black cloth, a mere bag,
long and narrow, and ﬁlled with bird shot.
“That’s the weapon!” declared Brunt. “A
man could hit a blow with that thing that
would break the skull without cutting the skin.
Yes, there is no further doubt that Miss Car-
rington was murdered by a burglar. This is
a burglar’s weapon; this it was that crushed the
shell comb to fragments, and fractured the skull,
leaving the body sitting upright, and unmuti-
lated. Death was, of course, instantaneous.”
“But the jewels!” said Detective Hardy,
wonderingly ; ‘ ‘ why— ’ ’
“I don’t know why!” said Brunt, a little
testily; “that is for you detectives to ﬁnd out.
I have to go by what evidence I ﬁnd. Can I ﬁnd
a broken skull and a black-jack in the same room
and not deduce a burglarious assault that proved
fatal? The thief may have been scared off or
decided he didn’t want the loot, but that doesn ’t
affect the certainty that we have the weapon and
therefore the case is a simple one. That burglar
can be found, without a doubt. Then we shall
learn why he didn’t steal the jewels.”


A MAN’S GLOVE 65
“But the snake?” said Pauline, looking won-
deringly at the Inspector; “the burglar must
have been a maniac or an eccentric to put that
snake round my aunt’s neck after he killed her,
-—and nothing will ever make me believe that
she allowed it there while alive!”
“That’s what I say,” put in Haviland ; “the
whole affair is so inexplicable,—excuse me, Mr.
Brunt, but I can’t think it such a simple case as
you do,—that I think we should engage expert
skill to solve the mysteries of it all.”
“That must come later,” and Inspector
Brunt resumed his usual gravity of manner
which had been disturbed by the discovery of
the black-jack. “Will you now please give me
some detailed information as to the circum-
stances? Is the house always securely locked at
night?”
“Very much so,” answered Haviland;
“Miss Carrington was not overly timid, but she
always insisted on careful precautions against
burglary. She had a house full of valuable fur-
niture, curios, and art works besides her per-
sonal belongings. Yes, the house was always
supposed to be carefully locked and bolted. ’ ’
“Whose duty is it to look after it i ”
“ The butler Haskins, and his wife, who is the
cook, had all such matters in charge.”
5


66 THE CURVED BLADES
“I will interview them later. Now please
tell me, any of you, why Miss Carrington was
arrayed in such peculiar fashion, last evening. ”
“I can’t imagine,” said Pauline. “My aunt
was not a vain woman. I have never known her
to sit before a mirror, except when necessary,
to have her hair dressed. It is almost unbeliev-
able that she should deliberately don those jewels
and scarf and sit down there as if to admire the
effect. Yet it had that appearance.”
“But she wore the jewels during the evening,
did she not?”
“Not all of them. She wore her pearls, be—
cause, as she told us, and as I have often heard
her say, pearls must be worn occasionally to
keep them in condition. But she added a large
number of valuable gems—or, some one did,—
after we left her last night. ”
“Whom do you mean by we?”
“Miss Frayne and myself. We were in her
room, to say good-night to her, and we left at the
same time.”
“At what time?”
“About quarter past twelve, I should think,
wasn’t it, Anita? We went upstairs about mid-
night, and were with my aunt ten or ﬁfteen
minutes.”
“Were your good-nights amicable?” asked


A MAN’S GLOVE 6'7
the Inspector, and Pauline looked up in surprise.
Then, recollecting the last words of her aunt,
she shut her lips obstinately and made no reply.
“Indeed, they were not!” declared Miss
Frayne; “Miss Carrington told both Miss Stuart
and myself that it would be our last night be-
neath this roof! That to-day we must seek
some other home, for she would harbor' us no
longer!”
“Ah! And why did she thus treat you?”
‘ ‘ There was no especial reason, ” and Anita’s
lovely blue eyes looked straight at the Inspector
with a pathetic gaze, “she was in a tantrum, as
she frequently was. ” '
‘ ‘ She didn’t mean it,’ ’ put in Pauline, hastily.
“She did!” asseverated Anita; “I’ve heard
her threaten to send us away before, but never so
earnestly. She meant it last night, I am sure.
And, too, she knew something would happen to
her last night,-—she said so.” -
“What? what’s that?”
“Do hush, Anita!” said Pauline; “those
foolish words meant nothing!”
“Proceed, Miss Frayne,” and the Inspector
spoke sternly.
“She did,” went on Anita “I don’t remem-
ber the exact words, but she said I little knew
what was going to happen to her, and she said


'68 THE CURVED BLADES
‘to-morrow you may sing another song!’ Surely
such words meant something!”
“If they did,” said Pauline, angrily, “they
merely meant that she was going to dismiss
you to-day !”
“Not at all,” and Anita glanced at her, “ she
distinctly said something would happen to her,
—not to me.”
“You know better than to take things she
said in a temper, seriously! If we are to re-
peat idle conversations, suppose I say that I
heard you say last evening that you’d like to
kill her!”
“I didn’t!” shrieked Anita.
“You did,” declared Pauline, calmly; “and
Gray said she ought to be killed, too. I know
you didn’t mean to kill her, but I’ve just as much
right to quote your foolish words as you have
to quote hers.”
“Nonsense!” said Haviland; “let up, Polly!
You two are always at each other! As there is
no question as to who killed poor Miss Lucy, why
rake up our foolish words spoken under the in-
tense provocation of her exhibition of temper,—
which was specially trying last night. Inspector,
can we tell you anything more of importance?”
So far the Inspector had been almost silent,
and appeared to be learning some points from


A MAN’S GLOVE 69
the conversation not addressed to him. Now, he
changed his manner, and began briskly to ask
questions.
“This glove,” he said, holding it out, “was,
as you know, found clasped in her hand. Is it
yours, Mr. Haviland‘!”
“N0,” said the young man, as, after a close
examination of the glove he handed it back;
“no, it is a size smaller than I wear, and it is of
a different make from mine.”
“Have you any idea whose it can be? It is
highy improbable the burglar left it.”
“I’ve no idea,” and Haviland shrugged his
shoulders. “But if it was not left by the in!
truder, where could it possibly have come from?
It is a man’s glove.”
“Could it be one of Cousin Carr’s?” said
Pauline. “Aunt Lucy was awfully fond of any-
thing of his. She kept one of his caps in her
drawer for months, after he left the last time.”
“No,” replied Haviland; “it isn’t Loria's.
He wears larger gloves than I do. My theory
points to a sort of gentleman burglar, a ‘Raﬂles,’
you know, and I think he talked with Miss Lucy,
before he struck that blow, and disarmed her
mind of fear.”
“What an extraordinary idea!” and Pauline
looked thoughtful.


‘70 THE CURVED BLADES
“But how else explain the glove?”
“And the snake? Did your gentleman bur-
glar persuade her to wear that paper thing?
Never! Gray, you’re absurd!”
“Another thing,” went on Inspector Brunt,
returning the glove to his roomy pocket-book;
“In the bedroom we noticed a glass of milk and
beside it an empty plate. Was it the lady’s
habit to have a night lunch?”
“Yes,” said Anita; “but she rarely ate it.
In case of insomnia, she had ready alight repast,
but she almost never touched it.”
“The glass of milk is still untouched,” said
Brunt, “but the plate is empty. 'What did it
contain?”
“A sandwich, I think,” said Anita. “That
is what Estelle usually prepared for her. She
will know,—Estelle, the maid.”
“Miss Carrington’s lady’s maid?”
“Yes; though not hers exclusively. She was
expected to act as maid for Miss Stuart and
myself also, at such times as Miss Carrington
didn’t require her services.”
“And she, then, brought the breakfast tray,
that is upset on the ﬂoor?”
“Yes; Miss Lucy always had an early cup
of tea, before she dressed for breakfast with the
family.”


A MAN’S GLOVE 71
“And the maid took it to her this morning?
Did she not then discover the—the tragedy?”
“She says not!” cried Pauline; “but I’m
sure she did! She says she saw Miss Lucy at
the mirror, and thinking her engrossed, merely
left the tray on the tabouret and went away.’ ’
“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Haviland; “What
does Estelle mean by such lies? Of course she
saw Miss Carrington’s strange appearance, of
course she was frightened out of her wits, and
of course she dropped the tray and ran. But
why not say so“! And why not give an im-
mediate alarm“? She took that tray, probably,
about eight. Pauline went up at nine. What
was Estelle doing all that time“! Why didn’t
she go in to dress Miss Carrington’! I tell you,
Mr. Inspector, there’s a lot of queer work to be
explained, and with all due respect to the force,
I’m pretty sure you’ll need expert service if
you’re going to get anywhere. And I’m sure,
too, that if we can get word to Carrington Loria
and back, he’ll say spare no trouble or expense
to avenge his aunt’s murder. He is equally heir
with you, Pauline, and he ought to be consulted.”
“The will hasn’t been read yet,” said Miss
Stuart; “we can’t assume anything until that is
done.” .
“Pshaw! you know perfectly well half of the


72 THE CURVED BLADES
bulk of the estate is yours and half Carr’s. I
have a small slice and Miss Frayne a bit. The
older servants have small legacies, and there are
a few charities. That, Mr. Brunt, is the gist of
the will. Do you not agree with me, that as I was
the man of business for the late Miss Carrington,
I am justiﬁed, in the absence of Mr. Loria, in con-
tinuing my services, at least, until we can get
deﬁnite directions from him?”
“Those matters are outside my province, Mr.
Haviland. Miss Carrington ’s legal advisers will
doubtless come here soon, and such things will
be decided by them. N ow, here’s another
point. I noted in the course of our investigation
in the boudoir a quantity of powder fallen on
the ﬂoor near the dressing table, in such relation
to it that it would seem Miss Carrington was
using the face powder as she sat there. Was
this her habit "I ’ ’
“Her habit!2 Yes;” said Anita, “Miss Oar-
rington was in the habit of using face powder,—
even cosmetics. It is not strange then, that such
a proceeding was part of her night toilette.”
“No, not at all,” agreed Mr. Brunt. “But
where the powder was thickest, on the hard ﬂoor,
near the rug, was a muddled spot, as if some one
had wiped out or swept up a mark or print. Can
any of you explain this?”


A MAN’S GLOVE 73
No one spoke, and the stern voice went on.
“I remember, Miss Stuart, that you began to-
say something bearing on this while we were in
that room, and you suddenly stopped, appearing
confused. I ask you why?”
Pauline hesitated, bit her lip, looked at Gray
and then at Anita, and ﬁnally said, “I may as
well tell. It is nothing. When I went to my
aunt’s room, and found what I did ﬁnd,—-I was
so excited and nervous I scarce knew what I did.
But I remember seeing a footprint in that pow-
der, and in obedience to an impulsive instinct I
——I obliterated it.”
‘ ‘With What ? ”
‘ ‘With my handkerchief. I merely slapped at
it, and the light powder ﬂew about it."’
“Why did you do this?”
“I don’t know. I had no real reason. I was
not thinking of what I was doing.”
“Then you did not have a desire to shield
some one from possible suspicion?’ ’ The words
were shot at her so swiftly that Pauline gasped.
“Suspicion! What do you mean? Was it
not the work of a burglar?”
“Was the impression of a foot that you saw,
the foot of a man or a woman?” .
“How can I tell? It was large, but as it was
a bare or stockinged foot I could not judge.


VI
A NEIGHBOR’S CALL
“OH, is it not terrible”! What can I say to
comfort you!”
Mrs. Frothingham’s distressed tones and
her air of eager, intense sympathy met with
little response from Pauline.
Haviland had been called from the room on
an errand and Anita’s willingness to receive the
neighbor’s condolences did not seem acceptable.
The overdressed, forward-mannered widow con-
tinued to direct her attention entirely to Pauline.
and that young woman merely surveyed her
visitor coolly and replied in monosyllables.
“Thanks,” she said, and her icy air would
have deterred a less determined intruder.
“I simply couldn’t help running over as soon
as I heard the dreadful news. For we are
neighbors after all, though not so very well ac-
quainted; and neighbors have a camaraderie of
their own, I think.”
“Yes?” said Pauline, and her eyelids fell
slightly, with an expression of boredness.
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Frothingham rattled
on; “and I said to our dear Count, we must run
over at once, there may be something we can do
,for the saddened ones.”
75


76 THE CURVED BLADES
“Thank you ;” and had a marble statue been
given vocal powers the effect would have been
much the same.
‘ "Dear friend,” continued the unabashed vis-
itor, “I know how overcome you must be—”
“I am not overcome at all,” said Pauline,
rising, and determined to hear no more; “and
I must beg to be excused, Mrs. Frothingham, as
I have many matters to attend to this morning. ”
“Ah, yes, of course, you have. We will not
detain you. The Count and I merely called for
a moment to inquire ”
“Yes, I quite understand. Miss Frayne
will be pleased to answer your inquiries. Thank
you both, and—good-morning. ’ ’
With a polite but distant bow, Pauline left
the room, and as Count Charlier sprang to hold
the door open for her, he, after a moment’s hesi-
tation, followed her out.
“A moment, I beg, Miss Stuart,” he said
as they reached the hall; “You are offended at
Mrs. Frothingham’s intrusion, but have I not
a right to call? Was I not such a friend of
Miss Carrington as to justify this tribute of
respect to her memory?”
‘ ‘ Certainly, Count, ’ ’ and Pauline grew a shade
kinder, “but I am not suﬂiciently acquainted with
your friend to receive her visits.”


A NEIGHBOR’S CALL 77
‘ ‘Ah, no. That is conceded. But, I pray you,
tell me of the sad affair. I have hear-d no de-
tails,—that is, unless you would rather not.”
“No, I am not unwilling. You were a good
friend of Aunt Lucy ’s—she was fond of you, and
I am glad to talk to some one. Let us sit here.”
Pauline indicated a recessed seat in the hall and
the pair sat there. She recounted brieﬂy the
story of the tragedy and the Count was duly
sympathetic. Pauline watched him closely, and _
discerned great interest but little grief or
sorrow.
“A burglar, of course,” said the Count hear-
ing of the cruel weapon. “How could any one
attack the charming lady! And the marvelous
jewels she .Wore! They were, of course,
stolen?”
“No; that’s the strange part. They were
not.”
“Ah, how splendid!” and his absorbed air of
satisfaction gave Pauline a thrill of disgust at
his cold-bloodedness. “And now they are all
yours? Those magniﬁcent gems?”
“ The property, most of it, is divided between
my cousin and myself. ”
“Your cousin? Mr. Haviland?”
“ N 0; he is but a distant connection. I
mean my ﬁrst cousin, Mr. Loria, now in Egypt. ”


78 THE CURVED BLADES
“Ah, yes, I have heard Miss Carrington re-
fer to him. He will come home?”
“I do not know. We have cabled of course.
Count Charlier, do you remember hearing my
aunt say, last evening, that she expected some—
thing to happen to her?”
“I remember, Miss Stuart.”
“Have you any idea what she meant?”
“I? But how could I know?”
“Answer my question, please.”
The Count’s eyes fell, and he shifted his feet
about uneasily. At last he said: “It is not
pleasant to say such things, but since you ask,
I may be permitted to assume that the late Miss
Carrington had a regard for my humble self. ’ ’
“And she expected, she—hoped that her re-
gard might be returned?”
“Itmay be so.” '
“And that last night you might tell her so?”
“You honor me.”
“Did you tell her so?” _
“I did not, Miss Stuart. What might have
happened had she lived I cannot say, but I did
not, last evening, say any word to Miss Carring-
ton of my aspiration to her hand.”
“Did you Say anything that could have been
taken as a hint that some time, say, in the near
future, you might express such an aspiration?”


A NEIGHBOR’S CALL 7 9
“I may have done so.”
‘ ‘ Thank you, Count Charlier. I had perhaps
no right to ask, but you have answered my
rather impertinent questions straightforwardly,
and I thank you.”
Pauline rose, as if to end the interview. In
the doorway appeared Anita. “Pauline,” she
said, “I wish you would come back and listen
to Mrs. Frothingham’s story. It seems to me
of decided importance.’ ’
“You have something to tell me?” asked
Pauline, returning to the library and looking at
the unwelcome neighbor with patient tolerance.
“Yes, Miss Stuart. Now, it may be nothing,
-—nothing, I mean, of consequence, that is, you
may not think so, but I_’ ’
“Suppose you let me hear it and judge for
myself.”
“Yes. Well, it’s only this. I was wakeful
last night, or rather early this morning, and
looking from my bedroom window, which faces
this house, I saw a man climb out of a window on
the ﬁrst ﬂoor and skulk away among the shrub-
bery.”
“At what time was this?” and Pauline
looked interested at last.
“About four o’clock. He was to all appear-
ances a burglar ”


80 THE CURVED BLADES
“How could you tell? Was it not dark at
that hour in the morning?”
“N o; the moon is past full, you know, and it
shone brightly in the western sky.”
“Enough for you to discern the man
clearly?”
“I took a ﬁeld-glass to assist my vision. He
stealthily climbed out and skirting the bushes
made his way swiftly toward the great gates.”
“This is indeed an important bit of informa-
tion, Mrs. Frothingham; I dare say you ought to
tell it to the police who are here.”
“Oh, I cOuldn’t! I’m so timid about such
things! But,—if you would go with me, Miss
Stuart—”
“Miss Frayne will go with you,” said
Pauline, coolly; “You will ﬁnd a policeman in
the hall who will direct you where to ﬁnd the
Inspector. ’ ’
Without another word Pauline bowed in a
way to include the lady and the Count also, and
went away to her own room.
“ Stuck-up thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Frothing-
ham, and Anita nodded her golden head in
agreement.
Inspector Brunt instructed Hardy to hear
the story of Mrs. Frothingham, and he devoted
his own attention to Count Charlier, of whom he


A N EIGHBOR’S CALL 81
had heard as being a friend of Miss Carrington ’s.
He quizzed the Frenchman rather pointedly
as to his friendship with the unfortunate lady
and the Count became decidedly ill at ease.
“Why do you ask me so much?” he objected;
“I was a friend, yes; I may have aspired to a
nearer relation, yes? That is no crime?”
“Not at all, Count,” said Mr. Brunt; “I only
want to ﬁnd out if Miss Carrington’s strange
reference to something about to happen to her
could have had any reference to you.”
“It might be so; I cannot say. But all that
has no bearing on the poor lady’s death. ”
“No. At what time did you go away from
here, Count Charlier?”
“At about midnight.”
“You went directly home?”
“ To Mrs. Frothingham’s, where I am a house
guest, yes.”
“And you retired? ”
(‘Yes.7’
‘ ‘And remained in your bed till morning? ’ ’
“But of a certainty, yes! What are you im-
plying? That I had a hand in this affair?’ ’
“No, no; be calm, my dear sir. I ask you
but one question. Is this your glove?”
The Inspector took the glove from his pocket
and offered it to the Count.
6


82 THE CURVED BLADES
The Frenchman took it, examined it minutely
and without haste.
“N o, sir,” he said, returning it; “that is not
my property.”
“Thank you, that is all,”yand the Inspector
put the glove back in his pocket.
“There is no doubt as to the main facts,”
said the Inspector, a half hour later, as, with the
members of the family he summed up what had
been found out from all known sources. “The
assailant was most certainly a burglarious ing
truder; the weapon, this ‘black-jack’; the m0-
tive, robbery. Why the robbery was not
achieved and what is the meaning of the unex-
plained circumstances of the whole affair, we do
not yet know. They are matters to be inves-
tigated, but they cannot greatly affect the prin-
cipal conditions. You may be thankful, Miss
Stuart, that the sad death of your aunt was un~
doubtedly painless; and also that the thief did
not succeed in his attempt to purloin the valu-
able gems.”
The Inspector’s speech might seem cold-
hearted, but Brunt was a practical man, and he
was truly glad for himself that in addition to
ﬁnding the murderer he did not also have to
recover a fortune of rare jewels.
“Now, ” he went on, “ as to the maid, Estelle.


A N EIGHBOR’S CALL 83
I have talked with her, but she is so hysterical
and her stories so contradictory, that I am in-
clined to the opinion that she has some sort of
guilty knowledge or at least suspicion of the in-
truder. The man was stocking-footed, and it is
a pity, Miss Stuart, that you erased that foot-
print on the ﬂoor! But it would have been of
doubtful use, I dare say. , We have found faint
tracks of the powder on the steps of the stair-
case, and though the last ones are almost indis-
cernible they seem to lea-d through the butler’s
pantry, and to an exit by that Window. But the
window was found fastened this morning, so, if
it was used as a means for the burglar’s get-
away, it must have been fastened afterward by
some person inside. Could this person have
been the maid, Estelle?”
“Sure it could!” exclaimed Haviland, who
was an interested listener. “That girl is a sly
one! I caught her this morning, trying to take
away that glass of milk. I told her to let it
alone.” ,
“Why?” asked the Inspector.
“Because I thought if she wanted to get it
away, there must be some reason for her to want
it! What was it?”
“Nonsense!” and Anita looked scornfully
at Gray; “naturally, Estelle would do up the


84 THE CURVED BLADES
rooms, and would, of course, remove the remains
of Miss Lucy’s night luncheon.”
“But that’s just it!” said Haviland,
triumphantly: “she didn’t take the plate that
had had sandwiches on it! If she had, I should
have thought nothing of it. But she took the
glass of milk, in a furtive, stealthy way, that
made me look at her. She turned red, and
trembled, and I told her to set the glass down.
She pretended not to hear, so I told her again.
Then she obeyed. But she glared at me like a
tigress.”
“Oh, rubbish!” said Anita. “She was an-
noyed at being interfered with in her work, and
perhaps fearful of being censured.”
“All right,” said Haviland, “then there’s no
harm done. If that girl is entirely innocent,
what I said won’t hurt her. But she looked to
me as if on a secret errand and a desperate
one.”
“What puzzles me is,” mused the Inspector,
“why she persists in saying that she left the
tray in good order in the room,—though it was
discovered an hour later, upset,——when we know
that Miss Carrington had been dead since, at
least, two or three o’clock.”
“Look here, Inspector,” and Haviland
frowned, “if the murder was committed at two


A NEIGHBOR’S CALL 85
or three o’clock, how is it that Mrs. Frothing-
ham saw the intruder escaping at four or
later?”
“There is a discrepancy there,” admitted
Brunt, “but it may be explained away. The
doctors cannot be sure until the autopsy iscom-
pleted of the exact hour of death, and, too, the
lady next door may have made an error in
time.”
“Well, I’ll inform you that Estelle did up-
set that tray herself,” said Pauline with an air
of ﬁnality.
“How do you know?” and Inspector Brunt
peered at her over his glasses.
“It was while Gray was telephoning for the
doctor,” said Pauline, reminiscently, “that I
looked carefully at that overturned tray.”
“I know it,” said Haviland, “I told you not
to touch anything.”
“I know that, but I did. I picked up from
the débris, this;” and Pauline held up to view
a tiny hairpin of the sort called ‘invisible.’
“It is Estelle’s” she said; “see, it is the
glistening bronze color of her hair. Anita has
gold-colored ones, and I do not use these ﬁne
wire ones. I use only shell. Moreover, ’I know
this is Estelle’s,-—d0n’t you, Anita?”
“It may be.”


86 THE CURVED BLADES
“It is. And its presence there, on the tray,
proves that she let the tray fall in her surprise
at seeing Aunt Lucy, and in her trembling ex-
citement loosened and dropped this hairpin.
Doubtless, she ﬂung her hand up to her head—
a not unusual gesture of hers—and so dis-
lodged it.”
Brunt looked closely at the speaker.
“You’ve got it all ﬁxed up, haven’t you, Miss
Stuart?”
Pauline ﬂushed slightly. “I didn’t ‘ﬁx it
up,’ as you call it, but I did gather, from what I
saw, that the truth must be as I have stated;
and in my anxiety to learn anything possible
as to the mystery of this crime, I secured what
may or may not be a bit of evidence. As Mr.
Haviland has said, if Estelle is entirely innocent
of any complicity in the matter, these things
can’t hurt her. But it would scarcely be pos-
sible for her to have been so careless as to drop
a hairpin on the tray without noticing it, if she
were not startled and ﬂurried by something
that took her mind and eyes entirely away from
her duties.”
“I think you are purposely making a great
deal out of nothing,” remarked Anita; “it
seems unfair, to say the least, to condemn the
poor girl on such triﬂing evidence.”


A NEIGHBOR’S CALL 87
The talk was interrupted by the entrance of
the Coroner and the two doctors.
“It is found,” said Coroner Scoﬁeld, “that
the cause of Miss Carrington’s death was not the
blow on the head.”
The Inspector looked his amazement, and
the others sat With receptively blank counte-
nances waiting further disclosures.
_“No,” went on Scoﬁeld, “we ﬁnd in the
stomach unmistakable traces of poison.”
“Poison!” It was Anita’s frightened
whisper; “who would poison her“! ”
“What kind of poison?” asked Brunt.
“Aconitine; deadly and sure. It leaves little
trace, but certain tests reveal it beyond all
doubt. That is why we have been so long. The
tests are diﬂicult of performance. But, it is
over, and we report that Miss Lucy Carring-
ton was poisoned by aconitine, administered
either by her own hand or another. ”
“Oh, she never would poison herself!” cried
Anita; “who did it?”
“And the blow on the head? ” said Inspector
Brunt, looking deeply perplexed.
“Her death, from poison, occurred at or near
two o’clock,” asserted the Coroner; “the blow
on the head was given after life had departed.”
‘ ‘ Incredible !’ ’ said Brunt.


88 THE CURVED BLADES
“It is, indeed, Inspector. But those are the
facts. The heavy blow fractured the skull, but
left no bruise or mark, nor was there any blood
from the cut scalp. In addition we have the
poison found in the system, and the death symp-
toms of quiet, placid dissolution which are con-
sequent always on that particular poison. ”
“Could it have been self-administered?”
asked Brunt.
“Not by Miss Carrington,” said Doctor
Stanton, decidedly. “The lady has been my
patient for years, and she had an absolute ab-
horrence of all sorts of drugs or medicines.
She made more fuss over taking a simple pow-
der than a spoiled child. I have often pre-
scribed for her, knowing full well she would not
take my prescriptions because of her detestation
of taking medicine. When remedies have been
really necessary, I have had to administer them
while with her, and a difﬁcult task it was. More-
over, my patient was not of the temperament or
disposition to seek death for herself, nor had
she any reason to do so. No ; the case is murder;
the poison was administered by some one who
wished for her death and deliberately set out to
accomplish it,—and succeeded.”
“Is the action of this poison instantaneous?’ ’
asked Brunt.


A N EIGHBOR’S CALL 89
“No; death ensues about a half hour to an
hour after the dose is taken into the system.”
“Then, we gather that the poison was taken
in the neighborhood of one o’clock, last night.”
“Yes,” agreed the Coroner, “about one
o’clock.” '
“About one o’clock!” whispered Anita, in
an awe-struck, gasping way, and her great blue
eyes stared dazedly into the dark ones of
Pauline. '


VII
THE INQUEST
NEXT morning the inquest was proceeding.
The great living-room at Garden Steps was
crowded with listeners, drawn hither by sym-
pathy, interest or curiosity. And each class
found ample to satisfy its motive. The mere fact
of being within that exclusive home, within those
heretofore inaccessible doors, was enough to
thrill and delight many, and observation and
scrutiny were as well repaid as was the listen-
ing to the astounding revelations that were
poured into their ears.
Coroner’s Scoﬁeld’s jury was composed of
intelligent men, who were eagerly receptive to
the appalling facts narrated to them and the
curiously bizarre bits of evidence that became
known as the witnesses were questioned.
Dr. Stanton told of his being called to the
house, and his discoveries and conclusions. He
admitted that he assumed death was caused by
the blow on the head, but claimed that it was a
pardonable error in view of the fact that such
a blow had been given. He afﬁrmed, and Dr.
Moore corroborated it, that the autopsy showed
that death was caused by aconitine poison,
administered, either by the deceased or another,
90


THE INQUEST 91
at an hour not earlier than one o’clock, and
probably soon thereafter. The terrible blow
that had fractured the skull had been given after
life had been for some time extinct.
Dr. Stanton asserted emphatically his late
patient’s detestation of drugs or medicines of
any sort, adducing thereby the extreme im-
probability of the poison having been self-
administered. Moreover, the temperament and
disposition of the late Miss Carrington entirely
evinced a love of life and desire to prolong it
by means of any device or assistance the doctor
might give.
Pauline was called next, and a little ﬂutter of
excitement in the audience greeted her appear-
ance.
Exceedingly digniﬁed, but of a sweet, gra-
cious mien, she at once received the silent ap-
proval of the crowd. Her black gown, its collar
of sheer white organdy slightly open at the
throat, well suited her pale, beautiful face and
her dark hair and eyes. To-day, her eyes
seemed fathomless. At times, gazing intently
at the Coroner until they almost disconcerted
him; and then, hid-den by veiling lids, whose
long lashes fell suddenly, as if to conceal further
disclosures.
On the whole, Pauline was not a satisfactory


92 THE CURVED BLADES
witness. She told, in most straightforward
way, of leaving the breakfast table to go to her
aunt’s room and of ﬁnding there the dead body.
She told clearly all the circumstances of the up-
set tray, the spilled powder'and the eccentric
garb of Miss Carrington herself. But questions
as to her opinion of these facts brought little
response.
“You left Miss Carrington at half-past
twelve?” asked Coroner Scoﬁeld.
“Not so late, I think,” returned Pauline;
“probably at quarter or twenty minutes past
twelve,—I am not sure.”
“How was she then dressed?”
“In the gown she had worn during the
evening.”
“And her jewels?”
“When I left my aunt, she was wearing her
pearls and the other jewelry she had worn with
her evening dress. Some brooches and rings
and bracelets.”
“But not so much as she had on when you
discovered her in the morning?”
“Not nearly so much.”
“How do you account for this?” .
“I don’t account for it. To me it is exceed-
ingly mysterious. ”
“And the paper snake round her neck?”


THE IN QUEST 93
“I have no idea by whom such a thing could
have been brought to my aunt. But I am posi-
tive she never put it on herself. Nor can I think
she would allow it to come near her if she were
alive,—or conscious,-—or, had power to scream
for help. Any one knowing my aunt’s fear and
horror of anything reptilian will agree to this.”
“It seems evident,” said the Coroner,
thoughtfully, “that some intruder entered Miss
Carrington’s room, at or near one o’clock.
That this intruder in some manner induced Miss
Carrington to swallow the poison, whether con-
scious of her act or not. That the intruder sub-
sequently, and for some reason, placed the snake
round the neck of the victim, and, later still,
brutally gave her a stunning blow with the
black-jack which was found, and thereby frac-
tured her skull. Granting these assumptions,
can you, Miss Stuart, give us any information
that would lead to discovery of the hand that
wrought this havoc?”
“Not any,” and Pauline raised her great
eyes a moment to Scoﬁeld’s face and slowly
dropped them again.
“Then can you not express an opinion or
suggest a theory that might account for such
strange happenings, at least, in part?”
“No, ” said Pauline, slowly; “I have no idea,


94 THE CURVED BLADES
nor can I imagine why my aunt should be so
elaborately arrayed and seated in an easy chair
in front of her mirror. It is contrary to all her
customs or habits.”
“Could she have been killed ﬁrst and could
the jewels and adornments have been added
afterward?” asked the Coroner of the doctors.
“No,” replied Dr. Moore; “the whole condi-
tion of the body and clothing make such a theory
practically impossible. ’ ’
“Quite impossible,” added Dr. Stanton;
“and, too, what would be the sense of such a.
proceeding?”
“We are establishing the facts of the proceed-
ings, not the sense of them,” returned the Cor-
oner, a little testily, for he was at his wits’ end
even to make a beginning in this strange case.
“At least,” he went on, “we have the facts
and the approximate time of the crime; have
you, Miss Stuart, any suspicion of who the
murderer can be "2 ’ ’
The question was shot out suddenly. If its
intent was to startle the witness, it certainly
succeeded. Pauline Stuart turned even whiter
than she had been, and she caught her breath
quickly and audibly as she ﬂashed a frightened
glance at Gray Haviland.‘ It was by no means
an accusing glance, though many who saw it,


THE IN QUEST 95
eager for a direction in which to cast their sus-
picions, took it for such.
But Pauline controlled herself immediately.
“Certainly not,” she said coldly. “That is, I
can have no suspicion of the murderer’s iden-
tity. It was, of course, a midnight intruder, of
the criminal class. I have no individual ac-
quaintances who use or possess the weapon that
was employed in this crime.”
“The black-jack is an auxiliary only. The
poisonmay have been administered by one not-
versed in the ways of professional criminals.
You admit that, I suppose?”
“It is no doubt true,” said Pauline, icily,
“that poison may be given by a person not be-
longing to the criminal classes. I fail to see, how-
ever, how that fact affects the matter in hand.”
“It may well affect it. Since Miss Carring-
ton was killed by a deadly poison, we must con-
clude that the black-jack assault was made with
the intention of concealing the poisoning and
making it appear that the blow caused the death.
There seems to me no other way to account for
the conditions that confront us.”
. A silence followed this. Its truth was patent
to everybody. Clearly, the poisoner- had de-
livered the blow, for no one else would attack
a victim already dead. And a plausible reason


96 THE CURVED BLADES
would be the hope that the poisoning would
pass unnoticed in view of the other apparent
cause of death.
“And it points to the work of an amateur,”
went on Scoﬁeld; “a professional criminal
would know that the autopsy would disclose the
earlier crime.”
Pauline lost her nerve. “I don’t know any_
thing about it!” she cried, and sank back into
her seat, her face buried in her hands.
Coroner Scoﬁeld was a man of tact. “It is
entirely natural, Miss Stuart,” he said, “that
this thought should overcome you. But we must
realize the fact that the theory of a professional
burglar is practically untenable, because noth-
ing was stolen. A burglar’s motive could be
only robbery, and this did not take place. Nor
can we think that a burglar was frightened away,
before he could appropriate the jewels. For,
after giving the poison, and before the blow was
given, sufﬁcient time elapsed for a successful
getaway to be made. Nor would the burglar
have been at pains to cover up his poisoning
work, for having achieved his end, he would
have secured his booty and made escape. So, it
is evident that the motive, not being robbery, is
as yet unknown, and may be obscure and com-
plicated.”


THE INQUEST 97
“What could it have been?” asked Pauline,
her composure regained, her voice low and even.
Scoﬁeld looked at her. “It is said, Miss
Stuart, that the only motives for murder are
love, revenge or gain. Can you imagine any one
of these directed toward your aunt”! ”
Pauline replied tranquilly. Evidently she
had fully recovered her poise. “I can think of
no one who could have killed my aunt for love;
it is improbable that she has ever done any one
such wrong as to call for such a deed in revenge;
as to gain, if you mean pecuniary gain, all the
legatees mentioned in her will may be said to
have that motive.”
Pauline ’s manner and tones were so imper-
sonal, so scathingly ironic as to. amount to a
disclaimer for all the legatees. Her way of sug-
gesting it made it seem so far removed from
possibility that it was far more emphatic than
any denial could have been.
But Coroner Scoﬁeld was as unmoved as his
witness.
“Quite so,” he said coolly; “and therefore
inquiries must be made. Did you, Miss Stuart,
after leaving your aunt soon after midnight see
or hear anything unusual or suspicious?”
“What do you mean by unusual or sus-
picious ! ’ ’
7


98 THE CURVED BLADES
“I mean did you see or hear anything, any-
thing at all, that you could not explain to your-
self as being in any way connected with the
tragedy We are investigating?”
Before answering, Pauline looked in turn at
all the members of the household. Haviland
slowly turned his head as if to look at something
across the room, and as slowly brought it back
to its previous position.
“I did not,” said Pauline, looking straight
at the Coroner.
“That is all,” said Scoﬁeld, brieﬂy, and the
next witness was called.
This was the maid, Estelle. Her eyes were
red with weeping, but she was not hysterical
now, or incoherent. She answered tersely ques-
tions as to Miss Carrington’s habits and as to
her words and actions during the maid’s last in-
terview with her.
“I left her at about quarter of one,” the
witness deposed; “I had given her the Oriental
negligée, of which she is fond. I offered to take
down her hair and put away her jewels, but she
declined those services, and bade me leave her.’ ’
“She was wearing, when you left her, only
the jewels she had worn during the evening“.l ”
“Only those, sir. When I changed her even-
ing gown for the boudoir robe, she bade me re-


THE INQUEST 99
place such jewels as I had already taken off her.
She kept on her rings, bracelets and her long
rope of pearls while I changed her costume.”
‘ ‘And then she dismissed you for the night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was she then? Sitting before the
mirror?”
“No, sir. She stood in the middle of the
ﬂoor.”
“Was she in an amiable mood?”
“She was not. Because I offered to assist
her further, she ordered me from the room in
anger.”
“Ah, in anger! Was Miss Carrington often
angry with you “I ”
“Indeed, yes; as she was with everybody.”
“Conﬁne your answers to your own experi-
ence. You prepared a night luncheon for your
mistress?”
“Yes, sir,” and now Estelle ’s voice trembled
and her eyes rolled apprehensively.
“What was.it?” .
“Two small sandwiches and a glass cf
milk.” .
“What sort of sandwiches?”
“Caviare, sir.”
“Ah, yes. And why did you put a large dose
of bromide in the glass of milk?”


100 THE CURVED BLADES
“Did it 'kill her?” and Estelle screamed out
her query. Pauline and Anita looked at one
another. It was the same question Estelle had
asked of them.
“An overdose of bromide may be fatal,”
parried the Coroner, not answering the question
directly. “Why did you do it?”
“I didn’t do it,” and the French girl shrug-
ged her shoulders; “why should I poison my
mistress? She was quick-tempered, but I was
used to that.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said the Coroner; “the
bromide didn’t poison Miss Carrington, for, in
the ﬁrst place, she didn’t take it. The glass of
milk was found next morning untouched, though
the sandwiches were gone. Therefore, the bro-
mide in the milk was found. Why did you put
it in?”
“I didn’t do it,” reiterated the maid. “Look
higher up for that!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mention no names, but somebody must
have done it, if bromide was found in that milk. ’ ’
“But you tried to get the glass away next
morning, without being seen. ”
“Who says I did?”
“Never mind that; you were seen. Why?”
“Well, sir, if I thought anybody was going


THE INQUEST 101
to get into trouble because of it, I was only too
glad to help, if I could, by removing it before it
was noticed. ” Estelle spoke slowly, as if weigh-
ing her words, and her furtive glances at
Pauline bore only one signiﬁcance. It was pal-
pably apparent that she suspected Miss Stuart
of the deed, and out of kindness had tried to re-
move the incriminating evidence.
Pauline stared at her with a glance that went
through her or over her or around her, but gave
not the slightest attention to the speaker.
“ Did you put bromide in your aunt’s glass of
milk, Miss Stuart?” asked the Coroner, and
Pauline said, calmly, “Certainly not.”
Mr. Scoﬁeld sighed. It was a difﬁcult matter
to get at the truth when the witnesses were
clever women, in whose veracity he had not com-
plete conﬁdence.
He gave up Estelle for the moment, and
called Gray Haviland.
The young man’s appearance gave every
promise of frankness and sincerity. He de-
tailed the circumstances precisely as Pauline
had told them. He denied having heard or seen
anything suspicious during the night. He re-
ferred to the Coroner’s list of motives for
crime, and added that he agreed with Miss
Stuart that the present case could scarcely be


102 THE CURVED BLADES
ascribed to love or revenge. If the murder was ~
committed for gain, it was, of course, a formal
necessity to question all the beneﬁciaries of
Miss Carrington’s will, but he was sure that all
such inheritors were quite willing to be ques-
tioned. For his part, he believed that the
criminal was some enemy of Miss Carrington,
unknown to her immediate household, and he
suggested that such a one be searched for.
“You’ve got that glove,” he reminded,
“that was found clasped in the hand of the mur-
dered woman. Why not trace that; or endeavor
to learn in some way the reason for the many
peculiar circumstances; or discover, at least, a
way to look for further evidence; rather than
to vaguely suspect those who lived under Miss
Carrington’s roof?”
“I am not asking your assistance in con-
ducting this inquiry, Mr. Haviland,” and the
Coroner spoke shortly; “but pursuing my own
plan of obtaining evidence in my own way.
Will you kindly answer questions without com-
ment on them?”
“Oh, all right; ﬁre away. Only remember,
that we relatives and friends are just as much
interested in clearing up this mystery as you
are, and we want to help, if we can be allowed to
do so intelligently.”


THE INQUEST 103
Asked again if he saw or heard anything un-
usual in the night, Haviland replied, “You said
‘suspicious’ the other time. I did see something
unusual. I saw Estelle go stealthily downstairs
at three A.M. That’s unusual, but I don’t go so
far as to call it suspicious.”


VIII
ANITA’S STORY
INSTEAD of showing surprise at this state-
ment, the Coroner broke the breathless silence
that followed it, by saying:
“Will you please explain what you mean by
‘stealthily?’ ”
“Just what I say,” returned Haviland,
bluntly. “She went slowly, now and then paus-
ing to listen, twice drawing back around a corner
and peeping out, and then coming forth again;
she wore no shoes and carried no light; she
went down the big staircase in the manner I
have described, and after about ten minutes, re-
turned in the same fashion. That’s what I mean
by stealthily.”
“What was your errand?” asked Scoﬁeld of
Estelle.
“Nothing. I didn’t go,” she replied, coolly.
“She tells an untruth,” said Gray, calmly.
“She did go, just as I have described. But it
was doubtless on an innocent errand. I have
no idea she was implicated in Miss Carrington’s
death. I am sure it is of casual explanation,—
or, I was sure, until Estelle denied it.”
“How was it you chanced to see her?”
“I was wakeful, and I was prowling around
104


ANITA’S STORY ' 105
to ﬁnd something to read. I went out in the hall
and got a magazine from the table, and had re-
turned to my room and was just closing the door.
when I saw a white ﬁgure glide across the hall.
She passed through a moonlit space or I could
not have seen her. She was wrapped in a light
or white kimono thing, and I should never have
thought of it again if it were not for what has
happened.” .
“You knew it to be this Estelle?”
“Yes; her red hair was hanging in a braid.”
‘ ‘ ’Tisn’t red!” snapped Estelle, but Mr. S00-
ﬁeld silenced her with a frown. ’
“Well, auburn, then,” said Haviland, easily.
‘ ‘You may as well own up, Estelle; what did you
go down for?”
“I didn’t go,” repeated the maid, ob-
stinately, and no_ cross-questioning could prevail
on her to admit otherwise.
“All right,” and Haviland shrugged his
shoulders; “I suppose it doesn’t matter, as the
crime was committed about one o’clock. - It’s
up to you, Mr. Coroner, to ﬁnd some person who
acted suspiciously nearer that time. And, by
the way, as man of business of this estate, unless
some worthwhile evidence isforthcoming pretty
soon, I’m going to round up a detective or two
who will get somewhere.”


106 THE CURVED BLADES
“Give us a little more time, Mr. Haviland,”
said Scoﬁeld, suavely, “this inquest is only
begun.”
“Well, get it over with, and then, if the truth
hasn’t come to light, I’ll take a hand.”
Miss Frayne was called next, and Anita, with
a look of importance on her pretty face, came
forward.
Her evidence, at ﬁrst, was merely a repeti-
tion of that already heard, and she corroborated
Pauline’s recital of the scene as the two girls
bade Miss Carrington good-night.
“And then?” prompted the Coroner.
‘ ‘ Then I went to my room, but I didn’t retire.
I sat thinking over what Miss Carrington had
said to me. And as I thought about it, I con-
cluded that this time I was really dismissed from
her secretaryship. And that made me feel very
sorry, for it is a good position and I’ve no wish
to lose it. So,—after a time, I began to think I
would go to Miss Carrington’s room and if she
were still up, I would beg her forgiveness.”
‘ ‘ Forgiveness for what?’ ’
“For any fancied grievance she might have
against me. I have always tried to please her,
but she was, er,—diﬂicult, and it was not easy
to do the right thing at all times.”
“Did you go to her room?”


ANITA’S STORY 107
“I went to the door ”
“At what time?”
“Soon after one o’clock. Not more than ﬁve
or ten minutes after.”
There was a rustle of excitement. The
poison was said to be administered at about one!
Did this fair doll-like girl know the secret of the
tragedy?
“Proceed, Miss Frayne; tell the story of
anything you saw at that time. ”
“I saw nothing. But I heard a great deal.”
“What was it?”
“The door of Miss Carrington’s room was
closed, and I was about to tap at it, when I-heard
talking inside. I paused, and I listened, in
order to discover if her maid was still with her,
or some one else. If it had been Estelle, I
should have tapped for admittance. But it was
not.”
“Who was it?”
“I cannot say. The voice I heard distinctly
was that of Miss Carrington herself. Her voice
was high-pitched, and of what is called a carry_
ing sort. The things she said were so strange,
I lingered, listening, for I was so surprised I
couldn’t help it.”
“First, I heard her say, quite plainly, ‘Your
face is the most beautiful I have ever seen! I


108 I THE CURVED BLADES
wish mine were as beautiful.’ I assumed, then,
she must be talking to Miss Stuart, for surely
she would not say that to her maid. Then she
said, ‘But, to-morrow, I shall be forever freed.
from this homely face of mine. ’ ”
“Miss Frayne, this is very singular! Are
you sure you heard correctly?”
“I am sure. But there is more. She next
said, ‘To-morrow you will be glad l—glad! ’ It
was almost a scream, that. And she went on,
‘To-morrow all these jewels will be yours,—if
you—ah, but will you?’ and then her voice
trailed olf faintly, and I could hear no more.”
“You heard nothing more at all?”
“Yes; I waited,—oh, I admit I was eaves-
dropping, but it was so strange I couldn’t help
it,-—there was silence. It may well be some one
else was replying to her, but I could not make
out any other person’s words. A low voice would
not be audible like a high-pitched one. But after
a moment, Miss Carrington resumed; she said.
‘I shall change my will. Not Carr’s half, that
must stand. But the other half shall never go to
a niece who has no affection for me!’ Again I
heard nothing, for the responses were inaudible.
Then Miss Carrington said, in a musing tone:
‘I have already willed you ten thousand dollars
of those‘United States bonds, but—-’ And


ANITA’S STORY 109
then, after quite a long pause, Miss Carrington
cried out, not loudly, but tensely, ‘Henri, Henri!
you are the mark I aim at!’ That frightened
me so, I ran swiftly back to my room, and locked
the door.”
“You assumed Henri to be Count Charlier?”
“I had no other construction to put upon the
words.” '
“You thought the gentleman was in Miss
Carrington’s room?” \
“I couldn’t think that ! And yet, it sounded
as if she were speaking to him, not of him.”
“This is a very strange story, Miss Frayne.
Have you mentioned these things you overheard
to any one before this?” '
“No. I have thought them over, and con
cluded it was best to tell the story ﬁrst to you.”
“And quite right. It is, then, your opinion
that there was another person in Miss Carring-
ton ’s room, to Whom she was speaking?”
“It seemed so to me.’ ’
“But you did not hear this other person’s
voice?”
Anita paused a moment and then said: “Not
distinctly.”
“Did you hear it at all?”
“I cannot say. When I did not hear Miss
Carrington’s voice clearly, there were sounds


AN ITA’S STORY 111
in connection with that the words I heard seemed
so remarkable,——not to say uncanny,—that I
made a note of them. This is not an unusual
habit with me. I often make notes of conversa~
tions, as it has been useful in my services as
secretary.”
‘ ‘As how?”
“If a caller in a social or business way had
conversation with Miss Carrington, and I was
present, I often made a record, in case she asked
me later just what had been said.”
“I see. And how do you7 interpret the words,
‘Henri, you are the mark I aim at!’ ”
“I can only think that Miss Carrington was
in favor of considering a marriage between her-
self and the Count.” '
“You made use of the word ‘uncanny.’ Do
you imagine that Miss Carrington had any fore-
boding of her approaching doom?”
“When I heard her say, ‘To-morrow I will
be forever freed from this homely face of mine,’
and ‘ to-morrow all these jewels will be yours,’
I couldn’t help thinking,—after the discovery of
her death,—that she must have anticipated it.”
‘-‘ Did her voice sound like the despairing one
of a person about to die?”
“On the contrary, it sounded full of life and
animation.” ' '


112 THE CURVED BLADES
“Did she seem angry with the person to
whom she was speaking?” ‘
“At times, yes. And, again, no. Her voice
showed varying emotions as she talked on.”
“Her speech was not continuous, then“! ”
“Not at all. It was broken, and in snatches.
But, remember, I could not hear all of what she
said, and the other person or persons not at all. ’ ’
“Did you not catch a word from the other
voice?’.’,.
“I cannot say. Much, in a low tone, that I
could not hear clearly, might have been Miss
Carrington’s voice or another’s. The door was
closed,.and as soon as I realized there was some
one there, not Estelle, I had no thought of knock-
ing, and I soon went away. I ought to have
gone away sooner, and would have done so, but
I was-so. amazed and puzzled I stayed on in-
voluntarily. ’ ’
“Your story, Miss Frayne, is very extraordi-
nary.» Can you suggest, from what you heard,
who might have been in the room with Miss
Carrington? ’ ’
“I can not, nor do I wish to. I have told you
what I heard, it is for you to make deductions or
discoveries. ’ ’
“I..wish to say a word, Mr. Coroner,” and
Pauline Stuart, with her dark eyes blazing, rose


AN ITA’S STORY 113
to her feet. “I am sorry to say this, buti/I must
ask you to hesitate before you put too much‘faith
in the amazing tale you have just listened to.
I am sure Miss Frayne could not have heard all
that nonsense! It is impossible, on the-'cface of
it, that my aunt should have received'a'n'y one
in her room after her maid left her. It is in-
credible that she should have made all-those
ridiculous and meaningless remarks! And it is
despicable for any woman to imply or hint that
Miss Carrington was receiving a gentleman
caller! I am surprised that you e'ven;li’stened
to what must be the ravings of a disordered
mind!” - - '
Pauline looked at Anita like an avenging
goddess. But the darts of scorn from'her dark
eyes were met and returned in kind fromI the big
blue ones of the secretary. -
“I resent your tone and your words,” said
Anita, deliberately; “but since you ch00se to
adopt that attitude, I will go on to saijhat I
had intended not to reveal, that I saw you com-
ing from your aunt’s room, after the conversa-
tion I have told of took place.”
“Wait a minute,” said the Coroner;"‘you
said that immediately after hearing the alleged
conversation you went at once to your‘ room,
and did not leave it again.”
8


114 THE CURVED BLADES
“Nor did I. But a few minutes later, unable
to restrain my curiosity, I opened my door, and
looked out. My position then commanded a full
View of the hall, and I saw Miss Stuart go from
her aunt’s room to her own.”
Pauline looked at the speaker. Coldly her
glance swept back to the Coroner, and she said:
‘ ‘I deny that I was in my aunt’s room after leav-
ing it at midnight in company with Miss Frayne.
But she forces me to tell that I saw her going
away from it at exactly quarter past one.”
“How do you ﬁx the time so accurately?”
“I was sitting in the upper hall,—it is really
a sitting-room, at the bay-windowed end,—look~
ing at'the moon. I, too, had been disturbed at
my aunt’s attitude, and her threats to send me
away to-day, and I had gone to the hall window-
seat, a favorite haunt of mine, and had sat there
for a half hour or more.”
“Could any one going through the hall see
you?”
“Probably not, as the draperies are heavy,
an’d’I was in the deep window-seat. I was think-
ing I would go to my room, and then I saw Miss
Frayne come from my aunt’s room and go to her
own.”
“Are you sure she came from the room?”
“She was closing the door, her hand was on


ANITA’S STORY 115
the knob. She did not see me, I am sure, for I
drew back in the window and watched her. ,And
just then I heard the hall clock chime the quarter
after one.”
“You didn’t see Miss Frayne when she went
to Miss Carrington’s room!”
“No; I suppose I was then looking out of the
deep window.”
“Nor did you hear her?”
“N o, the rugs are thick and a light foot-fall
makes no sound.”
“What did you next do?”
“I went—I went straight to my own room.”
The slight hesitation told against Pauline.
All through her testimony, all through her ar-
raignment of Anita,—for it amounted to that,—
she had been cool, calm and imperturbable. But
now a momentary hesitation of speech, added
perhaps, to the circumstantial story of Anita
Frayne, caused a wave of doubt,—not enough to
call suspicion,-—but a questioning attitude to
form in the minds of many of the audience'
To whom, if not Miss Stuart, could Miss Car-
rington’s remarks about beauty have been ad-
dressed”! It was well known that Miss Lucy
adored beauty and had all her life lamented her
own lack of it. This was no secret woe of the
poor lady’s. To any one who would listen, she


116 THE CURVED BLADES
would complain of her hard lot in having all
the gifts of the gods except good looks. To
whom else would she say ‘To-morrow all these
jewels will be yours,—-if you—ah, but will you?’
And yet, after all, it did not make sense.
Was it not far more likely to be a ﬁgment of Miss
Frayne’s clever mind, for what purpose who
might say? ‘
At any rate, their stories were contradictory
and moreover were garbled.
The vjurymen sighed. The case had been
mysterious enough before, now it was becoming
inexplicable.


_ IX
FURTHER TESTIMONY
COUNT HENRI CHARLIER was being ques-
tioned, and he was distinctly ill at ease. His
French savoir fairc was not proof against deﬁ-
nite inquiries as to his intentions regarding the
late Miss Carrington, and indeﬁnite allusions con-
cerning his movements on the night of her death.
He had related, straightforwardly enough,
his visit at Garden Steps that evening and his
departure at or about midnight. He denied his
engagement of marriage, but admitted that he
had paid Miss Carrington such attentions as
might lead her to suspect an attachment.
“You did not return to this house after leav-
ing on Tuesday night?”
“Most assuredly not.”
“You were not in Miss Carrington’s boudoir
at one o’clock or thereabouts ? ”
Count Charlier’s black eyes snapped. But
by a successful effort he controlled his indigna-
tion, and said, simply, “I was not.”
‘ ‘But she was heard to address you.”
“Impossible, as I was not there.”
“She distinctly declared that you were the
mark she aimed at. What construction do you
put upon those words?”
117


118 THE CURVED BLADES
“It is not for me to boast of my attraction for
a lady. ” '
Count Charlier simpered a little, and Gray
Haviland looked at him with a frown of undis-
guised scorn. Haviland had never liked the
Count, indeed, he even doubted his right to the
title, and especially had he feared a marriage
between him and Miss Lucy. And, granting
that this feeling was partly due to a considera-
tion of his own interests, Haviland also dis-
trusted the Frenchman and doubted Miss Lucy’s
happiness as his wife.
“Did Miss Carrington leave you a bequest of
ten thousand dollars in United States bonds?”
went on the Coroner.
“I—I don’t know,” and the Count stam-
mered in an embarrassed way.
“You do know!” shouted Haviland; “the
will has been read, and you know perfectly well
that such a bequest was left to you.”
“Why did you deny the knowledge?” asked
Scoﬁeld, sternly.
“I’m—I’m not sure——”
“You are sure!” stormed Gray. “Now
where were you when Miss Carrington spoke
those words to you? If not in her boudoir,
then on the balcony outside the window, per-
haps."


FURTHER TESTIMONY 119
“Absurd,” said the Coroner.
“Not at all,’ ’ said Gray; “that window opens
on a balcony enclosed by glass. It is easily
reached from outside by a small staircase, mostly
used in summer, but always available. How
could Miss Carrington speak to the Count con-
cerning the bonds and concerning her infatua-
tion for himself, which is no secret, unless he
were there before her“! And how could he be in
the room—in her boudoir—unknown to the ser-
vants? Moreover, Mr. Coroner, I believe the
glove found in Miss Carrington’s hand to be the
property of Count Charlier.”
“But no!” cried the Witness, excitedly; “I
have repeatedly disclaimed that glove. It is not
mine, I know not whose it is. I know nothing
of this sad affair, whatever. If the money is left
to me, as I have been told, it is a—a surprise to
me.”
“Surprise nothing!” murmured Haviland,
but he said no more to the Count.
‘ ‘If my story might be told now,—-” ventured
Mrs. Frothingham.
After a moment’s hesitation, Coroner Sco-
ﬁeld decided to let her tell it, as having a possible
bearing on Count Charlier-‘s testimony.
The rather stunning-looking widow was fash-
ionably dressed, and she ﬂuttered with an air


120 THE CURVED BLADES
of importance as she took the stand. She related
again the story she had told of the supposed
burglar, whom she saw leaving the living-room
by way of a. window, at four o’clock on Wednes-
day morning.
“How can you be so sure it was a burglar?”
asked Scoﬁeld.
“Oh, he looked like one. All huddled up,
you know, and his face buried between a high
coat collar and a drawn-down cap. And he
walked slyly,——sort of glided among the shrubs
and trees, as if avoiding notice. No man on
legitimate business would skulk like that.”
“Might it not have been Count Charlier?”
asked the Coroner, bluntly.
“Certainly not !” and Mrs. Frothingham
gave a little shriek. “The Count is a slim and
elegant ﬁgure; this was a stocky, burly man; a
marauder, I know.”
“It may be, ” said the Coroner, wearily. ‘ ‘ It
may be that a burglar was concealed in the
house, or let in by a servant, and that he at-
tacked Miss Carrington as she was seated at her
dressing table. It seems impossible that he
should have administered poison to her, how-
ever, and the conjoined circumstances may in-
dicate collusion between—”
“Between whom?” asked Inspector Brunt.


FURTHER TESTIMONY 121
“I don’t know,’ ’ confessed Scoﬁeld. ‘ ‘Every
way I try to think it out, I run up against an im-
passable barrier.”
“That’s what I say,” began Haviland; “it is
a most involved case. I shall cable Carrington
Loria for authority to employ an expert de-
tective.”
“Why cable him”! ” asked Pauline; “I am
equally in authority now. Carr and myself each
receive half the residuary estate of Aunt Lucy,
and, of course, I am as anxious to ﬁnd the—the
murderer, as Carr can possibly be.”
“Well, somebody will have to authorize it
who is willing to pay for it. As man of business
in this home, I am willing to attend to all such
matters, but I must have authority.”
“You seem to me a little premature, Mr.
Haviland,” commented the Inspector. “Per-
haps when the inquest is concluded, it may not be
necessary to call on any other detective than our
own Mr. Hardy.”
“Perhaps not,” agreed Haviland; “but un-
less you people all wake up, you’re not going to
get anywhere. I admit the getting is difﬁcult,
but that’s just the reason a wise sleuth should be
called in before the trails grow cold.”
And then the Coroner returned to his task of
questioning Mrs. Frotllingham.


122 THE CURVED BLADES
The widow was not deﬁnitely helpful. Her
statements were often contradictory in minor de~
tails, and when she corrected them they seemed
to lose in weight. She stuck to the main points,
however, that by the help of a strong ﬁeld-glass
she had discerned, in the bright moonlight, a
man leave by way of the French window, at four
o’clock, and had seen him make his way stealth-
ily out by the great entrance gates of the place.
Cross-questioning on this brought no varia-
tions, and the jurymen wagged their heads in
belief of her story.
But her accounts of her own doings on Tues-
day evening were vague and indeﬁnite.
“I was in my own home all the evening,”
she said at one time; and again, “I went out for
a short walk at eleven o’clock.” This last in
refutation of Haskins, the Carrington butler,
who deposed to having seen the lady walk across
the lawns of Garden Steps.
“Where did you walk?”
“Oh, just around my own place; and for a
moment I strolled over here because the Steps
looked so beautiful in the moonlight.”
“You were alone ‘2 ”
“I was. I have no house guests at present,
save the Count; and as my brother, who lives
with me, is on a Western trip, I was alone, and


FURTHER TESTIMONY 123
I walked about to kill time until Count Charlier
should return after his bridge game over here. ”
“Did you walk near the house, while on the
Garden Steps’ estate?” asked Scoﬁeld, scenting
a possible espionage of her titled visitor.
“Oh, no!” and the witness bristled with in-
dignation; “why should I! I was not really an
acquaintance of Miss Carrington, merely a
neighbor.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but I saw you on the
conservatory veran-dah,” said Haskins, in a
deprecatory way.
“That is not true, Mr. Coroner,” said the
lady, glancing scornfully at the butler. “I beg
you will not accept a servant’s statement in
preference to mine!”
“You are sure of this, Haskins ? ’ ’ said the In-
spector gravely.
“Yes, sir. Sure, sir.” and the man looked
doggedly certain, though a little scared.
“And you deny it?” went on Scoﬁeld to Mrs.
Frothingham.
“I most certainly do! How absurd for me
to be over here, and how more than absurd for
me to deny it if I were!’ ’
This seemed sensible. Why should she deny
it? And mightn’t the butler be mistaken? Or
deliberately falsifying?


124 THE CURVED BLADES
- If there were collusion or criminal assistance
by any of the servants, surely the word of all of
them must be mistrusted unless proven.
And, too, what could have brought Mrs.
Frothingham to the verandah of a home Where
she was not an accepted guest? Or, could she
have been spying on the Count?
For it had slowly entered the Coroner’s not
very alert mind that perhaps the volatile widow
had her own plans for the Count’s future, and
Miss Carrington did not ﬁgure in them. The
manner of the witness bore out this theory. She
was self-conscious and at times confused. She
frequently looked at the Count and then quickly
averted her gaze. She blushed and stammered
when speaking his name or referring to him. In
a word, she acted as a woman might act in regard
to a man of whom she was jealous. And the situ-
ation bore it out. If Mrs. Frothingham had
matrimonial designs on her distinguished guest,
would she not naturally resent his visits to a
rich neighbor? Mrs. Frothingham was not rich,
and she may well have been afraid of Miss Car-
rington’s charm of gold, which could cause many
a man to overlook anything else that might be
lacking.
Coroner Scoﬁeld was getting more and more
tangled in the mazes of this extraordinary case.


FURTHER TESTIMONY 125
He was practically at his wits’ end. At last he
blurted out: “It is impossible, it seems, to get a
coherent, or even plausible story from a woman!
Is there any man present, who knows any of the
details of the happenings of Tuesday evening
and night i ”
There was a moment’s silence at this rather
petulant speech, and then Stephen Illsley rose,
and speaking very gravely, said:
“It seems to be my unpleasant duty to tell
what little I know of these matters.”
The relieved Coroner heard this with satis-
faction. Accepting his good fortune, he prepared
to listen to Illsley’s testimony.
“I was spending the evening here,” the wit-
ness began, “and during my visit I was in the
various rooms. At a late hour, perhaps some-
thing after eleven,—I was crOssing the hall, and
I saw Mrs. Frothingham on the stairway.”
“On the stairway!” exclaimed the Coroner,
in amazement.
“Yes,” returned Illsley, his grave eyes rest-'
ing on the face of the widow, who stared at him
as if stricken dumb. “Yes, I saw her distinctly.
She was evidently coming downstairs, one hand
rested on the banister, and she was looking up-
ward at the ceiling.”
“Did she see you?”


126 THE CURVED BLADES
“I think not. If so, she made no sign. But
she was not looking my way, and I went on into
the reception room, where I was going in search
of a scarf Miss Stuart had left there. When I
recrossed the hall, the lady had disappeared.”
“Did not this seem to you a strange circum-
stance?”
“I had no right to any opinion on the subject.
It was not my affair what guests were at the house
I was visiting, or what they might be doing.”
“But Mrs. Frothingham asserts she was not
an acquaintance of Miss Oarrington.”
“I did not know that, then; and even so, it
gave me no right to speculate concerning the
lady’s presence there. Nor should I refer to it
now, except that in view of the subsequent
tragedy it is due to every principle of right and
justice that all truths be known as to that even-
ing. Mrs. Frothingham will, of course, recall
the episode and can doubtless explain it. ”
“I should like to hear the explanation!” said
Pauline, with ﬂashing eyes. “As mistress here
now, I am interested to know why a stranger
should wander about this house at will.”
Mrs. Frothingham sat silent. Her face
showed not so much consternation or dismay as
a cold, calculating expression, as if debating just
what explanation she should offer.


FURTHER TESTIMONY 127
At last she spOke. “I may as well own up,”
she said, and laughed nervously. “I was on the
verandah, as the vigilant butler noticed. I did
step inside the hall, as I hadso often heard of the
rare tapestries and paintings, and, in my ennui,
I thought it no harm to take a peep. The great
door was ajar, and I was a little chilled by my
walk across the lawns. I said to myself, if I meet
any one I will merely beg a few moments’
grace and then run away. Yes, I did take a step
or two up the stair, to look at a picture on the
landing. It was all innocent enough, perhaps
not in the best of taste, but I was lonely, and the
light and warmth lured me. In a moment I had
slipped out and run away home, laughing over
my escapade like a foolish child.”
Her light laugh rippled out as she concluded
her story. She looked ingenuous and truthful,
but the Coroner distrusted feminine fairy-tales,
and this was a little too fanciful to be true.
Moreover, Mrs. Frothingham was looking at
him sharply from the corner of her eye. Clearly,
she was watching him to see how he took it.
He didn’t take it very well. The acknowl-
edged presence of an outsider in the house, for a
not very plausible reason, was illuminating in
his estimation. She had been on the stairway.
Had she been to Miss Carrington’s room? True,


128 THE CURVED BLADES
she said she went only to the landing—but
pshaw, women had no regard for the truth! Had
she and Count Charlier planned between them to
—bah, why did this woman want to kill her
neighbor? Even if she were jealous of the
Count ’s attention, would she go so far as crime?
No, of course not! He must question her fur-
ther. And yet, what good would that do, if she
would not tell the truth?
Well, she was in the house at half-past eleven,
that much was certain, for Stephen Illsley’s
story and her own and also the butler’s tes-
timony all coincided as to that.
And then, Detective Hardy, who had just re-
turned from a short errand, made a startling
statement. He declared that the glove which
had been found clasped tightly in the dead ﬁn-
gers of the late Miss Carrington did belong to
Count Henri Charlier.
Mr. Hardy had been searching the Count’s
wardrobe, and though he did not ﬁnd the mate to
that particular glove, he found many others,
some worn and some entirely unused, but all of
the same size and made by the same ﬁrm as the
one now in the Coroner’s possession!
Thus cornered Count Charlier reluctantly
admitted that it was his glove.
“I denied it,” he thus excused himself, “ be-
.4 .m- _- .


FURTHER TESTIMONY 129
cause I have no idea how it came into Miss Car-
rington’s possession, and I did not wish to im-
plicate her in an affair with my unworthy self.”
“H’m,” thought Gray Haviland, ﬁxing his
attention on the Count and on the ﬂustered Mrs.
Frothingham; “a precious pair of adventurers!
I expect Scoﬁel-d is right, we won’t need an ex-
pert detective. ”
There was more of the inquest. But its con-
tinuance brought out no developments not al~
ready here transcribed. There was much cross-
questioning and probing; there was much rather
futile effort to make all the strange details ﬁt any
one theory; there was variance of opinion; and
there was more or less dissension.
But as a ﬁnal result, the Coroner’s jury
brought in a verdict that Miss Lucy Carrington
met her death by poison administered by a per-
son or persons unknown, who thereafter, prob-
ably for the purpose of diverting attention from
the poison, struck her a blow on the head. The
jury in their deliberation felt that Count Henri
Charlier was implicated. But not having sufﬁ-
cient evidence to make a charge, suggested to the
detective force that he be kept under sur-
veillance.


X
BIZARRE CLUES
IT was Saturday. The funeral of Miss Car<
rington had been held the day before and the im-
posing obsequies had been entirely in keeping
with her love of elaborate display in life. The
casket was of the richest, the ﬂowers piled moun-
tain high, the music, the most expensive avail-
able; for the young people in charge had felt it
incumbent on them to arrange everything as
Miss Lucy would have desired it.
It was a pathetic commentary on the char-
acter of the dead woman that while all who
mourned her felt the shock and horror of her
death, they were not deeply bowed with sorrow.
Pauline, as nearest relative, would naturally
grieve most, but for the moment her affections
were lost sight of in the paralyzing effects of the
sudden tragedy.
Anita Frayne had practically “gone to
pieces.” She was nervous, and jumped twitch-
ingly if any one spoke to her.
Gray Haviland was reticent, an unusual thing
for him, and devoted most of his time to matters
of business connected with the estate.
Estelle, the maid, had succumbed to a ner-
vous break-down, and had been taken to a nearby
130


BIZARRE CLUES 131
sanatorium, where she indulged in frequent and
violent hysterics.
The household was in a continual excitement.
Lawyers and detectives were coming and going,
neighbors were calling, and reporters simply in-
fested the place.
Pauline and Anita, though outwardly polite,
were not on good terms, and rarely talked to-
gether.
But this morning the two girls and Haviland
' were called to a confab by Hardy, the detective.
“ They’ve arrested the Count,’ ’ Hardy began,
and Anita screamed an interruption:
“Arrested Count Charlier! Put him in
jail?”
“Yes,” returned the detective. “I found
the other one of that pair of gloves, the mate to
the one in the lady’s hands,—where, do you sup-
pose?’ ’
“Where?”
“Rolled up in a pair of socks, in the Count’s
chiffonnier drawer; of course, to hide it, as it is
not at all easy to destroy a thing like that while
visiting.” '
“I know it,” said Pauline, earnestly; “it is
hard. I’ve often noticed that, when I’ve wanted
to burn a letter or anything. You can ’t do it, un-
known to the servants or somebody.”


132 THE CURVED BLADES
“ Rubbish!” sai-d Anita. “ It would have been
easy for the Count to dispose of a glove if he had
wanted to. But he didn’t. He never committed
that crime! If a glove was found, as you say,
somebody else put it there to incriminate an in-
nocent man. It’s too absurd to fasten the thing
on Count Charlier! Do you suppose he went to
the boudoir and gave Miss Carrington poison,
and then shook hands good-evening, and left his
glove in her grasp? Nonsense! The glove in
her dead hand was put there by the criminal to
implicate the Count, and the glove in the
rolled-up socks for the same purpose and by the
same person!”
“By Jove, Miss Frayne! You may be
right!” cried Hardy. “Somehow I can’t see the
Count ’s hand in this thing, and yet ”
“And yet, he did it!” put in Haviland.
“Have they really jailed him? I ’m glad. ’ ’
“I’m sorry,” said Pauline, and her face was
white; “Did he—did he—c—confess?” The
girl’s voice trembled, and she could scarcely
pronounce the words.
“Not he,” said Hardy; “he seemed dazed,
and declared his innocence,—but he was not con-
vincing. He takes it very hard and talks wildly
and at random. But you know what Frenchmen
are; liable to go off their heads at any time.”


BIZARRE CLUES 133
“But look at it,” reasoned Anita; “why
would the Count kill Miss Carrington“! Why, he
thought of marrying her.”
“Not much he didn’t!” and Hardy smiled a
little. “I size it up this way. Matters had gone
so far that he had to propose to the lady
or clear out. He didn’t want to clear out
for then she would take back the little matter
of ten thousand dollars already marked for him
in her will. Moreover, he couldn’t realize that
tidy little sum, which he very much wants, so
long as she lived. To be sure, he would have had
far more, had he married her, but that was not in
‘his nibs’ ’ plans. So he resorted to desperate
measures. He’s a thorough villain, that man!
Outwardly, most correct and honorable, but
really, an adventurer, as is also his friend, the
dashing young widow.” 4
“Mr. Hardy,” and Pauline spoke calmly,
now, “do you know these things to be true of
Count Charlier, or are you assuming them?”
“Well, Miss Stuart, I know human nature
pretty well, especially male human nature, and if
I’m mistaken in this chap, I’ll be surprised. But
also, I’ve set afoot an investigation, and we’ll
soon learn his record, antecedents and all that.
At present, no one knows much about him; and
What Mrs. Fro'thingham knows she won’t tell.”


BIZARRE CLUES 135
“Yes, we have each ten thou’ beside, which
was all right of the old lady, eh, Anita?”
“None too much, considering what I have
stood from her capricious temper and eccentric
ways,” returned the girl.
“Your own temper is none too even,” said
Pauline, quietly; “ I ’d rather you wouldn’t speak
ill of my aunt, if you please.”
What might have been a passage at arms was
averted by the appearance of a footman with a
cablegram.
“It’s from Carr!” exclaimed Pauline, as she
tore it open, and read:
Awful news just received. Shall I come home or will you
come here? Let Haviland attend all business. Love and
sympathy.
CARBINGTON LORIA.
“He’s in Cairo, ’ ’ commented Haviland, look-
ing at the paper; “that’s lucky. If he had been
off up the Nile on one of his excavating tours,
we mightn’t have had communication for weeks.
Well, he practically retains me as business
manager, at least for the present. And Lord
know’s there’s a lot to be done!”
“I don’t understand, Gray, why you look
upon Carr as more in authority than I am,”said
Pauline, almost petulantly; ‘ ‘I am an equal heir,


BIZARRE CLUES 137
service than come over himself. And, too, what
could he do, more than we can? We shall, of
course, use every effort and every means to solve
the mysteries of the case, and he could advise us
no better than the lawyers already in our .
counsel.”
“That’s all true,” said Haviland; “and I
think Loria means that when he puts me in
charge of it all. But after a week or so we’ll get
a‘letter from him, and he’ll tell us what he
intends to do.”
“I shall cable him,” said Pauline, thought-
fully, “not to come over unless he wants to.
Then he can do as he likes. But he needn’t come
for my beneﬁt. The property must be divided
and all that, but we can settle any uncertainties
by mail or cable. And, I think I shall go on the
trip as we had planned it.”
“You do!” said Gray, in amazement: “Go
to Egypt?”
“Yes, I don’t see why not. I’d like the trip,
and it would take my mind off these horrors.
Our passage is booked for a February sailing.
If necessary I will postpone it a few weeks, but
I see no reason why I shouldn’t go. Do you?”
“No,” said Haviland, slowly.
Hardy seemed about to speak and then
thought better of it, and said nothing.


138 THE CURVED BLADES
“Of course I shall not go,” began Anita, and
Pauline interrupted her with:
“You go! I should say not! Why should
you?”
"‘Why shouldn’t I, if I choose?” returned
Anita, and her pink cheeks burned rosy. “I am
my own mistress, I have my own money. I am
as free to go as you are.”
“Of course you are,” said Pauline, coldly.
‘ ‘Only please advise me on what steamer you are
sailing.”
“That you may take another,” and Anita
laughed shortly. “But I may prefer to go on
the one you do. Aren’t you rather suddenly
anxious to leave this country?”
Pauline faced her. “Anita Frayne,” she
said, “if you suspect me of crime, I would rather
you said so deﬁnitely, than to ﬂing out these
continual innuendoes. Do you?’ ’
“I couldn’t say that Pauline. But there are,
—there certainly are some things to be ex-
plained regarding your interview with your
aunt on Tuesday night. You know, I heard you
in her room.”
“Your speech, Anita, is that of a guilty con-
science. As you well know, I saw you come from
her room at the hour you accuse me of being
there.”


BIZARRE CLUES ‘ 139
“Let up, girls,” said Haviland; “you only
make trouble by that sort of talk. ’ ’
“But when an innocent man is arrested,
Pauline ought to tell What she knows!”
“I have told, and it seems to implicate you!”
The impending scene was averted by Havi-
land, who insisted on knowing What word should
be sent to Loria. ,
“May as well get it off,” he said; “it takes
long enough to get word back and forth to him,
anyway. What shall I say for you, Polly“! ”
“Tell him to come over or not, just as he
prefers, but that I shall be quite content if he
does not care to come; and that I shall go to
Egypt as soon as I can arrange to do so. Put it
into shape yourself,-—you know more about
cabling than I do.”
Haviland went away to the library, and
Hardy followed.
“Look here, Mr. Haviland,” said the latter,
“what do these ladies mean by accusing each
other of all sorts of things? Did either of them
have any hand in this murder?”
“Not in a thousand years!” declared Gray,
emphatically. “The girls never loved each
other, but lately, even before the death of Miss
Lucy, they have been at daggers drawn. I don’t
know why, I’m sure!”


140 THE CURVED BLADES
“But what do you make of this story of Miss
Frayne’s about hearing Miss Stuart in her
aunt’s room?”
“She didn’t hear her. I mean she didn’t hear
Miss Stuart; What she heard was Miss Oarring-
ton talking to herself. The old lady was erratic
in lots of ways.”
“Why do you all say the old lady? She
wasn’t really old. ”
“About ﬁfty. But she tried so hard to ap-
pear young, that it made her seem older.”
“She was in love with the Count, of course “I ’ ’
“Yes; as she was in love with any man she
could attach. No, that’s not quite true. Miss
Lucy cared only for interesting men, but if she
could corral one of those, she used every effort to
snare him. ”
“Is the illustrious Count interesting?”
‘ ‘ She found him so. And, yes, he always enter-
tained us. She made that bequest to attract his
attention and lure him on. And then ”
“Well, and then?”
“Oh, then he couldn’t withstand the tempta-
tion and he shuﬂied her off, to make sure of the
money now. ’ ’ '
“You think he killed her, then?”
“Who else? Those girls never used a black-
jack—”


BIZARRE CLUES 141
.“But the poison?”
“Had it been poison alone, there might be a
question. But that stunning blow has to be re-
membered. And neither Miss Stuart nor Miss
Frayne can be thought of for a moment in con-
nection with that piece of brutality.”
“But the snake? The queer costume?”
“The costume wasn’t so queer—for a bou-
doir garb. The snake is inexplicable,—unless
the man has a disordered mind, and used insane
methods to cover his tracks. Then there’s the
glove, you can’t get around that!”
‘ ‘ That glove might have been put in her hand
by anybody.”
“That 's so! By a professional burglar, say!
I really believe—”
‘ ‘ Oh, let up on that professional burglar busi-
ness! No burglar is going off without his loot.
when he has uninterrupted time enough to kill a
person twice, with poison and then, to hide that,
with a fractured skull! How do you explain,
even in theory, those two murderous attacks?”
“Good Lord, man, I don’t know! It’s all the
most inexplicable muddle. I don’t see how any
of the things could happen, but they did happen!
You’re the detective, not I! Aren’t you ever
going to discover anything?”
“I may as well own up, Mr. Haviland, I am


BIZARRE CLUES 143
mention it to Miss Stuart until I get the per-
mission.”
“Do. For as you say, the two ladies cannot
possibly be involved, and I, for one, don’t believe
that nincompoop Count ever pulled off such a
complicated affair all by himself.”
“What about the widow he ’s visiting?’ ’
“Ah, there you have it! Those two are in it,
but there’s more mystery yet.”
“I’d like to have it straightened out,” said
Haviland, thoughtfully. “In a way, I feel re-
sponsible to Loria, since he has put me in charge.
And if he wants me to get Stone, I’ll be glad to do
so. As you say, it can’t affect the girls,—that
stuff Anita made up was only to bother Pauline.
You see, Pauline came back at her with a counter
accusation. They’re both unstrung and upset,
and they scarcely know what they’re saying.”
“Then there’s that French maid.”
“Oh, Estelle. She’s a. negligible quantity.
She ’s hysterical from sheer nervousness, and she
lies so fast she can hardly keep up with herself. ”
“Well, think it over, and if you see your way
clear to call in Stone, I’ll be mighty glad. If the
Frenchman is the guilty party, Stone will nail
him and prove it beyond all doubt. And if not, we
surely don’t want an innocent man to swing. ”
‘ ‘ That we don’t, ’ ’ agreed Haviland.


XI
FLEMING STONE
“YES, I have often heard the idea expressed
that the more bizarre the clues appear, the easier
the solution of the mystery. And this is fre-
quently true. ”
Fleming Stone looked from one to another of
the interested group of listeners. They sat in
the library,—Pauline, Anita, Gray Haviland
and the young detective, Hardy.
Haviland had carried out his plan of cabling
Carrington Loria for authority to employ Mr.
Stone, and had received a reply to use his own
judgment in all such matters and charge the ex-
pense to Loria ’s account.
Pauline had been opposed to the idea of call-
ing Fleming Stone to the case, but as she seemed
unable to put forth any valid objections, Havi-
land had insisted until she gave her consent. So
arrangements had been quickly made, and the
great Detective had reached Garden Steps on
Wednesday afternoon, just a week after the dis-
covery of the murder.
Previously unacquainted with Stone, the
Whole household was interested in his personal-
ity, and this preliminary conversation was by
way of introduction.
144


FLEMING STONE 145
A man of nearly ﬁfty, Fleming Stone was tall
and well proportioned, with a carriage and hear-
ing that gave an impression of strength. His
clear-cut face and ﬁrm jaw gave the same char-
acter indications as are seen in portraits of
Lincoln, but his features were far more harmo-
nious than those of our rugged-faced president.
Stone’s hair, thick and dark, was slightly
grayed at the temples, and his deep-set eyes were
now lustrous, and again, shadowed, like the
water of a dark pool. His lean jaw and forceful
mouth made his face in repose somewhat stern,
but this effect was often banished by his delight-
ful smile, which softened his whole countenance
and gave him a. distinct air of friendliness.
His manner was full of charm, and even
Pauline became fascinated as she watched him
and listened to his talk.
Fully at ease and skilfully directing the con-
versation, while he seemed merely sharing it,
Stone was studying and classifying the new ele-
ments with which he had to deal. Not yet had he
inquired as to the details of the case in hand, he
was discussing detective work in general, much
to the gratiﬁcation of Tom Hardy, who listened
as a pupil at the feet of Gamaliel.
“Yes,” went on Stone, settling back sociany
in his easy chair, while the others unconsciously
10


146 THE CURVED BLADES
fell into more informal postures, “Yes, bizarre
effects do often point the way to a successful
quest. Why, once, a man was found dead, with
his feet in a tub of cold water. It was discovered
that his feet had been immersed after death had
taken place. Obviously the tub of water had
been used as a blind, to fog up the case. But the
very character of the clue led at once to a man
who was known as a ‘cold water ﬁend,’ and a
ﬁend indeed he was. He was the murderer. You
see, he was clever, but not clever enough. He
had wit enough to think of the queer circum-
stance of the tub of water, but not enough to
realize that the clue would lead directly to his
own undoing. ”
Everybody looked thoughtful, but it was
Hardy who spoke; “Yes, Mr. Stone,” he said,
“but that clue was put there on purpose. Do you
think these strange effects connected with Miss
Carrington’s murder were deliberately ar~
ranged?” '
“That I can’t tell now, Mr. Hardy. In fact, I
have not heard a connected and circumstantial
account of the discoveries, as yet. Suppose we go
over the case, leisurely, and let me get a com—
plete account by means of a general conversa*
tion. I will ask questions, or you may volunteer
information, as seems most enlightening. Tell


FLELIIN G STONE 147
me ﬁrst of the character and characteristics of
Miss Carrington. Was she timid, or fearful of
burglars?”
“ Not at all, ” said Haviland. “ She was care-
ful to have the house locked up at night by the
servants, but she had no burglar alarms or any-
thing of that sort.”
‘ ‘ If a marauder had appeared, would she have
been likely to scream out in aﬂright?”
“N o, I don’t think so,” volunteered Anita.
“She would more likely demand to know what he
wanted and order him out.”
“Yet the black-jack clearly indicates a burg-
lar,” went on Stone; “I can’t imagine an or-
dinary citizen, of any calling, owning or using
such a weapon.” ,
“Have you examined the thing?” asked
Haviland.
“No; I should like to see it.”
Tom Hardy at once produced it, having.
brought it with him from Police Headquarters,
for the purpose.
“H’m,” said Fleming Stone, as he ﬁngered
the not very alarming-looking affair. In fact, itv
was merely a long, narrow bag, made of dark
cloth and ﬁlled with shot. The bag was tied
tightly at one end witha bit. of twine to preventE ,
the escape of the contents. ' -


148 THE CURVED BLADES
“Home-made affair,” Stone went on. “Made
probably by a professional burglar, but an ama-
teur murderer. See, it is merely a bit of heavy
cloth, cut from an old coat sleeve or trouser leg,
sewed up in a bungling manner to make a bag.
It is stitched with coarse black thread and the
stitches are drawn hard and ﬁrm, evidently
pulled through by a strong hand. Then, ﬁlled
with shot, it is tied with a bit of old ﬁsh-line,
which also is pulled and knotted by muscular
ﬁngers. And ”’ Stone paused abruptly.
“And—-” prompted Anita, breathlessly, her
eyes ﬁxed on the speaker.
“Nothing much,” and Stone smiled; “only
I should say the burglar lived in a house recently
remodeled. ”
Hardy nodded in satisfaction. This was the
sort of deduction he was looking for. Next he
hoped for the color of the man’s hair, and the
sort of cigar he smoked. But he was doomed to
disappointment.
‘ ‘We seem to have drifted from the subject of
Miss Carrington,” Stone said. “The evening
before her death was she in her usual spirits?
Evidently no premonition of her fate?”
“On the contrary,” said Gray, “she re-
marked during the evening that something would
happen to her that night which would surprise


FLEMING STONE 149
and astound us all. She said distinctly that ‘to-
morrow everything would be different. ’ ’ ’
“What did you understand her to mean by
that?”
“We couldn’t understand it at all. It was
most mysterious. Nor do we yet know what she
meant. For surely she had no thought of dying.
She spent the evening playing cards and listen-
ing to music, and conversation with the family
and guests, quite as usual.”
‘ ‘In amiable mood?” asked Stone.
“No,” replied Pauline, taking up the talk;
“on the contrary she was exceedingly irritable
and ill-tempered.”
“You saw her after she went to her room for
the night?” and Stone turned his whole attention
to Pauline.
“Yes; Miss Frayne and I always went to her
room with her, to say good-night and to receive
possible orders or suggestions for the next day’s
occupations. ’ ’
‘ ‘And you say she was unamiable ?”
“That is a mild word,” and Pauline smiled a
little. “She was in a high temper, and she told
us both that we were to leave this house the
next day.”
“You both left her in that mood?”
“Yes, we were obliged to do so. She dis-


150 THE CURVED BLADES
missed us peremptorily and ordered us from the
room.”
“And you saw her next, Miss Stuart, when?”
asked Fleming Stone gently.
Pauline hesitated for a perceptible instant,
then she said, with a slight air of bravado,
“next morning. ”
“I have been told the main facts,” went on
Stone, “but I want to learn certain details.
Please tell me, Miss Stuart, exactly how she then
appeared.’ ’
“Oh, I can’t!” and Pauline ﬂung her face into
her hands with a short, sharp cry.
“I should think you couldn’t!” exclaimed
Anita, and her voice was distinctly accusing.
This seemed to rouse Pauline, and she looked
up haughtily at the speaker. “I don’t wonder
you think so!” she cried. “But since you ask,
Mr. Stone, I will do the best I can. My aunt was
seated at her dressing-table, but not in her usual
chair,—or indeed, as if she were in any way at-
tending to her toilette,-—but in an easy chair,
more as if she were sitting there in contempla-
tion.”
“Was she given to such indications of van-
ity?” asked Stone, in a gentle way.
“Not at all. My aunt was not a beautiful
woman, and she had no illusions about her per-


FLEMING STONE 151
sonal appearance. I have never known her to
look at herself in a mirror more than was neces-
sary for her dressing. Her maid will tell you
this.”
“Go on, please, Miss Stuart.”
“When I saw my aunt, she was sitting
placidly, even smilingly,—-and I did not, for a
moment, imagine she was not alive. Then I no-
ticed her large tortoise-shell comb was broken to
bits, and I noticed, too, her rigid, staring face.
The next few moments are a confused memory
to me, but I know I touched her hand and felt it
cold, then I called to Mr. Haviland and he came.”
“Tell me of your aunt’s garb. I understand
it was most unusual.”
“Only in the accessories. The gown she had
on was a negligée of Oriental make and fabric,
elaborate, but one of which she was fond and
which she had worn several times. Round her
shoulders was a scarf, one of those heavy Syrian
ones, of net patterned with silver. Then, she
had on quantities of jewelry. Not only her
pearls, and a few pins, which she had worn
during the evening, but she had added many
brooches and bracelets and rings of great
value.”
“She was wearing, let us say, a hundred
thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry?”


152 THE CURVED BLADES
“Far more than that. Her pearls alone are
worth that amount. Her diamond sunburst is
valued at ﬁfty thousand dollars and her emerald
brooch is equally valuable. My aunt believed in
gems as an investment, and though she usually
kept them in a safe deposit vault, she had re-
cently taken them from there, and had them all
in the house. ” '
“A strange proceeding?”
“Very. I have never known such a thing
to occur before unless for some especial social
occasion.”
“And the paper snake, of which I have been
told_”
“That is the strangest part of all! My aunt
was not only afraid of live snakes, but she had
also a perfect horror of any picture or artiﬁcial
representation of them. She could never, in her
right mind, have placed that paper snake about
her own neck, nor would she have allowed any
one else to do it, without screaming out in horror.
Yet, the doctors declare it must have been placed
round her neck before death. Therefore, it is
to me entirely unexplainable.”
“Is not that a bizarre clue that should make
the case an easy one?” asked Anita, with an in-
quiring glance at Stone.
“It may be so,” he replied, with a thoughtful


FLEMING STONE 155
gently, “until the murderer of your aunt is ap-
prehended with certainty?”
‘ ‘ I cannot say, ’ ’ and suddenly Pauline ﬂushed
rosily and looked distinctly embarrassed.
“Rather not!” declared Anita, with an un-
pleasant glance, and Fleming Stone made haste
to introduce a new phase of the subject.


XII
ESTELLE’S STORY
AT the invitation of Haviland, Fleming Stone
was a house guest at Garden Steps. Pauline had
raised objections to this, but with Carr Loria’s
authority back of him, Gray had insisted, and
Pauline unwillingly consented.
Stone himself recognized the fact that Paul-
ine disliked him, or at any rate disliked having
him on the case, but he ignored it and showed
to her the same gracious manner and pleasant
attitude that he showed to all. Anita, on the
other hand, seemed charmed with Stone; She
lost no opportunity to talk with him, and she
used every endeavor to attract his attention to
herself. In fact, she tried to ﬂirt with him, and
much to the surprise of the others, Stone seemed
ready to meet her advances and respond to them.
The morning after his arrival, breakfast
over, Stone announced his intention of making a
thorough examination of Miss Carrington’s
rooms, and asked that he be permitted to go
alone for the purpose.
“If Mr. Hardy comes, send him up,” he
ordered, as Haviland unlocked the door to give
him admittance.
Stone passed through the boudoir to the
156


ESTELLE’S STORY ' 157
bedroom and from that to the elaborate dress-
ing-room and bath. Quickly he noted the
obvious details. Everything had been left prac-
tically untouched, and his rapid, trained gaze
took in the bed, turned down but not slept in;
the toilet accessories laid ready in the bath-
room; and the fresh, unused towels, that proved
the unfortunate victim had not prepared to
retire, but had, for some reason, donned her
jewels at that unusual hour.
Back to the boudoir Stone went and made
there more careful scrutiny. Carefully he ex-
amined the white dust of powder on the ﬂoor.
At Hardy’s orders, this had not been swept
away, and Stone stood, with folded arms, look-
ing at it._ He saw the place Where the powder
had been smeared about,—he had been told of
this,—but he saw other places where faint foot-
prints were to his keen eye discernible. Not
sufﬁciently clear to judge much of their char-
acteristics, but enough to show that a stock-
inged foot had imprinted them.
“Well, what do you make of the tracks?”
asked Hardy, coming in upon his meditations.
“Their tale is a short one but clear,” re-
turned Stone, smiling a greeting to the younger
detective. “As you see, they go out of the
room only, they don’t come in.”


ESTELLE’S STORY 159
mistaken. Why, there’s no theory that would
account for hitting a dead person!”
“And yet, that is what happened. No,
Hardy, the doctors are not mistaken about the
hour of death, and about the poison in her sys-
tem and all that. But the most obvious and
most important clue, for the moment, is that
black-jack. Just where was it found?”
“Right here, Mr. Stone, under the edge of
this couch. Hidden on purpose, of course.”
“N o, I think not. Dropped by the burglar,
rather, when he was startled by something un-
expected. You see, he doubtless stood here,
where the powder is dusted about, and to drop
the thing quickly, it would fall or be ﬂung just
there where it was found.”
“Yes, but what scared him, if he didn’t hear
anything?”
“Something that frightened him so terribly
that he ﬂed without taking the jewels he had
come for! Something that made him make
quick, straight tracks for the door and down-
stairs and out, by the way he had entered.”
“Good lord! Say, Mr. Stone, you think it
was that make-believe Count, don’t you?”
“Why make-believe?”
“Oh, somehow, I feel sure he’s a fake. He’s
not the real thing,—or I ’m greatly mistaken!”


160 THE CURVED BLADES
“Let me see that glove found in her hand.
Have you it with you?”
Hardy had brought some of the exhibits,
held by the police, and, taking the glove from his
bag, he handed it to Fleming Stone.
Stone looked at the glove hastily, but, raising
it to his nose, smelled of it very carefully.
“No,” he said, returning it, “no, the Count
is not the man who wielded the black-jack. I’m
fairly certain of that.”
“ Well, I ’m blessed if I can see how you know
by smelling! By the way, Mr. Stone, I suppose
you heard all about the conversation that Miss
Frayne related as taking place in this room
after one o’clock that night?”
“Yes, I’ve read the full account of it. What
do you think about it?”
“Oh, I think it was the Count,talking to Miss
Carrington before he killed her. He has a very
low voice, and speaks almost inaudibly always.
Then, you see, he is down in her will for ten
thousand dollars of those bonds, and he’s very
fond of pearls, ”
“What’s that? Who said he was fond of
pearls?”
“Oh, maybe you didn’t hear about that.
Why, Miss Frayne remembered afterward, that
another sentence she heard Miss Carring-


162 THE CURVED BLADES
lower type of brain, a more thick~skinned
criminal.”
Stone spoke musingly, looking about the
room as he talked.
“Could it be,” he went on, “that she was
talking to herself? or, say, to a picture,——a pho-
tograph of somebody? I don’t see any photo-
graphs about.”
Both men looked around, but there were no
portraits to be seen.
“Funny,” said Hardy: “most women have
photographs of their family or relatives all over
the place. Not even one of Miss Stuart or of her
nephew, Loria.”
“No, nor any of absent friends or school-
mates.” Stone looked over all the silver para-
phernalia of the dressing-table and other tables
for even a small framed photograph that might
have escaped notice, but found none. On the
walls hung only gilt-framed water colors or
photographs of famous bits of art or architec-
ture in dark wood frames. Many of these were
of old world masterpieces, Italian cathedrals or
Egyptian temples. Others were a well-known
Madonna, a. Venus of Milo, and one at which
Hardy exclaimed, “She’s a sure enough peach!
Who’s she?”
“That’s Cleopatra, starting on her Nile


ESTELLE’S STORY 163
trip,” said Stone, smiling at Hardy’s evident
admiration.
“ ’Tis, eh? Then Loria brought it to her.
He’s daffy over anything Egyptian. And he’s
mighty generous. The house is full of the stuff
he brings or sends over; and it’s his money, Mr.
Stone, that pays your damages. Miss Stuart,
now, she’s none too free-handed, they say.”
But Fleming Stone paid little heed to this
gossip. He was studying the photographs of
the dead lady as being of far more interest than
pictures on the boudoir walls.
“Where’s that maid?” he said suddenly;
“the one who brought the breakfast tray——”
“She’s in the sanatorium,” returned
Hardy; “we told you that, Mr. Stone.”
“Yes, yes, I know. But where? Can I see
her? Now, at once!”
“Yes, I suppose so. It’s right near here. A
small private affair, only a few patients. They
needn’t really have sent her, but she carried on
so, Miss Stuart wouldn’t have her about any
longer.”
“Come, let us go there.” As he spoke,
Fleming Stone left the room, and without wait~
ing for the hurrying Hardy, ran downstairs,
and was in the hall, getting into his great coat
when the other joined him.


164 THE CURVED BLADES
So great was Hardy’s faith in his superior,
and so anxious was he to watch his methods,
that he donned his own overcoat without a
word, and the two set forth.
It was only a short walk, and on the way,
Stone looked about in‘ every direction, asking
innumerable questions about the neighboring
houses and their occupants.
After passing several large and handsome
estates, they came to a district of less elaborate
homes, and after that to a section of decidedly
poorer residences. At one of these, Stone stared
hard, but not till they were well past it, did he
inquire who lived there.
“Dunno,” replied Hardy; “it’s a sort of
boarding-house, I think, for the lower classes.”
“Is it?” said Stone, and they went on.
At the sanatorium they found Estelle. She
was not hysterical now, but was in a sort of
apathetic mood, and listless of manner.
Stone spoke to her with polite address, and
a manner distinctly reassuring.
“It will be much better for you, Estelle,”
he said, pleasantly, “if you will speak the truth.
Better for you, and better for you know
whom.” I
His signiﬁcant tone roused her, “I don’t
know who you mean,” she exclaimed.


ESTELLE’S STORY 165
“Oh, yes, you do! somebody whose name
begins with H, or B, or S.”
“I don’t know any one beginning with S,”
and Estelle frowned deﬁantly.
“But some one with——” Stone leaned for-
ward, and in the tense pause that followed,
Estelle ’s lips half formed a silent ‘B’.
“Yes,” went on Stone, as if he had not
paused. “If you will tell the whole truth, it
will be better for Bates in the long run.”
Estelle beganto tremble. “What do you
know?” she cried out, and showed signs of hys-
teria.
“I know a great deal,” said Stone, gravely,
“and, unless assisted by what you know, my
knowledge will bring trouble to your friend.”
“What do you want me to tell you?” and
Estelle, now on her guard, spoke slowly and
clearly, but her fingers were nervously twining
themselves in and out of her crumpled hand-
kerchief.
“Only your own individual part in the pro-
ceedings. The rest we will learn from Bates
himself.”
“How do you know it was Bates?”
“We have learned much since you left Gar-
den Steps,” and now Stone spoke a little more
sternly. Hardy looked at him in wonder. Who


166 THE CURVED BLADES
was this .Bates, clearly implicated in the mur-
der, and known to Estelle?
“You see, Mr. Haviland saw you go down to
open the window for him to come in,” Stone
went on, as casually as if he were retailing in-
nocent gossip. “Did you go down again and
close it?”
“I haven’t said I opened it yet,” and Estelle
ﬂashed an irate glance at her questioner.
“No, but you will do so when you realize
how necessary it is. I tell you truly, when I
say that only your honesty now can save your
friend Bates from the electric chair.”
Estelle shuddered and began to cry vi-
olently.
“That only makes matters worse,” said
Stone patiently. “Listen to me. This is your
only chance to save Bates’ life. If I go to the
police with what I know, they' will convict him
of the murder beyond all doubt. If you tell me
what I ask,—I think, I hope, between us, we can
prove that he did not do it.”
“But didn’t he?” and Estelle looked up with
hope dawning in her eyes.
“I think not. Now there’s no time to waste.
Tell me what I ask or you will lose your chance
to do so. You opened the living-room window
for Bates to come in, at about three o’clock?”


ESTELLE’S STORY 167
“Yes,” admitted the girl.
“And went down and closed and fastened it
alt—’7
“Five o’clock,” came in lowest tones.
“Not knowing that Miss Oarrington was
dead?”
“Oh, N 0 !”
“For Bates went there only to steal the
jewels?”
(ﬁYes.7,
“And so, when you took the breakfast tray,
and found the lady—as you did ﬁnd her—you
were frightened out of your Wits, and dropped
the tray?”
‘KYes.’,
“And so, to shield Bates, who you thought
had killed her, you lied right and left, even' try-
ing to incriminate Miss Stuart?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you seen Bates since?”
“No, sir.”
“And until now you have thought he killed
your mistress “Z.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Another thing, Estelle; you put bromide in
the glass of milk in order that Miss Carrington
might sleep soundly, and not hear Bates come
in?”


168 THE CURVED BLADES
“She didn’t drink that milk!”
“But you ﬁxed it, thinking she would?”
l‘Yes.,’
“That’s all. Come on, Hardy.” and some-
what unceremoniously, Stone took leave, and
made for the nearest telephone station.
After that, matters whizzed. Stone had
called the Police Headquarters and asked that
an ofﬁcer be sent with a warrant for the arrest
of Bates.
“How do you know where he is?” asked
Hardy, nearly bursting with curiosity.
“I’m not sure, but at least I know where to
start looking for him,” Stone replied, as the two
went back the way they had come.
Stone stopped at the boarding-house he had
noticed on the way to the sanatorium, and rang
the bell.
Sure enough,Bates lived there and Bates was
at home.
At Stone’s ﬁrst questions he broke down and
confessed to the assault with the black-jack.
“But I didn’t kill her!” he cried, “she was
already dead! Oh, my God! can I ever forget
those terrible, staring eyes! The saints forgive
me! I was half crazy. There she was, dead, and
yet smiling and happy looking! Oh, sir, what
does it all mean?”


XIII
BATES, THE BURGLAR
BROUGHT before the magistrate, Bates told
a coherent though amazing story.
It seems he was Estelle ’s lover, andhad long
ago persuaded her to let him know when Miss
Carrington had a quantity of jewelry in the
house, that he might essay a robbery. The plan
was simple. Estelle had promised to slip down-
stairs at three o’clock and raise a window for
his entrance, and later, but before any one else
was about, she was to slip down and lock it
again. In the meantime, they assumed, the
burglary would be quietly accomplished, their
supposition being that Miss Carrington would
be asleep in her bedroom, and the boudoir easy
of access.
“You entered by the window, then, at what
time?” asked Stone, who was doing most of the
questioning. _
“At quarter of four in the morning,” re-
plied Bates, and all noted that this was shortly
before the hour when Mrs. Frothingham saw
through her ﬁeld-glass a man leaving by the
same window.
“You went directly up the stairs?”
“Yes; Estelle had often told me the lay of
169


17 0 THE CURVED BLADES
the rooms, and I went straight to the lady’s
boodore.”
“You carried with you a ‘black-jack.’ Did
you have murder in your heart?”
“That I did not! I took that, thinkin’ if the
lady woke up and screamed, I’d just give her
a tap that would put her to sleep without hurtin’
her at all, at all. I’m no murderer, Sir, and I’m
confessin’ my attempt at burglary, and—and
assault, so I won’t be accused of a greater
crime.”
“That’s right, Bates, it’ll be better for you
to be perfectly truthful. Now, what did you see
when you entered the room?” ,
“I had stepped inside and shut the door be-‘
fore I saw anything, and then, I turned to see
the lady’s face, but in the mirror. I was be-
hind her, and in the glass I saw her smilin’ face.
and of course, I thought she was alive, and that
she saw me. I knew she’d scream in a minute,
and the sight of all the jewels gleamin’ on her
neck drove me fair crazy with greed, I suppose,
and I up with my sandbag, and hit her head, not
meanin’ to hit hard enough to kill her, but only
to knock her unconscious-like.”
“And then?”
“The blow smashed the big comb she was
wearin’ but she didn’t move nor fall over. She


BATES, THE BURGLAR 171
was leanin’ back in her big chair, and she jest sat
there, and kept on smilin’. My knees shook like
the ague, for I thought it was magic, or that
my eyes was deceivin’ me. There was no sound
anywhere, and I stood starin’ at that smilin’
face and she starin’ back at me! I nearly
screamed out myself! But I bucked up, and
thinkin’ that she was struck unconscious so
quick, her face didn’t change, I made to take off
some of the jewels I was after. I touched her
neck and it was cold! The lady was dead! Had
been dead some time, I was sure, ’cause she was
so cold and stiff. I trembled all over, but my
only thought then was to get out. Not for a
million dollars would I touch them sparklers!
There ain’t often a burglar who is ghoul enough
to rob a corpse! Leastways, I’m not. I
wouldn’t. I wouldn’t! I’m a tough and a bad
egg generally, but I wouldn’t steal from no
corpse! Not I!”
“ So you left the house at once?”
“That I did, as fast as my tremblin’ legs
could get me downstairs. I was clean daft. I
couldn’t make it out and I didn’t try. I thought
it was the Devil’s own work, somehow, but how,
, I didn’t know. My mind was full, makin’ my
escape. I ran like the old boy was after me, and
reachin’ home, I hid under me bedclothes and


BATES, THE BURGLAR 173
Stone smiled. “It was the black-jack that gave
me the clue. If the fellow hadn’t dropped that
in his fright, we might never have traced him.
Though we would perhaps have found him
eventually, through the maid, Estelle. She is
not good at keeping things secret. However, he
did drop the weapon, and it led straight to
him.”
“But how?”
“Well, the thing smelled strongly of creo-
sote. Now, it was made from a bit of old cloth
that looked like a piece of some discarded gar-
ment,—a man’s coat, say. If the odor had been
camphor or moth balls, I should have assumed
a garment laid away in storage, but creosote is
not used for that purpose. So I deduced a
house recently remodeled by use of a certain
kind of shingles. I know. that the odor of those
shingles clings to everything in the house for
months. It is almost ineradicable. So I lOoked
about for a house lately reshingled. ” ‘
“Why not a new house?” asked Hardy, who
was present.
“A point well taken,” said Stone, nodding
approval, “but in a new house the odor often
is dispelled before the people move in. In a re_
modeled house, the furnishings stay there
during the work and so are deeply impregnated


174 THE CURVED BLADES
with that unmistakable smell of creosote. At
any rate, I worked on that, and when I found
that a newly shingled old house was a boarding-
house of the type Bates would be likely to live
in, I went there to see, and found him. ”
“Yes, but how did you know there was such
a person as Bates? Where did you get his
name?”
“From your cook,” returned Stone, simply.
“I concluded there was no doubt that Estelle
had let the man in and relocked the window
afterward. So I deduced a friend of the girl’s
so dear to her that she would do this for him.
I asked the cook, Mrs. Haskins, as to Estelle’s
admirers and learned that there were two,
Bates and Higgins. Mrs. Haskins couldn’t say
which one Estelle more favored, so I decided to
try both. Bates—the cook told me\—lived in a
boarding-house near here, and Higgins over in
New York. So when I asked Estelle aifew lead-
ing questions I pretended to greater knowledge
than I really had. I spoke of a name beginning
with either B, H, or S. She fell into the\ trap
and said quickly that she knew no one initialed
S. Then I said, ‘but beginning with ’ nd
waited; she said no name, but involuntarilylher
lips form a silent ‘B,’ and I knew she had Bates
in mind. The rest was easy. Bates, the board:


BATES, THE BURGLAR 175
ing-house and the shingles formed a combina-
tion too indicative to be merely coincidence.
And so we found him. And I, for one, believe
his story. I know the strong superstition that
imbues those people concerning a corpse, and
the unexpected discovery that he had attacked
one was enough to make that man beside himself.
Indeed, it’s a wonder that he didn’t himself make
an outcry in his terror and fright.”
“I have heard of your prowess in these
matters,” said Haviland, “but I didn’t look for
such quick work as this. Why, you hadn’t even
interviewed Estelle when you came to your
conclusions about Bates.”
“No, but remember, I have seen a full ac-
count of all the evidence, not only at the in-
quest, but all that has been gathered by the
police and by Mr. Hardy here. Last night I read
all this carefully, and it was enlightening on
these points that led up to to-day’s work. But,
now, I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Haviland,
that a much more difﬁcult and complicated
problem faces us, to discover who gave to Miss
Carrington the poisn that killed her.” ‘,
“Have you any suspicions?” and Gray
looked the Detective straight in the eyes.
“I have not, as yet,” and FlemingStone re-
turned the steady gaze. ' “Have you?”, ,-, - '


176 THE CURVED BLADES
Gray Haviland hesitated. Then he said: “I
would rather not answer that question, Mr.
Stone. If I should have suspicions, and they
should be unjust or ill-founded, is it not better to
leave them unmentioned, even to you? You are
here to discover the criminal. I can not think my
suspicions, if I have any, could help you, but they
might easily hinder you by wrong suggestion.”
“Very well, Mr. Haviland, just as you
please. But I assume you will tell me frankly
anything you may know or learn in the way of
direct evidence bearing on the matter?”
“That, certainly.” But though Haviland’s
words were a deﬁnite promise, his tone and
manner seemed hesitant, and a triﬂe vague.
“Am I to have the privilege of working with
you, Mr. Stone?” inquired Hardy, his heart
beating tumultuously lest he receive a negative
answer.
“If you care to. And if you are willing to
work in my way. I am somewhat impatient of
interference or questioning. But, if you want to
assist in investigating, under my absolute
orders, I shall be glad to have you do so.”
Nothing was further from Hardy’s mind
than to interfere or to show any undue curiosity
concerning the work or methods of the great
Detective. He was more than content to watch


BATES, THE BURGLAR 177
silently, to run errands, and to make himself
useful in any way desired by his superior. He
said this, and Stone nodded indulgently.
“I shall begin with this-matter of the arrest
of Count Charlier,” said Stone, as he looked
over his note-book. “Either that man is the
guilty party or he is not. If not, he must be
released. If so, it must be proven. What do
you know of his history, Mr. Haviland?”
“Very little, Mr. Stone. In the ﬁrst place,
I doubt his right to the title he assumes.”
“You do? And why?”
Haviland looked a little embarrassed. “I’m
not sure I know why. But he doesn’t act like a
real Count.” _
“Yes? And how do real Counts act, I mean
in ways that differ from this man’s habits?”
“You’re having fun with me, Mr. Stone,”
and Gray blushed like a school-boy. “But I
mean it. It’s this way. I’m not a. Count, but if
I wanted to pretend I was, I’d act just as Count
Charlier does. There!”
“Good! That’s deﬁnite, at least. Now
make it a. little more so by describing some of
these actions.”
“Well,” and Haviland’s brow wrinkled,
“well, to begin with, hismanners are too slick
and polished.”
12


178 THE CURVED BLADES
“A traditiOnal trait of Frenchmen.”
“Yes, if real. But his seem artiﬁcially, pur-
posely,——oh, fakely polished! Have you seen
him, Mr. Stone?”
“No, not yet.”
“When you do, you’ll see what I mean. He
has shifty eyes, and he rubs his hands together,
and if he’s standing, he half bows with every
sentence he utters, and he smirks instead'of
smiling, and his whole attitude is a ﬁfty-ﬁfty of
apology and bumptiousness. ’ ’
“Bravo !' You’ve given a graphic picture of
him at all events. I’ll reserve further considera-
tion of his personality until I have seen him.”
“You believe implicitly all that story of
Bates, do you, Mr. Stone?” and Haviland looked
dubiously at the Detective.
, “Yes, I do, at present. If anything turns up
to disprove any part of it I may have to revise
my ideas. But‘just now, it seems to me that
Bates told'the simple truth. To be sure, he only
told it because he feared an accusation of mur-
der, and'he knew that to confeSs to the lesser
crime= would go far to help him deny the
greater.”
“You may be right. But might there not
be collusion between Friend Count and Bates?”
“Collusion?”


BATES, THE BURGLAR 179
“Just that,” and Gray shook his head dog-
gedly. “I’ve a vague idea that Frenchy is
mixed up in this thing somehow. Now, he
couldn’t possibly have administered the poison,
himself, personally, nor could he have struck
the blow personally, but couldn’t he have hired
the man Bates to do it for him?”
“On the face of things, Mr. Haviland, does
that look plausible? Is the Count, as you de-
scribe him, a man who would engage a burglar
of the Bates type to commit a brutal crime?
Again, if Bates were merely the Count’s tool,
would he not, when caught, pass the blame on to
his employer?”
“He sure would! You are right, Mr. Stone,
- those two never hooked up together! It’s out
of the question. But as Estelle and Bates are
in cahoots, why didn’t she give Miss Carring_
ton the poison, herself?” .
‘ ‘ Well, she did ﬁx the bromide, hoping to make
her mistress sleep soundly. But the lady never
took it. Now, if the maid had given or expected
to give the poison, why the bromide at all?”
“But, look here,” broke in Hardy, “mightn’t
it be that Estelle did do the poisoning and ar-
ranged the bromide as a blind, to put us off th
track, exactly as it has done?” Y
\ “There’s small use speculating about that


180 THE CURVED BLADES
poison,” said Stone thoughtfully, “we must go
at that systematically. We must ﬁnd out where
it was bought and by whom. People can’t go
round buying deadly poison without a recOrd
being made of the sale. We must inquire of
druggists, until we ﬁnd out these facts.”
“There’s no druggist about here who would
sell aconitine,” said Hardy, “it doubtless was
bought in New York.”
“That, of course, adds to the difﬁculty of
tracing the sale, but it must be done. Mr.
Hardy, I will ask you to do all you can to ﬁnd
out about that.”
“You want to look up a French apothe-
cary,” advised Haviland. “That Count is at the
bottom of this, as sure as shootin’, and he’s full
clever enough to hide his tracks mighty closely.
Why, that man is a fortune-hunter and an ad-
venturer, and he wanted that ten thousand
dollars, and he poisoned Miss Lucy to get it!
That ’s what he did! And he was on deck that
night, after the jewels, that’s where he was!
It was he in that room talking, it was he who
left his glove there,-—of course, he didn’t know
it,—and now you’ve got him under lock and key,
I hope you’ll keep him there, and not let this
Bates discovery get him the slip. If the two
were not working together, then, surely they


BATES, THE BURGLAR 181
are incriminated separately, and you want to
look into the case of little old Mr. Count!”
“You may be right, Mr. Haviland,” and
Fleming Stone smiled at him, “but I think you
are assuming a lot because of your prejudice
against the Frenchman. Was he very attentive
to Miss Carrington? Had he proposed mar-
riage to her?”
“That we don’t know. Of course, we had all
been afraid he woul ”
“Why afraid?”
“Oh, we didn’t want my cousin to marry
an adventurer. Of course, he only wanted her
fortune, and as her business manager, I had a
right to interfere, or at least, to look after her
interests enough to prevent that.”
“ But was she not a capable woman, who could
be supposed to know her own mind?”
“Ordinarily, yes. But, there’s no use minc-
ing matters. Miss Carrington greatly desired
to marry. However, she paid no attention to
men whom she did not consider interesting.
There were several such, and she sent them
packing. The Count, though, she took to at
once, partly because of his title and partly be-
cause,—well, he has a way with him. He ﬂat-
tered her, and she took the bait like a hungry
ﬁsh!” '


XIV
WHO GAVE THE POISON?
THOUGH Fleming Stone’s acumen and quick
perception had led to a swift apprehension of
Bates, his next steps were not taken so rapidly.
He spent much time in the boudoir of Miss Oar-
rington, as if striving to make the walls tell what
their traditional ears had heard.
The upset breakfast tray had been removed,
but nothing else disturbed. Estelle had owned
up, after Bates’ arrest, that she did drop the
tray, in her fright at the sight of the dead lady,
and that she afterward denied it lest she be sus-
pected of wrong-doing.
The plate that had contained sandwiches
was still on the bedside table, but the glass of
milk, with bromide in, had been carried away.
Stone looked at the empty plate, and won-
dered. Had the poison been placed in the sand-
wiches? By Estelle? By anybody else? I Who
had had opportunity? Estelle had brought the
sandwiches and milk to the bedroom, according
to her usual custom, When she prepared the bed
for the night. A tiny serviette had been over
the sandwiches, and was still there beside the
plate. Stone looked at it. A .mere wisp of ﬁne
linen, with a monogrammed corner. The few
18%


WHO GAVE THE POISON 183
wrinkles in it showed clearly to Stone’s sharp
eyes the dainty touch of ﬁngers that had held
the caviare san-dWich. It undoubtedly denoted
that Miss Carrington had eaten the sandwich.
Had any one merely removed it, the napkin
would have been uncreased. He had been told
that she rarely ate this night luncheon, though
it was always placed for her. Why had she par-
taken of it on that particular night? Had some
one advised her to? Or urged it? Had the
Count really visited her in the boudoir, and
having previously arranged the poisoned sand-
wich, made sure that it would perform its
deadly mission? Could he have entered the
room unknown to the rest of the household?
Stone went to the window. Yes, that matter
was easy enough. A balcony outside the long
French window was connected with the lower
verandah by a spiral staircase. Any one could
run up the steps and be admitted to the boudoir
in perfect secrecy. Stone wondered for a mo-
ment why Bates hadn’t entered that way, and
quickly realized that for a marauder to appear
at the window would have frightened Miss Car-
rington and caused an outcry. The entrance of
the Count, however, whether expected or not,
would be easily effected.
If the Count were really guilty, the circum-


184 THE CURVED BLADES
stances were all explicable. Suppose Miss Car-
rington had made the appointment. Would she
not, in her vanity, have donned the beautiful
boudoir gown and the jewels to appear attrac-
tive in his eyes? And, supposing she had play-
fully caught his glove as he removed it, and had
half-unconsciously continued to hold it. Then
the conversation alleged to have been overheard
by Miss Frayne would have been addressed to
him, and the remarks would be, at least, intel-
ligible.
The snake? Ah, yes, the snake. As to that
there was no hint, no clue of any sort. But
then, the thing was so inexplicable, that the ex-
planation must be easy. A clu‘e so strange, so
bizarre, must lead somewhere. That could be
left to the future. Now, he must decide on his
ﬁrst steps.
The decision took him to call on Doctor Stan-
ton, and the physician welcomed him warmly.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Stone,” he said; “sit
down, sir, sit down. I’ve been wanting a talk
with you ever since I heard of your arrival. So
you’ve ferreted out the burglar already! Great
work, great work indeed! And now for the real
murderer. You see, sir, I’m up to the minute in
my information regarding this case.” Y
“Glad to know it,” returned Stone. “Now,
‘


WHO GAVE THE POISON 185
Doctor Stanton, I hope you can help me. I don’t
mind admitting the thing has its battling aspects.
The burglar was easily traced, and easily dis-
posed of. The real work, as you say, is just
beginning. Will you, sir, tell me all you know
of the poison that killed Miss Carrington? ”
“Surely, Mr. Stone. The autopsy showed a
fatal dose of aconitine. Aconite, as you of
course know, is the herb, wolfsbane, of the Hel-
lebore tribe, all the species of which are poi.-
sonous. Aconitine is an intensely poisonous
alkaloid obtained from aconite. Taken in a
moderate quantity, it acts as a. powerful seda-
tive, but the dose absorbed by Miss Carrington
was undoubtedly fatal within half or three-
quarters of an hour.”
- “And she died at what time?”
“About two o’clock.”
“Proving she took the poison at about quar-
‘ier or half after one.”
“Yes; thereabouts. It is not possible to ﬁx
these hours precisely, but the poison was ad-
ministered positively between one and two.”
“Administered? You do not think then,
that she took it herself?”
“Most certainly not! Miss Carrington has
been in my care, professionally, for many years.
I knew her very well, and I know nobody more


186 THE CURVED BLADES
opposed to medicine in any form or drugs of any
sort. It was a most difﬁcult task to persuade
her to take even the simplest remedy, and then
she had to be assured over and over again that
it was harmless. No, Mr. Stone, nothing could
have made her take that dose of her own accord,
nor could any one have persuaded her to take it,
consciously. It was, without doubt, given to
her secretly, by the clever ruse of the murderer.
Of course it could not have been an accident.
The marvelous part is, to my mind, how any one
secured the poison. It is not an easy matter to
buy aconitine.”
“Then that ought to make it easier to trace.
If the public could easily procure it at will, there
would be greater difﬁculty in running down the
purchaser.”
“That is so; and yet, I think your search will
be a hard one. How shall you go about it?”
“By canvassing the drug shops of the city,
and of the small towns as well.”
“It may be you can trace the sale. But if it
was bought under promise of secrecy, and if
' that secrecy were well paid for-——? ”
“True, there is the difﬁculty. But what’s a
detective for if not to ﬁnd out secrets?”
“Quite right. May your quest succeed.”
“.And now, a little more about the action of


WHO GAVE THE POISON 187
this poison. What are the immediate effects of
a fatal dose?”
“In a few moments there occurs a tingling
numbness of lip and tongue and pharynx. The
numbness increases and affects all the muscles
and death ensues inside of an hour. This para-
lyzing effect renders it impossible for the victim
to cry out, and there are no convulsions. The
body remains calm and undisturbed, and the eyes
open. A dilatation of the pupil takes place, but
the expression on the face remains as in life.
This is why Miss Carrington continued to look
happy and smiling——”
“And proves that when she took the poison
she was happy and smiling, and therefore in no
way terrorized 0r frightened into it.”
“Exactly so. -And that indicates that she
didn’t know she was taking it, ”
“Or, that it was administered by some one
she knew and loved and had all conﬁdence in.”
“It would seem so,” and Doctor Stanton’s
ﬁne old face showed a sad apprehension.
“How was it taken,—in what medium?”
“That we can’t tell to a certainty. There
were traces of the sandwiches discovered at the
autopsy, but, though the poison could have been
given her, concealed in a sandwich ﬁlling, it is
improbable.’ ’ '


188 THE CURVED BLADES
“Why?”
“Because the white granules or powder,
which are soluble in water, would be more easily
discerned in solid food. ”
“But, on the other hand, it could be unos-
tentatiously placed in a sandwich, with little
fear of detection; but to prevail on her to swal-
low a solution,——it is bitter, is it not?”
“Yes, slightly so. I admit, I cannot imagine
any one inducing Miss Carrington to swallow
such a. draught. Therefore, it may well be, it was
placed in a sandwich. The ﬁlling, they tell me, was
caviare, which would disguise the bitterness.”
“And does not all this, if true, point to some
one exceedingly familiar with all the details of
Miss Carrington’s affairs? Some one who knew
of her nightly sandwich? And, also, does it not
imply the presence of some one who could and
did insure her consumption of that sandwich?”
“It would indeed seem so, Mr. Stone; but
when it comes to discussing such a question as
that, I must ask to be allowed to retire from the
ﬁeld. It is my duty to tell all I know, from my
medical experience, but further than that I am
not obliged to express any opinions or voice any
suspicions. ’ ’
“You know, however, that Count Charlier is
held pending investigation?’ ’


190 THE CURVED BLADES
aside from all that, how could she get aconitine?
It is not to be bought for the asking at any drug-
gist’s! N o, sir, my conscience makes me insist
on that point, Miss Carrington never took that
poison knowingly,-— either by accident or design.
It was given to her, without her knowledge, by
a. very, very clever villain.”
“Again, then, could it have been given her
innocently, by mistake? I mean, if some one,
her maid, or any friend, had wanted to give her
a sedative, and meant only a light dose, but by
error in quantity ”
“No, sir! Not a chance! The amount given
was too great to be an error. And every one in
that house knows better than ever to have at-
tempted to give medicine in any form or degree
or for any purpose to Miss Lucy Carrington. ”
“It was crime, then,” said Fleming Stone,
“black crime. And as such, it must be dis-
covered and punished.”
- “Yes,” agreed Doctor Stanton, but he spoke
with deep sadness and as one who feared where
or toward whom such discoveries might lead.
From the doctor’s house Stone went to see
the Count. ' -
That elegant gentleman was highly irate at
being detained against his will in such plain
quarters as The Tombs furnished, but he was not


192 THE CURVED BLADES
little impatiently, “just give me a few details of
that evening, so far as your actions were con-
cerned. You were at the house till midnight?”
“Yes, Mr. Illsley'and I left together. We
had spent the evening there at cards and music. ’ ’
“You had had any private conversation with
Miss Carrington during the evening?”
“Yes, we walked alone in the conservatory
for a time, ’ ’
“You proposed marriage?”
“Not exactly that,—but I may have hinted
at such an event.”
“And the lady seemed agreeable?”
‘ ‘ Entirely so. If I may say it, she met my ad-
vances half-way, and I could not misunderstand
her feeling toward my unworthy self.”
“She spoke to you of money matters? Of
her will? ”
“Yes, to my surprise, she told me she had
bequeathed to me ten thousand dollars.”
“Was not this a strange bequest to a casual
acquaintance?’ ’
“Oh, we were more than casual acquaint-
ances. I have known Miss Carrington for two
or three months.”
“Which? two or three?”
“Perhaps nearer two,” and the Cozunt
showed a slight embarrassment.


WHO GAVE THE POISON 193
“Do your friends often leave you large sums
of money onsuch short acquaintance?”
“It has never happened before,” and now the
Count’s dignity was touched and he spoke
shortly and coolly.
“Then, of course, it struck you as peculiar,”
and Stone’s smile assumed an acquiescence.
But the Count returned: “Not at all. Miss
Carrington was an unusual woman, and I never
expected her behavior to be entirely conven-
tional. When she told me of this I was simply
and honestly grateful, as I should have been to
any one who showed me such a kindness.”
“You were glad to get the money, then?”
“Yes, indeed!” the Count exclaimed, with
sparkling eyes, then realizing his slip, he hastily
added: “that is, I was glad of the knowledge that
it would come to me some day. Surely I did not
want the lady to die, that I might receive it, but
I was pleased to know she thought enough of
me to make the direction.”
“What did she mean by saying ‘To-morrow
all will be diiferent’?”
“That I do not know. Could she have
meant—”
“ She did say it, then? You admit she said it
to you?’ ’
Breathlessly, Fleming Stone waited the
18


XV
PAULINE’S PURCHASE
ALONE, Fleming Stone wrestled with the
problem of the giving of that poison.
The library at Garden Steps had been turned
over to him for a study and no one entered the
room unless summoned. Stone sat at the ma-
hogany table-desk, but his eyes rested unseeingly
on the beautiful ﬁttings of polished silver and
glass. On a memorandum block he wrote down
the names of possible and probable suspects. To
be sure, he thought, every one in the house might
be deemed possible, as well as some who were not
in the house. But each one must be taken into
consideration. I
To begin with the most important, Miss
Stuart. It was possible that she poisoned her
aunt, but so improbable as to make it exceed-
inglynnlikely. True, she was heir to half the
fortune, but well-bred, well-nurtured young
women do not commit crime to inherit their
money sooner. Except for that conversation
reported by Anita Frayne, there was not a shred
of evidence against Miss Stuart. And Stone did
not place implicit conﬁdence in that story of the
talk behind closed doors. 'He had'discovered
that the two girls were not friendly and he knew
195


196 THE CURVED BLADES-
Anita capable of making up or coloring a tale
to suit herself. Pauline had told him that she
was in the hall-window seat at one o’clock that
night and had seen Anita coming from Miss
Carrington’s room. Or, to put it more carefully,
she had seen her with her hand on the door-knob,
in the act of closing the door after her. This
Pauline had told to Stone, with an air of such
verity and truthfulness that he was fain to be-
lieve her. However, in all honesty, he had to
admit to himself, that Miss Stuart could have
given the poison in some secret way, had she so
desired. The same was true, though, of Miss
Frayne, of Haviland and of the various house
servants. But where could any of them get it?
Again there were the Count and Mrs. Froth-
ingham to be considered. In fact, there were too
many suspects to decide among, without further
evidence.
“Any luck?” Stone asked of Hardy, who
came in to report.
“No, Mr. Stone. I’ve raked the drug shops
thoroughly, and there’s no trace of a sale of
aconitine. It’s practically impossible to buy
' such a substance. I mean, for the ordinary cus-
tomer.”
“Yet somebody did.”
“I suppose so. But doesn’t it limit the ﬁeld


PAULINE’S PURCHASE 197
of search to realize that it couldn’t have been
a servant or either of the young ladies?”
“Why neither of the young ladies?”
“But how could they get it?”
“Why not as well as any one else? And
somebody did.”
“ Then somebody stole it. Nobody bought it.
I’m positive of that, now I’ve learned how im-
possible it is to make such a purchase. And how
could those girls steal it?”
“I don’t know, Hardy, but my point is, why
couldn’t they steal it if anybody could? You’re
denying their ability to steal the poison, because
you don’t want to suspect them. And neither do
I, but we must look this thing squarely in the
face. Somebody managed to get that aconitine
and administer it to Miss Carrington secretly,
and it is for us to ﬁnd out who did it,—who
could do it, in the face of almost insuperable ob-
stacles. But it is futile to say this one or that
one could or couldn’t do it. Now, since you’ve
found no trace of the poison sale, let’s start from
some other point. Surely, this case, with its
unique circumstances, offers many ways to look
for evidence. What strikes me most forcibly is
the costume of the lady. Not so much the gown,—
I believe she was fond of elaborate boudoir
robes,—but the array of jewelry, the glittering


!98 THE CURVED BLADES
scarf and the snake. Most of all,the snake. That,
of itself, ought to point directly to the true solu-
tion, and I believe it does, only we’re too blind to
see it. I’m going to work on that snake clue, and
to help, I wish you’d go at once to all the possible
shops where it might have been bought. It may
not be traceable and then, again, it may. And,
the strange fact of_ her sitting idly before the
mirror when she died! Whoever gave her the
poison was there on the spot, must have been,—
for it’s sure enough that she didn’t take it her-
self, according to the doctor’s statements.
Well, if the murderer was right there with her,
and she not only made no outcry but continued
to look smiling and happy, it was surely some
one she knew and in whom she had all conﬁdence.
Perhaps this person urged her to eat the sand-
wich,—oh, pshaw, that’s all plausible enough,—
but, the snake! That’s the bizarre clue that
must lead somewhere. And it shall! I’ll ferret
out the mystery of that paper snake or my
name’s not Stone! Go to it, Hardy! Rake the
Japanese shops and department stores, but ﬁnd
out who bought it. It isn’t old. I observed it
was fresh and new. Those ﬂimsy paper things
show handling mighty quickly. Find out who
bought the thing, and we’ve a start in the right
direction. ’ ’


PAULINE’S PURCHASE 199
Hardy went off on his errand and Stone went
over to have a talk with Mrs. Frothingham.
The widow was amiable but non-committal.
She was highly incensed at the arrest of the
Count, but felt conﬁdent he would be liberated
in a few days. She replied warily to Stone’s
questions, but admitted her presence in the
house on the fatal evening.
“You see,” she said, in a conﬁdential way,
“I was lonely. The Count had gone so often of
late to Garden Steps, and I was never invited,
that I think I was a little jealous.”
“ Of Miss Carrington?” asked Stone, quickly.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Frothingham, frankly;
“and of Miss Stuart, and of the Count’s inti-
macy over there. I had never even been in the
house. So I went over there and looked in the
windows. I saw them playing cards and later
strolling about the rooms. The great door
stood a little ajar and I cautiously stepped in-
side. It was vulgarly curious, but it was no
crime. As I stood in the hall I saw some one ap-
proaching, and stepped up a few steps of the
staircase. It was all so beautiful that I looked at
the tapestries and decorations. I remember
thinking that if any one challenged me, I should
tell the truth, and say that I came in to look, as a
neighbor ought to have a right to do.”


200 THE CURVED BLADES
“Never mind the ethics of the case, Mrs.
Frothingham, stick to facts. Did you go up-
stairs?”
“No, indeed, only up four or ﬁve steps, just
to the turn of the staircase.”
“But Mr. Illsley saw you coming down.”
“Only those few steps. He couldn’t have
seen me coming from the top of the stair, for I I
didn’t go up so far.”
“You spoke of being jealous of Miss Stuart.
Why?”
“Because Count Charlier is in love with
her.”
“With Miss Stuart?”
“Yes; he was making up to Miss Carrington
for her money, but he is really in love with
Miss Stuart.”
Mrs. Frothingham shook her head doggedly,
as if determined to tell this, even though it should
redound to the Count ’s discredit. And it did.
“Then,” said Fleming Stone, “that adds
motive to the theory of the Count ’s guilt. If he
is in love with Miss Stuart, might he not have
been tempted to put Miss Carrington out of the
way, that Miss Stuart should inherit the fortune,
and be the bride of his choice?”
“Indeed, yes, that is a possibility,” and
Fleming Stone saw at last, that this woman


PAULINE’S PURCHASE 201
either suspected the Count ’s guilt or wished
to make it appear so.
Again, the sudden thought struck him, sup-
pose she was so jealous of the Count’s atten-
tions to Miss Carrington, that she went to Garden
Steps with the intent of killing the lady. Sup-
pose she did go upstairs, although she denied it,
and put the poison in the sandwich. Surely, she
had opportunity. Surely, she would now deny it.
Fleming Stone sighed. He hated a case
where the principal witnesses were women. One
never could tell when they were lying. A man,
now, was much more transparent and his evi-
dence more easily weighed.
However, if this woman desired to turn sus-
picion toward Count Charlier, it was either be-
cause she suspected him, or was implicated
herself. In either case, her word was not worth
much, and Stone soon took his leave to hunt a
more promising ﬁeld.
Returning to Garden Steps, he found that
Pauline had received a letter from her cousin in
Egypt.
“I am afraid,” she said, as she handed Stone
the letter to read, “that my cousin Carr will
think we are not accomplishing much. Read the
letter, Mr. Stone, and if you say so, I will ask
Mr. Loria to come home.”


202 THE CURVED BLADES
Glad to read the letter-from this half heir to
the Carrington fortune, Stone took the sheet. It
ran:
DEAR POLLY:
The awful shock of Aunt Lucy’s death leaves me without
words to tell you what I feel for you in your dark hours. What
can I say in the face of such a horror? I wish I were there with
you to help you bear it all. For on you comes the brunt of the
publicity and all the harrowing details that must be attended
to. If you say so, I will return to America at once. But
unless I can be of deﬁnite assistance or real comfort to you, per-
sonally, I would rather not go over just now. I’m just start-
ing on a wonderful piece of work here. No less than excavating
——but I won’t take time to tell of it now. I’ll write you about
it later, if I don’t go to you. This is a short note to catch the
mail, and reach you as soon as possible. Remember, as I
write, I have only your ﬁrst two cables, and know nothing of
details. I eagerly await your letters. Why don’t you follow
out your plan of coming over here in February? Leave all
business matters in Haviland’s hands, and get away from the
scene of the tragedy. Of course, as I cabled Gray, get the best
possible detective experts on the case. Spare no expense, and
charge all to me. Surely, we want to ﬁnd and punish the
slayer of Aunt Lucy, and I repeat, if you, for any reason, want
me to, I will come over at once. Cable, and I will take the next
steamer. If you don’t do this, do write me long letters and tell
me everything that is happening. Poor Aunt Lucy. I know
your life with her wasn’t all a bed of roses, but I know how
saddened you are now, and my heart goes out to you. Dear
Polly, command me in any way. I am entirely at your service
here or there. If you come over here, I advise Haviland to
stay there and look after things. I know the bulk of Aunt
Lucy’s fortune is divided between you and me, and I want Gray
to see to all matters connected with my share. When he gets
around to it, he can send me some money to further this work I
am engaged on here. But let me know if you want me to come
to you. With all loving sympathy and affection,
CARR.


PAULINE’S PURCHASE 205
“There seems to be no theory to ﬁt the
facts,” said Stone, wearily, “so we must try to
get some facts that may suggest a theory. You
think, Miss Stuart, that you saw Miss Frayne
leaving Miss Carrington’s room late that
night?” ‘
‘ ‘I know I saw her with her hand on the door-
knob,” returned Pauline steadily, and just then
Anita herself burst into the room. “That is a
falsehood!” she cried, and her big blue eyes
ﬂashed angrily; “how could you see me, when
you were yourself in Miss Carrington’s room?”
This was what Stone had wanted, to get these
two girls at variance; and he helped along by
saying, “Were you, Miss Stuart?”
“Certainly not!” cried Pauline.
“You were!” Anita ﬂung back. “Miss Car-
rington was talking to you! She said she wished
her face was as beautiful as yours! To whom
else could she have said that? Surely not to the
Count! One doesn’t call a man beautiful. And
we all know that Miss Carrington admired your
looks and lamented her own lack of beauty.”
“All that applies equally well to yourself,”
and Pauline gazed steadily at the blonde beauty
of Anita. “Why wasn’t all that speech ad-
dressed to your own attractive face, and you
repeat it to incriminate me?”


206' THE CURVED BLADES
Here was an idea. Stone wondered if it
could be that Anita was in the boudoir and to
turn suspicion from herself tried to pretend she
had heard Pauline in there.
“And she said you were fond of pearls!”
went on Pauline. “Your admiration for my
aunt’s pearls is an open secret!”
It was. Often‘had Anita said how much she
preferred the soft lustre of pearls to the daz-
zling sparkle of other gems.
“And she left you ten thousand dollars in her
will,” continued Pauline, more as if thinking
these things over aloud than as if accusing An-
ita of crime.
“Wait, Miss Stuart,” cried Stone; “What
are you doing? Implying that Miss Frayne had
anything to do with the tragedy?”
“I am implying nothing. I am trying to see
how far the accusations she makes against me
will ﬁt her own case. You remember she said
my aunt proposed to leave my share of the fort-
une to some one else, but Carr’s share must re-
main untouched. Well, to whom else could she
think of giving my share, but to this scheming
girl who tried her best to get my portion, but did
not succeed?”
Anita struggled to reply, but words would
not come. So furious that she could not artic»


PAULINE’S PURCHASE 207
ulate, she gurgled hysterically, when into the
room came Haviland and Hardy. Both looked
exceedingly grave, and Gray went at once to
Pauline and put his hand kindly on her shoulder.
Then he suddenly caught sight of Anita and her
evident distress, and leaving Pauline he went
over to the other and put his arms gently round
her. »
“What is it, Anita?” he said. “What has
upset you so?”
“Pauline!” was all Anita could say, when
she was interrupted by Hardy.
“Let me speak ﬁrst,” he said, for he saw
there was dissension between the two girls. “I
have made a discovery. At Mr. Stone’s direc-
tions I have been investigating shops where the
paper snake might have been bought, and I have
learned that one was bought at Vantine’s re-
cently by Miss Stuart.”
“Ah,” said Fleming Stone gravely, “did you
buy one, Miss Stuart?”
Pauline hesitated. She was white as chalk,
and her lips quivered.
“Of course she did!” screamed Anita, -
greatly excited; “she did, and she was in there
talking to Miss Carrington, just as I said! And
she put that thing round her neck to frighten
her! And then she gave her the poison, and


PAULINE’S PURCHASE 209
voice trembled, and with a half-stiﬂed exclama-
tion of despair, she ran out of the room.
“ Stop, Pauline, where are you going?” cried
Haviland as he ran after her.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “I’m going to
cable Carr to come home! He’s the only one who
can help me! You’re so wrapped up in Anita
that you can’t tell truth from falsehood. Carr
will know what to do,—and I shall send for him. ’ ’
“Wait, Miss Stuart,” said Fleming Stone,
gravely; “you may cable Mr. Loria, if you
choose, but for a few moments I must claim your
attention. It is, to my mind, of the greatest
importance to learn the details of the purchase
of that paper snake, and I must ask you to tell
us the circumstances of your aunt’s request for
it.”
“There is little to tell,” said Pauline, in a
hesitant way. ‘ ‘It was one day when I was going
over to New York that Aunt Lucy just said,
casually, to get her one of those Japanese paper
snakes from Vantine’s, and I did.”
“That’s enough!” cried Anita. “Miss Car-
rington never sent for a snake! never in the
world! You’ll be saying next she told you to get
her some aconite to poison herself with!”
14


. XVI
THE TWO GIRLS
“MIss STUART,” and Fleming Stone’s voice,
though gentle, had a ring of decision, “if I am
to go on with this case, I must insist on your
entire conﬁdence, and absolute, ” he hesi-
tated over the word, “truthfulness.”
The two were alone. After the altercation
between Pauline and Anita, Stone had requested
the others to leave them, and he determined to
get at the truth of this marvelous statement
about the purchase of the snake.
“I understand, and you are quite right,”
mm mured Pauime, her manner quiet, her tone
even, but in the dark eyes raised to his Fleming
Stone saw fear,—deﬁnite, unmistakable fear.
“Then explain, for I am sure you can, why
you suppressed the fact of your own purchase
of that paper snake until forced to admit it.”
“I was afraid.” The beautiful face was of a
creamy pallor and the scarlet lips quivered.
But this evident agitation on Miss Stuart’s part
did not deter Stone from his probing queries.
“Why were you afraid? Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that if you knew I bought the snake
you would think I was in some way connected
with—with the crime——-”

210


THE TWO GIRLS 211
“But don’t you see that to attempt to conceal
the fact of your purchase makes any such sus-
picion more imminent?” _
> “You don’t think I would—would—”
“I don’t want to think anything about it,
Miss Stuart. I want to know, and I want you to
tell me all about your aunt’s strange request for
you to buy a thing she so feared and abhorred. ”
“I don’t understand it myself. But Aunt
Lucy was full of vagaries and would often ask
me to buy strange or outlandish things for her.”
“But not of a reptilian nature?”
“N 0, she had never done such a thing
before.”
“Did she give no reason for the request?
Make no apology or explanation?”
“No. I was just leaving her, when she called
me back, and said, ‘Won’t you stop in at some
Japanese shop, and get me a paper snake?’ and
I exclaimed in surprise at the request. Then she
lost her temper and said she supposed she knew
what she wanted and for me to get it without fur-
ther to-do. So I did.”
“And when you brought it to her?”
“She merely took it and laid it in a desk
drawer, Without even unwrapping the parcel. I
never saw it again till I saw it round her neck."


21% THE CURVED BLADES
“And you do not think she placed it there
herself ‘2 ”
“I am sure_she did not. The only reason I
can ascribe for her wanting it, is that she might
have thought her dread of them a foolish whim
and determined to accustom herself to the sight
of them by means of the harmless toy. That’s all
I know about that snake, Mr. Stone. But the
truth, as I have told it to you, is so strange, so
almost unbelievable, that I knew it would only
serve to attract suspicion to me, so I denied it.
You know Miss Frayne is only waiting to pounce
on it as complete evidence of my guilt.”
“You and she are not good friends?”
“We have never been really friendly, though
always polite on the surface of things. But she
is jealous of me, and tried in every possible way
to undermine my aunt’s faith and trust in me,
and even plotted to have me disinherited and my
fortune bequeathed to herself.”
“An ambitious plan!”
“She is ambitious. She intends to marry
Mr. Haviland, and she intended to have my half
of the Carrington money. ”
“You don’t suspect her of the crime!” and
Fleming Stone looked up quickly.
“Suspect is too strong a word. But to me
there seems room for grave inquiries. I was in


THE TWO GIRLS 213
the hall at the time she declares I was in my
aunt’s room,—~”
“Wait a moment, Miss Stuart, isn’t this a
sort of deadlock? You say you were in the hall,
Miss Frayne says you were in the boudoir. Why
should I believe onein preference to the other?”
There was inﬁnite sadness in Pauline’s eyes
as she looked at her questioner. “That is so,”
she said, slowly; “why should you? I have only
my unsupported word. Nor has Anita any wit-
ness. But, Mr. Stone, I thought a Detective
always looked ﬁrst of all for the motive. What
reason could I have for—for killing my aunt?”
“You put it plainly, Miss Stuart, and I will
reply in an equally straightforward vein. The
ﬁrst thing we detectives think of is, who will
beneﬁt by the crime? Naturally, money beneﬁt
is ﬁrst thought of. The greatest money beneﬁt
comes to you and your cousin in Egypt. The
nature of the crime makes it impossible that he
could have committed it. There is, however, a
possibility of your own connection with it, so
we must question you. But there-are others who
beneﬁt in a pecuniary way by the death of Miss
Carrington, so they too must be questioned.
You surely see the justice and the necessity of
all this investigation?”
“Oh, yes, and it seems to me also justice that
“:—


214 THE CURVED BLADES
you investigate the story of Miss Frayne. She,
too, has only her own unsupported word as to
that conversation she relates. May she not have
made it all up?”
“She has a witness, Miss Stuart, a credible
witness. Mr. Haviland has told me that he saw
Miss Frayne at the door of the boudoir at about
quarter past one.”
“Gray saw her! He didn’t tell me this. Mr.
Stone, I hate to speak ill of another woman, but
Miss Frayne can really wind Gray Haviland
round her ﬁnger, and I have no doubt she
has persuaded him to give this evidence,
whether ”
“Whether it is true or not?”
“Yes, that is what I meant, though I hated
to say it.”
“Miss Stuart, it is often hard to tell when
a man speaks the truth, but I have no reason to
disbelieve Mr. Haviland’s statement. He told
quite circumstantially of being up and down
all night. He was restless and wandered about
kin several rooms during the small hours. You
know he told of seeing the maid 0n the stairs.
And he gives me the impression of a truthful
witness who would not lie outright, even at the
behest of a woman in whom he is interested.”
“Then they are going to suspect me?” Paul-


THE TWO GIRLS 215
ine’s voice was so full of despair that Fleming -
Stone caught his breath as he looked at her. Her
great eyes were wide with fear, her hands were
clenched and her whole'body tense with horri-
ﬁed suspense. I
“Give me some good reasons why you can
not be suspected,” he cried, eagerly leaning
forward in his chair. “Give me some proof that
you were in the hall at that moment, or that you
were in your own room, or—” -
“That proves, Mr. Stone, that you do suspect
me! Your assumption that I could have been in
my own room shows that you do not believe I
was in the hall,—as I was.”
“Then why didn’t MiSs Frayne see you
there?” _
“How do you know she didn’t? Why do you
accept her words as truth, yet disbelieve
mine?” Pauline had risen now and stood before
him. Her tall slimness, her wonderful grace
and her beautiful, angry countenance made an
alluring picture. “I was not in favor of your
taking this case, Mr. Stone, and I am even less
so, now, that you refuse to believe what I say!
I shall cable at once for my cousin to return.
I do not wish Gray Haviland and Anita Frayne
to arrange all this to suit themselves. I am
mistress here, in Mr. Loria’s absence, and if my


216 THE CURVED BLADES
- authority is doubted I want him here to stand
up for me!”
“Just a moment, Miss Stuart. You are not
entirely just to me. It is necessary for me to
question you, but you must see that your in-
nocence—of which I have no doubt—will be
more easily established by a policy of frankness
on your part, than by futile anger toward Miss
Frayne or Mr. Haviland. The incident of the
paper snake, as explained by you, is not neces-
sarily incriminating, and if you will wait a few
days before calling your cousin home, I think
very likely you will prefer not to do so. I un-
derstand that you do not wish him to come home,
unless he can be of assistance to you?”
“Yes, that is his desire, to stay over there
unless I want him. But, Mr. Stone,” and now
the lovely face was almost smiling, ‘ ‘if you mean
what you said, that you do not doubt my inno-
cence, then I will not send for Mr. Loria. I am
content to let it all rest in your hands.”
The girl’s beauty now was dazzling. Color
showed in her cheeks, her eyes shone, and the
curve of her exquisite red lips was almost a-
smile. Stone looked at her in amazement. He
had spoken truly, he had not doubted her inno-
cence, but this sudden elation on her part
puzzled him. What did it mean? Only, as she


THE TWO GIRLS 217
meant it to seem, that if he believed in her in-
nocence it could be easily proved? Well, he
would accept that diagnosis of her attitude, but
he would move warily. This case was unlike
any other he had ever engaged in, so he must
attack it in a different way. And ﬁrst of all, he
must decide which of these two women was
speaking the truth. Yet, how could he decide?
If Pauline had been in that room when Anita
listened at the door, she would, of course, try to
prove that she was elsewhere. But, in such a
case, why not say she was in her own room?
It wasn’t plausible that she should confess to
being in the hall, if she were really in the bou-
doir.' That, then, was in Pauline ’s favor. But
the conversation detailed by Anita? That must
be further analyzed.
These thoughts ﬂew through Stone’s quick-
moving brain as he stood looking at his beauti-
ful hostess.
“Puzzling it out, Mr. Stone?” and Pauline’s
smile was a full-ﬂedged one now; “perhaps I
can help you. If you’ll accept my assistance
without doubting my word, I’m sure We can do
wonders in a detective way.”
This was not in Pauline’s favor. It was too
much like bargaining with him to believe her
innocent. Then, too, though all unconscious of


THE TWO GIRLS 219
well tell you, one reason was because she was
always envious of any one whom she con-
sidered better-looking than she was herself.
This may sound strange to you, Mr. Stone, but
it was the key-note of my aunt’s existence. She
adored beauty in every way,—pictures, clothes,
everything,-—but she was so sensitive about her
own plainness, that a younger or prettier face-
made her, at times, irritable and even cruel. She
would never engage a servant with any preten-
sions to good looks. Therefore, as she chose to
consider Miss Frayne and myself of comely per-
sonal appearance, she was unkind to us both.”
“And Mr. Loria? Is he not handsome?”
“Oh, yes, very. But Aunt Lucy liked hand-
some men. Carr Loria is like a picture. His
father was of Italian descent, and Carr has the
clear olive skin and dark beauty of that race.
Gray Haviland is good-looking, too, but it was
only feminine prettiness that stirred up Aunt
Lucy’s ire.”
“Why did she ever engage such an angel-
face as Miss Frayne?”
Fleming Stone watched closely for a sign of
irritation at this speech, and saw it. Pauline’s
smile faded, and she said, abruptly:
“Do you think her so beautiful?”
“She has the perfect blonde fairness usually


THE TWO GIRLS 221
insinuations and telling my aunt tales about
me,—untrue ones,—that would make Aunt Lucy
angry at me. I tell you this, Mr. Stone, because
I want you to know Anita Frayne as she really
is.”
There was the ring of sincerity in the tone,
there was a look of truth in the big, dark eyes,
and there was a most appealing expression on
the lovely face that gazed into his own, but
Fleming Stone turned from the speaker with a
polite but decided gesture of dismissal, saying,
“Please ask Miss Frayne to come here a few
moments.”


XVII
THE OVERHEARD CONVERSATION
AWAITING the arrival of Anita Frayne, Stone
thought rapidly. Forming his judgments, as al-
ways, more by impressions than by words, he
found himself believing in Pauline Stuart. She
had bought the paper snake, she had lied about
it, but many women would have done the same.
Knowing that the purchase of the toy meant
deﬁnite suspicion, wouldn’t any innocent girl
have feared and dreaded that exposure? If she
had been guilty, she would scarcely have dared
deny the facts of buying it, lest it be proved
against her, and make matters worse. Again,
it was impossible to connect that magniﬁcent
woman with crime! If she were connected with
it, it could only be as the criminal herself. There
-was no theory that admitted of her being an ac-
complice, or a tool. Stay, there was that Loria
man. Stone couldn’t rid himself of a vague
idea of implicating the distant nephew by means
of an accomplice on the spot. But the notion
was not logical. If Pauline had killed her aunt
under her cousin’s instructions, she was just as
much a murderer as if she had done it entirely
of her own initiative. And if the two cousins had
conspired or worked in collusion, it was Stone’s
222


THE OVERHEARD CONVERSATION 293
duty to fasten the deed on Pauline, as the avail-
able one of the pair. Stone ran over in his
mind the letter from Loria. It gave no hint of
greed or cupidity in his nature. He was en-
grossed in the pursuit of his hobby, archaeology,
and was only willing to leave his work if that
would deﬁnitely please his cousin, on whom, he
fully appreciated, the responsibilities of the oc-
casion would fall. He fully trusted Gray Havi-
land to look after all business affairs, so he was
not a suspicious or over-careful nature. He
asked no immediate money and only desired
some, in the course of time, to further his work.
Whatever might be the truth, there was no rea-
son to cast a glance of suspicion toward Carring-
ton Loria. His opinion of Pauline’s possible
guilt Stone held in abeyance, and Miss Frayne
entering, he greeted her with punctilious polite-
ness and a conﬁdential air, tending to put her at
ease.
“Miss Frayne,” he began, “the situation is
a grave one. I am forced to the conclusion, ten-
tatively at least, that Miss Carrington was de-
liberately poisoned by some one in her own
household. It may have been a servant, but it is
difﬁcult to imagine how or why a servant could
accomplish the deed. At any rate, I must ﬁrst
consider the members of the family, and in so


224 THE CURVED BLADES
doing, I must request absolute truth and sin-
cerity from all.”
“I’m sure I’ve no reason to equivocate, Mr.
Stone,” and Anita’s voice was almost ﬂippant.
“All I’ve told about what I heard at Miss Car-
rington’s door is absolutely true, and I can re-
peat it word for word.”
“It seems strange you have it so accurately
at your tongue’s end.”
“Not at all. I went to my room and wrote it
down as soon as I heard it. I often make such
memoranda. They are frequently useful later. ’ ’
Fleming Stone mused. This seemed a strange
thing to do, at least in view of the later events,
but then, if Miss Frayne had been the guilty one,
and had made up all this story of overheard con~
versation, surely she would not have done
anything so peculiar as to make that detailed
memorandum; or if she did, would not have told
of it.
“I have, of course, a copy of that memoran-
dum,” continued Stone; “what I want is for you
to tell me again why you think it could not have
been entirely a soliloquy on the part of Miss
Carrington. ’ ’
“For two reasons. First, I have lived with
the lady for four years, and never have I known
her to talk to herself or soliloquize aloud. Of


THE OVERHEARD CONVERSATION 225
course, this does not prove that she never did
so, but I know it was not her habit. Second, no—
body in soliloquy ever would use that deﬁnite in-
tonation which is always used in speaking to
a person. You know yourself, Mr. Stone, that a
soliloquy is voiced slowly, mumblingly, and
usually in disjointed or partially incoherent sen-
tences. The talk I heard was in clear concise
speeches unmistakably addressed to somebody
present. She could not in a soliloquy use that
direct form of address, even if talking to some
one in her imagination. She would not keep it
up, but would go off in a reverie or drop into
impersonal thought. I wish I could make this
more clear to you. ”
“You do make it clear, Miss Frayne. I know
just what you mean. I quite agree that one could
easily tell the difference between a spoken solil-
oquy and remarks addressed to a hearer. But
you heard no replies?”
‘ ‘None at all. But I hold that is not peculiar,
for while Miss Carrington’s voice was especially
high and carrying, an ordinarily low voice would
not be audible through that closed door. You
can prove that by simple experiment.”
“I have,” said Fleming Stone. “I have
tried it, and as you say, an ordinary voice in a
low tone is not audible. But Miss Carrington’s
15


226 THE CURVED BLADES '
must have been raised unnecessarily, to allow of
its being heard.”
Stone watched Anita’s face as she listened
to this. But she only replied, with a shrug of in-
difference, “I can’t say as to that. I heard
every word clearly, that’s all I can tell.”
“Suppose she had- been talking to a picture
of some one, say a photograph of Miss Stuart or
of Mr. Loria, or of Count Charlier, would her
tone of voice then be explicable?”
“Perhaps. But she would have had to
imagine vividly the person there before her.
And, again, Miss Carrington had no such pho-
tographs in her rooms. All her family photo-
graphs are in this library, in frames or cases.
She was methodical in such matters. She has
series of pictures of Miss Stuart and of Mr.
Loria from their childhood to now, but they are
all in order in the cases over there.” Anita
made a slight motion of her hand toward a
mahogany cabinet. “No, Mr. Stone, whomever
or whatever Miss Carrington was talking to, it
was not a photograph of any of her relatives or
friends. As you know, there was none dis-
covered in her room, so what could she have
done with it?”
“That’s true, Miss Frayne. But hasn’t the
theory of a living person in there also inex-


THE OVERHEARD CONVERSATION 227
plicable points? If somebody was there, it was,
of course, some one well known and whose pres-
ence in the house was unquestionably correct.
But her remarks, as I read them from your
notes, imply different auditors. Granting for
a moment that Miss Stuart was there, why
would Miss Carrington say, ‘Henri, Henri, you
are the mark I aim at’?”
“I admit that must have been a soliloquy, or
an apostrophe to the man she wanted to marry,
though he was not present.”
“You have no thought, then, that Count
Charlier was present?”
“Certainly not! The idea is absurd. Miss
Stuart was in there with her aunt, and I’m sure
it was some remark of Pauline’s, which I, of
course, did not hear, that made Miss Carring-
ton speak of the Count as if to him.”
“How, then, do you account for the presence
of Count Charlier’s glove?”
“Miss Stuart put it there as a blind.”
“And how did Miss Stuart get it?”
“Easily. The Count had been spending the
evening here. He may have left his glove by
mistake,—or ”
“Or—?H
“Or Pauline may have abstracted it pur-
posely from his coat-pocket during the evening


THE OVERHEARD CONVERSATION 229
spoken to her unknown companion, I have never
heard anything of such an intention on her
part.”
“You’re fond of pearls, Miss Frayne?”
“Oh, I know what you’re getting at now.
That speech Miss Lucy made about fondness for
pearls. Of course, I am. Who isn’t? I often
told Miss Carrington that I admired her pearls
far more than all her diamonds or other glitter-
ing stones. But I wouldn’t commit a crime for
‘ all the pearls in the world! And, if I had, why
didn’t I steal the pearls?”
Anita’s voice rang out triumphantly as she
put this question, but Fleming Stone said
quietly: “I haven’t accused you of crime, Miss
Frayne, but since ‘you ask that, let me remind
you, that if the crime were done with intent of
' robbery, the reason that the robbery was never
accomplished is the same that kept the man
Bates from stealing. Few people can bring
themselves to take valuables from a dead body.
However, I cannot think the poisoning was done I
with any idea of direct robbery, but for the gain
that would come by the bequests of the will. ”
“Then your search is limited by the list of
inheritors ? ’ ’
“It is, Miss Frayne.”
“Then, Mr. Stone, how can you overlook or


230 THE CURVED BLADES
undervalue the weight of evidence against Paul-
ine Stuart? Remember, she bought that snake
herself. Miss Lucy never told her to buy it,
never in this world! Pauline feared her aunt
would disinherit her———”
“How do you know that?” the question was
shot at her, and Anita fairly jumped as she
heard it.
“Why—why, you know I heard reference
made to it that night when—”
“When you overheard that conversation; yes,
go on.” Fleming Stone had gained his point,
which was to prove that Anita did know of the
proposed change in the will before that time, and
to his own belief he had proved it.
“Yes, I cannot doubt now that Pauline knew
her aunt intended to change her will, and so
she was so desperate at the idea of losing her‘
fortune, she—I cannot bear to put it in
words—”
“She poisoned the lady,” said Fleming
Stone, very gravely.
“Yes.” Anita’s voice choked, but she enun-
ciated the word. “Mr. Stone, you must think me
dreadful to hold these suspicions, but you asked
me to be frank_”
“And I wish you to be so. I am here, Miss
Frayne, to discover the poisoner of Miss Car-


THE OVERHEARD CONVERSATION 231
rington. It is my duty to get all possible light
on the matter from any one I can. It is the duty
of those whom I question to tell all they know,
truthfully and straightforwardly. If these
truths implicate or seem to implicate a member
of the household, none the less must the investi-
gation be carried on and the case be pushed to its
inevitable conclusion. The great danger lies in
mistaking opinions or imaginations for facts.
Now you are telling facts as to the words you
overheard, but you are giving only opinions as
to whom those words were addressed.”
“That is so,” and Anita’s gaze was a won-
dering one. “But, Mr. Stone, since the fact of
that person in the room is undiscoverable, one
can’t help forming an opinion. Haven’t you
one?”
“I have.”
“Oh, what is it?”
“I think those words were spoken to some in-
animate object, not to a person. Suppose the
remark thought to be said to Count Charlier was
addressed to his glove, which she was undoubt-
edly holding at the time.”
_ “I never thought of that, because I have as-
sumed that Pauline put that glove in her hand
after—after it was all over, to implicate the
Count. And, any way, that’s only that one re~


232 THE CURVED BLADES
mark,——or two. To what inanimate object was
she talking when she said ‘To-morrow all these
jewels may be yours’?” .
“ That I cannot answer. That whole conver-
sation is most mysterious.”
“Indeed it is, Mr. Stone, under any other
_ hypothesis than that of the presence of Pauline
Stuart in her aunt’s room at the time!”
“May ‘I come in?” and Gray Haviland’s
good-natured face appeared, as he knocked and
opened the door almost simultaneously.
“Yes,” said Stone, “and I will ask you, Miss
Frayne, to leave us. I am getting to work in
earnest now, and I want to push things a little. ”
Stone watched the effect of this speech on
Anita. and was not surprised to see her look at
him with startled eyes, as she unwillingly went
through the door he held open for her.
“What’s doing?” asked Haviland, in his
breezy way; and Stone replied, frankly: “Lots.
Those two girls are sworn foes, aren’t they?”
“Of late they have seemed to be. The break
came a month or more before Miss Carrington
died. Two beauties never can remain friends. ”
“They are both beautiful women,” agreed
Stone. “Which do you think had a hand in the
tragedy?”
“Good Lord! Neither of them! What are


236 THE CURVED BLADES
for Miss Carrington’s sending for that thing,
we’ve the whole story.”
“You believe, then, that she did send for it?”
“Of course; why not?”
“We’ve only Miss Stuart’s word for that;
and it doesn’t seem as if Miss Carrington
would—” '
“Nonsense! It doesn’t seem, you mean, as
if Miss Stuart would—Why, man, what possible
sense could there be in Miss Stuart’s buying that
snake on her own account? If she set out to
poison her aunt,—which'she didn’t,—she could
have managed it in a dozen ways without lug-
ging in that paper reptile. In fact, it never
would have occurred to her to do so. Why would
she do it?”
“In an attempt to frighten the lady to
death?”
“Rubbish! The ﬁrst effect of such a fright
would be a fearful outcry on Miss Carrington’s
part, and immediate discovery of the plot.
Moreover, if Miss Stuart bought that snake for
any such purpose, she would have bought it se-
' cretly; at some little, obscure shop, not at a well-
knoWn emporium. No, sir, the snake is the key
to the puzzle, but how? That is the question.
You see, the doctors are pretty sure that the
thing was put round the lady’s neck before she


FLED ! 237
died. Therefore she was either unconscious at
the time, or,—she was willing.”
“Never! Everybody says her fear of the
things would never let her have it put on her
willingly. ’ ’
“I know they say so, but they may be mis-
taken. I’m beginning to evolve a theory that
will ﬁt the facts, queer as they are. But my
theory needs a whole lot of other facts to back
it up, and those facts I can’t seem to ﬁnd.”
“Does'your theory implicate Miss Stuart?”
“It does not.”
“I thought not.” -
“You thought quite right. It does not im-
plicate Miss Stuart, because she is in no way
responsible for her aunt’s death. But she may
have knowledge, or she may think she has, that
' is leading her to shield somebody else.”
‘(Wh0m?7,
“I don’t know. She is rather a puzzling
creature. Is she—is she in love with that cousin
of hers?” I
“ Haviland ? ”
“No, the one in Egypt.”
“Oh, Loria. I don’t know, I’m sure. You
read his letter to her, it wasn’t in any sense a
love-letter. ”
“No, but it was evidently a letter written


238 THE CURVED BLADES
with the idea of other people reading it, because
of the circumstances. Of course, he wouldn’t put
any intimate talk in it. And it was typewritten,
so I couldn’t judge anything of the man from his
chirography. ’ ’
“Does handwriting mean much to you?”
“Yes, indeed. It is a wonderful expression
of character. But I don’t suppose it would de-
clare his adoration of a lady, unless he put it
in words also.”
“You don’t connect Loria with the crime in
any way, do you?”
“I don’t see how I can, unless in collusion
or through the aSSistance of Miss Stuart. And
I’m not ready to do that. I’m working now on
that conversation overheard by Miss Frayne.”
“You accept that whole, then?”
“Yes, for the simple reason that she would
not have invented all that talk. Even if she were
in the room herself, and the remarks were ad-
dressed to her, she might be trying to lay the
blame elsewhere; to create that conversation out
of her own brain is too preposterous. You see,
Hardy, these things must be weighed in the bal-
ance of probability. If Miss Frayne had set out
to invent a lot of stuif which she merely pre-
tended to overhear, she would have had two
sides to the conversation. It is that unusual


FLED ! 239
effect of one voice only that gives her story the
stamp of truth.”
“But there must have been another voice,
even though inaudible to her.”
“That’s just the point. There may have
been,—probably was. But if the story was her
own invention, she never would have thought of
representing that second voice as inaudible.
Now, either she did hear Miss Carrington say
those things, or she didn’t. I believe she did,
because if she hadn’t, she must have invented
the tale, and if she had invented it, it would have
been different. Likewise, Miss Stuart’s snake
story. If it were not true that her aunt asked
her to buy that snake, Miss Stuart must have
made up that yarn. And if she had made it up,
it would have been different. That’s always my
test for the truth of an amazing statement. If
the teller were falsifying, would he tell it that
way? If so, then it is probably a lie: if not, then
probably it is a true bill. Now they say Miss
Carrington had a high, shrill voice. Did you
ever hear it, Hardy?”
“No. I never knew the lady. But I’ve heard
a record of it on the phonograph, and it is high,
and rather thin.” , i '
“On the phonograph? How does that
happen?” - 1l ,7


FLED ! 241
Fleming Stone gasped. , Pulled wool over his
eyes! Over the eyes, the gimlet eyes, the all-
seeing eyes of Fleming Stone! What could the
man mean? And this so-called wool pulled by
a woman! What unheard-of absurdity!
“Mr. Hardy,—” he began.
“Yes, yes, I know. Nothing of the sort, and
all that. But it’s true, Mr. Stone. Miss Stuart
is a siren from Sirenville. She can make any
man think black is white if she chooses. And
she has been bullied and cowed by that old aunt
of hers for years, and for my part, I don’t blame
her for getting to the end of her rope. If
she ”
“Stop! Mr. Hardy, I know you think you’re
right, but you are not! Do you hear, you are
not! And I’ll prove it to you, and that'soon! I’ll
ferret out this thing, and I’ll do it on this new
theory of mine whether you believe it or not!”
Hardy looked at the man in amazement. He
had expected a different mode of procedure from
this talented sleuth. He had looked for a quiet,
even icy, demeanor, and magical and instantane-
ous solution of all mystery. And here was the
great man, clearly baﬂied at the queerly tangled
web of evidence, and, moreover, caught in the
toils of a woman whom Hardy fully believed to
be the criminal herself.

16


244 THE CURVED BLADES
include him on your list? And here’s another
thing. Whoever mixed that poison in the glass
of water, afterward rinsed the glass and re-
turned it to its place in the bath-room? This was
either done at the time, that is, before the lady
died, or later on, after death had ensued. In
either case, it opens up a ﬁeld of conjecture.”
“It doesn’t with me,” said Hardy, bluntly.
“There’s no room for conjecture. It simply
piles up the proof against Miss Stuart, and all
your skill and even your will can’t get her off.”
A low moan was heard and a sound as of a
falling body. Stone sprang to the door, and
ﬂinging it open, disclosed Pauline lying on the
ﬂoor where she had just fallen. With a low ex-
clamation, Stone picked her up and carried her
to a couch. In a moment she sat up and cried,
“What do you mean, Mr. Hardy? Do you think
I killed Aunt Lucy?”
“There, there, Miss Stuart, don’t ask fool-
ish questions,” and Hardy, deeply embarrassed,
stood at bay. It was one thing to assert his sus-
picions to Fleming Stone, and quite another to
have them overheard by this beautiful and in-
dignant girl.
“How dare you!” Pauline went on. “I was
at the door and I heard all you said. No, I am
not ashamed of listening, I’m glad I did. Now


246 THE CURVED BLADES
It did.
That same evening, Pauline went to Fleming
Stone. The two were alone. Standing before
him, in all her somewhat tragic beauty, Pauline
asked: “You don’t think me guilty, Mr. Stone?”
He looked deep in the great, dark eyes that
seemed to challenge his very soul, and after a
moment’s steady glance, he replied, “ I know
you are not, Miss Stuart.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I hope to.”
“That means nothing. Are you sure you
can?”
Fleming Stone looked troubled. Never be-
fore in his career had he been unable to declare
his surety of success; but with those compelling
eyes upon him he couldn’t deny a present doubt.
Shaking himself, as if to be freed from a
spell, he said, at last, “Miss Stuart, I am not
sure. I am convinced of your innocence, but the
only theory of guilt that I can conceive of is so
difﬁcult, so almost impossible of proof, and so
lacking in plausibility, that it seems hopeless.
If determination and desperate effort can do it,
you shall be exonerated. But there are many
circumstances not in your favor. These I shall
overcome, eventually. But, to be honest, until I
can get a clue or a link of some sort to join my


FLED ! 247
purely imaginative theory to some tangible fact,
I can do little. I am working day and night in
my efforts to ﬁnd this connection I seek, but it
may take a long time. Meanwhile —-—”
“Meanwhile, I may be arrested?” Pauline’s
voice was a mere whisper; her face was drawn
and white with fear. To Stone she did not look
like a guilty woman, but like an innocent girl,
frightened at thought of unjust suspicion and
terrorized by imagination of the unknown hor-
rors that might come to her.
“Oh, help me!” she moaned, “Mr. Stone, '
can’t you help me?”
“Pauline!” he exclaimed, taking her hands
in his ;_ “Pauline! Go!” he cried, tensely:
“I will save you, but until I do, keep away from
me! You unnerve me! I cannot think!”
“I understand!” and Pauline slowly drew
her hands from his. “I will keep away from
you.”
Stone let her go. He closed the door after
her, locked it, and threw himself into a chair.
What had he done? Full well he knew what he
had done. Hardy was right. He had fallen in
love with Pauline Stuart! He realized it,
quietly, honestly, as he would have realized
any incontrovertible fact. His subconsciousness
was that of a deep, still gladness; but, strangely


FLED ! 249
from home annoyed him and he asked for her
New York address. This no one knew, as she
had not informed any of them where she was
staying in the city, and Mr. Matthews went off
in a state of angry excitement. But the house-
hold at Garden Steps was even more excited.
For this was the ﬁrst sign of a deﬁnite action
against Pauline. What it meant or how far it
would go, no one could say.
And then, that afternoon, came a letter from
Pauline herself. It had been mailed in New
York that morning and contained the surpris-
ing news that Pauline had sailed at noon that
day for Alexandria. ,
“Get her back!” roared Haviland, as he read
the letter. “Wireless the steamer and make her
get picked up by some incoming ship! Don’t
think of expense! She musn’t run off like that!
It’s equivalent to confession of the crime!”
“Hush!” demanded Fleming Stone. “How
dare you say that?”
“It’s true!” cried Anita. . “Why else
would Pauline run away? She knew she was
on the verge of arrest and she ﬂed to Carr Loria.
He will hide her from her pursuers.”
“He can,” said Haviland, thoughtfully:
“maybe it’s as well she’s gone there. Of course,
she did it.”


250 THE CURVED BLADES
“Of course, she didn’t!” and Fleming
Stone’s voice trembled in its very intensity;
“And I shall prove to a lot of dunder-headed
police that she didn’t, but it will make my work
much harder if you two insist on Miss Stuart’s
guilt. Why do you want to railroad her into
conviction of a crime she never dreamed of?”
“Then who did it?” demanded Anita. “To
whom was Miss Lucy speaking when she said
those things I heard?”
“If you harp on that string much longer,”
said Stone, looking at her, “one might almost be
justiﬁed in thinking she said them to you.”
“No,” said Anita, in a low, awed voice, and
looking straight at Fleming Stone, “no, she did
not say them to me.”
And Stone knew she spoke the solemn truth.
But she had not spoken the truth when she
said she saw Pauline Stuart coming from the
boudoir of her aunt.


XIX
LETTERS FROM THE FUGITIVE
PAULINE’s ﬂight was deemed by many a con-
fession of guilt. The District Attorney declared
his intention of cabling a command to hold her
for examination at Alexandria. Or, he said,
perhaps it would be better to intercept her
course at Gibraltar or Naples.
The people at Garden Steps paid little atten-
tion to these suggestions, so absorbed were they
in planning for themselves.
“Poor child,” said Haviland, “she ran away
in sheer panic. You don’t know Pauline as we
do, Mr. Stone; she is brave in the face of a pres-
ent or material danger. When a gardener’s cot-
tage burned, she was a real heroine, and saved a
tiny baby at risk of her own life. But always a
vague fear or an intangible dread throws her
into a wild, irresponsible state, and she loses her
head utterly. Now, I may as well own up that I
do think Polly committed this deed. I think that
she had stood Aunt Lucy as long as she pos-
sibly could, and you’ve no idea what the poor
child had to put up with. I think that when Lady
Lucy threatened to send Pauline away, homeless
and penniless, this panic of fear overcame her
and she gave that poison, on an impulse, ”

251


252 THE CURVED BLADES
“But,” interrupted Stone, “that would im-
ply her having the poison in readiness. She
couldn’t procure it at a moment’s notice.”
“That’s so,” agreed Haviland, thoughtfully;
“but, even so, it’s my belief that that’s the way
it all happened. How Pauline got the stuff I’ve
no idea, but there’s no other explanation that
ﬁts the facts. Aunt Lucy’s aversion to drugs or
medicines could have been overcome by few
people, but Pauline could have wheedled her into
taking it by some misrepresentation of its heal-
ing qualities or something like that.”
“It must have been under some such mis-
apprehension that she took it,” said Stone.
“For I’m convinced she took it dissolved in a
glass of water, and therefore, was conscious of
the act, though not of the nature of the dose.
But couldn’t Miss Stuart have given it inno-
cently by mistake, as a headache powder,
01,—),
‘ ‘ Miss Carrington never had headaches, ” re-
turned Anita, “and, any way, Pauline couldn’t
make such a mistake. It isn’t as if Miss Car-
rington had a medicine cabinet like other people,
where drugs might get mixed up . No, Mr. Stone,
there was no mistake.”
“You think Miss Stuart administered the
poison purposely, to kill her aunt?”


LETTERS FROM THE FUGITIVE 253
It would have been a brazen soul indeed, that
could have spoken falsely under the piercing
gleam in Fleming Stone’s eyes then.
“I am forced to think that,” replied Anita,
quietly. “And you know I was present when
Miss Carrington denounced Pauline and told
her to leave this house the next day. And I also
heard Miss Carrington when she said, later, that
half her fortune should not go to a niece who‘
treated her as Pauline did—”
“Would she have used those words in speak-
ing to Miss Stuart?” asked Stone, pointedly.
“Surely she would. Why not?”
“Never mind all that, ’Nita,” said Haviland.
‘ ‘Polly ’s gone,—run away,—and it’s up to us to
do all we can to help her. If her ﬂight means
she’s guilty, never mind, we must stand up for
her, and deny anything that incriminates her.
If she did poison Aunt Lucy, we don’t want her
convicted of it. She’ll go straight to Loria,
and he’ll look out for her all right. But if we
ﬁnd anybody ’s going to head her off at Naples,
or anywhere, we must warn her and help her to
thwart their plans. ’ ’
“Accessory after the fact—” began Stone.
“Sure!” said Haviland. “You bet we’ll be
accessories after the fact, to help Polly out!
Why, Mr. Stone, if she did this thing, the best


254 THE CURVED BLADES
possible plan for her was to vamoose, just as
she did do. Carr Loria can hide her in Egypt,
so nobody can ﬁnd her, and after a while———’ ’
“Mr. Haviland,” and Stone’s eyes gleamed,
“I am surprised at your attitude. How can you
so easily take Miss Stuart’s guilt for granted?”
“No other way out. Now, look here, Mr.
Stone, neither Miss Frayne nor I did this thing.
‘We weren’t tied to Miss Carrington’s apron
strings. We could walk off and leave her if we
chose. But Miss Stuart couldn’t. Her life was
a perfectly good hell on earth. I know all about
it, a lot more, even, than Miss Frayne does. I
don’t quite say I don’t blame Polly, but I do say
I quite understand it. She is an impulsive
creature. She’ll stand an awful lot and then ﬂy
all to pieces at some little thing that sets her
nerves on edge. She’s clever as the Devil, and
if she procured that aconite, long ago, say, it was
in anticipation of some time when she—well,
when she just reached the limit. And it hap-
pened to come that night. That’s all.”
“Wrong, Mr. Haviland, all wrong!” and
Stone’s face was positively triumphant. “I’ve
found an additional hint, in what you’ve just
said, and I’m convinced I’m on the right track!
One more question, Miss Frayne, about that
conversation you so luckily overheard.”


256 THE CURVED BLADES
“I am not considering your wishes in the
matter,” said Stone, coldly. “If you do not
want to think Miss Stuart implicated in this
matter, your words and actions are unintelligible
to me, but they are equally unimportant, and
I have neither time nor thoughts to waste on
them.”
With this somewhat scathing speech, Stone
went away, leaving the angry Anita to be com-
forted by Haviland.
. “What did he mean?” she cried, her cheeks
pink with anger, and her blue eyes shining
through tears. “Gray, does he suspect me?”
“No, Anita, of course not. But he’s on a
trail. Perhaps it wasn’t Polly after all.”
“But it had to be! It was somebody in the
house, and it wasn’t you or me or any of the
servants.’ ’
“Well, you listen to me, girl. If they quiz
you any more about that talkfest you butted into,
don’t you color the yarn to make it seem against
Polly. I won’t have it!”
“How cross you are! But I never did, Gray.
I never made it seem to be evidence against
Pauline.”
“You never did anything else!”
“Don’t you love me any more?” and the soft
lips quivered as an appealing glance was raised


LETTERS FROM THE FUGITIVE 257
to his face. Her eyes, like forget-me-nots in the
rain, were so beautiful, Haviland clasped the
lovely face in both his hands, and said as he held
it: “I won’t love you, ’Nita, if you go back on
our Polly. I’m surprised at your attitude to-
ward her just now, and I warn you I won’t
stand any more of it. I’m forced to think she
did this thing, but I intend to admit that to no-
body but you and Stone. If he can ﬁnd the real
criminal, and it isn’t Polly, I’ll bless him for-
ever. But you know, as well as I do, why he is
clinging to that forlorn hope. It’s because
he 78—7)
“Of course, I know! Because he’s in love
with her.”
“Yes; and it’s a remarkable thing for him to
fall head over heels in love at ﬁrst sight, like
that.”
“Well, of ocurse, she is handsome,” and An-
ita’s grudging admission was real praise.
“You bet she is! And old Stone fell for her
in a minute! Now there’s the old adage of ‘Love
will ﬁnd a way,’ and if Fleming Stone has any
magic ability, or whatever these wizard detec-
tives claim, he’s going to work it to the limit to
prove Polly innocent. And I hope to goodness
he succeeds. Great Scott! I wouldn’t suspect
the girl if there was a glimpse of a gleam of any
17


258 THE CURVED BLADES
other way to look. But, you hear me, Anita!
Don’t you say a word, true or false, that will
help on the case against Pauline Stuart! I won’t
stand for it! And don’t you say you saw her
coming from that room, when you know you
didn’t!”
The postman came just then, and brought
with him two letters addressed in Pauline’s
dashing hand. '
“Well, what do you know about that!” ex-
claimed Gray, half glad and half scared at the
sight. “One for me, and one for F. S. Here,
Anita, take Mr. Stone’s to him, while I eat up
mine.” ~
“I won’t do it! I want to see what’s in
yours, ﬁrst,” and Anita stood by Gray’s side to
look over his shoulder.
“All right, then,” and they read together:
DEAR GRAY:
I couldn’t help it. You see, I was so frightened at what
you all said, that I didn’t know what to do. I came over to
New York, with a vague idea of asking Mr. Price to help me.
I stayed with Ethel all night, and somehow things seemed to
look so black, I couldn’t think of anything but to go to Carr.
I went down to the steamer ofﬁce to see about changing my
tickets for an earlier date, or something, and I found the
Catalonia sailed today. I’m scratching this off to go back
by the pilot. I had about two hours to get ready, so I bought
a trunk and some clothes, went to the bank and got a letter
of credit, and here I am. I don’t know yet whether I’m glad


260 THE CURVED BLADES
He opened it, and after a glance handed it
over to Haviland.
‘ It said, only:
MY DEAR MR. STONE:
Thank you for your belief in me, and forgive me for run-
ning away. And, please,—oh, I beg of you, please drop the
case entirely. Your further investigation and discovery can
only bring sorrow and anguish to my already distracted soul.
I have no time to write more, but assume that I have put forth
any or every argument that could persuade you, and at once
cease all effort to learn who is responsible for the death of
my aunt.
Sincerely yours,
PAULINE STUART.


XX
IN THE BOUDOIR
APPARENTLY, Fleming Stone paid little atten-
tion to this letter from Pauline. Really, every
word engraved itself on his heart, as he read the
lines, and when he gave the paper to Gray Havi-
land, it was only because he knew he would never
need to refresh his memory as to the message
Pauline had sent him.
Stone also read the letter she had written to
Gray, and his deep eyes clouded with pain at
some of the lines. But he returned it to Havi-
land without comment, and then courteously dis-
missed the pair.
“He’s bothered to death,” said Gray, as they
went downstairs. I
“So’m I,” responded Anita. “But nobody
cares about me, it’s all Pauline,—whether she’s
a—_”
“Let up on that, ’Nita!” and Gray spoke
warningly. “Don’t you call Pauline names in
my hearing!”
Anita, pouting, ﬁounced away to her own
room.
Fleming Stone remained in Miss Lucy Car-
rington’s boudoir. He sat on a window-seat,
and looked out across the wide gardens and the
261


262 THE CURVED BLADES
innumerable steps. There was not much snow
now. Merely great wind-swept stretches,
dotted with evergreen trees, and the carved
stone of the terrace railings and balustrades.
Long, Stone mused over Pauline’s letter.
For a time, he gave himself up to thoughts of
her in which consideration of crime had no part.
He knew he loved her, loved her with all the
strength and power of his great nature; with
all the affection and devotion of his big heart;
and with all the passion and adoration of
his deep soul. He knew she was not averse
to him. Knew almost, with his marvelous
power of knowledge, that she cared for him,
but he knew, too, that if he let his mind dwell
on such alluring thoughts or visions, he could
not work. And work, he must. Ay, work as he
had never before, with an incentive he had never
had before. And Fleming Stone’s mind was
troubled to know, whether this love for Paul-
ine would help or hinder this work he must do.
And he resolved, with all his mighty will-power,
that it should help, that he would control this
surging emotion, so new to him, and would force
it to aid and assist his efforts, and to triumph
over all doubts or obstacles.
Again he concentrated his whole mentality
on the room and its contents. He swore to wrest


IN THE BOUDOIR 263
from the silent witnesses the story of the crime.
This was not his usual method of procedure. On
the contrary, he almost invariably learned his
points from questioning people, from observing
suspects, or quizzing witnesses. But, he realized
the difference in essence between this case and
any other in which he had ever engaged. He
had no more questions to ask. He knew all any
one could or would tell him. He knew all the
facts, all the theories, all the evidence, all the
testimony. And none of it was worth a picayune
to him, except negatively. This case must be,
and should be, solved by the application of his
highest mental powers, by the most intense
thought and, doubtless, by most brilliant and
clever deduction from hints not facts, from
ideas, not visible clues. To work, then! To the
work that must bring success!
Leaving the window seat, Stone walked
round the room, and ﬁnally drew up in front of
the mirror the easy chair in which Miss Carring-
ton had sat when she received the blow given by
Bates. Whether she had sat here while taking
the poison, no one knew. If Stone’s theory was
right, she had not.
By referring to the photographs taken of
Miss Carrington after her death, Stone was
able to reconstruct the scene correctly.


IN THE BOUDOIR 267
surfeited with wealth yet unable to buy the
fairness she craved!”
Not doubting for an instant the truth of his
conclusion, Stone checked off that speech and
passed on to the next on his list. If he could
account for them all, he would be sure Lucy Car_
rington met her death alone, and therefore by
her own hand. Of course, she did not knowingly
poison herself, but if persuaded that the pre-
pared draught was some innocent remedy—oh,
well, that was aside the point for the moment.
But, quoting the phrase, “To~morrow I shall
be forever free from this curse of a plain face,—
to-morrow these jewels may all be yours,”—
even his ingenuity could suggest no meaning but
a foreknowledge of approaching death. What
else could free her from her hated lack of
beauty? What but death could. transfer her
fortune of jewels to another? Of course it might
be that marriage with her would give the jewels
to Count Charlier, but the two speeches were con-
secutive, and the implication was all toward
the fate that was even then almost upon her.
The remark about ten thousand dollars
was unimportant, as she had recently willed that
sum to ﬁve different people, and the reference
to a change in her will that should cut out Pauline
might have been merely a burst of temper. At


268 THE CURVED BLADES
any rate, Stone ascribed little importance to it
then. He felt that he had learned enough to
assume positively that Miss Carrington was not
talking to a human being when Anita Frayne
heard her voice. Then, he conjectured, as the
maid was free of all suspicion on the poisoning
matter, and as the two girls had left the room
at a little after twelve, the weight of evidence
was in favor of the poison being self-adminis-
tered, no matter for what reason or intent.
Granting this, there must be some trace of the
container of the aconite, before it was placed in
the glass. This must be found. If not, it proved
its removal by some one, either before or after
the poisoning actually occurred. .
Eagerly, almost feverishly, Stone searched.
Exhaustive search had long ago been made, but
again he went over all the possible places. The
ornate waste-basket beneath the dressing-table
still held its store of dainty rubbish. This had
been ordered to remain undestroyed. Stone
knew the contents by heart, but in hope of an
overlooked clue, he again 'turned the contents
out on a towel. Some clippings of ribbon, a dis-
carded satin ﬂower, two or three used “powder-
leaves,” a couple of hair-pins and a torn letter
were the principal itemsiof the familiar lot.
Nothing that gave the least enlightenment.


IN THE BOUDOIR 269
Stone got up and wandered around. What
had that poison been in before it was put in that
glass?
The ever-recurring thought that some one
might have brought it to the boudoir after pie-
paring it elsewhere, he would not recognize. A
sort of sixth sense convinced him that if he kept
on looking he must ﬁnd that clue. -
He went into the bedroom. The beautifu
appointments, replicas of Marie Antoinette’s,
seemed to mock at his quest. “We know,” they
seemed to laugh at him, “we know all about
it, but we will never tell!”
Untouched since Estelle ’s deft hand had
turned back its silken coverlets, the bed seemed
waiting for some fair occupant. With a sigh at
the pathos of it, Stone suppressed an involun-
tary thought of the incongruity of that gilded,
lace-draped nest, and its pitifully unbeautiful
owner. There was a profusion of embroidered
pillows, and across the satin puff lay a fairy-
like night-robe of gossamer texture, and coquet-
tish ribbons. A peignoir of pink crepe lay
beside it, and on the floor a. pair of brocade
mules waited in vain for feet that would never
again slip into their furred linings.
There was nothing helpful here, and with a
sigh Stone went on to the bath-room. Fit for a


270 THE CURVED BLADES
princess, the shining white and gleaming silver
showed careful readiness. Embroidered towels,
delicate soaps and perfumes were in place—all
showed preparation, not use.
" ‘If I were searching traces of Estelle, now,”
groaned Stone, despairingly, to himself, “I
could ﬁnd thousands. But Miss Carrington
didn’t come in here at all. But, whoever rinsed
that glass did!” The thought caused Stone to
start with eagerness. It was the fact of the glass
being out of line with the other appointments of
the wash-stand that had ﬁrst attracted his atten-
tion to it. After the test, the glass had been re-
turned to its place, now in strict position between
a silver cup and a ﬂask of violet water.
“Spoon in it,” mused Stone. “Shows care-
lessness on the part of whoever put it there.
Don’t believe a spoon was in a glass, generally,
in this celestial bath-room. If——”
His ruminations were cut short by a shock of
surprise. Under the wash-stand was a small
waste-basket. Had this been overlooked by the
searchers? Not surprising, for thorough search
had not been made in bedroom or bathroom, as
in the room where death had taken place.
Stone mechanically looked over the contents
of the little basket. There was only a scant
handful of papers. But carefully spreading a


at THE BOUDOIR 271
towel on the ﬂoor he turned the basket upside
down. Tremblingly he ﬁngered the papers. The
ﬁrst was the wrapper that had contained a cake
of French soap. At a glance, Stone saw the cor-
responding soap in its silver dish. Estelle had
doubtless placed it there, casting away its paper.
But among the scraps was another paper—
two more. They were,—they surely were in
creases like the folds of a powder paper!
With lightest touch, Stone unfolded them.
There was one, about four inches square, that
had been folded as if to contain a powder. This
was white, and of a texture like writing paper.
The other was of a paraffin paper, exactly the
same size and shape, and in similar creases.
Also there was a bunchy ball of tin-foil, that,
when smoothed out, proved to be of identical
shape and size with the other two.
There was no room for doubt. These were
unquestionably the wrappers of the aconitine!
Stone detected on the inside of the paraffin pa-
per traces of the powder itself, and knew that a
test would prove his discovery a true ﬁnd.
Now, then, where did he stand? To his own
mind, what he had found proved that Miss Car-
rington had herself gone to her bath-room,
opened the powder, thrown the papers carelessly
in the basket, and then, mixing the stuff with


272 THE CURVED BLADES
water, had taken it then and there and rinsed
the glass and set it back on the shelf. It was all
natural and plausible.
But, he well knew, others would say that, re-
membering her detestation of medicaments, Miss
Lucy Carrington never did such a thing. Also,
they would say, some one else, some one of whom
Miss Lucy felt no fear, had mixed the draught,
and had administered it, by means of some yet
undiscovered but plausible misrepresentation.
And only too well he knew whose name would
be associated with the deed!
'Heavy of heart, he returned to the boudoir
and sat in the easy chair, before the mirror.
New thoughts came surging. It was ‘sure,
now, that Miss Carrington took the aconitine in
a glass of water, in her own apartments,—one of
them,—and took it, if not knowingly or willingly,
at least without any great objection or dis-
turbance. Clinging to his theory that she was
alone, Stone visualized her taking the draught by
herself. Assume for the moment, an intended
headache cure,—but no! If she took the aconi-
tine alone and voluntarily, she knew it was poi-
son, for she said “To-morrow I shall be freed
forever from this homely face.”
Did it all come back, then, to suicide? No, not
with that glad face, that happy smile, that joyful


IN THE BOUDOIR . 273
look of anticipation. A suffering invalid, long-
ing for death, might thus welcome a happy re-
lease, but not life-loving Lucy Carrington.
It was too bewildering, too inexplicable.
Again and again Stone scanned the powder
papers. They told nothing more than that they
were the powder papers. That was positive, but
what did it prove? To whom did it point?
Frowning, Stone studied his own face in the
mirror before him. Desperately, be repeated
again all the sentences on Anita ’s list.
At one of them he paused, even in the act of
repetition.
' He stared blankly into his own mirrored eyes,
a dawning light beginning to ﬂame back at him.
Then, a little wildly, he glanced around,——up,
down, and back to his almost frenzied, reﬂected
face.
“Oh!” he muttered, through his clinched
teeth, for Stone was not a man given to strong
expletives, “it is! I’ve got it at last! The
powder, the pearls,—the snake! My Heavens!
the snake! Oh, Pauline, my love, my love—but
who? who? Have I discovered this thing only to
lead back to her? I won’t have it so! I am on
the right track at last, and I’ll follow it to the
end—the end, but it shall not lead, I know it will
not—to my heart’s idol, my beautiful Pauline!”
18


XXI
FLEMING STONE ’s THEORY
ALONE in the library, Fleming Stone and
Detective Hardy were in counsel.
“I’m going to show you this thing as I see
it, Mr. Hardy,” said Stone. “I frankly admit
it’s all theory, I haven’t a particle of human tes-
timony to back it, but it seems to me the only
solution that will ﬁt all points of the mystery.
And I shall ask you to consider it conﬁdential
for the present, until I can corroborate it by un-
mistakable proofs.”
Hardy nodded assent, his eyes ﬁxed on the
speaker in a sort of fascination.
This young detective had not been at all idle
of late, but his work had amounted to nothing
deﬁnite, and though he was himself convinced
that Pauline Stuart was responsible for her
aunt’s death, he seldom exploited that view be-
fore Stone, having learned that it was an unwel-
come subject. I
‘ ‘ Here ’s the theory in a very small nutshell,’ ’
said Stone, “but remember, you’re not to men-
tion it to any one until I give you permission.
Miss Lucy Carrington took that powder, think-
ing it a drug that would make her beautiful. ”
274


FLEMING STONE’S THEORY 275
“A charm? a philter?” Hardy’s eyes seemed
to bulge in his excitement.
“I’m not sure whether it was a fake magic
affair, say, from a clairvoyant or fortune-teller,
or whether it was a plain swindle from a beauty
doctor or something of that sort. You know
such people play on the credulity of rich patrons
and get enormous sums and a promise of secrecy
for a so-called beauty producer.”
“But why would the beauty doctor or the
clairvoyant person give a patient poison?”
“They didn’t. They gave a harmless pow-
der, and some evil-minded person added the aco-
nite, secretly, knowing of the beauty scheme. ”
“Who didit?” . a .
“That’s yet to be discovered, but it will be
easier if we can trace the one who sold her the
nostrum. Now, listen while I reconstruct the
scene. Miss Carrington, having dismissed her
maid, goes to her bath-room, and takes the pow-
der dissolved in water. These powder papers,
which I found in her bath-room waste-basket,
carry out that idea.”
Hardy stared at the papers, but did not in-
terrupt the speaker.
“Then, joyfully waiting the effect of the
charm, she sits in front of the mirror to watch
her features become beautiful. This is why she


FLEMING STONE’S THEORY 277
“ If that’s true, Mr. Stone, you are the wizard
of the ages! How did you dope it out?
What ”
“Now, wait a minute. This isn’t the pipe
dream you think it. But listen While I tell the
rest in my own way.”
“Listen! I should think I would! G0 on.”
“You know, these fakers give out these
charms with all sorts of fool directions to im-
press the duped customer. As I say, I’m not
sure yet whether it was a professional of the
clairvoyant type, or a regular beauty doctor.
But in either case, I’ve no doubt that Miss Car-
rington paid him enough to compensate for
giving up his practice and leaving for parts un-
known. For after the charm failed to work, of
course she would expose the fraud.”
“But the poison—”
“Never mind that for the moment, Mr.
Hardy. Surely, if we can discover for certain
how and why the dose was taken, it will go far
to help us trace the criminal Who added the
deadly element to the powder. Now, continuing
the Cleopatra idea, I am sure that the clever
clairvoyante,—we’ll assume that’s what she
,7

was,-'—
“She?”
“Merely to designate this faker person.


FLEMING STONE’S THEORY 279
account for that snake! And any one of these
things might seem the result of a lunatic imagi-
nation by itself, but taken all together,the theory
holds water! Why think of the Oriental scarf,
the embroidered robe, the mass of jewels in ad-
dition to the signiﬁcant pearls, and the scarabs!
All point to the type of Cleopatra. If there had
been a picture on the wall, say, of Helen of Troy,
and Miss Carrington had been rigged up in a
Greek costume, with a ﬁllet in her hair, and. san-
dals on her feet,—or if the picture had shown
the Goddess of Liberty, and we had found Miss
Carrington draped in an American ﬂag, could
any one have denied the signiﬁcance? There
can be no doubt,—no doubt in this world, Hardy,
that the costume, the jewels and the snake all
point to a connection with the picture of Cleo-
patra, and if so, What other connection is pos-
sible than the one I’ve blocked out? Answer me
that! And, ﬁnally, the speech to the Count,
whose glove she fondled, ‘You are the Mark I
aim at.’ A pleasantry of wording inevitably
suggested by the thought of the man Cleopatra
charmed and the man Miss Carrington desired
to charm. And a play on words too, not at all
unnatural to her, for I’m told she was both
witty and clever in conversation.”
“Mr. Stone, I am carried away by your ar-


280 THE CURVED BLADES
guments. I can’t deny their plausibility, but I
am bewildered. How did you fathom this re-
markable plan?”
“Simply because there is no other plan that
will ﬁt the facts. I believe Miss Carrington did
say all those things Miss Frayne relates. I be-
lieve she was alone in the room when she said
them. Therefore, they must have had some
meaning, and the meanings I have just ascribed
to them must be the true ones.”
“They must be—”
“And I will further satisfy you that they
are. Here is a memorandum I found in Miss
Carrington’s desk. It is, as you see, a list of
items. Read it.”
Hardy’s eyes stared more widely than ever
as he read:
Green and gold boudoir robe.
Jewels, especially pearls.
Scarabs.
Scarf.
Snake.
Something belonging to H.
“Now, that,” and Fleming Stone spoke in
low, even tones, without a hint of boasting or
pride in his achievement, “is a list in Miss Car-
rington’s own writing, and is undeniably a list of
things to be worn on the occasion which she


FLEMING STONE’S THEORY 281
hoped would mean a delightful change to the
beauty she so desired to be, but which, instead,
was a change to the cold stillness of death. I
found that, after reaching my own conclusions
about the Cleopatra business. If I had found
it before, I would have known it must refer
to her costume, but I couldn’t have gleaned from
it the conclusions I had already come to. Now,
Hardy, are you convinced?’ ’
“I am, Mr. Stone. And I am also puzzled.
From all this knowledge, we start fresh, as it
were, and we—”
“Wait a minute, Hardy. Let’s go slowly.
Now, here are two ways to look at this thing.
I told you about the clairvoyante ﬁrst, because
that ﬁrst came to my mind as the inevitable ex-
. planation. But, suppose, instead of a profes-
sional clairvoyante or- beauty doctor, some
friend or—” Stone set his teeth, but went on
steadily, “or some one in the household, planned
all this scheme, and pretended to get a powder
that would accomplish this transformation, gave
it to the unsuspecting lady to take by herself, and
I in reality this powder was the adonite.”
Hardy jumped. “Then Miss Stuart ”
he began.
“Ah,” and Stone’s face was white and his
voice like cutting steel, “Why Miss Stuart?


284 THE CURVED BLADES
it is to unfold and refold a powder-paper with-
out making it look messy. These, I would be
willing to assert, have never been refolded, or,
as I say, if they were, it was done very care-
fully.”
“That isn’t much of a clue,” and Hardy
smiled. ‘
“It may be,” returned Stone. “It at least
indicates a possible elimination of the clair-
voyante and an indication of the murderer pre-
paring the powder alone. At any rate, Hardy,
I’ve told you all this in order to ask your help.
Will you go and see what you can round up in
the Way of the clairvoyante of our dreams? Go
to all you can ﬁnd in New York City. That is
the prominent’ones. Get a line on beauty doc-
tors, and generally look up this sort of thing.
And keep it all under your hat.”
“All right, Mr. Stone,” and Hardy was oﬂ
at once.
Fleming Stone put away the papers, and sat
for more than an hour in a brown study. It
must be admitted that a photograph of Pauline
Stuart, which stood on a near-by table, held
his eye-s much of the time. And his gaze, as it
rested on the lovely face, was now tender and
now sad.
At last he rang for a servant. To the foot-


286 THE CURVED BLADES
especial seemed to interest him. “Whose are
these?” he asked.
“Those, sir, I took from Miss Carrington’s
dressing-table.” Jane gave a slight shudder as
if at the recollection of the tragedy of that table.
“But these are of a different patterned
handle from the rest of that dressing-table’s
silver.”
“I don’t know, sir, as to that. They were
there and I brought them.” ,
“Very well, Jane. Take them all back to
their places. Mind now, don’t mix them.”
“No, sir. Thank you, sir.”
A strange excitement seemed to seize upon
Fleming Stone. Abruptly he left the room, and,
ﬂinging on. his overcoat in they hall, he snatched
his hat and went away, almost on a run. His
steps took him to the garage and in a few mo-
ments he was in a swift little runabout being
driven to the sanatorium where Estelle was still
staying.
After a call there, he hurried to Police Head-
quarters. Thence, after a rather long call, to a
telegraph ofﬁce, to one or two shops and then
back to Garden Steps.
Here he put several servants at work for
him, packing his effects and such matters, then
summoning Gray Haviland to the library, he


FLEMING STONE’S THEORY 287
said; “I’m sailing for Egypt this afternoon.
May I ask you to make no further investigations
till my return?” ~
“Egypt!” gasped Gray. “Good Heavens,
man! what for?”
“In the interest of my work for you,” re-
turned Stone, gravely.
“Rubbish! You’re chasing Pauline! We’ll
never see either of you again!”
Fleming Stone smiled. “I do love her, Havi-
land, I make no denial of that fact. And I do
hate to have her alone in a strange land. So, if
I can be of any help to her, an ocean or two to
cross shall not keep me from her.”
“And your detective work?”
“Will not suffer by my absence. I’ve been to
the Police and to the District Attorney and they
approve my plans as I’ve outlined them so far.
The rest must wait my return.”
“Ah, and when will you be back?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I will keep you
informed of my whereabouts. Say good-by to
Miss Frayne for me, and please excuse me now,
as I’ve heaps to do. By the way, where is that
record of Miss Carrington’s song that I have
heard of? Play it for me, will you?”
“Thought you were in such a hurry!”
laughed Haviland, but granted the request.


288 THE CURVED BLADES
“Wonderful!” commented the Detective, as
he heard it on the phonograph. “It is a per-
fectly-made record. If you don’t mind, I’ll take
possession of it.”
“All right,” said Gray, carelessly, and in
another half hour Fleming Stone was on his
way to the pier where the Macedonia was mak-
ing ready to sail.


290 THE CURVED BLADES
Three or four Arabs gathered round Paul-
ine herself, each asserting his claim to all the
virtues of a perfect dragoman. In more or less
intelligible English, each insisted he had been
sent to her personally by Effendi This or That,
of marvelous wealth and power. Greatly in
terested, she listened to their arguments, until,
encouraged, they became so insistent that she
was frightened. Seeing this, they waxed
threatening, even belligerent, in their deter-
mination to be engaged, and just as one laid his
brown, long ﬁngers on her arm, and she drew
back in a panic of fear, she saw Carr Loria’s
smiling face coming to her through the crowd.
With a wave of his hand and a few short
commands, he sent the bothersome Arabs ﬂying,
and greeted Pauline with affectionate enthusi-
asm.
.“Polly, dear! but I’m glad to see you! Have
. you had a good trip? But such questions must
wait a bit. Where are your checks? Do you see
your boxes?”
“There’s only one, and some hand things.
Here is—”
“All right,” and Loria took the little sheaf
of papers she produced from her handbag.
‘Ahri, look after these.”
A tall Arab glided to Loria’s side, and took


PAULINE IN CAIRO \ 291
the checks. “Ahri is my dragoman and body-
servant and general factotum,” said Loria, by
way of introduction. “This lady, Ahri, is my
cousin, Miss Stuart. Her word is law.”
“Yes, Mr. Loria. Miss Stoort is queen of
all.”
The man made a salaam of obeisance and
turned away to look after the luggage.
“He’s a wonder, that Ahri,” said Carring—
ton Loria, looking after the retreating Arab.
‘ ‘But be very haughty with him, Polly. He pre-
sumes upon the least encouragement. Treat
him like the dust under your feet, and he ’11 adore
you.” ‘
“That’s easy enough,” and Pauline smiled.
“I’m scared to death of these brown and black
men. But your servant is so grand of costume.”
“Yes, he’s a very high-class affair. Hand-
some chap and fond of dress. But he’s in-
valuable to me. Speaks almost perfect English,
and knows everything there is to know,—and
then some. Knows, too, everybody who has
ever been in Cairo or ever thought of
coming here. And he possesses the proud
distinction of being the only dragoman here-
abouts who hasn’t a letter of recommenda-
tion from Hichens. You haven’t that, have you,
Ahri?” for the Arab had just reappeared.


292 THE'CURVED BLADES
A marvelous set of white teeth gleamed in
the sunlight, as the response came quickly: “I
had one, Mr. Loria, but I sold it. They are of
use to others; Ahri needs none.” His self-
conceit was superb, and he spoke with the air
of a prince. But warned by Loria, Pauline gave
him no answering smile, rather a patronizing
nod, and Ahri’s respect for the newcomer went
up several points.
“Come along, girlie,” commanded Carring-
ton and he took Pauline’s arm as he hurried her
to the boat-train.
Watchful Ahri showed them to the com-
partment he had secured for them, and soon
they were on their way to Cairo.
“Now, tell me everything,” said Carr Loria,
as they sat alone. “This is a three-hour trip
and I want to know the whole story. Just think,
Pauline, I’ve had only a few letters, and they
were—well,-—they were almost contradictory in
some ways. So tell me all, from the begin-
ning.”
Pauline did, and by the time they reached
Cairo, Loria knew as much as she of the death of
their aunt and the subsequent search for the
murderer.
“Wasn’t it strange,” he mused, “that'that
Bates person should go in to kill her, the very


294 THE CURVED BLADES
“Pauline! They don’t! Who suspects you?”
“All the police people, and Gray and Anita
Frayne,———-”
“They do! You poor little girl! I’m glad
you came to me. I’ll take care of you. But,
Polly, whom do you suspect? Honest, now, who
is in your mind?”
“I don’t know, Carr. I can’t seem to think.
But when they fastened it on me, I was so fright-
ened, I just ﬂew. ~Why, just think, every one at
Garden Steps was suspicious of me! I could
see it even in the servants’ eyes. I couldn’t
stand it, and I was afraid "
“Yes, dear, go on, ”
“Well, I was afraid Mr. Stone would think
so, and I couldn’t bear that, so I just ran off on _
impulse. I regretted it lots of times on the trip
over,—-and then at other times I was glad I
came. Are you glad?”
“Sure, Polly. I wanted you to stick to your
plan of coming over, you know. Yes, I’m glad
you’re here. Now, we’ll soon be in Cairo, and
you’ll love it,—all the strange sights and ex-
periences. You’ll liVe at Shepheard’s for the
present. I’ve engaged a chaperon for you.”
“How thoughtful you are, Carr.”
“Oh, of course, a beautiful young woman
can’t live alone in Cairo, and also of course,


296 THE CURVED BLADES
heads, in their arms, or thrust them forth with
eager hands.
' Post-cards, jewelry, scarfs, and fans. Fly-
whisks with dangling beads. Embroideries,
carved ivories, brasses, sweetmeats, fruits and
newspapers, all were successively and collec-
tively offered for immediate, almost compulsory
sale.
“And I want to buy every one!” declared
Pauline, entranced at the sight of the catch-
penny toys.
“All in good time, honey. To-morrow, Ahri
shall take you to the bazaars, with or without
Mrs. MacDonald, as you choose, and you can get
a bushel of foolishness if you want to. Every-
body has to cure that ﬁrst mad desire to buy
rubbish, by yielding to it. You soon get
enoug .”
“Then I may go alone with Ahri to the
- shops?”
“Yes, anywhere, by daylight, except to so-
' cial affairs. There, or to any in-door entertain-
ment, you must take her. But she’ll know all
these things. Abide always by her decision.”
“But won’t you be with me, Carr? You
speak as if I will be much without you.”
“I’m awfully busy, Pauline; I’ll tell you all
about it this evening. Then you’ll understand.


PAULINE IN CAIRO 299
“Oh, Carr, are you a treasure-seeker!”
“Now, wait till I tell you. This papyrus is
authentic, and it’s nothing more nor less than
an account of a great hoard of jewels and gold
sunk, purposely, by an old Egyptian king to
save them from seizure. You wouldn’t under-
stand all the reasons that prove this is a true
bill, but it is, and so you must take my word for
it. All right. The old duffer saw ﬁt to sink this
stuff in the Nile, at a certain spot, designated
in this papyrus thing, and all I’ve got to do is to
dig her up, and there you are!”
Carr Loria’s face lighted up with the en-
thusiasm of the true archaeologist, and Pauline
caught the spirit, too, as she exclaimed, “How
splendid! How do you get down to it,—if it’s
under the Nile?”
“It’s a big scheme, Polly!” and Loria’s eyes
sparkled. “I’ve got to have a coffer-dam, an
enormous one,—and, oh, and a whole lot of para-
phernalia, and it will cost like fury, but the end
justiﬁes the expense,——and then, think of the
glory of it!”
“Have you got a right to do all this? Can
anybody dig wherever he likes in Egypt?”
“No, you little goose! But I’ve managed all
that part. I won’t tell even you about it, but
I’ve—well, I’ve ﬁxed it up. Now, listen here,


304 THE CURVED BLADES
happen, you ’ll be my heir without any fuss about
it.”
“Oh, don’t talk about such things, Carr.
You frighten me.”
“Nonsense, don’t take it like that. Now, see
here. You know my way. Touch and go is my
motto. So, I’ve asked a. lawyer chap to come
here to-night and ﬁx up things. Suppose you
make your will, too. Then it will seem more like
a business matter, and not as if either of us ex‘
pects to die soon. Who’s your heir to be, Polly?”
“Why, I don’t know, I’ve never thought
about it.”
“But you ought to. You see, now you’re
some heiress, and it isn’t right not to have a will
made,—on general principles. To be sure, you
may marry, ’ ’
“Oh, I don’t think I ever will, Carr!”
“Nonsense, Pollypops, of course you will.
But you must take your time and select a good
chappie. Now, how does this strike you?
J effries, my lawyer, is coming here, right away.
Suppose we each make a will, leaving all our
wordly goods to each other. Then, later, when
you decide on your life mate,you can change and
rearrange as you like.”
“But I haven’t any fortune yet. Aunt
Lucy’s estate isn’t all settled, is it?”


TWO WILLS 305
“No matter about that. It will be, in course
of time. I have every conﬁdence in Haviland,
he’s as honest a chap as ever breathed. He’ll
ﬁx up all our interests over there, in apple-pie
order and don’t you forget it! Humor me in
this thing, Polly, and believe I know more of
business affairs than you do, and it’s best to do
as I say.”
Pauline was easily persuaded, and as the ar-
rangement was concede-d to be merely tempo-
rary, she agreed. J effries came. The two wills
were drawn, signed and witnessed, all in correct
form. Loria, in his, bequeathed to Pauline all
he might die possessed of, and except for a few
charities and minor bequests, Pauline left her
fortune to Carr. The business was soon over,
and Loria took both documents, saying he would
put them in his Safe Deposit box for the present, _
as Pauline had no place for valuable papers.
The next day, Loria, accompanied by the in-
valuable Ahri, went away to the site of his pro-
jected' enterprise. This affair was conducted
with such strict secrecy that even the location
was not known to many. Actual work had not
yet been begun, but negotiations and prepara-
tions of vast importance were being made, and
secret conclaves were held by those most in-
terested. Pauline had been emphatically ad-
20


TWO WILLS 307
‘detective instinct,’ that he cared. But, his
sense of duty might make it necessary to follow
where the trail of suspicion led, even at cost of
his own affections. Then, too, could he suspect ?—
But Pauline’s irrepressible joy at thought of
seeing him left her little time or wish to indulge
in gloomy forebodings.
Singing, she ran off to dress for Stone’s re-
ception.
“Which is prettier?” she asked of Mrs. Mac,
holding up an embroidered white crepe, of Cairo
construction, and a black net gown, brought from
New York.
‘ ‘Wear the white, Miss Stuart. It’s most be-
coming to you.”
It was, and when arrayed in the lovely, soft,
clinging affair, with a cluster of tiny white rose-
buds at her belt, Pauline ’s unusually pink cheeks
and her scarlet ﬂower of a mouth gave all the
color necessary.
Her beautiful hair, piled in a crown atop her
little head, was held by a carved ivory comb, and
beneath their half-drooped lashes her great eyes
shone like stars.
For the Terrace, she donned a large white
hat, with black ostrich plumes, and ﬂinging a
white cape edged with black fur over her arm,
she descended to meet her guest. _


310 THE CURVED BLADES
welcoming, and not waiting to analyze the intent
of the gaze more deeply, Stone took a chance,
and in another instant, held her in his arms so
closely that the intent of her glance was of little
importance to anybody.
“Pauline!” he breathed, “how I love you!
My darling,—-minel N o, no, don’t spe_ak——‘”
and he laid his ﬁnger tips on her parted lips,
“Just look at me, and so—tell me——”
The wonderful eyes raised themselves to his,
and Stone’s phenomenal insight was not neces-
sary for him to read the message they held.
“You do love me!” he whispered: “oh, my
little girl!” and after a long, silent embrace, he
cried jubilantly: “Now tell me! Now tell me in
words, in words, Pauline, that you do!”
Unhesitatingly, without shyness, Pauline, ra-
diant-faced, whispered, “I love you, dear,” and
the vibrant tones ﬁlled the simple words to the
brim of assurance.
Though it seemed to them but a moment, it
was some time later that Mrs. MacDonald’s tap
sounded on the door.
“Come,” cried Pauline, springing away
from Stone’s side, while he sauntered to the
window. ‘ ‘ Oh, Mrs. MacDonald, you must know
it at once! Mr. Stone is my ﬁance!”
Mrs. Mac was duly surprised and delighted,


TWO WILLS 311
and, after congratulations, sent Stone away to
dress for dinner, and endeavored to calm down
her emotional charge.
Later that evening, Stone and Pauline sat in
the hall watching the people. Almost as much
alone as on a desert island, they conversed in
low tones, and Stone, between expressions of
adoration, told her of his theory of the beauty
charm.
With paling face, Pauline listened. “Who? ’ ’
she whispered. “Who? Do you supect any-
body?”
“You don’t know of your aunt ever having
consulted any beauty doctor or any such per-
son?”
“Oh, no! I’m sure she never did. Never!”
“And you don’t know of any one who would
give her poison, under pretense of its being a
charm or beautiﬁer?”
“Oh, don’t! Don’t ask me!” and, with a face
white as ashes, Pauline rose from her chair.
“You must excuse me, Mr. Stone. I am ill,—I
don’t feel well—. Really I must beg to be ex-
cused.”
Almost before he realize-d what she was d0-
ing, Pauline had left him, glided to the elevator,
and he heard the door of the cage clang to, even
as he followed her.


312 THE CURVED BLADES
‘ ‘Poor child!” he said to himself, “poor dear
little girl!” and going in quest of Mrs. Mac-
Donald, he asked her to go to Pauline.
“You will perhaps ﬁnd her greatly dis-
turbed,” he said, “but I assure you it is nothing
that can be avoided or remedied. Please, Mrs.
MacDonald, just try to comfort and cheer her,
without asking the cause of her sadness.”
After a straightforward look into Stone’s
eyes, which was as frankly returned, Mrs. Mac-
Donald nodded her head and hastened away.
As Stone had predicted she found Pauline
sobbing hysterically.
“What is it, dear?” she queried, “tell Mrs.
Mac. Or, if you’d rather not, at least tell me
what I can do for you. Don’t, don’t cry so!”
But no words could she get from the sobbing
girl, except an insistent demand for a telegraph
blank. This was provided, and Pauline wrote a
message to Carr Loria telling him that Fleming
Stone had come to Cairo. This she ordered de-
spatched at once. Then she begged Mrs. Mac-
Donald to leave her, as she wished to go to bed
and try to forget her troubles in sleep.
Meantime, Fleming Stone left the hotel and
proceeded straight to Carr Loria’s rooms. He
expressed surprise when the janitor informed
him of Mr. Loria’s absence. '


TWO WILLS 313
“Well, never mind,” he said: “he’ll be back
in a few days. But I’ll just go in and write a
note and leave it on his desk for him.”
The janitor hesitated, but after a transfer-
ence of some coin of the realm was effected, he
cheerfully unlocked the door and Stone found
himself in Loria’sapartment. It was a com-
fortable place, even luxurious, in a mannish way,
and the Detective looked about with interest.
As he had proposed, he went to the writing table
and taking a sheet of paper from the rack, wrote
a short note. But instead of leaving it, he put
it in his pocket, saying to the watchful janitor
that perhaps it would be better to mail it. Then,
he stepped into Loria’s bedroom, but so quickly
did he step out again, that the janitor hadn’t
time to reprove or forbid him.
“All right,” he said, as he started to leave.
“When Mr. Loria returns you can tell him I
called.”
This permission went far to allay the jani-
tor’s fears that he had been indiscreet; for Carr
Loria was not a man who brooked interference
with his affairs or belongings.


XXIV
conrussron
CARR Loam was at Heluan when he received
Pauline’s telegram. For a few moments he
studied it, and then going to a hotel oﬂice, he
possessed himself of a telegram blank which he
proceeded to write on, by the use of a type-writer
near-by. ' .
With a preoccupied look on his face, as if
thinking deeply, he called Ahri and gave him
a long and careful list of directions.
And it was in pursuance of these directions
that the Arab presented himself at Shepheard’s
at ten o ’clock in the morning and asked for Miss
Stuart. ‘
“What is it, Ahri?” asked Pauline, as she
received the dragoman in her sitting room.
“Miss Stoort,” and the Arab was deeply
respectful, “Mr. Loria begs that you go with me
to Sakkara to visit the Pyramids and Ne-
cropolis.”
“Now?” said Pauline, in surprise.
“Yes, my lady. Mr. Loria will himself meet
you at the station. Will you start at once,
please?”
“But I am expecting a caller—Mr.
Stone, ”

314


CONFESSION 315
“Pardon, but Mr. Loria said if you hesitated
for any reason, to implore you to go with me
quickly, and he will explain all.”
Pauline paled a. little, but she said, simply,
“Very well, Ahri, I will go at once.”
Escorted by the silent, majestic-mannered
Arab, Pauline was taken through the crowded
streets to the station, and they boarded a train
just as it was leaving.
“We did get the train, Miss Stoort,” said
Ahri, with his sad smile, “Mr. Loria would be
greatly mad if we had missed it. Yes.”
Pauline nodded at him, her thoughts full of
the spoiled day, which she had hoped to spend
with Stone.
Yet she longed to see Carr, she wanted to tell
him what Mr. Stone had said about the beauty
charm and—”
“You said Mr. Loria would meet us at the
station, Ahri; you put me on the train so quickly
I had no chance to speak. Where is he?”
“Not the Cairo station, my lady. The sta—
tion at Bedrashein.”
“Where is that?”
“Where we are going. We alight there to
see the ruins of Memphis and the Pyramids of
Sakkara.”
Pauline looked puzzled, but said no more and


316 THE CURVED BLADES
sat silently wrapped in her own thoughts, now
of Stone, now 'of Carr, and again of herself.
At Bedrashein, they left the train. Pauline
looked anxiously around but saw nothing of her
cousin.
‘ ‘I do not see him,” said Ahri, gravely, meet-
ing her inquiring glance; ‘ ‘but I obey his orders.
He said, if he be not here, we go to the desert to
meet him.”
“To the desert? How? Where?”
“This way. Here are our carts.” Ahri led
the way to where two sand-carts stood waiting,
evidently for them. They were a little like Eng-
lish dog-carts and drawn by desert horses.
‘ ‘You take that one, Miss Stoort, and I this,”
directed Ahri, standing with outstretched hand,
like a commanding oﬂicer.
Bewildered but knowing the responsibility
of Carr’s servant, Pauline got into the cart he
indicated. She did not at all like the looks of
the gaunt black Moor who drove her, but thought
best to say nothing. She had learned never to
show fear of the native servants, and she held
her head high, and gave the driver only a
haughty stare. Ahri, after she was arranged
for, sprang into the other cart, and they set off.
The road was through the village, through
palm groves, past large expanses of water, and


CON FESSION 317
at last through desert wastes, among foot-hills
that quickly cut off the view of the road just
traversed.
Pauline ’s cart was ahead of the other, and
looking back she could not see the other one, in
which Ahri rode.
A strange feeling began to creep into her
heart. Covertly she glanced at her driver. The
hard bony face was not turned her way, but she
had an uncanny sense that the man was grin-
ning at her. Sternly she bade him stop and wait
for the other cart.
“No Ingleese,” he rejoined, with a dogged
expression on his ugly countenance.
“I command you,” and Pauline laid hold of
his arm, “I insist that you stop!”
‘ ‘N o Ingleese, ” he repeated, and now he gave
her a distinctly impudent look and spurred the
horse to faster pace.
Pauline considered. She was frightened
beyond words to express, but she knew she must
not show fear. Haughtily she held her proud
little head aloft, and tried to think what was
best to do. Something was wrong, that she
knew, but whether it was Ahri who was at fault,
or this dreadful man beside her, or—or,-—she
stiﬂed back the thought of Loria.
He would save her, she knew he would, cried


CON FESSION 319
uncomfortable, so after a moment’s thought
Pauline jumped out. She reasoned that the
man having her money, had no desire to prolong
the trip, and in a moment they would go back to
Bedrashein. Often had she heard of these rob-
beries, and she felt that, cupidity satisﬁed, she
had little to fear. '
But no sooner was she on the ground, than
the Moor sprang again into his cart, and whip-
ping up his horse, sped away across the desert
sand and in a minute rounded a hill and was out
of sight. .
Pauline looked after him an instant, and then,
realizing to the uttermost what it meant,—that
she was abandoned to her fate in a trackless
desert,——fell in a little heap on the sands and
fainted away.
It was about eleven o’clock on the morning
of that same day, that Carr Loria went to Shep-
heard ’s Hotel and asked for Fleming Stone.
The two men met, and eyed each other ap-
praisingly. There was no light chat, each was
of serious face and in grave mood.
Loria spoke ﬁrst, after the short greeting.
“I have a telegram from my cousin, Miss
Stuart,” he said, drawing a paper from his
pocket. “I know why you are here, Mr. Stone,


CONFESSION 321
“She went to visit Memphis and Sakkara
with her cousin,” said the smiling chaperon.
“That is, she went with her cousin’s dragoman,
and Mr. Loria met them at Bedrashein.”
“Oh, did he! Now listen, Mrs. MacDonald.
Miss Stuart is in danger. I am sure of this.
I am going to her aid, but I may not ” Stone
choked, “I may not succeed soon. Tell me of
this dragoman. What does he look like?”
Graphically, Mrs. MacDonald described the
statuesque Ahri, and almost before she stopped
speaking, Stone was ﬂying along the corridor,
down the stairs, and out at the door.
He caught a train to Bedrashein, and the ﬁrst
person he bumped into at the little station was
Ahri himself waiting for the train to Cairo.
Fleming Stone went straight to the point.
“Look here, Ahri,” he said to the astonished
Arab, who had never seen him before, “what
have you done with Miss Stuart?”
For once the phlegmatic Arab was caught off
his guard.
“What do you mean?” he stammered. “I
have not seen her to-day.”
“Don’t lie to me,” and Stone gave him a
look that cowed him. “Now listen. You’re in
Mr. Loria’s pay. All right. He paid you well
for the job you’ve just done. Now, I’ll pay you


322 THE CURVED BLADES
twice,—three times as well to undo it. More-
over, I’ll inform you straight that you’ll never
work for Mr. Loria again. He’s a villain, a
Wicked man. Take my advice, Ahri, give him up
and come over to me. By so doing, you’ll not
only escape punishment for your work to-day,
but get a fresh start toward a good position.
I don’t believe you’re a bad man at heart, Ahri.
At least, I don’t believe you’ll continue to be if
you’re better paid to be good.”
Stone was right about this, and the talk
ended in another expedition of two sand-carts
into the desert. Ahri in one, with a native
driver, Stone alone in the other, driving himself.
Ahri’s cart was driven by the same Moor that
had driven Pauline only two or three hours be-
fore. Stone followed them, the wicked driver
easily bought over to betray the place where he
had left Pauline.
And there they found her.
Crouched at the base of a small hill, worn out
by weeping and despair, racked by fright and
terror, she had fallen into a ﬁtful slumber from
sheer exhaustion. Jumping from his cart, Stone
waved the others back and went to her. On her
face were traces of tears. Her gloves and hand-
kerchief were torn in strips by her agonized
frenzies. Her shoulders were huddled as if in


CON FESSION 323
frantic fear, and her face was drawn and
pinched with anguish. But in spite of all this,
Stone thought he had never seen her look so
beautiful. Stepping nearer he lifted her to her
feet, and unheeding the observers, he clasped
her closely in his arms, and whispered endear—
ing words.
Pauline, her eyes still closed, murmured,
“it’s only a dream. I must not wake, I must
not!”
“No dream, darling,” said the strong, glad
voice in her ear. “Does this seem like a
dream?” and his lips met hers in a long, close
kiss.
Then her eyes opened, wondering, and lest
she should faint from very joy, Stone carried
her to the cart and placed her in it. Jumping
in beside her, he ordered the other cart to lead
and they started back. _
Neither Pauline nor Stone ever forgot that
ride. At ﬁrst, she was content to ask no ques-
tions, happy in his nearness and her own rescue
from an awful fate. But, later, she inquired
about Loria.
“You must know the truth soon, dearest,”
said Stone, gently, “so I’ll tell you, in part now.
Your cousin is a wicked man, Pauline, and you
must grasp this fact before I go on.”
\y‘


CONFESSION 325
Loria started at sight of his cousin, but
quickly recovered his poise and jauntily asked
her where she had come from.
“No place like Cairo, for me,” she replied
in the same light tone, and they all sat down in
Loria’s den.
“More company than I expected,” he said,
as he bustled about, seating them. “Ahri, an-
other chair.”
Ahri obeyed the request, and then softly
left the room.
“Mr. Loria,” said Stone, directly, “there is
no use wasting words, we are here to accuse you
of the murder of your aunt and the attempted
murder of your cousin.”
Carr Loria’s face blanched, but he tried to
put on a bold front. .
“What do you mean by this nonsense? Is it
a joke?”
“By no means; I have all the proofs of your
crimes and I ask you if you will confess here,
or to the Police?”
“Friend Pitts, I believe, is connected with
the Police, ” and Loria laughed grimly.
“Yes? he is. Have you anything to say?”
“Only to deny your accusations. Except
that it’s too absurd even to deny such foolish
talk. What do you mean anyway?”


326 THE CURVED BLADES
“That you poisoned Miss Lucy Carrington,
wilfully and purposely, by sending her a dose
of powdered aconite, under the pretense of its
being a beauty charm that would bring fair-
ness and youth to her plain face.”
Carr Loria’s jaw dropped. He looked at
Stone as if at something supernatural. “W'—
what?” he stammered.
“You did it to get her money, now, to go on
with your work in the bed of the Nile. Then, in
order to get your cousin’s share of the fortune,
you sent her away to die in the desert, having
ﬁrst induced her to will you her money.”
“Ha, ha,” laughed Loria, feebly. “Poor
joke, Stone, pretty poor joke, I say! Murdered
my own aunt! Not much I didn’t!”
“Carr Loria, listen!” Impressively Stone
held up his ﬁnger, to adjure silence, and at the
same time he bent on Loria a glance of accusa-
tion that made him cringe. But, fascinated, he
stared into Stone’s eyes, and in the death-like
silence came a voice,—the voice of Lucy Car—
rington,-—in a burst of ringing laughter! Loria ’s
eyes seemed to start from his head, and the
sweat gathered in great drops on his forehead,
as the voice of his aunt spoke: “This song is one
of Carr’s favorites,” they heard, distinctly.
“I’ll sing it for him.”


CONFESSION 329
in the desert, his word was not believed by the
two listeners.
Finally, he rose and walked across the room.
“You see,” he said, a little wearily, but quite
sane, now, “I’ve a bad streak in me. My father
was a Spaniard and he killed his own uncle.
The Loria line is a series of criminals. Aunt
Lucy never knew this, for my parents lived al-
ways abroad. But blood will tell. And my
father, after he killed my uncle, followed it up
by taking his own life,——like this, ”
Though Stone caught the gesture and sprang
to prevent it, Loria was too quick for him. He
had snatched a dagger from the table, and
plunged it into his heart.
Both men leaped at him, but it was all over
in an instant. Carr Loria had himself dealt
the punishment for his crimes.
“Perhaps it’s as well,” said Stone, mus-
ingly. “A trial, and all that, would have been
awful for his cousin, and the family connections.
Now the matter can be disposed of with far less
notoriety and publicity.”
“Yes,” agreed Pitts.
Fleming Stone waited till morning to tell
Pauline of her cousin’s death. She was wide;
eyed and pathetically sad, but composed.
“It is all so dreadful,” she said, “but, Flem-


330 THE CURVED BLADES
ing, I knew it before I left New York. I didn’t
know it, exactly, but I felt sure it must be so, and
I had to come here to see. Then I found Carr so
gay and light-hearted I thought I must be mis-
taken, and I was glad, too. Then when you
came, I couldn’t make up my mind whether you
suspected Carr, or whether ” ‘
“Whether I came only to see you,” supplied
Stone. “It was both, dear.”
“What made you think of Carr, in the ﬁrst
place?” ~
“Because there was no real evidence against
any one else, though the police were making
things dangerous for you, my little girl.” Stone
held her close, as if even yet there might be a
hint of danger. “And I made Miss Frayne con-
fess that she didn’t really see you leave your
aunt’s room that night, though she did honestly
think that you were in there, and your aunt
was talking to you. Nor you didn’t see her
actually leaving the room, did you?”
“I only saw her with her hand on the door-
knob. That was my ﬁrst glimpse of her, and I
thought she was coming out.”
“No; she thought of going in to apologize
for her hasty temper. But, hearing a voice, she
paused, and so thrilling was the talk she over-
heard, she waited there some minutes.”


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