GHOSTS





PUBLIC LI
,* .":,...":.
OF THE
NEW YORK
SOCIETY LMRAFiT



"If you will accept stolen goods, they are yours"


GHOSTS
A SAMUEL LYLE MYSTERY STORY
BY
ARTHUR CRABB
Author of "Samuel Lyle, 'Criminologist,'' etc.

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NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1921


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73099B
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Copyright, 1921, by
The Centuby Co.
Cojyrlsht, 1920, 1921, by
Stmit & Smith Corporation
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©FTH£
HIW YORK
BtCIETY LJ?vWff


f
TO
HUGH IRVINE WILSON





GHOSTS





GHOSTS
CHAPTER I
MY dear boy, it is exactly the place for you;
and as for the cottage, it is much better
that it should be occupied than vacant."
The two men had been talking for half an hour.
Duncan Webb had come into the older man's of-
fice and said that for once the doctor was right
— there was nothing for it but rest, absolute men-
tal rest and so much physical rest as was pleas-
ant.
"There's nothing wrong," Webb had said,
"but I 've been through a good deal in the
last two years and I 'm done out. I can't work,
I can't sleep, I have no appetite. I 'm sound as
a dollar underneath, but I 'm afraid there's noth-
ing for it but a change of air, and rest."
The older man had said, "Rose Hill," imme-
diately. "It is exactly the place for you.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, ever happens there.
The main dissipations are watching the ferry


4 GHOSTS
come in and then watching it go out. You sleep
late and when you wake up you spend an hour
glorying in not having to get up. You have
breakfast, and contemplate your cigar for half
an hour. Then you walk slowly up the hill for
the mail and the morning paper; on the way you
say good morning to the rest of the town, which
is doing the same thing. You read your mail and
the paper till about eleven; the paper will keep
you going till then if you read it through and
through, advertisements and all, as you will.
"You put on your bathing-suit, walk to the
beach, and sit there for half an hour talking with
other men's wives about their children, who are
a little nearer the water than you are. At twelve
you go in yourself, with a dozen others, mostly
the children's mothers who ask you to swim to
the raft with them, not because there is the slight-
est danger but because they have promised their
husbands not to swim out alone. You sit on the
raft and watch the older boys and girls dive and
listen to them discuss diving. You swim back,
have dinner — dinner, not lunch — and smoke
and chat till three; then you may read, take a
walk, watch small boys catch small fish from the
pier, run down to the Point and buy a bit of
note-paper, or take the ferry across to Oldport


GHOSTS 5
and do the Sea Drive. You may play golf if you
like. At half-past six or seven you have supper,
and read till bedtime, or you may find a Chris-
tian Scientist who is willing to lull you to sleep
with her ideas, or old, middle-aged or young mar-
ried people who will play an atrocious game of
bridge with you till half-past nine, probably sur-
rounded by children who are sent to bed one by
one between hands.
"It is the ideal place to rest: nothing, abso-
lutely nothing, ever happens there that could by
any possibility excite you or make you use your
brain. As to the cottage, it will be empty till
September. It is small but quite ample for one
man. Mrs. Neale, who lives near by and does
odd jobs for the summer people, will be only too
glad to take care of it for you. You 'll take your
meals at the inn and find them excellent. It is
an ideal arrangement."
Duncan Webb agreed that it would undoubt-
edly be an ideal arrangement.
Thus it came about that George Duncan Webb
arrived at Rose Hill on the last day of June. He
had driven leisurely, with all his luggage in the
tonneau and Sandy McNabb, an Airedale, beside
him in the front seat. He unpacked, arranged


GHOSTS 7
amuses itself after a fashion and envies nearly
everything that is not of it. Also, south from
Rose Hill a distance of half a dozen miles lies
Nollett's Point, a sort of second-rate Oldport.
At the Point are much money, some ambition,
some despair and, on Sundays, a million or so
excursionists who come to undress, bathe, dress
again, and eat, all on the beach, which is very
fine.
Thus Rose Hill lies between two centers of
gaiety and is of neither, which is as Rose Hill de-
sires. Driving along the broad highway run-
ning north and south on the hilltop you would
never suspect Rose Hill's existence at all; even
if you were looking for the sign " to the ferry"
and, finding it, turned down the hill you would
hardly suspect that Rose Hill was anything but
a lane with a few cottages along it and a ferry at
the other end. You might look at the inn, and if
you did and were hungry and it was mealtime
you might consider taking a chance on it. "It
looks like a nice place," you'd say, "Let's try
it." If you did try it you would be well re-
warded and greatly surprised, for mine host of
the Rose Hill Inn serves good food, and serves it
well and in abundance.
But if, when you had finished the meal and


8 GHOSTS
were on the ferry to Oldport, you looked back at
Rose Hill, you would see only trees with a field
of grass here and there, the ferry slip and the inn,
and you would never suspect that you had gone
straight through the heart of Rose Hill and never
seen it at all.
But there it is, full of small gray-shingled cot-
tages, and the cottages are full of mothers and
children all summer long. Husbands are there
on occasions such as week-ends and vacations;
some come every night if their places of business
are within an hour or so by automobile, as they
are if the offices are, say, in Providence. And,
before we pass from Rose Hill generalities to the
doings of Duncan Webb, note that you may
search far and wide and never find a better lot
than the Rose Hill cottagers; and do not let the
children's clothes or the modesty of the cottages
mislead you, for there is an automobile for every
cottage and plenty of good clothes for occasions,
and knockabouts for those who like sailing. Cul-
ture, refinement, simplicity, a high degree of in-
telligence, domestic bliss and sufficient wealth are
part and parcel of Rose Hill.
And the cottagers love its peace and quiet; for
nothing, absolutely nothing, ever happens at
Rose Hill.


GHOSTS 9
Duncan Webb rose .on his first morning and
smiled, for the air that came from the sea had
brought sound sleep. He dressed and went to
the inn to breakfast, and his fruit and cereal and
eggs tasted very good. He went up the hill to
the post-office and got his paper, and went back
to his cottage and read it — as he always read his
paper — quickly. Then he went down to the
pier, located the knockabout that, through his
friend's kindness, went with his cottage, and
rowed out to it. He found it in excellent con-
dition, but was able to spend an hour tidying up
a bit. When he came ashore he saw a multitude
of children in bathing-suits, playing on the beach
and in the shallow water, and a lesser multitude
of women watching or giving first lessons in
swimming. He saw also two or three men. Men
are few in Rose Hill in the middle of the week.
Duncan went home, put on his bathing-suit,
and returned. . For a moment he sat on the
beach, taking stock of the crowd. Except for
Mrs. Neale, his housekeeper, and the postmaster
and the three old ladies and the one old man who
had said good morning to him when he sat down
at their table at breakfast, he did not know a sin-
gle soul in Rose Hill.
He went into the water and under it and, com-


10 GHOSTS
ing up, swam slowly toward the raft and around
it and then lay in the water, watching the antics
of the middle-aged children. Finally he climbed
up on the raft and sat in the warm sun.
Very soon, as if by inspiration, all the others
went overboard together and raced shore-
ward. They found bottom and walked ashore
and, the incident being closed, Duncan thought
of the warm sun that was shining on him
and the wonders that a few hours of sea air had
accomplished, and as he was reveling in it all
he heard a sound behind him. He turned and
saw a swimmer a dozen feet from the float; she
was on her back and she was going under; she
could not keep her head above water, try as she
would.
Duncan sprang to his feet and was about to
dive to the girl when she smiled, turned on her
side, swam slowly but easily to the raft and
climbed up on it.
"I 'm all right," she said. "I saw that you
thought I was in trouble, but I 'm just trying to
learn to swim on my back."
"It should be very easy, quite as easy as the
other way round," Duncan said.
She was very good to look upon, rather short
and quite slender, but strong and substantial nev-
v


GHOSTS 111
ertheless; her cheeks were rosy even with her tan
fighting against high coloring. Her first glance
at Duncan as she came up the raft ladder and
spoke to him gave him a quick impression.
"Flirt," he thought. Surely her eyes were a
flirt's eyes, eyes that in a flash called a male to
the everlasting combat.
For a moment they talked about swimming on
one's back and then the girl rose. If any one was
looking and had an eye for beauty, he, or she,
must have been pleased with the picture on the
raft — a man more than six feet tall, broad-
shouldered, with the arms and waist and legs of
an athlete; a girl, slender, graceful, beautifully
formed, the top of her bathing-cap level with the
man's shoulders. But if any one was looking, he,
or she, being so far away, could not see the girl's
face, which was very sweet and very innocent
when she looked up at Duncan and said:
"Would you mind swimming in with me?
I 've done it lots of times, but I don't swim very
well and I like to have some one with me."
"Of course," Duncan said. The flirt had van-
ished. He had been mistaken about her eyes,
grievously mistaken. She was a child, a lovely,
simple little girl. Her voice was low and soft;
never in the world was it a flirt's voice.


12 GHOSTS
She dived and he followed and he swam beside
her to the beach, very slowly, for she swam
slowly. As they came out of the water she
raised her hands a little to balance herself and
Duncan saw a ring on her finger.
"Married! Well, I'll be damned!" he
thought. She was, after all, not a child.
"Thank you very much," she said, and smiled.
If Duncan had not seen her wedding-ring he
would have told her that he would be glad to
convey her back and forth to the raft as often as
she liked, that he would be glad to teach her to
swim on her back; as it was, he said never a word,
but smiled in return and went his way.
Duncan dined, went to his cottage, and
smoked with a book on his knees. He was think-
ing of a sail, but there was not a breath of air,
and at three o'clock he decided on a walk, south-
ward along the shore, to see what lay in that di-
rection. He slipped his book into his pocket,
lighted his pipe, and, with his dog Sandy danc-
ing about, set forth. At the corner of the next
cottage he came face to face with the girl who
could not swim on her back, and the girl was
pushing a small child in a go-cart. Evasion
would have been impossible if it had been de-


GHOSTS 13
sirable; they were face to face and unquestion-
ably bound in the same direction. Duncan was
not quite sure as to his status with her, some
other man's wife, whom he did not know; but she
had no regard for nonsensical convention, and,
besides, this was Rose Hill. She smiled and said,
"I 'm nurse this afternoon. We are taking a
walk."
"Who are ' we'? " Duncan asked.
"My daughter and I," she said. Surely this
was a most remarkable child, this mother. She
did not hesitate, but walked along beside Duncan
as though it were the most natural thing in the
world. "Mary and I always go to a little beach
up here on Thursday afternoons. I take a book
along, but I never read — Mary won't let me."
"How old is Mary? " Duncan asked.
"Thirteen months." That meant that the
girl had been married at least two years. Sandy
sniffed at Mary and, finding nothing interesting,
went off, circling about in search of adventure.
"Why don't you come along and entertain
Mary so that I can read? " the mother said, laugh-
ing. It was not an invitation, it was simply an
approval of a condition which certainly existed.
Duncan surely was going along.
A few hundred yards farther on Mary dropped


14 GHOSTS
a curious-looking object overboard from the go-
cart; Duncan picked it up and examined it.
"It's a duck," the girl said. "Isn't it a
beaut?" The bit of slang was most unexpected,
and delightful for that reason.
"It surely is — a beaut," Duncan said, and
placed it in Mary's outstretched hand.
"Her father gave it to her." And then, look-
ing up at Duncan she said, "My husband was
killed a year ago in the air service."
It might have been an awkward moment, mak-
ing necessary some word of sympathy for a
woman whose name he did not kSow, for a man
he had never seen, if the girl had not made com-
ment impossible by kneeling down by Mary and
straightening her clothes and the strap that held
her, talking nonsense to her the while. When
she rose she said something to Duncan about the
sea and asked help in getting Mary and her ve-
hicle over a low stone wall, assistance that he
was already rendering.
They came to a bit of beach, a tiny break in
the rocky shore, and Mary was released and
seemed content to crawl about in the sand and
to play with it and the treasures it gave forth,
with only occasional trips toward the danger
line of the mighty sea and its inch-high waves.


16 GHOSTS
"Were you in the war, in France?"
"Yes, I came back in February and tried to
go to work again, but it was no go, hence Rose
Hill. If I keep on improving the way I 've be-
gun, I '11 see that something happens in Rose
Hill before long, if I have to burn down the
court-house."
"There is n't any court-house."
"That's immaterial. Make it the post-office."
The girl laughed, and in a moment looked up
at Duncan. "We did have something very ex-
citing happen a year ago," she said.
"Good heavens! What was it?"
"A jewel robbery. It was very mysterious.
Do you like detective stories?"
"More than anything in the world. Tell me
this one."
"It was at the Browns' — you can see the
house from the rocks. Do you know the
Browns?" Duncan did not know the Browns,
and the girl went on. "They are n't exactly
Bose Hillers, they have a rather large place about
a mile toward Nollett's Point and they travel
about a good deal, but they are awfully nice.
Mrs. Brown had lots more jewelry in the house
than any one has in Bose Hill; we don't need


GHOSTS IT
much here." The girl smiled and went on with
the story, which was this:
One evening early in July Mrs. Brown went
to the Point to dinner and returned about eleven
o'clock. She and her husband occupied ad-
joining rooms, her room having three windows,
and his three, two of which were just above the
roof of the piazza. Mrs. Brown's windows had
no roof under them and were about twenty feet
above the ground. She took off a pearl neck-
lace, a pin, and some rings that she had worn, put
them in a jewel-box and the box in a small bu-
reau drawer, which she locked, putting the key
on a nail behind a picture.
The afternoon had been threatening and it was
raining and the wind blowing hard when they
reached home. A maid had closed the windows
and shutters in both the bedrooms. The shut-
ters were of a peculiar construction, having
catches on the inside which could not be opened
from without. Mrs. Brown raised two windows
and when her husband did the same the wind
rushed through the rooms. Mr. Brown accord-
ingly closed the door between the bedrooms,
which was not often done. The door had swol-
len and not only was difficult to open and shut
s


18 GHOSTS
but made an infernal racket when it was opened
or shut.
Mrs. Brown was a rather light sleeper and
because of the storm which by that time was
roaring did not go to sleep for some time, but
once asleep she did not wake till after seven
o'clock. Naturally she had heard nothing in the
meantime, nor had her husband; furthermore a
dog which barked on the slightest provocation
had, so far as any one knew, remained perfectly
quiet all night, in the hall downstairs.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Brown on arising discov-
ered her bureau drawer to be open, her jewel-
case on the bureau top, and the jewels gone.
She immediately called her husband, who had
great difficulty in opening the communicating
door. The door to the hall from Mrs. Brown's
bedroom was locked as she had left it, the shut-
ters in both rooms were all latched, and there
was not a sign on them to show that they had
been tampered with. The key to the bureau
drawer was on the nail behind the picture and
there were no marks on the drawer to show how
it had been opened.
Certainly no servant could have been in the
room during the night; and, besides, all of them
had been in Mrs. Brown's employ for years


GHOSTS 19
and were absolutely trustworthy. The servants
themselves were positive that no one of them had
left the house that morning, so that, if by some
miracle one of them was the thief, the jewels must
still be in the house, but of course they were
not found in the house. The chauffeur was their
old coachman and beyond suspicion; their only
employee who was not well known to them was
a native who was gardener and choreman. He
was not overly intelligent but bore an excellent
reputation; he went into the house only occa-
sionally, and then in the morning, to take out
rugs to sweep or to clean windows. He slept at
home and he and his wife said that he had been
at home all that night.
Not a trace of the robbers was found outside
the house. The day before the robbery a gaso-
lene launch had anchored some distance off shore
and various people said that they thought it had
been there at nightfall, but it was gone the next
morning; there was some suspicion that it had
contained the thieves; but, whether that was so
or not, no trace of them or their launch could be
found. The police and the detectives from the
insurance company went over every inch of the
house, questioned every one and did everything
that detectives could do, but they shed not a sin-


20 GHOSTS
gle ray of light on the mystery, though in the end
they did insinuate that some one inside the house
had had a part in the theft. The only hope was
that some day the jewels would turn up,— in
a pawn-shop, for instance — but they never
had. The insurance company eventually paid
Mrs. Brown for her loss and the incident was
closed.
The girl told the story well. "I think I read
something about it in the papers," Duncan said.
"It seems to me the solution is perfectly simple."
"What is it?" the girl asked.
"Are you a friend of Mrs. Brown's?"
"Yes, I know her quite well. Why?"
"I don't want to say unpleasant things about
friends of yours, but of course she stole them
herself." The girl was incredulous and Dun-
can continued: "It's been done lots of times,
I imagine; I know of one or two cases, myself.
Of course I don't know anything about Mrs.
Brown and I know only your version of the story,
and an outsider's hearsay version of a thing like
that may be inaccurate; but if the facts are as
you state them, Mrs. Brown hooked her own
trinkets, beyond a shadow of a doubt."
"I don't believe it," the girl said, and she


GHOSTS 21
looked at Duncan with troubled eyes as though
the idea were very unpleasant to her.
"I would n't either if I were you," Duncan
said. "On the other hand, I don't believe in
ghosts. You won't tell any one that I 've fas-
tened the crime on Mrs. Brown, will you? She
might not like it."
The girl laughed. "I won't — and Mary and
I must go. It's nearly supper-time."
She put Mary in her go-cart and they started
back along the path. They came to the low wall
and when they were across it Duncan looked at
his watch. It was five o'clock. "I think I '11
take a peek at the Brown house before supper,"
he said. She described it so that he could not
mistake it and told him how to locate the bed-
rooms from the outside.
Duncan said good-by to Mary and then to her
mother.
"Shall I see you again?"
"Of course, if you like. Our cottage is just
behind yours. Won't you come and see
Mother?"
"I should like to, very much. My name is
Webb —Duncan Webb."
"Mine is Marjorie Thurston. Good-by.
Good-by, Sandy."


22 GHOSTS
Sandy, who had been standing apart, walked
to her and held his head to be patted. She leaned
down and touched the dog's muzzle with her
cheek. Sandy permitted it and enjoyed it.
Duncan laughed, but his laugh had a curious note
in it.
"I 'd have bet a thousand to one that he
would n't go to you," he said. "He 's a one-
man dog. I 've never seen him make friends
with a stranger before."
"I 'm very proud," the girl said, and smiled
and went her way, and Duncan walked toward
the Brown house.
At eight o'clock that evening Duncan walked
to the Thurston cottage and found Mrs. Thurs-
ton alone on the piazza.
"I 'm so sorry Mother is not here," she greeted
him, and Duncan heard in her voice a tinge of
displeasure, real or affected, such as a well-bred
woman can put into any words she speaks. Dun-
can was delighted to hear it; he knew that it was
rushing things a little for him to call so soon
and he was glad that Mrs. Thurston appreciated
the fact and was willing to show that she did
so. In doing it she was simply living up to


GHOSTS 23
Duncan's first impression of her; it was not im-
portant in itself.
"May I stay a few minutes, notwithstand-
ing? " he asked.
"Oh, of course. Shall we sit out here or shall
we go inside?"
"The bay is very beautiful and it grows more
so in the twilight. You won't be cold?"
Mrs. Thurston could not by any possibility
have been cold out there.
"Did you go to the Browns'?" she asked.
"Yes,. I did, and felt foolish doing it, very
much as if I 'd been caught reading a dime thril-
ler." He laughed. "That's not a good com-
parison: I read dime novels whenever I can
find them and I 'm rather proud of the fact.
I 've heard that great men do it."
Mrs. Thurston was still not willing to be com-
pletely cordial; there was still a trace of reserve
about her and she made no comment on Dun-
can's literary taste. It was quite apparent that
he must do the talking. He chuckled inwardly.
He was quite willing that Mrs. Thurston should
be quite as chilly as she liked, for the time being.
"I 'd like to be a detective," he said, "one of
the kind with genius of one sort or another. I


24 GHOSTS
think I 'd make a good one, too. This afternoon
when I left you I went down and sat on a rock
in front of the Browns' and thought over the
story you told me. I analyzed the facts, con-
sidered human nature. I employed logic; I 'm
very logical, you know, and have a very fine mind,
even if it's not trained detectively. I formed a
very definite theory of the whole thing, sitting
on the rock."
"Just from what I told you?" Mrs. Thurston
asked.
"Of course. I had nothing else to go on. It
is all very simple, really, when a brilliant mind
is applied to it."
"Do tell me what your theory is," Mrs. Thurs-
ton said, with not quite so much enthusiasm as
she might have shown.
"To begin with, can you imagine a more inaus-
picious time for any of the domestics to steal
Mrs. Brown's jewels than that night, when they
could have done it so much more easily in the
daytime, almost any day? You can't, and
therefore the domestics may be eliminated. Mr.
Brown would hardly steal them on a night when
that noisy door was closed between the rooms,
when he could do it on any one of a hundred
nights when the door was open; neither would


GHOSTS 25
he nor could he enter from the outside, through
the hall door or the windows. Therefore elimin-
ate Mr. Brown.
"The chauffeur, ex-coachman, may be elimin-
ated because he had been a faithful servant for
sixty years, more or less, and because he would
hardly attempt the robbery on such a wild night
or when his employers were surely in their rooms;
for, if they discovered him, they must recognize
him. An unknown thief would not of course be
recognized; he would be. This leaves the gar-
dener and choreman, a stupid native, as the only
possibility among the servants. His stupidity,
his mode of life, his record are all against his
being guilty. On the other hand, who puts
wood in the bedroom fireplaces? — there are fire-
places there, for I saw the chimneys. The chore-
man, of course. Therefore it may be presumed
that he knew the room and its contents well;
he had looked about out of curiosity if nothing
else. Naturally he knew that Mrs. Brown had
jewelry.
"On the other hand, how could he — certainly
no skilled thief — enter the room between mid-
night and daybreak? The entry must have
been made through the windows of Mrs. Brown's
room, the thief unfastening and then refastening
s


26 GHOSTS
the mysterious latches on the shutters, to say
nothing of opening the bureau drawer without
the key. Perhaps he knew where the key was
and put it back behind the picture for some
idiotic reason at which we can only guess; per-
haps he had discovered it and duplicated it by
making a wax impression of it. So the only
trouble is — how did he manage the shutter fas-
tenings? I haven't seen them — I've never
seen a shutter that could n't be opened as easily
from the outside as from the inside — but my
experience with shutters has been extremely lim-
ited and these were undoubtedly peculiar.
"Be that as it may, if a thief can unlock a
door, unbolt one, take off a chain bolt, all from
the outside, and open a heavy safe — and he can
do all these things — he can certainly open any
shutter that exists. Thus it was either an out-
side job entirely or a job done by skilled thieves
with the assistance of some one on the inside.
"That opens a large field and recalls the men
in the gasolene launch. They came ashore, met
the choreman by previous arrangement, received
the duplicate key to the bureau drawer or were
told where the key was hidden, climbed to the
window by means of a scaling-ladder, opened a
shutter, climbed in, robbed, and climbed out,


GHOSTS 27
closing the shutter behind them. They returned
to the beach, found that their rowboat had
drifted away, and knew there was nothing for it
but to swim to their launch, for to leave it there
would be to give a strong clue. They dared not
swim with the jewels and therefore hid them,
meaning to return for them on another day.
The launch capsized and sank and they were
drowned. Thus no trace of the launch has ever
been found, nor have the jewels turned up in
pawn-shops.
"All this is perfectly possible, even probable.
Therefore I tried to analyze their procedure in
hiding the jewels. They did not know where to
dig a hole. Newly turned earth would be dis-
covered; the sand and pebbles of the beach might
be washed or blown away, uncovering the booty;
flower gardens might be dug up any day. As I
looked about I saw only one place that looked
safe and that was under the plank walk that
leads to the Browns' pier, just at the point where
it leaves the ground and is then carried on small
piles or stakes. There was a mass of rubbish
under it, dried seaweed and the like. That, I
was sure, was the place the robbers had chosen to
hide the loot, and I call it clever, deep reason-
ing."


28 GHOSTS
"And of course you found the jewels there,"
Mrs. Thurston said. Again she was not over-en-
thusiastic.
Duncan laughed. "Would you have me ex-
plode my own theory into fragments by putting
it to the test then and there? Don't you think
that, having performed all that hard mental ex-
ercise, I was entitled to bask in the light of my
deductions for a day or two before they went up
in smoke?"
"Why do you ever explode them? Why not
go on forever believing that you have the solution
of the mystery?" she asked.
"But I 'm sure I have it. Can you find a flaw
in my logic?"
"Of course not; but I advise you not to look
under the Browns' walk."
Duncan laughed. "Do you mind if I smoke,
Mrs. Thurston — a pipe?"
"No, indeed, I like it."
"It's tobacco this time — not opium."
"You mean that your theory is an opium
dream?"
"Not at all, but I was under the impression
that you thought so. My great regret at the mo-
ment is that we are not old friends."
"I don't think that I quite understand." It


GHOSTS 29
is hardly to be wondered at that Mrs. Thurston
did not understand.
"Because if we were I should be tempted to ask
you to accept a present from me. If you did ac-
cept it it would form a very strong bond between
us. I am almost tempted as it is. Can you
imagine a more ungentlemanly thing, a more in-
delicate thing for a man to do than to offer a lady
gifts of value the first day he knows her?"
Mrs. Thurston suspected that Duncan was
teasing her a little, and curiously enough she
did not resent it. Duncan's voice had a way
with it, in spite of Mrs. Thurston.
"How could you find a valuable gift in Rose
Hill?" she asked. "Perhaps you brought it
with you?"
Duncan sighed. "I have explained to you in
the greatest detail how I found it — under the
Browns' pier. You have little confidence in my
logic and — and other reasoning powers. Be
convinced."
He rose, went around the corner of the piazza,
and returned with a pail he had left there; from
it he drew a string of pearls and held them toward
Mrs. Thurston. "If you will accept stolen goods,
they are yours, and we shall be partners in


30 GHOSTS
Mrs. Thurston gasped. She took the neck-
lace from him and examined it carefully. "They
are pearls," she said.
"I 'm not an expert, but I think they are.
Furthermore, I am pretty sure that once upon a
time they were Mrs. Brown's."
"It can't be! It is impossible!" Marjorie ex-
claimed. "Come, I want to look at them in the
light."
They went to the doorway and Mrs. Thurston
examined the necklace in the light.
"Where did you find it?" she asked. The
chill in Mrs. Thurston's voice was completely
gone.
"In this pail, a lard pail, I think it is. And
of course I found the pail under the pier walk.
Look."
They went indoors, and one by one Duncan
took a dozen rings and pins from the pail and
arranged them on the table. "I suppose I should
apologize to Mrs. Brown for suggesting that she
swiped them herself," he said.
Mrs. Thurston sank weakly into a chair.
"Honestly, did you find them in a pail under
the pier?"
"I did, cross my heart."
"


GHOSTS 31
"It's the most remarkable thing I have ever
heard of."
"It is," Duncan said.
"Are you a detective?"
"Never until to-day."
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"About being a detective? Yes."
"I mean about finding the jewels."
"Can you doubt it? Of course it's between
you and me. I 've telephoned to the police and
detectives will be here any minute. I 'll simply
tell them where I found the stuff and let them
draw their own conclusions."
"Why not tell them what you 've told me? It
might help them find the thieves."
"Why pick on the poor choreman, who un-
doubtedly has a wife and eight children and re-
grets his past deeds and is trying to live an
honorable life? Besides, the real thieves got
drowned."
"Yes, I suppose that's so."
Duncan picked up the pins and rings and put
them in his pocket. "Won't you accept the
necklace?" he said. "We could say it was not
with the rest of the things."
"Don't be silly!" Mrs. Thurston took it and


32 GHOSTS
held it across the bosom of her black gown.
"How I wish I could!" she said. "It's per-
fectly wonderful." She laughed. "Put it
away; don't tempt me. You 'd better watch out
for your detectives." Mrs. Thurston's voice had
not the slightest trace of coldness in it. She was
very much thrilled and excited.
They went out on the piazza and Mrs. Thurs-
ton looked across the fields. "There's an au-
tomobile," she cried. "Perhaps it's the de-
tectives."
"Perhaps it is. You won't tell them what
I 've told you, will you?"
"Of course not, but why won't you?"
"Simply because if Mrs. Brown needed cash
more than she needed her jewels, as is quite pos-
sible, there is no reason on earth why she should
not have stolen out in the night and put them
where I found them, the A-number-one watch-
dog making no disturbance because of his friend-
ship for the lady."
Mrs. Thurston sighed. "Now you 're being
horrid again," she said.
"Horrid again! Have I been horrid before?"
"You know what I mean — about Mrs.
Brown."
"I 'm simply logical, as always," Duncan


GHOSTS 33
answered. "You see, I know absolutely nothing
about Mrs. Brown. Come, let's go down and
see the detectives. It may be interesting."
"Do you think I ought to?"
"Why not? I'll see that they don't steal
you."
She went and they met the men walking to-
wards Duncan's cottage. Duncan told them that
they were at the right house, they gave him their
names, and they went inside and, by the light of
the lamp, examined the jewelry.
Finally Conley, apparently the chief, said:
"It's the stuff, all right. Where did you find
it?"
Duncan explained where, and then added, "I
was taking a walk with my dog and just as we
reached the pier he saw a rat and went after it.
The rat went into a hole under the walk, close
to the edge of it. The dog began to dig and had
hard going of it. For amusement I helped him
with a bit of broken board. Between us we dug
up the pail. I imagine Sandy deserves the re-
ward if there is one."
Sandy, the Airedale, appreciating the compli-
ment, pushed through the crowd and found Dun-
can's hand with his nose. Conley straightened
up and shook his head,


34 GHOSTS
"It beats me," he said.
"Were you on the case last year?" Duncan
asked.
"I was — all of us were — and we gave it up.
I had a feeling all the time there was something
queer about it, but I could never put my hand on
it." He turned to one of his men. "What do
you make of it, Jerry?"
Jerry Walsh with the red hair was non-com-
mittal. "I can't make head nor tail of it, ex-
cept there 's one thing I 'm sure of. It was an
inside job, or else spooks were mixed up in it."
Jerry grinned at his joke.
"You never suspected any one at all?" Dun-
can asked.
"We never got a thing on anybody," Conley
answered, "except, as Walsh says, it must have
been done from the inside." Conley shook his
head again. "Why anybody 'd steal stuff like
this and then leave it under the pier, beats me."
He picked up the old rusty lard pail. "It's a
cinch everybody at the Browns' will swear there
never was a pail anything like this in the house."
They talked for a few minutes longer. Dun-
can promised to show them, the next morning,
just where the pail had been hidden, and he and
Mrs. Thurston promised to say nothing about


GHOSTS 35
the finding of the jewelry to any one for the
time being. The detectives departed for the inn,
taking the pail and the jewels with them.
Duncan walked back to Mrs. Thurston's cot-
tage with her.
"You made up the story you told me, out of
whole cloth, didn't you?" she said.
"I told you this afternoon that my brain was
in bad shape," Duncan answered, "but it was
only a matter of reasoning backward, and poor
reasoning at that." Then suddenly at her door-
step he faced her and said: "I 'm sorry. I
promise that I 'll never tell you anything but
the truth after this, square and honest. I don't
think you 're the kind of girl to deceive, even in
small things. I won't do it again. And I won't
believe it when people say nothing ever happens
in Rose Hill. Good night."
And he went back to his empty cottage. The
girl stood watching him till he disappeared.
Then she went indoors and when her mother re-
turned told her all about the recovery of the
Brown jewels.
The next morning Duncan showed Conley and
his men where he had found the pail containing
the jewels. After that things turned out as Con-
ley had prophesied. No such pail had ever been
S


36 GHOSTS
in the Brown house and the recovery of the jewels
did nothing but make the mysterious affair more
mysterious still. Mrs. Brown immediately
bought back her trinkets from the insurance com-
pany and the officers of the law and the insur-
ance company dropped the case again. Jerry
Walsh stuck to the spooks.


CHAPTER II
SIX estimable ladies, gray- or white-haired,
sat in rockers on the piazza of the Rose Hill
Inn. Three of them were knitting, one embroid-
ering, one reading a Providence paper and one a
New York paper. The last two were not reading
with much concentration. There was interest-
ing talk going on, confidential talk, for all six
ladies had been at Rose Hill for many summers
and were old friends.
"She could get any man she wanted," said
Mrs. Mills of Pittsburgh.
"I 'm thinking of telegraphing my husband
not to come till she's gone, and ordinarily I have
entire confidence in him," said Mrs. Hart of Prov-
idence.
"I wish Henry were here. To have a woman
like her make eyes at him would thrill me. To
have women ignore one's husband too much is
a little humiliating." So Mrs. Graves of New
York spoke of her Henry.
"She seems quite content with the detective,"
said a knitter.
37
'


38 GHOSTS
"He's not a detective. Mrs. Thurston told
me he is n't."
"I suppose not, but he did find Mrs. Brown's
jewels and I 've forgotten his name."
"Webb. It's on the register as G. Duncan
Webb, Alden."
"You can't tell me it was coincidence."
"Naturally not. She stays here three days
with her husband, not saying a word to a soul,
her husband leaves, and, presto! Webster Duncan
turns up."
"Duncan Webb."
"What difference does it make? He's a man
and the most attractive one I 've seen here for
years — I '11 say that for him — and they simply
fall into each other's arms."
"I did n't say she was in his arms."
"I was speaking figuratively, my dear, but
I imagine she has been in his arms, nevertheless."
"Henrietta!"
"A woman who will go to a man's cottage that
has n't even a servant in it, and spend the eve-
ning there is capable of anything."
"Any woman is capable of doing anything —
anything a woman can do."
"And you really saw him kiss her?"


GHOSTS 39
"Yes, I did, and I 'll say this much for them
— it was an entirely casual kiss."
"H-m," sniffed Mrs. Mills from Pittsburgh.
"It seems to me that that's the worse possible
kind. If they've reached that stage it shows
that they 've been at it for some time."
"I do love a scandal, especially when a pretty
woman is concerned!"
"And at Rose Hill!" exclaimed one of the
knitters. "It's the first one I 've seen here and
this is my fifteenth year."
"Think of it — finding the Brown jewels and
a real scandal all in three days! The excitement
is almost too much for me."
"Nothing has ever happened before in Rose
Hill to compare with it."
"What's to be done about it?" asked the
woman with the New York paper.
"Do about it! Good heavens, nothing ever
happens in Rose Hill! You would n't spoil this,
would you?"
"Not for worlds! And besides, what can any-
body do? It's none of our business."
The statements made by the six middle-aged-
to-old ladies were for the most part true. Mr.


40 GHOSTS
and Mrs. Edwin Marsh arrived at the Rose Hill
Inn three days before Duncan Webb. They
kept to themselves and on the fourth day, the
day Duncan found the jewels, they breakfasted
early and drove away. Late in the evening Mrs.
Marsh returned alone.
The next morning Mrs. Marsh and Duncan
came face to face on the inn piazza. They
seemed surprised to see each other, but the
general impression was that the surprise was
feigned. Be that as it may, they retired to a se-
cluded corner and talked together for an hour.
Later they swam together, dined together, and
in the afternoon drove away together in Dun-
can's car, returning after every one else had gone
to bed.
Nice business that, for a married woman,
wasn't it? — even if Duncan Webb was, per-
chance, a very old friend. Their playing to-
gether for a day was n't very bad in itself, per-
haps, but the lady from Pittsburgh had seen
Mrs. Marsh's face when she first met Duncan on
the piazza and its expression was not the sort
with which a properly behaved woman greets a
man who is nothing more than an old friend.
Furthermore, Mrs. Mills and several other
women had caught glances that flashed from


GHOSTS 41
Mrs. Marsh's eyes to Duncan's and they were
not by any possible interpretation the pure
glances of friendship.
The second day the two had gone sailing, re-
turning in time for a late swim. They had
dined together and then gone off for a walk along
the shore, which lasted till supper-time. Rose
Hill Inn's guests thought that eating three meals
a day together at a corner table, alone, was, to say
the least, going it pretty strong. After supper
they disappeared, and were not seen again till
one of the knitters saw Duncan kiss Mrs. Marsh.
She did n't mean to see it, of course, but return-
ing from Mrs. Thurston's after dark she did see,
through the window, Mrs. Marsh sitting in an
arm-chair in Mr. Webb's cottage; and she saw
Mr. Webb, leaning over its back, kiss Mrs.
Marsh's cheek. Mrs. Marsh certainly did not
object, for she patted Duncan's hair during the
process.
That certainly was more than enough evidence
on which to base a scandal; but that was n't all,
for on the third day Mrs. Marsh went into Dun-
can's cottage in broad daylight and stayed there
at least two hours.
Mrs. Marsh, whose name was Esther, looked
like a woman who might well be a boon to gos-


44 GHOSTS
word more than was necessary, and she only
nodded at Duncan and walked away. He waited
till her back was turned and then he said,
"Good-by," and he put into the word the ques-
tion, "Is it really necessary to be so very un-
pleasant?"
How is it possible to describe the coldness that
takes possession of a woman when she is dis-
pleased, to depict her actions, to explain the tone
in which she speaks? It is well-nigh impossi-
ble, yet nothing is more fully appreciated when it
is experienced. Mrs. Thurston's feeling toward
Duncan was quite as evident as if she had cut
him dead. When he said, "Good-by," she hesi-
tated for an instant and then turned to him and
said, "Good-by," and in the one word she said,
"Naturally I can't have anything more to do
with you."
She was blushing and the blush said: "I 'm
sorry I can't. I liked you."
Duncan laughed, a whole-souled, low, merry
laugh, and Mrs. Thurston blushed again and they
separated.
Of course the talk was not confined to the six
gray- or white-haired ladies at the inn. Every


GHOSTS 45
one in Rose Hill knew that two strangers had
come among them and were carrying on shame-
fully. Mrs. Marsh's visits to Duncan's cottage
were discussed when no young girls were about
and the young girls discussed it when their elders
were not about. The kiss, the calm, matter-of-
fact kiss taken and accepted deliberately, was
damning evidence. It was far worse than a kiss
stolen, worse even than a kiss resulting from
sudden temptation or from an overwhelming, if
illicit, passion. It meant long-standing, calm,
methodical sin!
Of course little Mrs. Thurston had heard all
there was to hear and had been a little more than
annoyed.
She had told her mother all about Duncan and
her mother had asked where she had met him.
"I spoke to him on the float this morning and
met him by chance this afternoon and he went to
the beach with me."
"Why, Marjorie!" Her mother did not ap-
prove.
"Oh, it's different in Rose Hill; and besides,
it was perfectly apparent that he is a gentle-
man."
"Nevertheless —" said Mrs. Read, and so on


46 GHOSTS
and on, Marjorie insisting that it really was n't
very wrong and that Mr. Webb was perfectly
all right.
If Mr. Webb had been perfectly all right that
would have been the end of it, but Marjorie
Thurston was sorely tried when Mr. Webb's af-
fair with Mrs. Marsh became the talk of Rose
Hill. While of course gossip never flourishes
there without the greatest provocation, and the
incident under discussion furnished the first real
provocation in years, it became common knowl-
edge that Mrs. Thurston knew Duncan Webb and
had held converse with him. Therefore she be-
came a possible source of information to the six
estimable elderly ladies, and others, and was
approached, tactfully, on the subject.
Marjorie met the situation without flinching.
She mentioned nothing of her meeting with Mr.
Webb and said that while she knew him only
slightly she believed him to be very much of a
gentleman and very attractive.
"But, my dear," the lady from Pittsburgh ex-
postulated, "men who are gentlemen and very
attractive are exactly the sort who may be ex-
pected to have affairs like this. It is not looked
upon as disgraceful — in the man — in these
days, certainly not as much as it should be."


GHOSTS 47
Marjorie was not willing to discuss the matter
then or any other time and evaded it skilfully.
She was entirely willing to evade it after lunch
on the third day when Duncan came strolling
over the grass to her cottage. She watched him
the whole way, rubbing her cheek against Mary's
the while and wondering what he would say
and how she should answer whatever he did say.
He smiled, sat down on the top step, and leaned
against the railing.
"Is Mary well to-day? " he asked.
"Very well, thank you."
"Well enough to be left with her nurse while
her mother goes sailing with Mrs. Marsh and
your very humble servant?"
"Yes, even well enough for that, but—"
Duncan's laugh interrupted her. "You see
I sat down in a comfortable place facing you in-
stead of standing before you and twiddling my
fingers nervously, because it is so much easier to
argue sitting down. If you would let Mary creep
over to me I should feel very much more at ease."
Mrs. Thurston much preferred that Mary
should stay with her. She needed Mary her-
self. And, besides, the idea of her baby being in
the clutches of the arch-villain was horrible.
She looked at Duncan and saw that beyond any


48 GHOSTS
question he was, even without Mary, absolutely
at ease and unembarrassed.
She put Mary on the floor; Mary went straight-
way to Duncan and he lifted her to his knees.
"Well, young woman," he said to Mary as she
reached for his tie, " perhaps you can tell me the
truth of this matter. Your mother was about to
decline my very respectful invitation to sail
this afternoon. It is a beautiful day, the wind,
water and boat are all that could be asked for
and your mother has previously confessed that
she is fond of sailing. Likewise, Mary, the prob-
abilities are very great that your mother could go
if she wanted to; but she was going to decline.
I 'm sure she was! Now the question is, was
that declination really based on some perfectly
good every-day reason, such as some one coming
for tea by automobile from a neighboring town,
or a small but select bridge party with Rose Hill
ladies; or was it based on some reason which
your mother would not mention for worlds? A
woman, it has been said, always has two reasons
for everything — a good reason and the reason.
Now suppose you go and ask your mother
whether she would n't like to go sailing and
whether, really and truly, she can't go perfectly
well, and if she would and can, whether she is n't


GHOSTS 49
pretty sure that I would n't ask her to go with
me unless it was perfectly right for her to do
it. In other words, ask her if she is n't willing
to take a chance on me."
Mary, released, and loving variety as all young
women do, steered a very crooked course to her
mother a dozen feet away. Mrs. Thurston lifted
her baby into the air and made much of her.
She had much need of Mary.
"Any answer?" Duncan asked in a moment.
Mary ignored the question, and had not the
slightest suspicion why her mother snuggled her
cheek against hers, and, finally laying the baby's
head on her shoulder, squeezed Mary in her arms
a little harder than the baby was accustomed to.
While all that was going on Marjorie's eyes
were looking all about Duncan without ever rest-
ing on him, but they saw that Duncan was smil-
ing. They rested on Duncan's eyes and Duncan
smiled. Marjorie's eyes dropped and Duncan
laughed.
"Never mind bringing an answer, Mary," he
said; " just tell nurse to hurry as much as may be
entirely convenient so that Mother can go sailing.
Mother is going to take a chance; and for some
reason or other Mother is enjoying taking that
chance quite as much as she will enjoy the sail.."


50 GHOSTS
Marjorie laughed, a little guiltily.
Marjorie and Mrs. Marsh and Duncan walked
past the cottages and the inn to the boat land-
ing; thence they rowed to the knockabout and
sailed away.
Marjorie wondered what her mother would
say when she came back that night and heard
all about it. She wondered what the dear mid-
dle-aged and old ladies on the hotel piazzas were
saying, and she wondered what she thought
about it herself. She had given way to the im-
pulse of the moment, it was very foolish of her
to associate with people about whom there was
so much talk along unpleasant lines; and yet —
oh, well, why not admit that Duncan's smile had
done it? Somehow she did n't believe that that
smile went with anything wrong. Duncan
Webb, even without his smile, surely was n't the
wrong sort, notwithstanding what people said.
As to Mrs. Marsh, she hardly knew her at all;
she was very good-looking, not just the pretty
sort of good-looking, but the sort that makes you
sure there is an awful lot of character, of some
kind, back of her eyes and her mouth. Of
course Marjorie would know more about Mrs.
Marsh before the afternoon was over, and in the


V GHOSTS 51
meantime she rather enjoyed thinking what the
row of gray- and white-haired ladies were saying
and thinking.
What the ladies were saying was this:
"My dear, look!"
My dear and several others looked.
"Where do you suppose they are going?"
"I don't know, but I suppose we shall see.
Sailing probably."
"Is she going with them?"
"Marjorie Thurston, of all people!"
"She 's a child, nothing more than a child."
"I 'm sure her mother does n't know."
"You go down and tell her she must n't go
with them, Emma." .
"Don't be absurd. I shall do nothing of the
kind."
"But she's a perfect dear, the sweetest child
imaginable."
"She can't know about them."
"Indeed she does! I told her, myself."
"I 'm ashamed of you, Henrietta."
"She's married and has a child. She can
talk about anything."
"And I don't see why she should n't have her
fun out of it as well as the rest of us. She's en-
titled to all the fun she can get, I say."


52 GHOSTS
,v#
"But I think going sailing with them is too
much."
"It's too late now. They 've gone."
"Marjorie can take care of herself."
"Gooseberry, I call it."
"Nonsense! Those two don't need a goose-
berry."
"I don't see why they want her."
"I 'm sure I don't."
Rockers rocked, knitting-needles knitted, em-
broidery progressed, and the subject was dis-
cussed, turned, twisted, and laughed over till the
shadows of Rose Hill were growing long and the
three came back, slowly, for there was little wind
and the tide was doing most of the work, and it
was a lazy tide.
Marjorie of course knew a great deal about
love, for she had been wooed and won and had
Mary, but hers had been a romantic love with
the glamour of war on it. She knew that there
were other kinds of love, less beautiful and less
pure than hers had been, but very passionate and
strong. A man and woman must love each other
very much indeed if they let the world know of
their love when it is illicit, unless of course it is
only an imitation love, an attempt of wearied
>


GHOSTS 53
people to find excitement, a make-believe love,
a game played for a new sensation, a playing
with fire, with care taken that it shall not burn.
Marjorie was very sure, though she could not
have told why she was sure, that Duncan Webb
would descend to no such vulgar pastime. She
knew that love sometimes enters places that it
has no business to enter, and that such love is
very wrong, even if it can't be helped, and that it
does a great deal of harm; she knew that such
love is sometimes so powerful that it overwhelms
men and women, sometimes numbing the faculties
and deadening the sense of honor of even the very
finest people.
Marjorie was very sure, though she could not
have told why she was sure, that Duncan Webb
could not, and would not if he could, give his
love unless it were a pure love given to a woman
worthy of it and free to receive it. Therefore
what manner of woman was Esther Marsh?
Was she forcing herself on Duncan? Had she
demanded his time and had she some power of
enforcing her demands? Had she gone to his
house and stayed there for hours against his
wish or — but the kiss? How about the kiss
that Duncan had given her? Had she demanded
that, too? She might demand kisses till the

r


GHOSTS 55
of a joke here and there; and Marjorie had not
seen a sign of love between them, and she won-
dered whether anything really could have hap-
pened when her back was turned.
Anyway, it was all over now except for Mar-
jorie to explain to her mother and the ladies at
the inn and to some in the cottages. Oh, well,
it had been a heavenly afternoon on the water,
and she would make believe that no explanation
was necessary.
Before they reached the mooring Marjorie
could distinguish groups of people on the pier
and on the inn piazza. Men were chatting to-
gether in the evening calm. Women were chat-
ting as always. It seemed as though all Rose
Hill had assembled for the distinct purpose of
watching their return, of watching her land with
the two scandal-makers, and walk with them
from the landing to the inn.
All good women have in them at least some
small affection for deviltry, if the deviltry be not
too naughty, and Marjorie, down in the bottom of
her heart, enjoyed the deviltry of which now
she was a part; the sensation was unquestionably
pleasant. She looked forward with undeniable
joy to the questions that the six white- or gray-
haired ladies, and other ladies, would ask her at


56 GHOSTS
the very first opportunity, and she made up her
mind that she would be mysterious and vague,
and appear to know much more than she did
know and she would refuse to let them remon-
strate with her.
They made the knockabout fast to the mooring
and rowed ashore, and as they rowed Marjorie
saw Edwin Marsh waiting for them. She would
watch very carefully the greeting between Dun-
can Webb and the husband.
The greeting was a disappointment. "Hello,
Donnie," and "Hello, Eddie," and then Mr.
Marsh was introduced to her, and almost before
she knew it she was walking toward the inn with
Mrs. Marsh, with the two men behind her. They
separated at the hotel with a word from Duncan
about his returning promptly for dinner, and she
walked on with him. Not a blessed thing had
happened; not a sign had she seen of anything
at all; not a clue had she obtained.
She had seen the six ladies on the piazza, too
well-bred to stare but nevertheless taking in
every detail of their landing, their meeting, their
walk and her departure with Duncan. Had it
all been perfectly managed by Mrs. Marsh and
Duncan, with deep guile, or had it all been
perfectly natural? Had she been taken along


GHOSTS 57
on the sail because they wanted her or because
they needed her, perhaps as a sort of blind, be-
cause they knew that Mr. Marsh was coming back
that afternoon, and would arrive before they re-
turned from the sail?
She was running over these questions in her
mind; she had jumped to the kiss in the cottage
and back again to her sail that afternoon, and
was just about to insist to herself that Mrs.
Marsh could do no wrong, when Duncan spoke.
"Nothing, absolutely nothing, ever happens in
Rose Hill," he said. He was looking at her and
smiling, and she blushed as though she had been
caught in something of which she was ashamed.
But she scraped up her courage quickly.
"You know Mrs. Marsh very well, don't you?"
she asked.
"Yes, very well indeed. I have known her a
long time."
"And Mr. Marsh?"
"We roomed together in college," Duncan said,
and then looking intently at Marjorie he added:
"Once upon a time we were in love with the
same girl."
"Were you?" she said. It was of courae not
a question but rather a muffled exclamation, and
again her thoughts jumped back to the kiss in


58 GHOSTS
the cottage, and the hours Duncan had spent
there alone with Mrs. Marsh.
"Yes, we were," Duncan said, "but neverthe-
less nothing, virtually nothing, ever happens at
Rose Hill." They had left the road and were on
their own path. Marjorie, though she was look-
ing straight before her, knew that Duncan was
watching her. Suddenly he said, "I 'm going
to see Mrs. Brown, after all."
"Please tell me why you did it."
"I have n't did it. I said I was going to did
it."
"You know what I mean. Why have you and
Mrs. Marsh made Rose Hill get all excited?"
"Rose Hill excited! Good heavens, about
what?"
"You know perfectly well."
"Do you realize that I don't know a soul here
but Mrs. Neale, Martha, the waitress at the hotel,
and you? I haven't heard a word of any ex-
citement. However, I am going to call on Mrs.
Brown. I got a letter from —"
"I think you 're horrid to —"
"To get a letter or to call on Mrs. Brown?
Anyway, I did get a letter from a very good
friend of mine who is related to her, Mr. John


GHOSTS 59
Bowers. He asks me to call on her, he says she
is a very delightful old lady."
"She is."
"All of which means, of course, that she did n't
steal her own trinkets. Therefore, who did?"
"The men in the boat, but I don't want to talk
about that. I want to know why you and Mrs.
Marsh —"
"I 'm not interested in the men in the boat.
What I want to know is how I can get you to go
and call on Mrs. Brown with me. I sure don't
want to go alone."
"Won't Mrs. Marsh go with you?"
"I guess so, if I ask her, but going round with
Esther is n't a novelty; nor is it — oh, well, you
know. If you 'd go it would make it a great
pleasure; otherwise it will be a bore."
"If I go will you tell me —?"
"I 'll tell you anything, everything, all I know,
if you 'll go."
"When?"
"To-night — to-morrow — day after to-mor-
row— any time you please."
"To-morrow at four?"
"To-morrow at four. Give my love to Mary."
Duncan went to his cottage and Marjorie stood


CO GHOSTS
watching him. She was smiling. Perhaps she
smiled because she believed that she was wiser
than all the gray- and white-haired ladies of Rose
Hill.
v


CHAPTER III
THE next afternoon, promptly at four o'clock
Duncan called for Mrs. Thurston.
"I don't see how my theory that Mrs. Brown
stole her jewels for the insurance holds water for
a minute," he said, handing her a clipping from
a morning paper, which stated that Mrs. Brown
had given fifty thousand dollars to something.
"Oh, yes, I know," Marjorie said after she had
glanced at the slip of paper. "Both she and
Mr. Brown are awfully rich and live very simply.
The hardest thing they have to do is to give away
their money wisely. Mrs. Brown was a Slade
and owns pretty nearly all the Slade Manufac-
turing Company stock; and besides that she in-
herited a good deal from her mother."
Duncan Webb and Mrs. Thurston were walk-
ing along the Sea-way on their way to call on
Mrs. Brown.
"And she could n't possibly be temporarily
broke and in trouble, ever?" Duncan asked
sadly.
"Not a chance in the world, and besides — but
61


62 GHOSTS
wait till you see her. She is the dearest old lady
— except that she is not very old, really."
"I have no doubt of it. Mrs. Marsh asked me
to say good-by to you for her. I think she sent
you her love; I 'm sure she said that she hoped
very much to see you again."
"Has she gone, for good?"
"Yes. They may come back for a few days
later in the summer. They did n't mean to stay
here at all, really. They were motoring to Maine
and missed the last boat here one night and were
simply spending the night, expecting to go on the
next day. But Edwin was foolish and called up
his partner and got exactly what he deserved,
orders to go back to New York for two or three
days. Esther made arrangements to stay with
friends of hers in Oldport till he came back, but
the next morning we came face to face unexpect-
edly. Neither one of us had the faintest idea the
other was here, and she stayed."
"And you made all Rose Hill think —"
"That she and I are in love? Is that what
you were going to say? That's the question you
wanted me to answer yesterday, wasn't it? —
the one you 've been itching to ask and have been
a little afraid to? You need n't; I 'll ask it for
you and answer it. I am very fond indeed of


GHOSTS 63
Mrs. Marsh, and Mrs. Brown is on her piazza
waiting for us, just as though she expected us."
They walked up the steps and Mrs. Brown
wasted no time on formalities.
"I 'm very glad to see you both," she said.
"I've been trying to read this book and could n't
— I don't recommend it — so I tried gazing on
the beautiful sea, but when you live right on the
edge of it for five months every year it loses its
novelty." I was hoping something nice would
happen. You'll both have tea, of course?"
That point settled, Mrs. Brown spoke again.
"So you 're the young man John Bowers wrote
me about. He says you 're the perfection of
men; I imagine he 's prejudiced for some reason.
He married my niece."
"Mr. Webb, besides being the perfect man,
found your jewels," Mrs. Thurston said.
"I 'm quite aware of that, but I should n't
have mentioned it if you had n't. I always try
to be polite to my guests. My daughter Georgi-
ana knows your sister very well and says she 's
charming. I am sure she is. Why didn't you
come straight to me with that lard pail instead
of telling the police about it first?"
"Please forgive him; he had such a good rea-
son!" Marjorie said.


64 GHOSTS
"Did he? And what reason could he have,
I 'd like to know?"
"He thought you had hidden them yourself
so that you could get the insurance money, and
naturally he did n't like to explain that to you."
Marjorie's expression was nothing if not inno-
cent. Duncan refused to be perturbed.
"Mrs. Thurston is quite right. I was afraid
you would ask me what I thought of the whole
thing, taking it for granted that, having found
the lard pail, I must have some theory of how
the jewelry was stolen. I did have a theory, of
course, but it was based entirely on the story
which Mrs. Thurston told me. Probably her
story was not accurate; such stories seldom are.
Besides, Mrs. Thurston dismissed the servants
with the statement that they were beyond sus-
picion and she said nothing whatever about you:
you were simply a name, you might have been
twenty or eighty years old, good or bad, rich or
comparatively poor, and I don't know yet except
by hearsay whether the lard pail was taken from
the kitchen or came from parts unknown, and
that of course is a most important point."
"We don't know where it came from. We
never had anything like it. And I did not steal
my own jewels," said Mrs. Brown, and her eyes
V


GHOSTS 65
snapped. She was a very lively old lady and
she loved brisk talk.
"No, I 'm afraid you did n't," Duncan said,
u and of course it's too bad because I can't
imagine any more thrilling solution. The
trouble is that nothing, absolutely nothing, really
exciting ever happens in Rose Hill."
"As Mrs. Brown did n't take them, who did?"
asked Marjorie of Duncan.
Mrs. Brown interrupted. "How should he
know? He 's not a detective, is he?"
"I don't know," Marjorie admitted.
"Are you?" Mrs. Brown asked Duncan.
"No, I 'm afraid not. I thought I was, but
your being innocent has shaken my faith in my-
self in that direction."
"At best you are an amateur detective and I
don't see how you could find the thief when real
detectives could n't. How will you have your
tea? I know how Marjorie takes hers."
Duncan stated his preference as to tea and the
thief was forgotten for the time being. Their
conversation drifted back to Alden and Mrs.
Brown's friends there and they were on that sub-
ject when Georgiana arrived, and admitted hav-
ing known Mr. Webb previously. Georgiana
was tall, shapeless, atrociously dressed, very


66 GHOSTS
well educated, well-bred, not beautiful, and very
much at her ease. John Bowers had written to
Duncan that he would know the Brown girls
by their clothes, anywhere. When Webb saw
Georgiana he understood, for it was very evident
that her idea of proper dress at Rose Hill was
comfort and durability, and style be hanged.
The other Brown girls were not at Rose Hill.
Georgiana contrasted strongly with Marjorie,
who was not tall and shapeless, whose voice was
always low, whose face was very fair, and whose
clothes were always very neat and dainty. Per-
haps, under the surface, the contrast was not so
great.
Georgiana introduced the jewels again, but
with a hopeless air, as though to solve the mys-
tery were beyond human power.
"Mr. Webb suspects me," Mrs. Brown told
Georgiana.
"Of course. We all did, but nobody could
ever prove anything against you — or anybody
else for that matter, so we may get you yet."
"Now, what do you think of that," said Mrs.
Brown, "from my own daughter?"
"There comes a launch," said Georgiana, list-
lessly, "perhaps it's the one that was here then,
with the men who may have been the robbers,"


GHOSTS 67
They all looked across the water toward the
launch, but it was so far away that it was hardly
more than a speck on the horizon. Georgiana
had hopes, nevertheless, that it might turn out to
be the same one. She was so anxious to have the
thing settled somehow so that people would n't
everlastingly talk about it and evolve pre-
posterous theories that she welcomed any sug-
gestion of a clue, however slender.
"The men are coming back for the lard pail,"
she insisted. "They don't know that it has been
found, and won't they be disappointed! I 'm
going down to watch them when they land so
that I can see their expressions." The tiny ves-
sel was still a speck in the distance.
"Maybe they '11 tell you how they got into the
room and out again without leaving a trace,"
Duncan suggested.
"There is only one person who could have got-
ten into that room and out again without leaving
a trace, and that's Mother," said Georgiana.
"My child! my child!" moaned Mrs. Brown.
"But of course Mother would have done it the
other way round," Georgiana went on. "She
would have gotten out of the room and in again,
without leaving a trace."
"Somebody did get in and out without leaving
©FTHE
**W YORSf


68 GHOSTS
a trace and it was n't Mother," exclaimed Mrs.
Brown. "Georgiana, take Mr. Webb up and
show him my room and we 'll see if he has any
brilliant ideas. You go too, Marjorie; perhaps
you 'll have an inspiration, a woman's intuitive
inspiration."
Georgiana sighed as though acting as guide to
the ravished chamber was a bore, but she was re-
signed and off they went. Marjorie had de-
scribed the room accurately to Duncan so far as
its essential points were concerned and Georgi-
ana in telling the story she knew so well con-
firmed Marjorie's narrative of the events of the
night a year before.
The door that had stuck then still stuck and
the blinds still had their fastenings that could
not be opened from the outside; a bolt firmly
screwed to the cross-bar divided the shutter in
two, horizontally; beneath it on each shutter was
a ring for pulling them tight shut. The bureau
was unchanged. The drawer still held the jewel-
box, the nail that had held the key was still be-
hind the picture. The locks and bolts on the hall
doors were as they had been then and the win-
dows of the room were still far, far above the
ground and out of reach except by means of a
ladder.


70 GHOSTS
before by a dozen detectives and analyzed to
shreds and found to lead nowhere. They re-
turned to the piazza, to be greeted by Mrs.
Brown.
"Your launch, with the very same men in it,
is coming straight toward us," she said.
Georgiana was not willing to have the launch
and the men thrust upon her, willing as she had
been to invent the hypothesis herself. The
launch was still too far away to tell even how
many men were in it.
"It does look like it," Georgiana said, rather
apologetically, a little later.
"It's the very same launch," her mother in-
sisted.
"I thought you did n't remember anything
about it, the morning after the robbery," Geor-
giana suggested.
"I did n't then, but seeing it now recalls it
distinctly," Mrs. Brown insisted.
They watched the launch in silence for a mo-
ment; it was surely coming straight toward
them. Finally Georgiana seemed a little an-
noyed and said that the whole thing was non-
sense, which seemed probable on the face of it.
"But it is exactly like the other one," she
added, with some suggestion of enthusiasm.


GHOSTS 71
"And it appears to be coming directly here,"
Duncan said. "Let's go down and meet them."
"Don't! You'll frighten them away," said
Mrs. Brown, from her rocker.
"Heaven forbid, if they are coming to con-
fess!" exclaimed Georgiana.
The launch was coming on rapidly, whatever
might be the intention of its occupants, and
within five minutes it was gliding calmly toward
the end of the pier.
"I 'm going," said Georgiana. "It's the same
one or its twin brother," and she started for the
pier. The others followed.
Two boys were in the launch, which by the time
Georgiana reached the pier was alongside it.
"So you 've come back, have you? " Georgiana
demanded.
Broad grins broke on the bays' faces. They
were wholesome, clean-cut boys.
"We came back as soon as we could," one of
them said. "How did you recognize us?"
"I recognized your boat," Georgiana said.
"Some boat, is n't she?" the other boy said.
"If we pay up will you let us go?" the first
boy asked.
"Not unless you confess everything," said
Georgiana.
'


72 GHOSTS
"We took it, all right," the boy said.
"What?" asked Georgiana.
"Why — why — don't you know?"
That question floored Georgiana, and Duncan
came to the rescue.
"It's a pretty serious business," he said, " and
I would n't joke about it. Don't you know what
was stolen the night that you were here be-
fore?"
"Five gallons of gas?" The boy was n't sure
whether it was all a joke or not.
"Hardly — something much more valuable."
"Well — maybe, but all we took was the gas
and we 've brought it back; or, rather, its equiva-
lent in cash. We took it from your storage tank,
in an emergency."
"Go on, go ahead! Tell the whole story,"
Georgiana demanded.
The boy smiled as though the story were amus-
ing. "It was this way," he said: "Bill's the
engineer and I 'm the navigator of this craft.
I 'm all right as a navigator, but Bill's not much
of an engineer. Anyway, we were on our way to
Oldport last year when the blow came up and the
gas gave out all at the same time. We drifted
over here and came face to face with your gas
--



GHOSTS 73
tank and we borrowed five gallons. We ex-
pected to pay for it, to leave the money on the
pier with a note, but we discovered we had nine
cents in change and a twenty-dollar bill, so we
just left the note. We were in a hurry and
did n't see any one about."
u It must have blown away: we never got
it," Georgiana commented, as to the note.
"We put a rock on it," the boy said. "We
meant to come back the next day, but circum-
stances prevented. We did n't get a chance, we
were sort of busy."
"How long were you here?" Duncan asked.
"Some time — an hour, maybe. The engineer
could n't start the engine; finally she started her-
self. He 's not much of an engineer."
"You were n't here longer than that?" Dun-
can asked.
"Not much, anyway. We got to Oldport just
about dark, after a very rough trip." The recol-
lection of the trip across the bay seemed to amuse
the boy.
"Do you remember the date?" Georgiana
asked. The boy thought a minute and said that
it was on a Tuesday, about the first of July.
"That's the day," Georgiana muttered. "Do


74 GHOSTS
you know that this house was robbed that night
and that you 've been suspected ever since of do-
ing it?"
The boy's eyes opened wide. Here was adven-
ture, surely! The other boy got up and went
nearer to Georgiana.
"Who did it?" he asked.
"We don't know. We still suspect you."
Both boys grinned broadly. "What did we
get?" the navigator asked.
"Jewels," said Georgiana.
"Maybe Bill got them — I don't know — but
if he did he did n't divide with me."
"Perhaps originally he meant to divide with
you, but he forgot them; he left them under the
pier," Georgiana said. "Of course when we saw
you coming we thought you were coming back to
get them."
"Well, you never can tell. Personally I
don't wear many jewels, but Bill has fancy
tastes."
The clue faded rapidly; certainly the two boys
were not of the stuff of which robbers are made.
When the time of the theft was explained they
remembered that they had been at a dance and
offered to prove an alibi, and later they divulged
their identity. Finally the engineer asked if
-■


76 GHOSTS
Marjorie explained that she had just met Mr.
and Mrs. Marsh at Rose Hill.
"Were they here!" It was an exclamation,
not a question. "Why did n't you tell me? " she
demanded of Duncan.
"Simply because I did not know that the Rose
Hill Browns numbered among them a Georgi-
ana; nor, I think, did Esther know it, though I
can't be sure of that. The disadvantages of a
private bathing-beach are apparent. If you
mixed with the common herd, and lived nearer
the center of the city, you would undoubtedly
have run across—"
"Poppy-cock," said Georgiana. "She was
satisfied with you and did n't want to see any
one else." Again Duncan looked quickly at Mar-
jorie, and found Marjorie's questioning eyes on
him. Georgiana spoke to Marjorie. "Those
two are as mushy as a pair of lovers," she said,
her voice stating emphatically that she had no
use for mush.
"She's not so bad, for a sister," Duncan said
meekly.
"She 'll hear from me, sister or no sister!"
exclaimed Georgiana. "Will you stay and have
supper with us?"
The invitation saved Marjorie. She was sur-


GHOSTS 77
prised that it was so late, she had n't the slight-
est idea it was so late, she must simply run, she
was so sorry she couldn't stay — all in hurried
speech, and she took her departure with Duncan.
She spoke to him as she hurried on.
"Haven't you any ideas at all?" she asked.
"The average number, I suppose," Duncan an-
swered.
"I mean about the robbery."
"Oh, I see. No, I have n't the suspicion of a
suspicion, not a single, solitary idea. The elimi-
nation of the launch knocks my old theory into a
cocked hat, and there always was a weak point
in it. Why should the robbers come ashore in
a rowboat when they could have brought the
launch itself to the float by the pier? And fur-
thermore, what became of the rowboat that
would have drifted away if my theory was cor-
rect. And furthermore once more, granted that
the rowboat had drifted away and that the men
swam to the launch, why did n't they come back
for the jewelry that very minute instead of sail-
ing away, to their deaths? No, I'm through;
I have n't any more theories. Why should I,
when a lot of high-class detectives could n't find
out anything?"
"Logic," said Marjorie. "If only I were n't a


78 GHOSTS
woman I 'd clear everything up by logic." Then
she jumped to the subject in which, at the mo-
ment, she was most interested: "Why did you
and your sister upset Rose Hill so — getting
everybody all excited and then—"
"Nothing exciting ever happens in Rose Hill,"
Duncan interrupted.
"Why did you?"
"We did n't do a blessed thing. How can I
explain Rose Hill's mental processes?"
"Why did n't you tell me that first day on the
float that Mrs. Marsh was your sister?"
"For exactly the same reason I did n't tell
you her first name: it was entirely unimportant,
for the purposes of the moment. I 'm thinking
of doing a bit of shopping in Oldport to-morrow,
which means a ride on the ferry, ice-cream or
tea and toast, or both, a box of candy, mayhap,
and a drive by the sea. Will you go?"
"You 're not keeping your promise."
"Will you go to-morrow afternoon?"
"You are not keeping your promise."
"True. Esther saw two lovely white-haired
ladies glance at her. She interpreted their
glances correctly and the awful truth burst upon
her. 'They don't know,' says she to me. 'Let's
give 'em a little excitement.' 'Let's,' says I —


GHOSTS 81
jumbled chorus which amounted to: "At least
it was delicious while it lasted."
And that was the end of it — except a well-
bred desire to meet Duncan Webb, and the joy
that was Marjorie's.


GHOSTS 83
sort of girl? — I'll forgive you — this time. I
know you won't do it again.— Oh, yes, I under-
stand. I felt that way too — for just a minute."
And you do it all over again, the next day, with
much less talk about it, and so on for a week or
perhaps a month, and then you hum the old song,
"I wonder who's kissing her now," and don't
much care who.
Oh, no, that sort of girl is n't to be despised,
by a long shot. She 's such a good fellow and
such a cozy girl and you don't have to worry
about breaking her heart. The only thing you
have to be careful about on her account is not to
get tired of her before she gets tired of you; it
is n't gentlemanly or playing the game to do that.
On your own account you must be very careful
if she suddenly decides not to let you kiss her
any more, and becomes a little cold. It's a trap,
but of course it's a trap that catches only the
most innocent and inexperienced.
And if such a girl is not to be despised in the
summer-time, how much more precious to a lone
bachelor is a girl like Marjorie! To begin with,
there is hardly a more pleasant sensation to be
found than that which a man experiences when
he discovers that a young woman who attracted
him the moment he saw her turns out to be a
s


84 GHOSTS
good, substantial woman, sweet and charming,
sensible, witty, educated and broad-minded, a
woman who trusts him and likes him, whom he
likes and whom he respects, a woman whose
every word and act command respect. How de-
lightful it is to know that she likes him for what
he is and not because he will kiss her and furnish
her with recreation and food and pay the bills
like a good boy! how delightful to know that as
days pass their friendship will increase as they
know each other better and better, and not die
from lack of nourishment! There is little whole-
some food in kisses.
All of which explains in some small degree
why Duncan was so happy that afternoon in Old-
port.
That afternoon with Marjorie was followed by
many other days much like it, days of sailing, of
walking, of driving, of quiet hours under trees
or on the rocks with books — books that received
little attention. Marjorie learned to swim on
her back. There were days of fishing, days of
golf, rainy days on piazzas, and evenings with
bridge, evenings with lights shining on the water,
with moonlight. They followed one another
simply and naturally. There were really no peo-
ple at all in Rose Hill except old married people


86 GHOSTS
hill and who was willing to chat, some one with
a baby in a go-cart or with a parcel-post bundle
to carry. Bathing hour was upon Rose Hill be-
fore Rose Hill realized that the day had really
begun; and bathing hour meant sixty minutes on
the beach and perhaps thirty in the water and
on the float unless the day was very warm, in
which case it meant nearly all the time in the
water.
Duncan had forgotten all about the outside
world. He had become a past master in the art
of loafing; business did not exist. He had even
ceased to criticize Mrs. Robb's ideas of how laun-
dering should be elegantly done; he didn't care,
so long as Mrs. Robb was happy. In Rose Hill
lay his whole existence, the days that lay beyond
that summer were so very far away that they
might be ignored completely. The whole world
lay within Rose Hill and the country round about
it; and naturally, therefore, within Rose Hill
was the most important person in the world, and
in that important person's eyes was a light, the
meaning of which Duncan was very sure he
knew. And he knew, too, that he must, some-
how or other, change the expression of the most
important eyes in the world or the world
wouldn't be worth living in at all.


GHOSTS 8T
On a day early in August the Webb knock-
about crept slowly northward along the shore of
the bay. It passed the Brown pier and hardly
had it passed when Duncan saw a man sitting on
a point of the rocks. There was nothing unusual
in that — men often sat on the rocks — but this
man attracted Duncan's attention.
"He looks like the statue of 1 The Thinker,'"
Marjorie said.
Duncan put over the helm and the boat took up
its course shoreward, slowly. Duncan raised
the center-board and took a long boat-hook for
use in case a dangerous rock appeared near the
surface. The boat was barely moving.
"I think he 's a friend of mine," he said; " the
finest old boy that ever was."
He went forward and, with an arm around a
stay, kept one eye on the water and another on
"The Thinker." The man was watching them
and even before Duncan was sure that it was his
friend the man called:
"Coming ashore for me, Duncan?"
"I surely will, if you say, Mr. Lyle."
"Is n't the pier safer?"
The man rose to his feet — a huge figure of a
man whose clothes hung shapeless about him, a
man with enormous feet and hands and long


GHOSTS 89
"Is n't he wonderful!" she said, a thought
that had stayed with her from the beginning.
Duncan looked at her curiously. "In what
way do you think he is wonderful?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know; I just feel it in my bones.
He seems to have tremendous force or power or
something — I don't know what to call it — and
to be very kind and big-hearted."
Duncan smiled. "I 'm not much on hero-wor-
ship as a rule," he said, "but the rule does n't
stand a chance where Mr. Lyle is concerned.
Perhaps, I 'm prejudiced. But I don't believe
so; other people who know him seem to think
much as I do. To begin with, he's the pleas-
antest man imaginable; he's always good-na-
tured and pleasant as the day is long. He 'd do
anything on earth for a friend, and more often
than not for his bitterest enemy, and he has
plenty of them. He has a way of never saying
an unpleasant thing unnecessarily; and when he
has to he says it with such wonderful tact that
it ,does n't seem unpleasant and it is n't so much
his words as his voice. He is my idea of a per-
fect gentleman, whatever that is. His heart is
soft, and as big as a barrel; he's as simple and
direct as a little child, and he could n't do a dis-
honorable thing to save his life. And with it all


90 GHOSTS
he has a mind that is n't surpassed, or equaled,
by any that I have ever known or heard of. He
has more common sense than a dozen average
men; he knows more than a flock of encyclope-
dias; he has all the good points of a great minis-
ter and a great doctor and—"
"Stop! That's enough!" Marjorie cried.
"I thought I liked him, but I don't. Ordinary
perfection and massive intellects are bad enough,
but I could never live up to such a superhuman
being. What is he? — a butcher or a baker or
something?"
Duncan went on, unperturbed: "He's a
philosopher, a student, a scientist, and a few
other things; also he is, by profession, a crimino-
logist and a criminal-lawyer, the greatest in the
country, I suppose. He knows crime and the
strength and weakness of humanity as you and I
know the alphabet; in the court-room he is a holy
terror, he can turn a witness inside out and back
again. Other lawyers and most judges have a
good deal of fear and a wholesome respect for
him; and yet outside of business hours he's just
a sweet, happy old man, and he isn't very old
at that. He plays rotten auction and worse
golf."
Marjorie laughed and they walked slowly up


GHOSTS 91
Rose Hill's only road and turned from it to their
path, discussing Samuel Lyle. They passed
Duncan's cottage and came to Marjorie's.
"It's been a lovely afternoon, and I'm terribly
excited about Mr. Lyle," Marjorie said.
"It has been a pleasant day. I think to-
morrow is going to be just like it. We haven't
been to Oldport for a long time; shall we drive
over?"
It was a simple question, such a question as
Duncan had asked every day for a month, but as
he asked it again he watched Marjorie closely.
He knew and had known for many days that be-
fore very long such a question as he asked then
would bring him face to face with his great task.
He knew now from the quick color that came in
Marjorie's cheeks that the time had come: they
had reached the barrier. He knew that Marjorie
had drifted along, evading the problem and her
responsibility, pretending to herself and to him
and to the world that the problem did not exist
and could never exist, when she knew full well,
deep down in her heart, that it did exist and
that her pretense had become futile.
They stood facing each other, the tall, strong
man and the little girl in black. She was not,
really, a very small woman, but she seemed small
*.


GHOSTS 93
Marjorie Thurston was a beautiful woman, but
her beauty lay not so much in the lines of her
features as in the story those features told of
the sweet, pure, gentle woman herself. Duncan,
as he stood before her, knew that, and knew that
his task required all his determination, all his
tact, and all his ability in its accomplishment if
he was to win her and not simply wound still
more a heart already sorely wounded.
When he asked her to go to Oldport with him
on the next afternoon, as they had gone before,
her heart sank and for an instant her courage
fled; but it was for only an instant, and as it rose
again her color rose with it, rose high till her
cheeks were crimson. Even then, woman-like,
she evaded the issue that she knew she must
meet, if not then, before many days had passed.
"I 'm sorry," she said, " but I 'm afraid I can't
go — to-morrow."
Her eyes had been downcast and she raised
them, hesitatingly, and found his waiting for
hers; and for a moment she stood so, acknowledg-
ing that the barrier was between them.
Duncan demanded full confession from her.
"Because you have something else to do?" he
asked.
Marjorie shook her head ever so slightly.
r


GHOSTS 95
"I must. I love you — you know that — I
would have told you so long ago if it had not
been for — for what has gone before. Is it not
true that your knowing that has brought us face
to face with our two lives? Has n't it made you
understand that you and I must work out our
future together? I know that you do not love
me, but-1 think that the fear that you might
love me, the sudden realization that there is still
love in the world, perhaps even for you, has made
you do what you have done—" A smile came
on Duncan's lips —" has made you decide that
you and I cannot play together any more, as we
have been playing, because, if you did so you
might love again."
Marjorie smiled, very sadly, and shook her
head. "No, Duncan, we can be — friends —
that's all. You must understand." And then
she turned and went indoors, as though to stay
there with him any longer were impossible, as
though she must not let him see the grief which
overwhelmed her, the grief that had been always
with her since that day a year before, and would
always be with her.
On the inn piazza six ladies and more, gray-
and white-haired, had seen Samuel Lyle come
ashore with Duncan and Marjorie.


96 GHOSTS
"What a remarkable-looking man! Who is
he?" asked Mrs. Mills of Pittsburgh.
No one knew, but there were a few conjectures,
which, though they led nowhere, at least sug-
gested that there was something worth investi-
gating. From the subject of Mr. Lyle the six
ladies, or more, came back to ground on which
their footing was firm and their information am-
ple. The topic of Duncan and the young widow
was interesting.
"It was simply an incident, a minor incident,
in her life," said Mrs. Hart of Providence. Of
course every one understood that she referred to
Marjorie's short married life.
"I should hardly say that," said the lady from
New York.
"Not now, of course," admitted Mrs. Hart;
"but she will look at it that way when she's
thirty, and probably long before that."
"Exactly, and quite rightly, too. Why, she 's
only twenty-three! Think of it!"
"She's a dear — the sweetest thing! I love
her."
That was the general feeling.
"And a mere child, notwithstanding what
she's been through. Why, her mother had to


98 GHOSTS
"Certainly he is very much attached to her
and—"
"Summer-time! And who else is there in
Rose Hill for them to play with?"
"And she likes him, certainly. There can be
no question of that."
"Nothing could be more satisfactory. They
are admirably suited to each other."
"He's very attractive and a very estimable
man."
"I remember distinctly what you said about
him — and his sister."
"Well, how was I to know? Tell me that."
a But your description of that kiss! I shall
never forget it."
The lady who had seen the kiss laughed.
"What fools we were!" she said.
"Has he money?"
"I understand he has."
"That's entirely unimportant."
"I don't agree with you; and you don't believe
it, yourself."
The lady did not deny that.
"She's not fool enough to eat her heart out
for a twenty-year-old love affair." The idea was
there, though the words were a little mixed.
"She won't," said the practical lady from


GHOSTS 99
Pittsburgh. "She will not put off the old and
take on the new without a struggle, but she '11 do
it, never fear; she has entirely too much good
sense not to, eventually. But she won't do it
quickly. It is much better she should not. It
will take five years, at least."
That seemed to be the consensus of opinion,
except that five years was thought to be a little
long.
If the practical lady from Pittsburgh was cor-
rect, Duncan had no light task on his hands.
The next morning when Marjorie went to the
beach to swim she was worried and unhappy.
She had not seen Duncan since she had left him
the afternoon before; she had stayed indoors all
morning so that she should not see him, but she
knew that she could not escape him at the beach.
But she must swim; and in any case she must
see him again, sooner or later. There was no
use trying to evade him; she must face her prob-
lem fairly, putting it off could do no good.
What would he do? What would he say? She
was very sure that he was not a man who could
be turned away easily, once he had made up his
mind, and she knew very well that he had made
up his mind to have her.
She could not be rude to him; she could not
035B


GHOSTS 101
sand. But the choice was not left to her. Dun-
can saw her and came to her.
"Come over with Mr. Lyle," he said. "He 's
more fun than a circus." Marjorie went with
him.
Mr. Lyle made no attempt to rise, but took
Marjorie's hand and inclined his head over it, a
most respectful greeting.
"A great tease, this friend of yours," he said.
"What's he doing? " Marjorie asked.
Mr. Lyle pointed to a plan of two bedrooms
sketched in the sand. "He 's made up a cock-
and-bull story about a jewelry robbery, says he
found the jewels, and wants me to tell him who
took them."
"Who did take them? The story is perfectly
true," Marjorie said.
"But you have n't heard a word of it," Mr.
Lyle exclaimed.
u Oh, yes I have! I know it by heart. He
could n't possibly make up a harder one."
"So somebody really got into the room and
out again, taking the jewels with him, just as
Duncan has described it to me?"
"Yes, some one did."
"Then the answer is simple. It was a ghost
or the lady herself."


102 GHOSTS
"Ha, ha! what did I tell you?" Duncan
laughed.
"It could n't possibly be Mrs. Brown."
"Then I believe in ghosts, at last!" said Mr.
Lyle. He looked hard at Marjorie, his lips twist-
ing themselves into all manner of queer shapes.
"Are you sure you two are n't in cahoots and
teasing me a bit?"
"It's the solemn truth, every word of it,"
Marjorie insisted.
"M-m-m-m — so," muttered Mr. Lyle. "If
that's so, it is interesting, is n't it?"
"I have no faith in the theory that the shutters
could n't be opened from the outside," Duncan
said. "Maybe I could n't do it, but I believe
a clever thief with a mechanical turn of mind
could." Then Duncan took a chance. "I '11
take you down and let you look at them if you 'd
like to go," he said.
"Oh, please do!" Marjorie cried.
But Mr. Lyle shook his head. "No, no," he
said. "Leave business alone in the summer-time
at Rose Hill. I'm here to rest; and, besides,
I 'm not a detective."
"Then perhaps you 'd like to go over to Old-
port with Mrs. Thurston and me this after-
noon?" Duncan said. "You get a ferry ride,
V


GHOSTS 103
- ice-cream cones, tea and toast, a drive beside the
bounding billows. You see the outside of many
palaces and Mrs. Thurston gets a box of choco-
lates."
"That sounds very attractive," said Mr. Lyle.
"Can you be ready to take the one-thirty
boat?"
"I will be ready," said Mr. Lyle.
i "That's settled. Let's go in."
Marjorie rose from the sand and smiled at
Mr. Lyle, which helped her to evade Duncan's
eyes. But she could not evade them long.
"Are you mad or are you glad? " he asked.
She did not answer him, but went into the
water; and it was not until they were out again
and on their way up the hill that she said, " I '11
, go this time, because Mr. Lyle is going too."
The afternoon in Oldport was, on the surface,
much as the others before it had been. No act or
word of Duncan's suggested that his and Mar-
. jorie's relations were changed in the least de-
gree; their meeting with the barrier between
them on the afternoon before was as though it
had never happened, and yet Marjorie well knew
that Duncan was thinking of her and of the bar-
rier every minute, just as she was, and that his
gaiety was assumed, as hers was.


104 GHOSTS
Until the night before she had never once ad-
mitted to herself, during the year that had
elapsed since the terrible news came, that the or-
der of her life might ever change. Duncan had
come into her life a month before and very soon
after that the barrier had risen before her, a
barrier that was to her just as tthe square white
fence on the piazza was to Mary, a barrier that
surrounded her completely and could not be
scaled.
But, unlike Mary, Marjorie had no desire to
leave her inclosure. She was content, content
with the memories of her short romance; the bar-
rier was there by her own wish, a barrier that
protected her and her heart; she refused to ad-
mit to herself that there could be, beyond the
barrier, such happiness as was within it — with
her memories and her husband's child. But
Duncan had told her that she was wrong and
she knew that the world would think that she
was wrong, and she knew that she must face
Duncan and the world and defend herself and
her memories against them.
When Duncan had told her of his love she had
gone indoors and when she closed her eyes that
night she was no longer a child but was a woman;
Duncan's words had wrought the change that her


GHOSTS 105
marriage and the coming of Mary had not ac-
complished. She could evade her future no
longer.
In Oldport, on their ride, Mr. Lyle made all
the difference in the world. They talked to him
and, even when they spoke to each other, it was
for his benefit. If Mr. Lyle suspected that there
was anything but simple friendship between
them, or ever would be, he gave no sign of it.
They talked mostly of the affairs of the moment
— the ice-cream and tea and chocolates, relics
and trees, summer palaces, the sea and surf and
air — but Duncan referred, at odd moments, to
the struggle between Mrs. Brown and the ghost.
His point was perfectly apparent: if he could get
Mr. Lyle interested, actively, in the mystery of
the Brown jewels, then something would hap-
pen, at last, in Rose Hill. Perhaps Mr. Lyle was
no detective — it all depends on what a detec-
tive is — but one thing was sure: get Mr. Lyle at
work, give him the facts and let him see and talk
to the people involved, and something would hap-
pen— what, Heaven only knew. Duncan was
keen for the adventure.
"He could work it out any pleasant day, if he
wanted to," he said to Marjorie, positively and as
though Mr. Lyle could not hear.


106 GHOSTS
Mr. Lyle looked at Marjorie as though they
must suffer together.
"Ask Mr. Lyle to tell you what happened to
Jerry Doyle," Duncan went on, in no way dis-
couraged.
"What happened to Jerry Doyle?" Marjorie
asked, gazing innocently at Mr. Lyle.
Duncan didn't wait for Mr. Lyle to answer:
"You see, it was this way. A gent named Ray
Smith got arrested for burglary and as he had
no cash the court asked Mr. Lyle to defend him,
gratis. It looked bad for Smithy, very bad, es-
pecially after the prosecution put Jerry Doyle
on the stand. Jerry gave evidence that clinched
matters and Mr. Lyle cross-questioned him up
and down and backward and forward and
couldn't do a thing with him and was just go-
ing to sit down and let Jerry leave the stand
when he changed his mind and asked Jerry one
simple little question that Jerry couldn't an-
swer, and then things began to happen and the
first thing you know Jerry was pinched for the
crime and—"
"There, there!" said Mr. Lyle. "It was all
very simple, and all in the day's work. Let's
don't talk shop."
"I suppose this Brown business is all very


GHOSTS 107
simple, too," Duncan said, "but I 'd sure like to
see Mrs. Brown put on the gloves with the ghost,
with you the third man, or rather the third party,
in the ring."
Mr. Lyle spoke to Marjorie. "Some time
when the Browns are away and this pest"—
Duncan — " is n't about, take me down and show
me the Brown house. Perhaps you and I can
have some fun together."
Duncan grinned. He had a deep-seated sus-
picion that, rest or no rest, old Sammy Lyle
couldn't keep away from a real, thrilling mys-
tery very long, when it was right under his nose.
The next day Marjori^ met Mrs. Brown at the
post-office and said to her, with deep guile, that
she would love to take the dearest old man in
the world to call on her some afteroon. "He's
a dear," Marjorie said, "and I 'm sure you 'd
like him very much." Mrs. Brown said that she
would enjoy nothing so much as meeting Mr.
Lyle.
Marjorie chose a roundabout way home and by
the merest chance found Mr. Lyle on his piazza.
She was controlled by two emotions, the thrill of
a real adventure with such a great man as Mr.
Lyle and the relief that such an adventure would


108 GHOSTS
afford from the problem that Duncan insisted
must be solved — and solved his way.
Of course it would not be solved his way, that
was impossible, but she did not like the thought
of the — the — the — call it arguing, that she
must go through. She was not quite sure why
she must argue with Duncan, but she was very
sure that she must. She knew that he would
not respect her simple statement: "You must
understand, and not — not say anything more."
"We're going to call on Mrs. Brown," she
said, when Mr. Lyle, seeing her, put aside his
paper and came down the steps.
"Mrs. Brown? — Mrs. Brown? Oh, yes, of
course, but—"
"Please don't be cross. I saw Mrs. Brown
and I simply couldn't help it. I didn't say a
word about — about your being a detective."
Mr. Lyle's eyes sparkled and his lips twisted
and twisted.
"Nice people, the Browns?" he asked.
"Awfully nice."
"Relatives of John Bowers, aren't they?
Must be nice people." Mr. Lyle's lips twisted
themselves into all sorts of queer shapes and fi-
nally into a smile. "Suppose — suppose — you
and I — just for fun, without telling a soul about


110 GHOSTS
they're done, and then forget them. My puz-
zles have people for the pieces. That's one rea-
son why I want you for a partner: you are a
very puzzling young woman and I want to know
you better, very much better." And then, look-
ing straight into Marjorie's amazed eyes, he said:
41 Oh yes, I know all about it and I 'm wondering
how it is going to come out. Don't worry; I
would not interfere for the world, even if I
could."
A sudden wave of indignation swept over Mar-
jorie.
"Has Duncan — said — said — anything to
you — about me?"
"Not a word; nor has any one else."
"Then how — how —?"
"Eyes, my dear, eyes; and a voice, a very won-
derful voice."
"You — you — frighten me."
"You must not be frightened. I have no chil-
dren, and I love children, such as you, and I
want all children to be happy. I hoped as soon
as I knew you that we should be friends. Let's
have our little adventure together."
Marjorie gazed into the eyes of the great crim-
inal lawyer. She saw his smile, and she knew
that he was her friend, a friend whom she could


GHOSTS 111
trust implicitly, and at that moment she felt like
a very small child indeed. Marjorie had no fa-
ther.
"It will be wonderful," she said, and as she
walked away Mr. Lyle gazed after her.
"A child, a very sweet, lovely child who is just
becoming a woman; and when she is a woman
—" Mr. Lyle's thoughts wandered into an in-
terrogation. Even Mr. Lyle was wrong some-
times: Marjorie was already a woman.
The next day they called on Mrs. Brown. Mr.
Brown was not at home, but Georgiana was and
made friends with Mr. Lyle quickly. Duncan,
left behind without ceremony and in ignorance
that the two were together, made a miserable
afternoon of it. The afternoon before Marjorie
had had real, open and above-board business of
her own and he could make no complaint at not
being with her, but when he had suggested golf
for that afternoon and his invitation had been
declined and no excuses offered and Marjorie
was unwilling to discuss the matter, or any other
matter, seriously, Duncan knew that if she were
able to face him always with the defense of banter
and indifference then his task would be hard
indeed.


112 GHOSTS
But fortune favored him, for coming back
from the Browns' Mr. Lyle said: "I've been
thinking that it's just a little bit unfair to keep
Duncan out of the fun, if there is to be any fun.
Duncan's a nice boy."
Marjorie thought — but what did Marjorie
think? Had she, down in the bottom of her
heart, wanted Duncan taken into their secret or
was she glad that her great adventure would take
her away from him and away from the problem
that he had told her they must solve together?
Perhaps, but only perhaps, Marjorie was glad
that Mr. Lyle had suggested that they take Dun-
can into partnership. Certainly she could never
have suggested it herself.
"Suppose we tell him," she said. Of course
she could not say anything else.
"Good," said Mr. Lyle. "He's on his piazza,
reading."
They waved to him and he joined them and
they walked to the Thurston steps.
"I suppose you 'll feel that you teased me into
it, but Mrs. Thurston and I have been scouting
for the ghost," Mr. Lyle said.
"At last something is going to happen in Rose
Hill!" Duncan cried. "Did you find him — or
her, or it?"


114 GHOSTS
purity, and simplicity; all of which was very
useful in their business. It has been especially
so among first-class criminal women. A wo-
man's face ordinarily shows much more of her
real character than a man's face does of his, her
expression indicates much more accurately as a
rule what is on her mind. When she can make
her face a mask, and appear to be an innocent
woman, she is, accordingly, doubly dangerous.
On the other hand, to accept hospitality at a
lady's hands, as Mrs. Thurston and I have done
to-day, and then suspect her of a felony would
hardly be polite, would it?"
And that was the end of Mr. Lyle's account of
what he had seen, and in truth he had seen noth-
ing more.
Nevertheless Mr. Lyle on his way home sent a
telegram to Inspector Gibb, chief of the Detec-
tive Bureau of Alden, and the telegram read:
Wire me Rose Hill Rhode Island record "Walter Kerri-
gan past thirteen months and present whereabouts if
known.
The answer came that night:
Shot Frank Miller New York July seventh nineteen
eighteen arrested July ninth sentenced September tenth
for life Sing Sing."
JMr. .lyle tore the telegram to bits and went


GHOSTS 115
back to his book, which happened to be "Ere-
whon Revisited," by Samuel Butler, a book which
he had picked up casually and was reading in-
tently, with mixed emotions.
Not very long after Mr. Lyle and his assistant
left the Browns' Mr. Brown returned from his
afternoon golf.
"Well, my dear, have you had a pleasant after-
noon? " said Mr. Brown, greeting his spouse.
"I 've had a most remarkable man here," she
said. "Marjorie Thurston brought him and his
name is Lyle."
"Samuel Lyle?" asked Mr. Brown.
"I 'm sure I don't know."
"Homely as a hedge fence, big as a house,
clothes don't fit him, hands and feet like a setter
pup's?"
"Exactly."
"H-m-m," muttered Mr. Brown. "You say
Mrs. Thurston brought him?"
"She did. Do you know him?"
"I know who he is. He 's the foremost crimi-
nologist, probably the leading criminal lawyer,
in America."
"Why on earth did he come here? Who sent
him?" exclaimed Mrs. Brown.


118 GHOSTS
Somehow she knew that it would not be the end;
she knew that the four hundred miles that would
lie between them would be no barrier. He would
come to her again and again and again, until
their problem was solved for ever and ever, one
way or the other.
She rose, slowly, as though she were very tired,
and went down the steps. Duncan saw her face
in the twilight and knew that she was as firm in
her determination as she had ever been and that
she was going with him because it would give her
the opportunity to make him understand beyond
all doubt that the order of her life could never
change.
On the way she spoke of Mr. Lyle. "He
did n't do a bit of sleuthing at Mrs. Brown's this
afternoon. He just sat round and talked like an
ordinary, every-day individual."
"Perhaps, but the ways of Sammy Lyle are be-
yond the ken of ordinary mortals. He sits per-
fectly still, sometimes almost as though he were
asleep, and all the time he 's seeing things and
hearing things that you and I would never no-
tice, and everything he sees means something to
him. He can tell things by watching a man or
woman — their eyes, their mouths, what they do
with their hands and feet — that you and I could


GHOSTS 119
never guess at. How he does it I don't know.
I supect he doesn't know himself. I suppose
that it's a gift, a science born in him. I don't
say that he did a thing this afternoon, but you
never can tell."
"Do you really think he 'll find out anything
about it?"
"You know as well as I; but he seldom starts
anything that he does n't finish."
That subject brought them to the rocks and
there it lapsed. Marjorie sat facing the sea and
Duncan sat close to her, resting on an arm so
close behind her that if she had leaned a little
backward she must have touched it. There
swept over him a sense of great responsibility,
and he wondered just what that responsibility
was. Duncan had seen far more of the world
than she could possibly have seen, he was older
than she; he had lived in the world as she
had never lived; he had been through the great
war. She was a child, a little girl who had gone
to school and to college, and from college straight
to her youthful romance, a little girl who had
been cared for tenderly all her life, and upon
whom, finally, fate had played a horrible trick.
To Duncan, sitting close to her on the rocks,
she was the sweetest, loveliest woman in the
/"-


120 GHOSTS
world, one whom he must treat tenderly. A
ruthless wooing and selfish deeds could not help
his cause and might hurt her terribly. She
had, deep within her, a great sorrow, but it would
be wrong, unnatural, inhuman, if that sorrow
were to remain there long; and selfish as his
purpose was, perhaps he believed that it was not
only his right but his duty to remove it if he
could. He knew that the right to love, the right
of happiness had not been taken from her by the
trick fate had played upon her.
And so, close to her, he considered what he
might do to destroy the barrier between them.
What use could words be, what would it avail
him to attempt a cold-blooded analysis of her
position? If love was to come to her it must
come as loves comes to all good women; and if
it came it would overwhelm her, making all else
insignificant; and, coming, it would obliterate
the memory of the years that were past, it would
annihilate her resolution to cling to her dreams,
it would conquer her and trample the barrier un-
derfoot. And if fate ordained that she should
love again, love him, how impotent her struggle
against love would be! Could he bring love to
her by logic or by dwelling on the practical, ma-
terial point of view?


GHOSTS 121
He thought that he could not and he sat beside
her in silence, content that she was there close
to him, content with the perfume of her, content
with the wisps of her hair that the wind blew
against his cheek.
Marjorie did not understand his silence;
for she had expected words, futile words, from
him which would give her her chance to prove
that never so long as she lived could she love
again, that never could she give up, for another
love, the love that had been hers. The silence
weighed heavily upon her; she could feel the
warmth of his body close to hers; she wanted to
move away from him and could not. Many and
many a time she had wanted to evade him, not to
see him again, but it had seemed to her that to do
that would show her own lack of faith in her-
self. And besides it was impossible for her to
act in that manner toward a man of Duncan's
sort; it would have been bad-mannered, unwar-
ranted, childish.
She welcomed the flash of a search-light on a
ship in Oldport Harbor; she followed its beam
across the sky, pointing to it and speaking of it;
she saw signals flashed in Morse code from one
war-ship to another; she followed, with a word
to Duncan, automobiles on the other side of the


122 GHOSTS
bay, their paths traced by the gleam of their
headlights; she counted the flashes, eight of them
in quick succession, from the lighthouse on the
Point, and when the light was gone she waited
for it to come again. She heard the funereal
tolling of the bell-buoy on Rose Reef, and she
saw the red gleam of the channel light.
One by one the night boats came out of the
north and one by one passed before her, silent in
the night, till the side-wheelers came, sending
the pulsing, throbbing moan of their paddles
across the water. From one came the sound of
music, carried on the dying breeze; green lights
shone bright until they disappeared as the ships
sped southward, leaving only masthead lights
and deck lights to show that craft were there.
Finally the last boat was gone, the war-ships
finished their chat, the search-light was hooded
for the night, the lights in the windows of houses
far away across the water went out one by one;
the only sound came from the sleepy waves at her
feet, kissing the rocks good night.
But the stars were bright in the heavens, the
ocean's breath touched her cheeks, and close be-
side her was the silent man, waiting. The night %
had cast its spell over her and held her fast. An
hour passed before she spoke.


GHOSTS 123
"I 'm a little cold, Duncan."
He sprang to his feet and took her hand and
helped her rise. He held her arm as they crossed
the jagged rocks and he held her arm as they
walked home, for the night was dark; there are
no lights out of doors in Rose Hill and the path
was hard to see. They reached her cottage, he
released her arm, and she put her foot on the
first step — and stopped — and turned to him.
"Please, Duncan, please don't try to make me
love you."
"I do love you. Good night."
"Please, please, Duncan!"
"Good night. Sweet dreams."
He heard her breath catch in her throat, he
saw her hand stretched out with its fingers far
apart, her head go back and her face upward as
though she were gazing straight to heaven. "It
can never be," she said, and she turned and went
slowly up the steps and into her cottage.
But he did not know that her pillow was wet
with tears before she went to sleep; nor did he
know what effect his silence during that long
evening on the rocks had had upon her. Per-
haps Marjorie herself did not know.
The morning after Marjorie and Mr. Lyle


124 GHOSTS
called on Mrs. Brown, Mr. Brown, being a direct
and matter-of-fact gentleman, spoke to Mr. Lyle,
when by chance he met him on Rose Hill's only
road.
"My name is Brown," he said. "You are
Samuel Lyle, I believe."
"I am and I am very sorry that I missed you
yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Bowers, your niece,
has often spoken to me of you and Mrs. Brown.
Mrs. Bowers is a most delightful woman."
"She is indeed," Mr. Brown admitted, and
that topic got them safely to the foot of the hill.
There Mr. Brown jumped head first into the im-
portant subject:
"I suppose you 've heard about the remark-
able recovery of Mrs. Brown's jewelry, the stuff
that was stolen last summer?"
"Yes, indeed. Mrs. Thurston and Duncan
Webb told me the whole story, quite inaccurately
undoubtedly, so far as the theft itself was con-
cerned."
"Hardly, I should say. Every fact is public
property and it is all most mysterious; the cir-
cumstances are most curious."
"I suppose you have no theory as to how the
thing was done?"
(t None whatever, not an idea in the world!


GHOSTS 125
Every bit of evidence points to the fact that no
one entered from outside the house, and yet it is
impossible that any one in the house should have
done it."
"Why?" asked Mr. Lyle.
"Because Mrs. Brown, my daughter Georgi-
ana and I were alone there, except for the four
women-servants, who have been with us for
years. Besides, how could they have entered the-
room? The hall door was locked and stayed
locked, and why should they or any one else steal
a lot of jewelry and put it under the pier and
never go near it again? I know you, sir, by
reputation and if you could clear up this business
you would confer a great favor on the family and
our servants; we should be under tremendous ob-
ligations. It's getting on our nerves, especially
since the stuff was found under the pier. We 're
all getting to suspect one another, and I admit
my own curiosity is very great."
Mr. Lyle smiled. "The two young people and
I have already entered a partnership for the
search of adventure, to amuse ourselves. We
were n't going to say anything about it. It was
to be along the lines Poe followed in the story of
Marie Roget, an analysis of the reported facts."
"Do it any way you like, so long as you


128 GHOSTS
"Yes, but you know what the Bible says about
the meek. Meek people are sometimes very
deep. Has it ever occurred to you that your
father might have hated jewelry all his life? —
that his dislike for it might have accumulated
within him for years until it gained such power
over him that he got up at night, in his sleep,
and took your mother's things and hid them
where no one could find them? What he was
afraid to do when he was awake he may have
done when he was unconscious of his act.
Did n't Wilkie Collins write a story about some
such phenomenon?"
Georgiana stared at her father. Mr. Brown
laughed.
"I 'm afraid that won't hold water," he said.
"I gave Mrs. Brown the necklace and most of
the other things, and I was rather fond of them
myself."
"And besides, how could Father open that
creaky door without waking Mother?" asked
Georgiana.
"That's so," said Mr. Lyle, humbly. '•- I
did n't think of that. We seem to come baqk to
where we started, every time; don't we?"
"Just as all those detectives and insurance
men did last year"


130 GHOSTS
exigency of the moment, by sentiment; they have
little idea of right and wrong, none whatever of
justice. Women have, by and large, a holy hor-
ror for law and .order, they have no respect what-
ever for man-made statutes, and they have no
regard whatsoever for man's ethical code."
"So you 're a woman-hater, are you?" de-
manded Georgiana.
"Quite the contrary. I have such a humble
respect and reverence for the noblest work of
God that I have never been able even to suggest
to one of them that I was worthy of her. I am
content to worship from afar."
"You're talking nonsense!" said Georgiana.
"Georgiana!" Mrs. Brown seemed shocked.
"Your daughter is quite right," said Mr. Lyle.
"Man has never been able to chart the hidden,
reefs of one small bay of the feminine sea. How
can he hope, or be expected, to do so over the
whole world's waters? Will you excuse me a
moment? I have, I think, left my handkerchief
in my overcoat."
The evening was cool and Mr. Lyle had worn
a light overcoat and he had left it in the hall.
He stepped quickly to the doorway, forestalling
Mr. Brown, who was about to go for it. His coat
was on a bench close to the door; it was of course


GHOSTS 131
bright daylight, and even if it had not been he
needed no light by which to explore the pockets
of that well-known garment. Yet Mr. Lyle
picked up the coat and stepped into a room to
the right, beyond which lay the dining-room.
Mr. Lyle walked noiselessly across the room,
dropping his coat on a chair, and stood in the
doorway. Katie, a waitress, who on another day
had picked flowers for the table close to the
piazza on which Mr. Lyle sat, was arranging
plates on a serving-table. Her back was to-
ward Mr. Lyle and she did not see him.
In a moment she turned and went toward the
table, carrying a water pitcher; she filled one
glass and then she saw Mr. Lyle with his eyes
fixed on hers. Katie stood stock still, staring at
Mr. Lyle as though he were a ghost; her face
went white, her knees trembled beneath her.
Never before in her life had she seen such a man,
such a homely man; never had she seen such eyes,
eyes that looked clear through you and saw
everything that was inside you, even to what you
were thinking.
Katie, trembling, put the heavy water pitcher
on the table, looking downward as she did so,
and in that moment's respite from Mr. Lyle's
eyes she gained control over herself. She looked


132 GHOSTS
up again at Mr. Lyle and smiled and there was a
sort of determined, almost ferocious courage in
her expression. Mr. Lyle saw, then, all that he
wanted to see.
"May I have a glass of water?" he said.
Katie gave it to him. He drank it, thanked her,
and walked away. He picked up his coat,
dropped it on the bench in the hall without look-
ing for his handkerchief, and rejoined the others
on the piazza.
Katie, in the dining-room, stared after him.
"Gawd, what a man!" she muttered and her
hand trembled so that she could hardly fill the
tumblers.
After dinner Georgiana held very poor cards
at auction, and ended by insisting that card-
playing was a mighty poor way of investigating
a robbery.
"You seem unduly nervous," Mr, Lyle said.
"Does that mean that you have something on
your conscience?"
"I thought you said women did n't have con-
sciences," snapped Georgiana. "Anyway, we
agreed that they have n't."
"That's so — they have n't; have they? I 'd
forgotten all about that. Suppose we say ' some-


GHOSTS 133
thing on your mind,' then. You have a mind,
surely."
"I 'm not at all sure of that," interrupted
Mrs. Brown. "If she has it's a very queer one."
"Have you ever noticed how, in detective stor-
ies, the one person who appears innocent through-
out the tale always turns up guilty in the last
chapter?" Mr. Lyle asked. "It occurs to me
that suspicion has pointed to every one except
Miss Brown, who, I can't help feeling, has some-
thing on her mind. She shows all the signs
that ordinarily appear in the guilty."
"I have something on my mind," said Georgi-
ana, positively. "What affectionate daughter
wouldn't have, in the circumstances? The con-
stant fear of seeing Mother spend the rest of her
life in prison for defrauding an insurance com-
pany is not pleasant, to say the least. Those
things always reflect on the children."
Mrs. Brown looked at her daughter with all
the severity she could assume.
"Perhaps the insurance company won't prose-
cute," suggested Mr. Lyle.
"Suppose it does n't: the truth is bound to get
out," said Georgiana; "and then where will the
family reputation be?"
"But how can the insurance company prove


134 GHOSTS
anything?" asked Mr. Lyle. "Suppose Mrs.
Brown did take her own jewels and, asleep or
awake, go out into the night, hide them under the
pier, and return without a soul seeing her. It
rained hard all night, she must have gone
through wet grass, but did any one find any wet
garments the next morning, or wet or muddy
shoes? I understand not."
"What was to prevent Mother from taking the
jewels, even before she went to bed, and putting
them into a pocket of a coat or some place like
that and then hiding them under the pier the
next day or the next week?"
"Has that possibility just occurred to you?"
asked Mr. Lyle, "or is it an old theory?"
"It's a brand-new idea so far as I am con-
cerned," said Georgiana.
"Then I 'm ashamed of you. I doubt if you
have a mind at all. And, furthermore, I pre-
sume it has never occurred to you that it is en-
tirely within the realm of possibilities that your
mother did not lock her bedroom door and that
she did not put the jewels in the bureau drawer
and lock it and put the key behind the picture,
but, that, having done those things many times
before, she afterward took it for granted she had
done them that night. Habit is sometimes so


GHOSTS 135
strong that the mind often takes it for granted
that habitual acts have been performed, whereas
they have not been performed at all. Human
testimony, however honestly given, is often very
thin ice to skate on."
"Good heavens!" muttered Mrs. Brown.
"Set your mind completely at rest," Mr. Lyle
said. "Whatever you did, or whatever you
thought you did makes no difference. There can
be no question that you went to your room that
night wearing some of the jewels that were taken,
the necklace for instance, and that you did not
leave your room before you went to sleep, nor
did Mr. Brown. Thereafter, somebody, before
morning, took the jewels and that night, or later,
hid them under the pier and certainly never made
any effort to obtain them again. That's the in-
teresting and important thing. If a thief stole
them he did it for their money value; why should
he go off and leave them? If they were taken
for some other reason than their money value,
what could that reason have been, and who could
have had any such fool incentive to commit a
crime? On the face of it the whole thing is ut-
terly impossible, the mind cannot conceive of its
happening at all."
"But it did happen," cried Georgiana.


136 GHOSTS
"Exactly; and we must look to supernatural,
not human agencies for an explanation."
Georgiana sniffed. "Fairy tales," she said
contemptuously.
"I must go along. It is very late, for Rose
Hill," Mr. Lyle said.
"You 're just teasing us," said Georgiana. "I
suppose you know already who did it."
"I do," said Mr. Lyle, solemnly.
"You do!" Georgiana and Mrs. Brown cried
in amazement.
Mr. Lyle nodded. "Yes. I 've known all
along that it must have been either Mrs. Brown
or a ghost and I 'm very sure now that it was n't
Mrs. Brown."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Georgiana. "It must
have been Mother! It couldn't have been any
one else."
"How are you going to prove it? " asked Mr.
Lyle. "You are no more warranted in accusing
Mrs. Brown than you are in accusing me. Nega-
tive evidence is a treacherous device. To say,
'Mother did it because nobody else could have
done it,' is to assume a complete knowledge of
the supernatural as well as the natural, a knowl-
edge so comprehensive, so deep and broad that
no young woman, however brilliant, could pos-


GHOSTS 137
sess it. The mind of even the most charming
and talented of our new class of intellectual
woman is not capable of conceiving all the pos-
sibilities of even so simple a case as this!"
"H-m-m," muttered Mrs. Brown. "I think
now I may be left in peace for a while."
Mr. Lyle laughed, Georgiana made a face, and
Mr. Lyle departed.


CHAPTER VI
ON his way home Mr. Lyle sent another tele-
gram to Inspector Gibb and on the morn-
ing of the second day following the answer ar-
rived in the person of Ferdinand Schwartz, sharp
of feature, sharp of eye, long of arm, short of leg,
large of head and small of foot, and brilliant as to
clothes. Mr. Schwartz had every appearance of
being an extremely agile and powerful man,
despite his small height, and extremely intelli-
gent, although possibly along narrow lines. On
Rose Hill's only road he stopped one of Rose
Hill's most proper old ladies and said to her,
most respectfully:
"Could you tell me, ma'am, where t 'ell is
Sim's cottage?" The lady pointed an outraged
finger, the man touched his cap, said "T'anks,"
and went in the direction indicated. He found
Mr. Lyle waiting for him.
"'Mornin,' sir, fine morning'," said Mr.
Schwartz.
Mr. Lyle said that it was an unusually fine
morning.
138


142 GHOSTS
a family secret." Then he added: "I 've seen
all that I wish to see here, thank you."
Mr. Brown knew that it was undoubtedly the
correct thing for him to keep quiet, and wait for
Mr. Lyle to make statements in his own good
time, but Mr. Brown's curiosity was too much
for him.
"Any ideas?" he asked.
Mr. Lyle nodded slowly. "Between you and
me, for the time being?" he asked. Mr. Brown
nodded. "Ghosts, sure as you 're alive," said
Mr. Lyle.
"All right," Mr. Brown said. "I 'll wait, but
— but don't keep me in the dark too long — if
anything pops up."
Mr. Lyle laughed. "I 'll tell you the minute
anything pops up, you may depend on that.
Nothing hat, popped up but a lot of wild guesses,
so far; perhaps nothing will. We 'd better stick
to the ghost for a while yet; it's safer."
Mr. Lyle went back to his cottage and spent an
hour with Mr. Schwartz before dinner. Immedi-
ately after dinner Mr. Schwartz left for New
York.
The next morning, the day Ferdinand


GHOSTS 143
Schwartz spent in New York, Mr. Lyle took a
walk alone, a walk that had all the appearance
of a casual stroll, but which nevertheless took
him by the Browns' garage, where Thomas, the
Browns' chauffeur, was sitting in a chair, read-
ing a paper. Mr. Lyle nodded to Thomas, and
seemed to be on the point of passing on, when
he stopped and spoke to him.
"Do you like driving automobiles as much as
driving horses? " he asked. "I am told that you
were Mr. Brown's coachman before automobiles
put horses out of business."
"Yes, sir, I was. I've been with Mr. Brown
since I was twenty-nine; that's thirty-five years
now."
"And you still like horses?" Mr. Lyle re-
peated.
"In a way I do, sir, but I would n't be saying
cars is n't better, everything considered. Do you
drive a car yourself, sir?"
"On rare occasions; I am always willing to be
driven. I rather hoped you had a soft spot in
your heart for horses, Thomas. I have. I used
to drive and ride a great deal, but I suppose that
we must all follow the customs of the times. I
used to spend my vacations on horseback, now I


144 GHOSTS
spend them walking about — as I am now, in
Rose Hill." Mr. Lyle smiled as though that
were a curious state of affairs.
"Ye 'll be here the rest of the summer?"
Thomas asked.
"Only during August, and perhaps a week
into September, and then I 'll go back to Alden
and be a lawyer again."
"You 're a lawyer then, sir? I 'd been told
you were a detective, an especially good one, out
of the ordinary, so to speak, sir."
Mr. Lyle laughed. "I suppose you suspect
every one who comes about here of being a de-
tective until you are sure he isn't, after the
dose you had of them last summer?"
"Well, I would not go as far as that, sir, but
it's not a thing to be forgot in a hurry, havin'
them about askin' questions, and most o' them
fool questions, too, and turning up unexpected
at all times o' day and night."
"Yes, I quite understand. It was a very cur-
ious case, was n't it? What's your idea of it,
Thomas?"
"Faith, I have no idea. I had a dozen of 'em,
one after the other, at the time and none of 'em
any good, from Mrs. Brown walkin' in her sleep
to evil spirits makin' way with 'em,"


146 GHOSTS
he said: "Thomas, have you ever had any
suspicion, any fear, about the robbery which
you have never told Mr. or Mrs. Brown or the
police?"
A most curious expression came on Thomas's
face. His lips were pressed close together.
There was a trace of nervousness in his eyes.
"Me, sir?" he said. "How would I know
anything about it, except what I told, which was
nothing?"
"You were very sure, then, that your sus-
picion was entirely groundless?"
Again Thomas's expression changed quickly:
the question, which was more a statement than a
question, left him confused and a little fright-
ened. He knew that Mr. Lyle 's eyes were on
him, but he had no conception of how clearly
Mr. Lyle was reading his emotions. Mr. Lyle
did not wait for Thomas's answer, but spoke to
him again:
"You have been with Mr. Brown over thirty-
five years, you say, Thomas?"
"Yes, sir." Thomas's voice was tremulous.
"And in all that time you have lived honor-
ably and happily? — you've done your work
well, served your master faithfully, and have
been well treated?"


GHOSTS 147
"Yes, sir, that's so, sir."
"And you hope to go on in the same way, as
long as you are able to work, and you know
that you will be taken care of in your old
age?"
Thomas, wide-eyed, muttered, " Y-y-yes, s-s-sir,
I hope so, sir."
"And do you think that I would do anything
to change that, anything to harm you? Are you
not sure that I would do everything that I can
do to help you, to make you happier than you are
now?"
Duncan had told Marjorie of the great heart of
Samuel Lyle, of his kindness and of his gen-
erosity to his fellow-man. Marjorie herself had,
in a few short days, been won by the wonderful
sweetness of his voice, by the gentleness of his
eyes. Thomas, standing before him, felt sweep-
ing over him a great faith in the enormous,
homely man, whom he hardly knew at all.
"I believe you, sir," he said.
"Then tell me what you know, tell me what
has been torturing you this past year — and for
years before that. I promise you that no one
shall ever know, from me. Was he here when
the Brown house was entered and robbed?"
Thomas stared in amazement at Mr. Lyle.


148 GHOSTS
"You know — you know about that, sir?" he
muttered.
Mr. Lyle shook his head. "I know nothing,
absolutely nothing. I want you to tell me.
Was he here?"
"No, he was not here. It happened on a Tues-
day night and he was here on Saturday be-
fore and Saturday night, and he went away on
Sunday, on the afternoon train from the junc-
tion. I saw him go, and he did not come back;
he's not come back since that day, and I 've not
heard a word from him."
"You know him well, of course?"
"Too well, too well indeed, sir."
"What is his name?"
"Raymond Smith."
"I see. And you don't know what has hap-
pened to him since that day, the day he went
away?"
"Not a word have I heard of him, sir."
"I am not surprised," Mr. Lyle said. "You
won't say anything about this to any one, will
you, Thomas? — that is, about your having told
me
?»
"I will not, sir. I '11 say nothing to a soul."
"You have never said a word of it to a soul,
have you?"


GHOSTS 149
Thomas looked intently at Mr. Lyle and hesi-
tated. He was not making up his mind whether
he should tell the truth but whether he should
speak at all.
Thomas's answer was given for him. "To no
one but one other person, whom you know you
can trust? " Mr. Lyle said.
"Yes, sir, that's so, sir," Thomas said.
"I quite understand," Mr. Lyle said. "And
now, so far as you are concerned, our talk is as
though it had never taken place. Good-by."
"Good-by, sir.
Mr. Lyle held out his hand and Thomas took it,
and there were tears in Thomas's eyes.
Mr. Lyle walked away and as he walked he
thought how very severe punishments may be
even when the courts know nothing about
them.
Thomas stood gazing after him, and as Mr.
Lyle disappeared a smile came on Thomas's lips.
He knew nothing of Samuel Lyle except what he
had seen with his own eyes, and what he had
heard Mr. Lyle say that afternoon, and yet he
knew that at last he had found a friend, one
whom he could trust and one who would help
him, and he had wanted such a friend for many
a long year.


GHOSTS 151
he was lookin' at me. He come to the dinin'-
room for a glass o' water and whin I see him
standin' be the dure an' sayin' nothin' I thought
I 'd scream, I was that afeared of 'im."
"Ye have nothin' to be afraid of; he promised
me that."
"Oh, Tom! are you sure o' that?"
"Certainly I 'm sure of it. He 'd not lie to
me or to any one else."
"Praise Gawd if it's so."
"Now, don't worry, Katie. Go on as ye 've
been goin' and say nothin' and it 'll come out all
right in the end."
Katie wiped the tears from her cheeks with
the back of her hand and then from her eyes
with the corner of her apron.
"Give me yer handkerchief, Tom," she said
finally.
Tom gave her a handkerchief that was never
intended for feminine use and with it she re-
stored her face to some semblance of order.
"Ye 'll tell me if anything happens, Tom?"
"Certainly I will."
Katie seemed satisfied and walked slowly to-
ward the house. On the way she stopped and
picked a few flowers from a bed. Thomas
lighted his pipe, picked up his paper, sat down


152 GHOSTS
in his chair, and began to read, bat very soon the
paper fell to his knees and remained there.
Thomas was staring far into the distance, and
seeing nothing that was there to be seen.
v


154 GHOSTS
day," Marjorie said, as though Mr. Lyle should
have told them something about that.
"Mr. Ferdinand Schwartz, you mean. I met
him; Mr. Lyle introduced us. He has n't any-
thing to do with the Brown business, has
he?"
"I don't know, he did n't say a word to me
about it, but he's certainly not a personal friend
of Mr. Lyle's, he could n't be."
"No, I suppose not. Let's ask him who Mr.
Schwartz is. If we're in partnership we have
the right to know."
They were on their way to the boat landing;
Mr. Lyle had suggested that he would like to take
a sail and he was waiting for them. They were
well out in the bay before Duncan spoke of Mr.
Lyle's friend.
"Where 's Mr. Schwartz to-day? " he asked.
"Gone away." Mr. Lyle waved his hand in a
southerly direction.
"For good?" asked Marjorie.
"Oh, my, no! He '11 come back some day, per-
haps to-morrow, perhaps the day after — all de-
pends."
"He's a friend of yours, is n't he?" Marjorie
asked.
"Friend! — friend of mine! Now, really —


156 GHOSTS
broken images and iconoclasts, I saw something
in the paper this morning that will interest you,
I believe. I cut it out and used it as a book-
mark."
Mr. Lyle took a book from his pocket and found
the clipping. "Thirty years ago, when I was
first practising law in Alden, a most terrible mur-
der was committed in Comstock, which is a mill
town about fifteen miles northwest of the city.
A man named Yates lived there; he was about
thirty and had a' wife and two children. He
owned his house and had a good, steady job; his
wife was a good woman and, so far as any one
knew, his home life was very happy. Yates was
an intelligent, sober, hard-working man, and to
all appearances loved his wife greatly.
"He came home one night and the neighbors
saw him with his family; they put out the lights
and went to bed. The next day the neighbors
saw no signs of the family about the house and,
as chance would have it, nobody thought much
about it; nobody called; the butcher and the
baker and the candlestick-maker found nobody at
home and went their ways. The next morning,
however, when the milk had n't been taken off the
doorstep and no one saw any one about the house
and Yates's absence at the mill was known, an


GHOSTS 157
investigation was started. Mrs. Yates and the
two children were found in their beds, brutally
murdered with a hatchet. There was no trace of
Yates; he had disappeared, nor could he be found.
Every trick known to the police was tried, every
effort made to locate him; you know how thor-
ough a search of that sort can be, and it was kept
up for years, but it was as though Yates had dis-
appeared off the face of the earth. Nor could
any motive for the crime be discovered; his home
life was serene, there was no other woman in-
volved; neither had there been any evidence of
insanity in Yates, or even of a violent temper.
The whole thing was inexplicable.
"Now, according to this paper, Yates, calling
himself White, has been found and arrested in
the far West. He is married and has five chil-
dren; he is prosperous, a prominent member of
the community in which he lives, a model citizen
with a host of friends. He admits his identity
and the crime, but professes not to know why he
did it; the paper is a bit indefinite on that part of
it. Of course, under the law he is guilty of mur-
der, the penalty is death, probably the crime can
be proved against him, even at this late date.
My part of the story is accurate; if the news-
paper has the present facts right it makes a


GHOSTS 159
years and then suddenly goes wrong; he is con-
sidered a fine, honorable business man, he is
given positions of trust, he is a churchman and
serves on innumerable committees out of pure
philanthropy, and yet suddenly out of a clear
sky and often for little or no reason he goes
wrong, he embezzles, forges or takes trust funds
unto himself for dishonest purposes, and loses
them. He lives for fifty years on the plane of
highest morality and then goes down with a
crash.
"Often his methods are crude, stupid; he
stands to gain little, he needs the money hardly
at all, there is not one chance in a hundred of
his escaping detection and he knows it, and yet
despite all that he goes wrong. Of course he is
caught and punished, unless he commits suicide,
but the presumption remains that if he had re-
mained at liberty, unsuspected, he would never
have committed another crime."
"Don't those men usually begin in a small
way, getting in deeper and deeper till finally the
crash comes? " Duncan asked.
"Surely! There are many phases of the phe-
nomenon," Mr. Lyle said, " but at the moment we
are interested only in the one in which the man or
woman is fundamentally a criminal, but is able
S


GHOSTS 161
"I thought you were studying to be a detec-
tive," he said.
Marjorie got the idea. "Do you mean that
somebody we know and who has always been sup-
posed to be the soul of honor has suddenly turned
thief?"
"Do you remember how, in school, you were
given arithmetic problems to work out? You
were supposed to find the answer yourself, as I
recall it." Mr. Lyle smiled at Marjorie.
"Mrs. Brown, sure as fate," Duncan cried.
"The ghost is innocent."
"Please don't be horrid!" exclaimed Mar-
jorie, with all the dignity she could scrape up.
Duncan was repentant. "I hope it is n't Mrs.
Brown," he said. "It would be a shame, and
Georgiana would never stop gloating."
Marjorie ignored Duncan and spoke to Mr.
Lyle. "You 're teasing me," she said. "I be-
lieve you know something and won't tell."
Mr. Lyle became very grave. "Can I trust
you, absolutely? Of course I can. I have a sus-
picion. I 'm not sure, but I have a suspicion
who did not do it."
"Who?" cried Marjorie.
"I don't believe it was Mrs. Brown, despite
her daughter," said Mr. Lyle, laughing.


162 GHOSTS
"Then who was it?" Marjorie demanded.
"Ghosts, as sure as you 're alive," Mr. Lyle
said, and he would not be serious, except to say
that he had given her a clue that might lead
somewhere and might lead nowhere, but which
in either case it was her duty, as an apprentice in
criminology, to follow.
Late in the afternoon, just as they landed,
Duncan left them for a moment, and during that
moment Mr. Lyle said to Marjorie:
"Would you like another clue? If you would,
take this book and read the place I have marked
by the clipping — not now, wait till you are
alone, and say nothing to Duncan about it." He
handed her the book just as Duncan rejoined
them and they went up the hill together.
When Duncan and Marjorie were on their
path, Duncan said, "An hour on the rocks to-
night?"
Marjorie shook her head. "I can't," she said.
"Because —?"
"The maids are going to the movies and Moth-
er 's going out to play bridge. I 've got to stay
home."
"Alone?"
"Yes."


GHOSTS 163
"Are you going to read Sammy Lyle's book?"
Duncan had read the title.
"Perhaps."
u I would n't if I were you. It was n't written
for Christians."
Marjorie tucked the book securely under her
arm.
"Christianity has nothing to do with it," she
said. "It's a matter of business." She laughed
as she went up her piazza steps. "It's been a
wonderful afternoon."
Duncan went to his cottage. Marjorie's curi-
osity as to Mr. Lyle's clue was very great, and
she went indoors and up to her room quickly.
She opened the book at the place marked and
saw, marked with pencil, what at first she
thought was poetry. She read it and did not un-
derstand it. She read it again, slowly, and then
slowly her hands dropped to her side and her
cheeks flushed. Her eyes were half closed, her
vision blurred. The book slipped from her fin-
gers to the floor; she covered her face with
her hands, and then she fell, sobbing, on her
bed.
What she had read was this, an epitaph:
I fall asleep in the full and certain hope
That my slumber shall not be broken;


164 GHOSTS
And that though I be all-forgetting,
Yet shall I not be all-forgotten,
But continue that life in the thoughts and deeds
Of those I loved,
Into which, while the power to strive was yet vouchsafed me,
I fondly strove to enter.
She regained control of herself quickly, and
sat up; then she jumped to her feet. She
laughed. She knew that Duncan would come to
her after dinner and spend the evening alone
with her, but she laughed. And when she had
bathed her face in cold water and gone down-
stairs, her mother saw nothing wrong, and did
not suspect that her daughter had been crying.
Duncan came after dinner and sat down be-
side her on the piazza. He lighted his pipe and
snapped the burned match over the railing.
"'T is a grand evening, Lady," he said. It was
a grand evening and Marjorie said, "Lovely,"
and as she said it she wondered whether Duncan
would give her a chance to talk, to tell him again
that she had had her romance, that it would be
her only romance and that she would be true to
it for ever. Her husband had given his life for
his country; it was her privilege, her duty, her
desire, her glory, to give hers to his memory.
To admit that she could ever love again would be


GHOSTS 167
understand that — that we cannot go on as we
have been doing."
"I cannot help loving you. Do you mean that
it is not fair for me to try to make you love me?"
"I mean that I cannot love you; I can never
love any one again. Won't you believe me, and
don't you see that when I spend hours with you
every day, it seems as though I were not being
honest, almost as though I were making sport
of you when I know you love me, as though I
wanted you to try to make me love you. I like
you and I want to be nice to you, but it must not
be under false pretenses. You must believe me."
Marjorie had no great pride in that statement;
she knew that it was confused and futile, but, in
her state of mind, it was the best that she could
do. At least it meant that Duncan would talk
and give her the chance she wanted.
Duncan did speak. "Suppose," he said,
"you suddenly discovered that you loved me:
what then? It is a thing which no human being
can control; nature controls it."
"Why do you ask me to discuss something that
can never happen?"
"But it can happen, and I am sure that you
will love again, sometime."


GHOSTS 171
whom we have loved in this world, and who have
gone before?"
"I cannot answer that. The church sanctions
second marriages; let the church explain it to
you. I do not believe in heaven or a life here-
after as the church teaches it. My belief is that
heaven is here on earth, that when we die we
live only in the hearts of those we leave behind
and in the good we may have done. Samuel Lyle
believes as I do."
Samuel Lyle had given her that very day a
book in which that belief was written, and yet
she knew that he had said nothing to Duncan of
his purpose or of having given her the book. It
seemed to Marjorie as though the whole world
were against her.
"Do you believe in God? " she asked. It was
very hard for her to speak.
"I honor and respect the God of other men,
far better men than I am. I do not understand;
I wonder sometimes if God is not nature, and the
desire and the power that nature has given man
to do right, to live honorably and to love."
A sob came from the darkness, so low that it
was hardly to be heard. "I am sorry," Duncan
said, "if I have shocked you. If you care what
my beliefs are it is better that you should
f


172 GHOSTS
know them now than — than some other day.''
"You have not shocked me. I understand
how you can believe — as you do."
A silence fell between them, a long silence in
which she tried to dull her senses, tried not to
think, tried to evade the pressure that Duncan
was exerting upon her. She longed for some one
to whom she could go for comfort, some one who
would bring back her courage, who believed as
she believed; some one who could tell her how
she might prevail against the fascination Dun-
can had for her, the awful fascination of the
long silences when he was with her. There was
no one but her mother, and she could not confess
her weakness to her mother.
And he was there with her, then, alone, and
silence was all about her, until suddenly she
heard his voice, low and calm, but driving each
word straight to her heart.
"Is it not true that at this very moment you
need love?—that you need some one to whom
you can say, 'Between us there can be no mis-
understanding; whatever you and I do, together,
is right'? Don't you want love now — crude,
strong, masculine arms about you, holding you
tight; a man who loves you, telling you that all's
well, that you are safe from trouble, as safe as


GHOSTS 173
mortal man can make you? Don't you long for
peace, the peace that comes at the end of the day,
when you sit down beside the one whose presence
is all you need to make you calm and happy and
make you forget the small annoyances of life?
Don't you know how different a room is when
there is love in it, love between a man and a
woman, from what it is when you are alone?
Have you ever thought of what your life will be
when Mary loaves you, when old age comes and
you are alone? Will the memories that you
cherish and that you say now are sufficient last
as long as that? I think not: nature arranged
that children's bones should bend and not break
easily, as old bones do, so that children may play
and fall and tumble and not suffer; nature does
not intend that youthful hearts, however sorely
hurt, shall carry the wound always; nature does
not intend that an accident to youth shall end
youth and bring old age. You and I are chil-
dren still and youth will be served; youth cannot
assume a sad countenance, freeze its heart and
rout nature. Nature demands no such sacrifice,
nature will not accept it. I know that you will
love again, and marry again. I know that you
love me, now; you want me, now; you long for
the time that you know is surely coming, and


174 GHOSTS
coming soon, when you will confess your love for
me, and know that it is right for you to do so."
Duncan, alert for the effect his words would
have on Marjorie, heard her gasp, quick and
sharp, and then again. For a moment she did
not move, then she rose unsteadily to her feet
and like one in a trance, uncertain and afraid,
she moved toward the door, reaching for it as
though she needed its support. Duncan took
her arm, guiding and supporting her into the
cottage. In the light he saw her face, ashen
white for all its summer tan; he saw her eyes —
large, blue eyes that once he had thought were a
flirt's eyes — dry and crying for deliverance from
the torture that was in her heart.
She did not look at Duncan, but walked on to
the stairs, and when she had the railing firmly in
her hand he let her go upward, alone. He came
back into the room and sat down in a chair un-
der the lamp; he took a book, relighted his pipe,
and smoked. But he did not read and his pipe
soon went out. He sat listening and waiting.
He waited till her mother came home and he
told her that Marjorie had gone upstairs because
she was not well, and he had waited because he
did not know whether or not any one else was
there.


GHOSTS 175
"Marjorie ill!" exclaimed Mrs. Read.
"I think Marjorie will recover quickly," he
said, and he looked straight into the mother's
eyes when he said it; and she knew, then, that
Marjorie's illness was not of the flesh.
"Good-night," Duncan said. "If you want
help, if I can do anything, call. I shall hear."
Mrs. Read understood only too well the great
problem with which her daughter was struggling.
She had known that, beyond all reasonable doubt,
it must come some day. When she had met Dun-
can and come to know him well, when she had
seen her daughter with him day after day, she
was sure that the problem would have to be
solved very soon, that it was being solved.
She went upstairs to her daughter's room and
whispered, "Marjorie."
"Yes, Mother."
She went to the bed and sat down on its edge
and Marjorie came to her arms.
"Are you ill, dearest?"
"No, Mother."
And, with her head on her mother's breast, the
poor little girl fell asleep, so sound asleep that
her mother laid her on her pillow without awak-
ening her, and tiptoed from the room,


CHAPTER VIII
THAT night the wind, tired of blowing from
the southwest, blew from the southeast and
brought a cold, wet fog with it, a fog that by
morning was almost but not quite rain. Dun-
can, after breakfast, sat beside a window through
which he could see Marjorie's house. He tried
to read, but it was a poor attempt, for his eyes
were on the Thurston cottage far more than on
his book.
But even so he saw no sign of Marjorie, and at
eleven o'clock he went up the path to her door
and there a maid told him that Mrs. Thurston
was very sorry but would Mr. Webb please ex-
cuse her. The maid further said that Mrs.
Thurston was quite well, but was very busy
with her daughter.
Duncan went back to his cottage and an hour
later, almost alone, swam, in the dreary fog.
After lunch he saw Marjorie's car before her door
and as he watched she drove away in it. He put
on an old coat and hat, took his oilskins and went
to his boat. He sailed all afternoon, alone, in
-
176


178 GHOSTS
"H-m," he muttered, "I'm not quite sure. A
little languid, perhaps; not quite your own glor-
ious, youthful, happy self. It is the weather, no
doubt, it would depress any one; to-morrow's
sunshine will make everything all right. How-
ever, I presume you are well enough to do a little
work."
"Oh, yes, indeed!" Marjorie's face brightened.
"Is it detective work?"
"Something along those lines. Of course you
know that the first thing a detective has to learn
is absolute secrecy; he, or she, must never di-
vulge a thing to any one."
"I promise I won't say a word. I 'm terribly
excited."
"You 're quite sure that you 're game for a
little adventure?"
"Sure, absolutely sure."
"Then suppose we go fishing to-morrow, very
early, before breakfast."
"But I thought it was about — about the
Brown robbery."
"It is. We're going fishing for — ghosts."
Mr. Lyle laughed.
"You 're teasing me."
"My dear young lady, you do me a grave in-
justice. Besides, you must remember that an im-


GHOSTS 179
portant duty of an assistant sleuth is to obey or-
ders without question."
"All right, I 'll obey. I suppose I shall be al-
lowed to understand, eventually."
"Crackers and a glass of milk, at half-past
six, and wait for me, to-morrow morning."
Marjorie looked incredulous, but she nodded.
"Yes, sir; I 'll be ready."
Mr. Lyle rose. "I must be running along, to
get the tackle ready. Have you ever seen the
tackle that is used for ghost-fishing?"
"You 're the worst tease in the world!" she
cried.
Mr. Lyle put' on his coat and held out his hand
to Marjorie and took her little hand in his great
one, and by a gentle pressure turned her so that
the light from the window fell on her face.
"Look at me," he said, and Marjorie's great blue
eyes rose to his.
"Do you believe that a ghost stole Mrs.
Brown's jewels? " Mr. Lyle said.
"No, of course not, How silly!"
"You do not believe in ghosts at all, ever?"
"Why, no; nobody does."
"I am very glad. I was afraid you did. I
thought I saw a ghost. I thought I saw a ghost
'way down deep in the blue of your eyes. Be


180 GHOSTS
sure that there is no ghost there, for if there is it
is a very bad ghost that can do you only harm
and hurt you, a ghost that you should drive
away." The girl's big eyes opened wide and her
lips trembled. "Remember, ready at six-thirty
to-morrow."
Marjorie's eyes fell and she did not look up
till she heard him go down the steps, and then
her eyes followed him. Her hand was on her
breast, her breath came short and fast; she tried
to understand what he had said to her: "Ghosts
—'way down deep in the blue of my eyes. What
did he mean? What did— Did he kiss me?
I don't remember. I don't think he did — but
I can feel his kiss — on my forehead — as though
I had been kissed when I was asleep — as I kiss
Mary — when she is asleep."
She sank into a chair and gazed into the fire.
Why had Mr. Lyle spoken to her so? Why
should he, a man who had known her for so short
a time, be so interested in her? And why should
he be able to exert such a strong influence over
her? At first, before the fire, she resented his
interest and his influence, but her resentment
died quickly and the feeling of confidence and
faith in him which he had given her from the be-
ginning swept over her again. His voice as he


GHOSTS 183
had spoken to her the evening before. He knew
that if what he had said to her was true, if she
loved him despite her memories and her resolu-
tions (and he believed that she did love him),
then she would tell him so in her own good time.
He had done all that he could do for the time
being, without hurting his cause. His faith was
strong that before very long all would be well.
Before the fire the mother gave no sign that
she knew anything of what had happened or that
serious business was afoot between her daughter
and Duncan. She sewed on placidly, speaking
in her low, soft voice, good-humored and witty,
laughing a little, smiling much; and as Duncan
watched her and listened to her he remembered
sage advice that had once been given him on
choosing a wife: "Find the best mother you
can, and marry her daughter." He had not done
that, but it had turned out that way. The
daughter and mother were as alike as a young
woman may be like her mother.
Duncan did not analyze the fact in any cold-
blooded fashion, but any man who was not a fool
must have rejoiced that the woman he loved was
the daughter of such a woman. Duncan's
thoughts ran forward through the years, pictur-
ing the girl at middle age, and the picture was


GHOSTS 185
ness that filled him with hope. But great as his
hope was, he remembered her mother's words.
Was it right for him to treat Marjorie as he was
treating her? Was it not too soon for him to
attempt to win her love? Was it fair and hon-
orable to her? He stood on his piazza, turning
the question over and over in his mind, and he
knew that, right or wrong, the thing was done
and that there was no going back.
Sometime during the night it stopped raining,
and the wind, disgusted with the mess it had
made of things, died completely, leaving the fog
to do its worst alone.
Mr. Ferdinand Schwartz, his fine raiment
gone, sat on the Brown piazza and told himself
that it was the hell of a night. He took his
watch from the small pocket of his trousers and
discovered that it was not quite four o'clock; he
got up and put his hand over the rail and dis-
covered that to all appearances it was no longer
raining; he walked down the steps and investi-
gated the matter more thoroughly and confirmed
the fact. He walked around the house and in a
secluded corner lighted a cigar; he smoked it for
a few minutes and then strolled across the lawn


18G GHOSTS
toward the shore. He sat down, facing the sea,
and finished his cigar, whereupon he lighted an-
other from the remains of the first.
In due course the second cigar was consumed
and this time Mr. Schwartz threw the end of
it away, without ceremony. He looked at his
watch and decided that it was time for it to begin
to get light; he had no accurate information on
the subject, but it seemed reasonable. Reason-
able or not, it was still dark and Mr. Schwartz
rose and sauntered back toward the Brown cot-
tage.
Half-way to the cottage he stopped suddenly
and listened intently. His lassitude vanished in
a flash, he became alert, he turned back toward
the water and flew silently over the grass toward
the pier. He had heard the creak of a board in
the pier walk, such a creak as can be made only
by the pressure of a foot.
The light which Mr. Schwartz had thought be-
hind time had come, only a trace of it, but still
enough to make it possible for him to distinguish
large objects a dozen feet away. He reached the
walk and like a cat sped along it toward the pier,
and out of the fog and darkness there appeared
the outline of a human form.
The revolver in Mr. Schwartz's hand went up


188 GHOSTS
He took the woman's arm in his great hand
and, with little gentleness, pushed her over the
grass.
"Where yer takin' me?"
"Where you can do no harm. Take it me-
thodical, sissy; it's not your night. You came
a bit late."
The woman made no resistance and Mr.
Schwartz led her to the Brown garage. "Not
a sound, now," Mr. Schwartz said. Following
his own instructions made it difficult for him to
rouse Thomas, but eventually he was successful
and Thomas, scantily clad and bewildered,
opened the garage door.
"A little present for Sam Lyle," said Mr.
Schwartz. "We'll keep it here till breakfast
time, if you don't mind."
"Let me go," the woman cried. "I 've done
nothin' to yer."
"That's as may be. I m more interested in
what you were goin' to do. There's light needed
on that."
Thomas knew neither the man nor the woman
and was in a sorry plight.
"Are you from Mr. Lyle?" he asked.
"Neither more nor less," said Mr. Schwartz.
"Let's have a light, inside somewhere." He


19tt GHOSTS
The woman did not answer.
"Very well; you 'll not be heard in any case,
and you know what's good for you. You 'll stay
here till Mr. Lyle comes in the morning and hears
what you have to say. Have you a bit of rope,
Thomas?"
Thomas, moving like a man in a dream, found
a bit of rope. Mr. Schwartz pushed the chair,
with the woman in it, to the open door and
against its edge and made the chair fast to the
knobs on both sides of it.
"Now be good," he said to her, and to Thomas:
"Stay here. If she starts anything, yell: I 'll
be close by and I 'll hear you. Come here."
Thomas went out of the room with Mr. Schwartz.
"Let her go and there 'll be hell to pay. She's
a bad 'un. Stick your head out of the window
and yell your head off if she starts anything, and
don't say a word to her. Them's orders from
Mr. Lyle."
Mr. Schwartz went downstairs and out into
the fog; he ran across the grass to the pier and
along it, stopped, returned, sat down on a rock
where he was concealed by bushes, and waited.
About an hour and a half later — or to be ex-
act, at twenty minutes after six — Georgiana,
dressed with even less than her usual care,


GHOSTS 193
Marjorie, going first, slipped under a branch,
stood upright, and struck another a glancing
blow with her head. She sprang forward so
quickly that she escaped the shower and looked
back to see if it had fallen on Duncan; it had
and she laughed. She took a stone wall almost
in her stride, and was in an open field. Duncan
came up beside her.
"You seem in pretty good spirits this morn-
ing," he said.
She looked up at him, smiling. "I'm terri-
bly excited," she exclaimed.
"Old Sammy has a real job on his hands now.
Perhaps we 'll get some real action."
"Fishing for ghosts?" Marjorie laughed.
"I wonder what he really meant."
"Lord knows. Perhaps he 'll tell us."
They came to another stone wall, this time a
high one, and he took her arm, but even this
precaution did not prevent her tripping. She
tried to regain her balance, spun round and fell
into his arms; and placed there as she was by
the merest chance, falling like a feather, as
gently as though it had been planned, he held
her close to him. Her head had fallen in the hol-
low of his arm, her face was turned up to his.
A thrill shot through him, ecstasy swept over


194 GHOSTS
him. She lay there, without a protest, gazing up
at him.
She waited, and Duncan saw her eyes and let
her go. She stood before him, Waiting, her blue
eyes fixed on his.
"No, Marjorie," he said. "I knew better
than to do —"
"I 'm glad you did," she said, and turned and
dashed away and Duncan followed, thanking
Heaven, over and over again, that he had resisted
the temptation to kiss her. Great as had been
the temptation, he had not succumbed to it. No
such sudden chance occurrence could overcome
his sure knowledge that no physical emotion
could sweep Marjorie and her love to him. And
he was very sure that, when she remained mo-
tionless in his arms for that instant, she was
testing his honor and not his courage.
Mr. Lyle and Georgiana had reached the
Brown cottage only a moment before them. Mr.
Brown was on the piazza, talking with Mr. Lyle.
Mrs. Brown was sitting in the hall, perhaps be-
lieving that that position was near the scene of
the crime and yet offered a way of escape from
the house if anything happened. The servants
were in a group in the dining-room.
"Again, exactly as it was before," Mr. Brown


GHOSTS 195
was saying, '•' except, still more remarkable, the
door between —"
"Suppose we go upstairs," Mr. Lyle said, and
Mr. Brown led the way with all the others fol-
lowing. Mr. Lyle went into Mrs. Brown's room
and looked about. "Everything is as it was
found this morning? " he asked.
"Exactly," said Mrs. Brown. "Not a thing
has been touched."
The shutters were closed and bolted, the small
bureau drawer was open, the empty jewel-box
was on the bureau top, and the drawer was un-
damaged— it had not been forced open. The
door to Mr. Brown's room was closed.
"All the shutters were closed last night, and
fastened, as they are now? " Mr. Lyle asked.
"Yes, exactly as they are now: we have not
touched them," Mr. Brown said, "but the door
between the two rooms was open. Now it is
closed and stuck fast, so hard that when Mrs.
Brown called I had to go into the hall to reach
her room. My door and hers were both locked."
"What time did you got to bed?"
"About eleven."
"What time did you discover the robbery?"
"About six o'clock, virtually as soon as I woke
up," Mrs. Brown said. "I saw that the door
r


196 GHOSTS
to Mr. Brown's room was closed and I wondered
how it had gotten that way; I was sure it had n't
been shut the night before. It made me think of
the robbery last year and I looked toward the
bureau and saw the jewel-box on it. I knew I
had put it in the drawer and locked the drawer.
Then I got up."
"You slept well last night?"
"I did, unusually well."
"And didn't hear any unusual sounds?"
"Not a sound."
Mr. Lyle turned to Georgiana. "By coinci-
dence it was very wet last night, just as it was
on the night of the first robbery. Has a search
been made for wet clothes, or shoes?"
"Nothing has been done, that I know of,"
Georgiana said.
"Nothing has been done," Mr. Brown volun-
teered.
"It is not important; it can wait. Did any
one hear the dog bark?" No one had heard the
dog bark. "Where is he now? " Mr. Lyle asked.
No one had seen the dog.
"Was he tied last night?"
"No. He always sleeps on a rug in the hall."
"H-m," muttered Mr. Lyle. "And the key
to this drawer?"


GHOSTS 197
"We can't find the key; it's gone," Mrs. Brown
said.
"This time it was not, of course, on the nail
behind the picture. I presume that you put it
in the ' Egoist' as usual?"
Mrs. Brown gasped and then had an inspira-
tion. "Did Mr. Brown tell you I kept it there?"
"I did not," Mr. Brown exclaimed. "I dis-
tinctly remember that Mr. Lyle told me it should
be a family secret."
"Then how did you know?" demanded Mrs.
Brown. "No one else knew where it was."
"It was such an obvious place to hide a thin,
flat key." Mr. Lyle went to the bookcase and
took the "Egoist" from it. It was the last
book of the set, on the right. He turned the
pages rapidly and closed the book. "Person-
ally I rather like ' The Amazing Marriage,' " he
said. "Is it here?" He stepped back from the
bookcase and ran his eye over the titles of the
set of Meredith. "Here it is," he said, and
drew out the book on the extreme left. He
turned toward Mrs. Brown. "Are you sure you
did not put the key in 'The Amazing Mar-
riage'? " he asked.
"Absolutely sure," Mrs. Brown exclaimed.
Mr. Lyle handed the book to Mrs. Brown, she


198 GHOSTS
opened it and took the key from between its
leaves.
"This is the key," she cried, and proved it
by turning the lock of the drawer.
"Most remarkable," said Mr. Lyle. "Are you
sure you did not put it there?"
"Absolutely sure," said Mrs. Brown.
"And your jewels: they are of great value, as
great as the others that were taken?"
"To all intents and purposes they are the very
same ones that were stolen before."
"And nothing else is missing?"
"Nothing, so far as I know, nothing."
"The ghost has walked again," Mr. Lyle said;
"the same ghost, the same stormy night, the
same jewels are gone. History repeats itself."
And then to Georgiana, "Is your conscience
clear, this time, as always?"
"Are we to go on being robbed, regularly, once
a year, forever? " Georgiana demanded. "Can't
anything be done about it?"
"Have you ever yet seen a ghost caught? " Mr.
Lyle asked.
"Fiddlesticks!" she exclaimed. "If the de-
tectives were n't all men they 'd be caught
quickly enough."
"Set a woman to catch a woman. Is that your


200 GHOSTS
found the terrier fast asleep behind a couch,
and waked him and stood him on his feet, but
he desired nothing so much as to lie down and
sleep again. They let him sleep and went back
to the piazza.
"Drugged," said Mr. Brown.
"Unquestionably," said Mr. Lyle. "But how
on earth do you suppose a ghost could drug a
dog? Where do ghosts get drugs?"
"Ghosts! I 'm getting tired of ghosts," cried
Georgiana. "Why doesn't somebody do some-
thing?"
"Who is there to do anything? What can
be done? " asked Mr. Lyle.
"You — anybody! Are we to be robbed every
summer and no one ever caught?"
"I think not," said Mr. Lyle. "I think not.
It seems to me that the thief — the ghost — will
get tired of working hard and getting nothing
for it. He '11 move on to other fields."
"He has Mother's jewels," Georgiana expos-
tulated.
"You mean he had them."
"He took them."
"Of course he did, and he took them before.
That is, he took them from Mrs. Brown's room,
but he did n't take them very far away; he left


GHOSTS 201
them under the pier. Surely any self-respecting
ghost would soon become tired of wandering
about in the rain, squeezing through cracks in
shutters, and all the rest of it, just for the fun
of hiding somebody's pearl necklace. Now don't
you think that —?"
At that moment Mr. Ferdinand Schwartz
appeared around the corner of the house and
held up a beckoning finger to Mr. Lyle. Mr.
Schwartz wore no hat and his hair was not
brushed; his shirt was blue flannel, open at the
throat, his trousers brown and old; his shoes
were old brown sneakers. Mr. Lyle rose and
went to Mr. Schwartz, they spoke together for a
moment and then Mr. Lyle returned.
"We are all in for a surprise, I think," he said.
"Where did that man come from? Who is
he?" asked Georgiana.
"He is an iconoclast. His hobby is ghosts and
goodness knows where he came from."
"He is a great personal friend of Mr. Lyle's,"
Marjorie said.
"Which statement is a breach of faith and
against all ethics of the profession," said Mr.
Lyle,
"Oh, I 'm so sorry! I should not have said
that. Please forgive me."


202 GHOSTS
"This time, but let it be a lesson to you. How-
ever, Mrs. Thurston told the truth: the gentleman
is a great personal friend of mine. He will be
here again in a minute, bringing his surprise with
him."
Mr. Schwartz did return promptly, with
Thomas, and between them was the woman. Mr.
Schwartz lost no time in formalities.
"I found this girl on the place last night," he
said. "What '11 I do with her?"
The "girl" was shabbily dressed, her hair
was disarranged, she wore an old black sailor
hat; her face was pale; she was very thin, her
expression was sullen; there was no sign of a
lady about her from top to toe, and yet in her
crude way she was good-looking. Her dark eyes
had some sort of courage in them, her lips had a
trace of sweetness about them. Her age was
difficult to guess, she was not over thirty and
might have been much younger than that. She
stared first at one and then at another of the
group on the piazza, and finally, as though in-
tuitively, she fixed her eyes on Mr. Lyle.
"Why were you about here, at night, and on
such a night?" Mr. Lyle asked her. His voice
was low, its tone very gentle, it was as though he


GHOSTS 205
"We almost caught the ghost, but not quite,"
he said.
"She's lying, is n't she? " said Georgiana.
Mr. Lyle nodded. "She is, poor woman," he
said. "If I am not mistaken she has known
more sorrow, more hardship, more tragedy than
all of us together shall ever know. She is one
of the world's unfortunates, cursed from the mo-
ment of her birth, probably before her birth.
Once upon a time I looked on such women as she
with loathing, I have seen many of them, and the
more I learned of them the more my loathing has
vanished and the greater my sympathy has be-
come. If all the truth were known of this wo-
man, I am sure that we should find such virtues
in her as would do honor to the finest lady in the
land. She has little knowledge of right and
wrong as we know it, but she has a heart that is
pure gold. I may be wrong, but I believe that
that is so. If I am wrong I shall tell you so,
sometime."
Mr. Lyle went to Ferdinand Schwartz and
spoke to him for a moment. Mr. Schwartz nod-
ded and departed, and Mr. Lyle returned to his
chair.
"We don't seem to be getting any nearer to
the ghost, do we?" he said.


206 GHOSTS
"Did n't that woman have something to do
with it?" Georgiana asked.
"Woman's inhumanity to woman," Mr. Lyle
said, smiling at Georgiana.
"What was she doing here, then?"
"Perhaps she is the innocent friend of our
ghost. Perhaps the ghost, in his original form,
was her lover. All ghosts were real living per-
sons once upon a time, you know. Perhaps this
woman is so faithful to her love that she follows
its shadow, searches for it, wherever her tortured
brain conceives it to be; even in the rain and fog
such as we had last night, perhaps she sees a
face and a form fashioned in the mists; perhaps
she haunts the places her man once haunted;
perhaps she dreams wild, fantastic dreams.
Perhaps, a year ago, the ghost told her of his
visit here and of what he had done and perhaps
soon after that he disappeared and she was never
able to find him; perhaps ghosts are sometimes
fickle in their loves and he left her. And then,
perhaps, by some phenomenon, through some mys-
terious medium which ordinary, normal minds
cannot even guess at, she learned that he was
coming here again last night and she came here
to find him. Schwartz says that she was going
across the lawn toward the pier, that she was in


GHOSTS 207
fact on the pier walk when he first saw her.
Does not that suggest to you that she knew the
ghost, the other time, had gone to the pier and
hidden the jewels there and that she believed he
would go there again to hide the booty?"
"It's utterly impossible," Georgiana ex-
claimed.
Georgiana was the only one who was willing
to express any opinion whatever. Mr. and Mrs.
Brown were in a trance: the whole thing was be-
yond their comprehension. Marjorie's blue eyes
were fixed on Mr. Lyle, in wonder, as though she
were willing to believe anything and yet believed
nothing. Duncan sat on the piazza rail, grin-
ning.
"Perhaps the ghost beat her to it," he said.
"It must have been nearly daylight when
Schwartz found her and in all probability the
ghost had done his work and gone. Ghosts have
to be home and in bed before sunrise, I under-
stand."
"Exactly," Mr. Lyle said. "The poor woman
had, without doubt, hovered around the house
most of the night, waiting; and, seeing nothing
because of the dense fog, went to the pier, too
late. If all that is so, does n't it explain every-
thing? Does n't it even bring vindication to Mrs.


208' GHOSTS
Brown, at last, and save Miss Brown the humilia-
tion of having a fond parent in jail?"
"It's all perfect nonsense!" Georgiana ex-
claimed.
"Not at all, not at all," Mr. Lyle said.
"Think a minute, consider the deadly parallel.
First you have the stormy night, again; then
the entry without a trace left behind, the same
lack of sound, the same jewelry taken, the door
between the rooms left closed, as it was the other
time, the same people in the house, the same ser-
vants of unquestioned honesty; not a clue to be
had, not a person is suspected. The lines are
parallel to that point; is it not a perfectly log-
ical deduction that they will stay parallel to the
end?"
"If that is so, the jewelry must be under the
pier, just where it was before," Duncan said
calmly.
Mr. Lyle nodded. "Of course it must be. If
our reasoning is correct. Why don't you go
down and see if it is there?"
Duncan slid from the piazza railing. "Come
on," he called, and Marjorie, with excitement
written all over her, jumped up and followed
him. Georgiana hesitated for an instant and,
hesitating, was lost: the others were far away,


GHOSTS 211
off the cover, looked at its contents, and handed
it to Mrs. Brown.
"Are they all there?" he asked.
The servants were hovering about, wild-eyed
and trembling; some of them, perhaps, had no
confidence in the non-existence of ghosts. Geor-
giana's eyes shot a mixture of hatred and unqual-
ified admiration at Mr. Lyle; she had a dim sus-
picion that Mr. Lyle was making fun of her and
hers. Mr. Brown stood beside Mrs. Brown and
peered into the lard pail, his face a picture of
amazement.
Mrs. Brown placed the pail in her lap. "Ev-
erything is here," she said. "It's the most
extraordinary thing I 've ever heard of in my
life!"
"No, no!" Mr. Lyle said. "Our ghost is
simply a creature of habit, that's all."
"Can a ghost close quietly a door that I can-
not close without waking the dead? " Mr. Brown
almost shouted.
11 Apparently he can," said Mr. Lyle.
"And find keys in my books," Mrs. Brown said
sarcastically.
"Apparently he did," said Mr. Lyle. "And
do you suppose that I — we — might have a cup
of coffee? It must be breakfast time."


212 GHOSTS
Mrs. Brown gasped again. "Imagine think-
ing of breakfast at a time like this!"
"Breakfast is ready." The voice came from
among the servants.
"Good," exclaimed Mr. Lyle. "Perhaps in
the circumstances we, my assistants and I, may
consider ourselves invited to breakfast. But be-
fore we go may I say a word, while we are all
here together —" Mr. Lyle's eyes went from one
to the other, from master to servant. "Before
we go to breakfast," he said, " perhaps you would
like to know just what has happened. For in-
stance the vindication of Mrs. Brown might make
breakfast taste better to Miss Brown." Mr. Lyle
turned to Georgiana. "By the way, do you con-
sider that your mother is vindicated at last?"
Georgiana was hardly in a frame of mind to
joke, but she stuck to her guns. "Everything is
exactly as it was before," she said.
"Not quite. Can you conceive, it is physically
possible, that your mother could drug the dog?—
that she would do it if she could?—that she
could know how to do it? Hardly, I think.
And could she close the door between the two
rooms so firmly that Mr. Brown found it too dif-
ficult for him to open? I doubt it. I am afraid
you will have to exonerate Mrs. Brown.


GHOSTS 213
"From the evidence it is perfectly clear that
we have to deal with not only a physical mystery,
almost a physical impossibility, but also with a
mysterious motive. It is apparent that these
robberies have been performed by no common
man, by a man of peculiar mentality and views
of life, for gain has not been his motive — other-
wise he would not have left behind him the fruits
of his dishonorable labor. There is a ghost-
like quality in our thief — he comes and goes,
leaving no trace; he does many peculiar things
which we cannot understand. But then, you
know, we mortals understand very little of what
goes on in this world. I, perhaps, know more
about crimes and criminals than the average
person, but even so, I know very little. I have
studied the supernatural so as to differentiate
between it and the natural; I have studied ghosts,
made friends with them, and learned much from
them, and it happens that in my research and
travels I ran across the ghost who has played
pranks about here: he is a good friend of mine,
though I do not always approve of what he does.
I may not tell you who he is; to do so would serve
no useful purpose and might do great harm. He
is out of our world, beyond our reach. Our
wrath, our vindictiveness, our desire for justice


214 GHOSTS
or revenge, our curiosity, cannot harm him, and
never can; ghosts care nothing for what we may
do or say. But I may tell you this: he will never
come here again; none of us will ever see him.
I know him well and I know that no one here in
this house or in this neighborhood gave him aid
or knew his plans or had a suspicion that he was,
or ever had been, or ever would be, in this house.
"The police came and went away that first
time, leaving the suspicion behind them that
some one here, presumably among the servants,
knew more than he or she was willing to tell, in
fact that he or she had a guilty knowledge of
the crime. You must believe me when I say that
that suspicion was absolutely without founda-
tion or merit and you must forget that such a sus-
picion ever existed. My friend the ghost will
never walk here or elsewhere, I give you my word
for that. As for the woman who came here last
night, dismiss her from your minds; she is the
innocent victim of the ghost. I shall probably
know more about her before the day is over and
she will probably go back where she came from.
She was on a wild-goose chase last night." Mr.
Lyle turned to the servants. "Where is she
now?"


CHAPTER IX
AT breakfast Marjorie sat opposite Duncan
and before the meal was over the robbery
and everything connected with it had sunk into
insignificance. She knew her own weakness
well; she knew that, confident of herself, trust-
ing implicitly in the strength of her memories,
in her unalterable determination, she had played
with fire, unconsciously at first and then know-
ingly. She had acted toward Duncan as any
heart-free, normal girl would have acted toward
a man she liked, in the summer-time. Circum-
stances had been against her; there had been no
other young men in Rose Hill whom she had liked,
except one or two who had come and played and
gone away. Step by step, with never a thought of
danger, she had let her friendship and intimacy
with Duncan ripen until it had become a matter
of course for them to do together, every day, the
things they both liked to do, sailing, playing golf
and auction, swiming, driving, walking, read-
ing, until suddenly she knew, as women know,
where she had led him.
216


GHOSTS 219
in him, and finally he had told her that he knew
she loved him.
Her mother had taken her in her arms and
comforted her, but her mother had said nothing.
It seemed almost as though her mother were on
Duncan's side, as though her attitude were that
it was inevitable that love must come to her
again, even that it had come and that she was
powerless to resist it. Samuel Lyle had known,
as soon as he had seen Duncan and her together,
that Duncan loved her, and he had taken Dun-
can's part; he had spoken to her as though he
knew how impossible it was, and how wrong it
would be for her to resist the love that he be-
lieved was creeping over her. She knew, too, that
the world would be against her, that it would
laugh at her and think that she was a fool.
But she was not a fool. No one understood
but her; and at breakfast at the Browns' she
made her final resolution, and she made it know-
ing that Duncan's eyes were on her, knowing
that try as she would she could not meet them,
and knowing that she would sacrifice everything
the world held for her to save him from pain and
unhappiness, except her faithfulness to the boy
who was dead.
She left the Browns' with Duncan and Mr.


222 GHOSTS
"No, Duncan, and you must promise me never
to speak of love to me again. Unless you prom-
ise I cannot — I cannot see you — any more."
Duncan smiled. "Are you afraid to see me
any more, Marjorie?"
"No," she cried, "I am not afraid. You must
believe that what I tell you is true, and it would
not be right. No decent woman would let a man
— go on — making love to her — listening to him
— when she knew — when she knew that she
could never love him."
"But suppose that what you tell me is not
true — that you can never love again. Suppose
you do love again — love me. Will you tell me
so without my asking you? Are you afraid to
give me my chance to make you love me? Every
woman is capable of love, no matter what has
gone before. If you are so sure of yourself I
cannot harm you — by loving you, and you —
you will break my heart if you send me away."
"I do not want to send you away, Duncan. I
want you to be my friend. But I want you to
understand that we can never be more than
good friends."
"But you and I are so very young; almost all
of our lives are before us. Do you believe that
it is right to ask me to promise, now, something


GHOSTS 223
that will bind me all my life? I can't, Marjorie,
I can't."
"You must, Duncan, or else I cannot — see
you any more — alone. We must be friends,
here in Rose Hill: every one knows that we have
been friends all summer and if — if — you un-
derstand."
Duncan, in that most serious moment,
laughed. "Oh, Marjorie, how foolish we are!"
he cried. "Of course I understand. Poor old
Kose Hill can't be allowed to gossip, can't have
two real, exciting, mysterious love affairs to talk
about in one summer. Rose Hill's old ladies
may talk about me all they like, to their hearts'
content, but they must n't be allowed to talk about
you, if I can help it. I 'll tell you what we 'll do.
We 'll compromise. You 'll be here three weeks
more. Let me ask you just once a week to marry
me, until you go away, and then Heaven knows
what will happen. Give me my chance, once a
week, beginning a week from to-day."
"Oh, Duncan, please!"
"Oh, Marjorie, please! Is n't it fair?— one
day a week, and such a very small part of that
day? All the rest of that time you can laugh at
me, I 'll be helpless, and we can go on just as
we have been, and nobody 'll know anything's


224 GHOSTS
wrong. Sammy Lyle will tell us all about what
happened, and — and—"
"You're laughing at me." Marjorie was al-
most laughing herself. Poor Marjorie! Noth-
ing that she could say seemed to shake Duncan's
determination or drive away his good nature.
"If I don't laugh I'll cry," Duncan said.
"Please, please give me my chance."
"You promise that —"
"I promise. Only once a week."
"And will you promise to stop the minute I
tell you to?"
"I '11 promise anything on earth, except to
stop loving you. Is it settled?"
Marjorie nodded. "All right," she said.
When she was alone in her cottage she knew
that Duncan had beaten down her defenses and
smashed her resolution to bits. Through all her
talk with him she had heard the note of confi-
dence in his voice. She remembered the night
on the rocks, and the hour on her piazza when
he had not spoken to her at all, and the silence
had been almost terrifying and she dreaded the
prospect of more such silences, now that she had
his promise.
She found Mary, took her to her room, and


GHOSTS 225
closed the door, and she kissed her baby again
and again. "You 're the only friend I have in
the world," she said, and then she sighed.
"Only three weeks, honey, and our troubles will
all be over." She kissed Mary again. "I wish
I were sure of that," she murmured.
She laid her daughter on the bed and played
with her Finally she said, "Come along, let's
go swimming, Sweetness."
The sun was shining brightly, the gentle
southwest breeze was at work again. No word
of the second Brown robbery had reached Rose
Hill. Duncan was waiting for her. She left
Mary, in her go-cart, with another mother, and
went into the water with Duncan. He laughed
and she hated him for laughing; he sat on the float
while she swam on her back. He dived and swam
beside her.
"Do you remember the time I nearly saved
you from drowning?" he asked her. 'It seems
ages ago, does n't it?"
"Yes," she said, "it does."
"As I recall it, it was on the nurse's day out."
"Yes," she said, "it was."
"Likewise it was the day I entertained Mary
on the beach, heard the story of the Brown trag-
edy, and by the use of logic recovered the


228 GHOSTS
"Mr. Lyle seemed more interested in her wel-
fare than in what she had done, or why she was
there."
"Are you sure she did n't have anything to do
with what happened last night?" she asked.
"No, but I don't believe she did. Don't you
think Sammy fixed up that second burglary to
show that it could be done?"
"Of course he did, everybody knows that, but
when will he tell us about the rest of it?"
"He 'll tell us' sometime, when he's good and
ready."
"I hope he won't keep us waiting any longer
than is absolutely necessary. I can't stand the
suspense for ever."
They came to their beach and Mary, released
on the sand, was content to dig for a few minutes.
Marjorie sat with her back against the rock
she always selected and Duncan sat beside her.
Sandy, the Airedale, wandered about in search
of adventure and, not finding it, was content to
wade in the water for a while and then return
and lie down near Mary. Mary crawled to him
and attempted familiarities which were not wel-
come and the dog withdrew slowly from her.
Marjorie spoke of Sandy's show of dignity.


GHOSTS 229
"He seems very fond of her, nevertheless,"
Duncan said.
"He's always with her, almost always when
he is not with you."
"Perhaps the fool dog has gotten the idea
into his head that it's his duty to watch over her,
as a member of the family — his family. Pre-
sumptuous— or a prophet — isn't he?"
A glance was Marjorie's only answer, a glance
that suggested that Duncan was trifling with
his promise.
In the meantime, her advances having been re-
pulsed by Sandy, Mary had decided on a trip to
the water. The dog followed her, slowly, and
as she came nearer the water he came nearer to
her.
"Fool dog," Duncan said, watching them.
"He 's not a fool dog," Marjorie exclaimed,
"he 's a very remarkable dog."
"You are the only woman, except Mary, with
whom he has ever made friends. He has never
cared a snap of his finger even for Esther. In-
cidentally, I had a letter from Esther a day or
two ago, I think she sent you her love."
Mary was perilously near the great waters of
the bay.


230 GHOSTS
"What did she say?" Marjorie spoke of Es-
ther's letter.
"It is always dangerous to quote from mem-
ory, but she said something about hoping that
you were as good as you were beautiful. She
ought to know that you are, don't you think?"
"Yes, I think she should. Mary!" Mar-
jorie called to the wanderer.
Mary looked round, hesitated, and then
reached out her hand for a retreating wavelet.
"I wonder what Sandy 'd do if she really went
into the water?" Duncan said.
"Pull her out, I suppose." Marjorie had no
faith in that statement, for when Mary decided
to go farther bayward she made the first mo-
tions of rising to go in pursuit. Duncan went
in her stead and rescued Mary, returning with
her and picking up, on the way, the unbreakable
duck which was still doing duty. With Mary
on his knees, he examined the duck.
"Some duck, Mary," he said. "Sure as
you 're alive, it's a beaut, both as to design and
durability. Do you remember when your lady
mother called it a 'beaut' the first day I knew
her?"
Mary, to show her appreciation of the com-
pliment, threw Mr. Duck violently away from


GHOSTS 231
her and immediately wanted it back again.
Duncan retrieved it and again it flew away.
"So, it's a game, is it? " he asked. "Suppose
we let him stay where he is: then what hap-
pens?"
If Mary knew she refused to say and dodged
the issue, suggesting instead, by squirming, that
she 'd like to go somewhere; but finding that the
squirming accomplished nothing she sent her
hands on an exploring expedition. She found
something of interest in Duncan's tie, but soon
losing interest in that she became more intimate
and set about discovering what manner of thing
his eyes were. Duncan saw nothing in that and
set Mary on his knees again.
"Don't let her bother you," Marjorie said.
Duncan spoke to Mary: "Did you hear that,
Mary? Did you hear your mother trying to
break up our friendly chat? You did. Appar-
ently your mother thinks I 'm not a proper per-
son for you to associate with. Your mother says
she does n't care much for me. What do you
think of that, Mary, do you think that's pos-
sible? Do you see how any one could help lov-
ing me?" Mary, for reasons known only to her-
self, chose that instant to smile upon Duncan
with all the art of a skilled coquette. Duncan


232 GHOSTS
laughed. "Just as I thought. You do love me,
don't you? If you were n't such a shy, modest
young woman you'd confess having loved me at
first sight, would n't you? Of course you would;
you 'd even go so far as to admit that you 'd be
willing to accept me as a father, especially if I
promised to be very good and to treat your
mother the very best I knew how. One thing's
sure, is n't it, Mary—I 'd make a better father
than none at all; and, you know, that makes me
think of something: I wonder that none of us
ever thought of it before and talked it over with
you; Heaven knows you 're interested in it and
ought to be consulted. How do you like the idea
of going through life with nary a brother or a
sister — of being all by yourself in a big nursery
with no one to play with except, on rare occa-
sions, total strangers; of sleeping all alone and
never having a pillow fight in your life — that
is, of course, if young ladies ever do have pillow
fights. What's your opinion of having supper
alone every night except when you have company
and not having a sister to go to school with or
two or three little brothers to love — brothers
who '11 grow up and take you to all sorts of
places you could n't go alone and bring nice boys
home with them and — and, Mary, did it ever


GHOSTS 233
occur to you that it's a mighty poor thing to be
— to be an only child?— that it's bad for the
heart and the general disposition?—extremely
bad for one s temper — and generally narrow-
ing, besides being mighty poor fun?—and that
it won't be your fault at all? Poor little Mary,
nobody cares —"
Duncan, in the beginning, had spoken lightly.
He was talking to Mary and was not breaking his
promise; before he finished he was carried away
by his inspiration. In a saner moment he would
have known that he was breaking his promise,
but he was not sane. His voice became tense,
his words so full of feeling that even Mary un-
derstood that something queer was going on and
stared at him in wonder.
He stopped speaking because he heard a muf-
fled cry beside him. Mary slipped unheeded to
the sand and Duncan turned and saw Marjorie,
and knew that the barrier was down. Her face
was white, her bosom rose and fell an amazing
distance, her hand was on her breast, her lips
trembled and her big blue eyes were fixed on his
fearless eyes, eyes which had confession and
surrender written clear in them. Her body was
swaying as though moved by the breeze that came
from the bay.
'


GHOSTS 235
covered her with kisses. Duncan stood beside
her, his arm about her as she held Mary.
"And a little child shall lead them," he said.
She looked up at him and laughed. "Silly,
it was n't that. Had n't you — did n't you ever
think — about Mary — before this afternoon?"
And then suddenly she went crimson, a new kind
of crimson, and turned from him and hid her
face in — well — nearly all of Mary.
Finally she put Mary down and turned to
Duncan. "You broke your promise," she said.
It was a ruse to hide what had gone before.
"I 'm glad I did, are n't you?"
a Yes, I suppose — Duncan! Not here where
every one in Rose Hill can see."
"Every one in Rose Hill has seen," he said.
"I can't help it if they did, that once. I 'm
not going to let them see again."
But she did.


CHAPTER X
SOME time later Mary called their attention
to the fact that it was her supper-time, and
they took her home. They spent the evening
on the rocks, watching the night boats go by.
The next morning they went to the beach ear-
lier than usual, but even so they found Mr. Lyle
already there, in his bathing-suit and a big straw
hat, reading the morning paper and smoking a
cigar, his back against a rowboat. He glanced
up, saw them, made some show of ignoring them,
and went on with his reading; they sat down be-
side him.
"Nice morning," said Mr. Lyle to his paper.
"Is n't it? " Marjorie answered.
"Where've you been?" he asked, as though
they should not have been wherever they had
been.
"We haven't been anywhere. Where have
you been? " Marjorie said.
"I 've been waiting for you," he said; " did n't
dare go in alone — the water's unusually deep
this morning."
Marjorie laughed and said, " Silly!"
236


GHOSTS 237
"What! What's that? Calling me silly!
Think of my age and show it respect. My good-
ness! what are we coming to?"
Mr. Lyle examined Marjorie closely, moving
his head about a little as though to get a better
view of her.
"Duncan, would you go and ask — let me see
— er — would you mind going over to — will
you please get out of here a minute? I want to
have a word with Mrs. Thurston."
Duncan laughed and hunched himself over the
sand until he was a dozen feet away. He turned
his back to them and put his hands over his ears.
"Have your word," he said.
Mr. Lyle looked at Duncan as though he were
not entirely satisfied with the distance between
them; then he turned slowly to Marjorie.
"Look at me," he said
Like a naughty child trying to brave out a
crime discovered, Marjorie gazed steadily at Mr.
Lyle, her mouth firm, her chin defiant. Mr.
Lyle ignored her pose and looked into her eyes,
first into one and then the other, much as an
oculist might have done.
"Gone, all gone!" he exclaimed. "Bless my
soul! Well, well, what do you think of that!
Happy?"


238 GHOSTS
Marjorie nodded.
"You ought to be." Mr. Lyle glanced at Dun-
can and leaned a little toward Marjorie. "They
don't come any better than that boy; he's pure
gold, and he comes as near deserving a woman
like you as any mere man can. You have fifty
or sixty wonderful years before you. I envy
you. When you come to Alden to live I expect
you to be good to me, very good to me; do you
understand?"
Marjorie took Mr. Lyle's big hand in hers and
squeezed it. "You 've been very good to me,"
she said.
"Look here, whose girl do you think that is?"
Duncan called, and Mr. Lyle chuckled. He
picked up a pebble and tossed it at Duncan.
"You can come out of the corner now," he said,
and Duncan came.
Eventually they went into the water and swam
to the float, which was deserted, and there Mar-
jorie had an idea.
"Would you like to do something for me?"
she asked Mr. Lyle.
"Do something for you? Why, I should like
to know, should I do anything for you?"
Marjorie looked at him without a tremor. "I
promised to marry your old Duncan simply to


GHOSTS 239
please you, and you ought to be willing to do
something for me in return."
"Did you really! Well, well, go on. What
can I do for you in return for the great sacrifice
you 've made for me?"
"I want you to tell me everything, all about
the Brown robbery."
"So — so," mused Mr. Lyle. "That's it, is
it? Now let me see—" Mr. Lyle scanned the
heavens. "Is n't it likely to be a fine afternoon
for a sail?"
"It is," Duncan said.
"Is that a promise? " asked Marjorie, the prac-
tical.
"It's a promise to go sailing if I 'm invited,"
said Mr. Lyle.
"You 're invited," said Marjorie and Duncan
together.
They went sailing that afternoon and when
they were half-way across the bay Mr. Lyle gave
in, but not until he had sworn them to secrecy.
"To begin with," he said, "I must make one
small confession. I found out by luck, pure
and simple, who stole the Browns' jewels. It
was one of those one-in-a-million chances that
sometimes happen. I didn't do any sleuthing


242 GHOSTS
"But the main argument against the thief's
having used a car in this case was that, while he
got away, he did n't take the jewelry with him.
No car was found abandoned, so if the robber
used a car he got away in it, and it's evident that
he could have taken the jewelry with him.
Wasn't it a reasonable guess, no more than a
reasonable guess, that the thief, whoever he was,
did n't live near by — that is in Providence for
instance — and that he was afoot?
"Further, it was very evident that the thief,
whoever he was, knew his business; otherwise he
could not have gotten in and out of the Brown
house as he did, without leaving a trace and with-
out waking any one. He was no bungler, no
common sneak thief, and he was willing to take
chances; he had a difficult and dangerous job on
his hands and knew it.
"The police went away, believing that some
one in the house had had a hand in the business,
though they had no suspicions concerning any
particular person. However they may have ar-
rived at that conclusion, it seemed to me more
than possible that the man who did it must have
known at least something of the Browns or he
would never have gone there at all; there were
so many easier and apparently more profitable


GHOSTS 243
houses to rob. He did go there and rob, so the
question was, why did he choose that particular
house? Did he have friends there and if he did,
had they been his accomplices? And if so, who
were they? If he had no friends or accom-
plices, did he go there simply as a result of the
power of suggestion? That is, did he know that
there were valuables there and did those valu-
ables prey on his mind?
"All those rambling ideas and questions came
into my mind before I went to the Browns'.
They suggested themselves entirely from the fact
that the Browns' house, a comparatively unpre-
tentious cottage containing no show of wealth,
on the borders of Rose Hill, had been robbed by
what appeared to be a skilled professional thief.
There was, of course, the possibility of sleep-
walking by Mrs. Brown or something of that
sort, but it was remote. The thing that got me
was why the jewelry had been left under the pier.
You or I or any one can think of reasons why it
might have been put there in the first place, but
why hadn't the gentleman come back for it? I
could think of only one reason why he hadn't
and that was that he could n't.
"In that frame of mind I went to the Browns'
and saw Thomas, Katie, and another maid, and
y


244 GHOSTS
that evening I telegraphed Inspector Gibb and
he answered and told me that Walter Kerrigan
had shot a man in New York a day or two after
the robbery, been caught, put in jail, and later
sentenced to prison for life. Out of a hundred
million people in the United States we had one
who, having departed, could not come back for
the jewelry.
"Then I went to Mrs. Brown's room and
looked about casually. The theory that the shut-
ters, bolted on the inside, couldn't be opened
from the outside is nonsense. The outside of the
shutters is plain; no catch is on the outside of
them; the locking-device is a bolt of thin iron, an
inch wide, an eighth of an inch or more thick, and
ten inches long, with a lug, a sort of knob, on
the end, turned out from the shutters to form a
handle. The bolt is attached to the middle bar
of one shutter and slides into two keepers on the
other shutter; it is almost at the bottom of the
cross-bar; the lug comes almost to the opening
between the center bar and the top leaf of the
lower half of the shutter. You saw it; you know
what I mean.
"That opening, when the leaves of the shutter
are horizontal, that is, open, is over three quar-
ters of an inch, and the bolt slides freely. It


GHOSTS 245
would be child's play to unbolt the shutter from
the outside and to bolt it again if any one could
get up to the window. As to opening the bureau
drawer, any thief who could n't do that ought to
be ashamed of himself; it's as easy as falling off
a log when you know how.
"I had to accept the statement that there were
no signs of a ladder having been used, or in fact
any ladder to use, but I did not have to accept
the statement that the thief could not have got-
ten in without help from inside the house. If the
statement that the hall doors were locked was
true, help from the inside wouldn't have done
any good anyway, and the hall doors probably
were locked, though mistakes are sometimes
made on points like that.
"Now the confession of luck comes in. I had
seen Thomas and Katie on my first visit to the
Browns' and neither of them showed any interest
in me, as was to be expected. Nevertheless I
telegraphed Gibb about Walter Kerrigan. The
next time, the time I went to dinner, I went up
stairs to the bedrooms and Katie knew that I
went. When I was on the piazza afterward I
saw Katie looking at me from inside, through a
window. Later I went inside, saw Katie in the
dining-room with her back to me, and stood in


246 GHOSTS
the dining-room door till she turned and saw
me looking at her. She did n't expect me to be
there and showed it, and she showed just as plain
as day that she had something on her mind, and
that it was n't something pleasant.
"That night before dinner when I saw her
make the opportunity of getting a look at me,
I could n't help feeling that she was not prompted
by pure curiosity. It was reasonable to presume
that an Irishwoman, naturally credulous, would
exaggerate whatever she had heard about me,
and I thought it likely that she had heard the
Browns talking about me. I watched my chance
and came face to face with Katie, unexpectedly
to her. I acted as though I had some unusual
interest in her and she reciprocated: she showed
me that she certainly had deep interest in me.
Two and two make four: Katie knew something
of the robbery. But Katie had been with Mrs.
Brown for many years; her record was spotless
and her good character had never been ques-
tioned. Therefore what connection could Katie
have with the robbery?
"The first day I went to the Browns' I had
seen Katie picking flowers, and by chance I had
a fine view of Katie's profile. I doubt if either
of you has the slightest idea how Katie's profile


GHOSTS 247
looks, and I should have thought nothing of it if
it had not, in a flash, recalled another profile to
me. Katie's profile is most unusual; glance at
it sometime and you will see what I mean. Her
forehead is straight and the line of it, if it were
extended downward, would touch the end of her
nose, her lower lip and the point of her chin.
It seems impossible — doesn't it? — without the
woman's being grotesque, but it's so and she's
not especially homely.
"That same afternoon Thomas, the chauffeur,
brought the mail and I saw him. He has a
peculiar face, one that is rather unusual in many
ways when looked at head on. His eyebrows are
unusually straight, his nose has a queer spread
at the base, the ends of his mouth have a pe-
culiar twist and his chin has a small square spot
on the end and then dives inward quickly. Al-
together, if one studies faces, he would surely re-
member Thomas's. I try to study them and re-
member them, and I recalled one that was ex-
actly like Thomas's, in the points I have de-
scribed, and curiously enough it was the same
face whose profile resembled Katie's so remark-
ably. Furthermore, the possessor of that face
was one of the cleverest thieves in the country.
By chance I had defended him in a case in which


248 GHOSTS
he happened to be innocent and I remembered
him well. He was Walter Kerrigan, alias Ray-
mond Smith and several other names.
"Later I had a talk with Thomas and he, with
my promise of secrecy, told me all I wanted to
know. He confessed that my suspicion, my wild
guess, was correct; that is, that Kerrigan — or
Smith, as he knew him — was his and Katie's
son and that just before the robbery Kerrigan
had come to him, as he often did, demanding
money and threatening exposure if he didn't
get it. Thomas gave him what he had and
thought that he went back to New York. My
guess was that Kerrigan had not at once gone
back to New York.
"My friend the iconoclast, Mr. Ferdinand
Schwartz, had arrived in the meantime and he
went to New York and to Sing Sing Prison and
saw Kerrigan. Kerrigan was surprised that he
was suspected of having stolen the Brown jewels,
but the combination of the facts that nothing
could make things worse than they were for him
and that Mr. Schwartz has a way with him, and
one other consideration, were sufficient to make
him tell, finally, the whole story, which was this:
"He took the New York train from the junc-
tion, just as Thomas said he had done, but left it


GHOSTS 249
at New London and came back the next day.
The lure of the pearls and other jewelry he knew
Mrs. Brown possessed was too much for him, and
of course he knew a lot about the Brown house,
all he needed to know.
"He hung about that Tuesday evening. He
saw the Browns go out to dinner and knew that
they would not be home till late. At about ten
o'clock he got into the house and upstairs with-
out trouble, for he knew that all the servants
were in the kitchen and that the downstairs
doors were not locked, but before he had a chance
to do much more than look about he heard some
one coming upstairs. As it happened it was a
maid to close the shutters, and he sought a hid-
ing-place; he found it in the closet, which is very
long and shallow, running, as it does, back under
the eaves. He stayed there, thinking his chances
of getting away unseen would be better when
every one was asleep. He had, too, visions of
Mrs. Brown's necklace, which he knew she was
probably wearing.
"The Browns returned. The wall between the
closet and the room is of the flimsiest description
and he heard everything that went on; he was in
a corner of the closet, covered by a cloak and
with his ear glued to the wall. The picture be-


252 GHOSTS
jewelry; there was nothing left except to get
away, to New York.
"The Browns had gone to bed at about half-
past eleven, Kerrigan had waited until nearly
two o'clock before leaving the closet and it was
half-past three before he was out of the house.
He was very well known to the police. His pho-
tograph, finger-prints, and all the other means of
identification were scattered all over the coun-
try. As soon as the police were notified of the
robbery he would be taken into custody if he were
found near the scene of the crime, and the
chances were ten to one that he 'd be arrested on
general principles if he were seen leaving any
train which came from that territory. There-
fore he didn't dare carry the jewelry with him
and he had planned accordingly. He had hidden
a bag in some bushes just outside of Nollett's
Point. He expected to put the jewelry in the
bag, check it to New York, and mail the check
to himself in New York. Thus nothing of an
incriminating nature would be found on him if
he were taken in on suspicion. In New York he
could send some one for the bag and be sure the
man wasn't followed before he himself claimed
it.
"But he made the mistake of not buying his


GHOSTS 253
ticket beforehand. As you know, the shortest
way to Nollett's Point is along the shore for two
or three miles. Hardly had Kerrigan started
when he discovered that he had lost his money,
and he thought it likely that he had dropped it
coming down from the piazza roof. He went
back to look for it and came toward the pier. He
knew that if he did n't find his money he was up
against it. His foot struck the empty lard pail
that had floated ashore, he put the jewels into it
and hid it under the walk, the idea being that, if
he did n't find the money, it was as good a place
as any to hide it. Without money he would
have to ride the rods back to New York and he
would n't do that with the jewelry in his pos-
session.
"He did n't find his money, though he hunted
for it till it was nearly light, and off he went,
across-country to the railroad, leaving the jew-
elry behind him. He worked his way to New Lon-
don, worked a day as a laborer, earning enough
to pay his way to New York, rode to New York
and got into a brawl and shot a man. That's
the story told by Kerrigan; it tallies with all the
known facts and I believe it's true. Simple,
isn't it? — and you can imagine why Katie and
Thomas were worried. They knew the man was
'


256 GHOSTS
turned yet. Will he blame it on the ghost, do
you think?
"The fake robbery was easy for Schwartz.
He drugged the dog and opened the sticky door
simply for his own amusement. He reached
Mrs. Brown's window by a wire ladder, raised
by such a simple device as a jointed fishing-rod
and made fast to the sloping shingle roof over the
window with a sharp pointed hook on the end of
it. He moved back the shutter bolt with a pair
of pliers with the jaws turned up and refastened
it the same way. I had given him the new loca-
tion of the key to the bureau drawer, though he
didn't need the key any more than Kerrigan
had.
"It was easy to guess where it was. A glance
about the room was enough to determine that a
book in the bookcase was the obvious place to
hide it, convenient and safe. I saw that two or
three books on each side of Meredith's ' Egoist'
had been pushed backward out of line a little
and that' The Egoist' projected a little. It was
a guess, perhaps, but it turned out right.
Schwartz found the key by feeling for the book
in the dark. I told him its general location in
the bookcase, of course. But he could have op-


258 GHOSTS
Her mother was a woman of low morals. Katie
herself, in her youth, had a leaning toward low
company and immorality. Schwartz got that
information from a friend of his in Providence,
where Katie has always lived. But she is a cow-
ard, through and through. She had her scare
when she got into trouble and it took her nerve
completely, and her cowardice is all that saved
her from going wrong completely, and she has
been living in a safe place ever since. I 've never
talked with Katie, but I 've seen her when she
was laboring under strong emotion, and if ever a
woman's real character was written on her face,
Katie's was then. I have n't the slightest idea
whether it was pure chance or design that gave
her employment in the same household with
Thomas. I don't know whether she loves, or ever
loved him, or he her, or whether either ever
wanted to marry the other. It's not important.
"I had a talk with Thomas yesterday and ad-
vised him to make a clean breast of the whole
thing to Mr. Brown and let him decide what to
do. So far as I can see, it's none of our business.
Katie will undoubtedly go on being a good serv-
ant to the end. And by the way, what's your
guess about Sarah Loney?"
"Oh, I hope nothing's going to happen to


GHOSTS 2«1
about me! And besides, if yon don't watch what
you "re doing, the public will have to sail this
ship."
THB END
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