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The Come Back
CAROLYN WELLS


By CAROLYN WELLS
THE COME BACK
IN THE ONYx LoBBY
THE MAN WHO FELL THROUGH
THE EARTH
THE Room witH THE TASSELS
FAULKNER's Folly
THE BRIDE of A MoMENT
DoRIs of Dobbs' FERRY
THE Book of HUMOROUs VERSE
SUCH NoNSENSE! An Anthology
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


THE COME BACK
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
Author of “In the Onyx Lobby,” “The Man
Who Fell Through the Earth,” Etc.
NEW © YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


F--→----
Tº ... ſ. Tº Yº!’
-
PUBLIC . . . A
£4, 153
Astoº. 1 rºw. Anº
1 Il-ſºlº . T - - -
- coPYRIGHT, 1921,
By GeoRGE. H. DoRAN COMPANY
- painted 1N Trº UNrred states of AMERICA


Charter
II
III
IV
VI
VII
VIII
IX
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
CONTENTS
THE PROPHECY . -
THE LABRADoR WILD.
THE SNowsToRM.
THE PROPHECY RECALLED
MADAME PARLATO -
STRANGE REveLATIONs.
THE ToBAcco Pouch,
BLAIR KNows - s
INVESTIGATION - s
Evidence . - *
CARLOTTA AND THE BoARD
Wise AND Zizi . *
“LABRADoR Luck” -
A PROPHECY FULFILLED
AN INTERVIEw . *
Zizi's OPPORTUNITY .
THE HEART HELPER .
THE Confession .
º
race
24
39
55
71
87
IO2
117
I32
148
163
179
194
225
24I
257
273
v





THE COME BACK


- …*…… * *… • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
….. •••


THE COME BACK
CHAPTER I
The Prophecy
VEN when Peter Crane was a baby boy, with
eyes the color of the chicory flowers that
grow by the wayside along New England
roads, and hair that rivaled the Blessed Damosel's
in being “yellow like ripe corn,” he was of an ad-
venturous disposition.
His innocent face was never so devoid of guile,
his winning smile never so cherubic as when he
remarked that he would “jes' run froo the front
gate a minyit,” and the next instant he was out of
sight. Far afield his roving spirit led him, and much
scurrying was needed on the part of nurse or mother
to bring him back.
At four he achieved a pair of most wonderful
russet-topped boots, aye, even with straps to lift
himself over a fence, if a fence came his way. And
these so accentuated and emphasized his world-far-
ing inclinations that he came to be known as Peter
Boots.


IO The Come Back
The name stuck, for Peter was always ready to
boot it, and all through his school and college days
he led his willing mates wherever he listed. He
stalked forth and they followed; and, as he stopped
not for brake and stayed not for stone, the boys
who eagerly trailed Peter Boots became sturdy fel.
lows.
And now, at twenty-seven, Peter Boots was more
than sturdy. He was tall and big and strong, and
the love of adventure, the dare-devil spirit of ex-
ploration still shone in his chicory blue eyes, and his
indomitable will power was evident in his straight
fine mouth and firm jaw.
He had traveled some, even before the war, and
now, comfortably settled in his chosen niche and
civilly engineering his way through the world, he
grasped at vacation seasons because they offered him
a chance to don his boots and be off.
This year he had a grand plan,—its objective
point being nothing short of Labrador.
He had read many books of the North lands, but
a delightful chance meeting with a doctor who lived
up there gave him a sudden impetus to go and
explore a little for himself. His decision to start
was instantaneous, and there remained but to make
the necessary arrangements.
For Peter Boots these arrangements consisted
merely in getting two congenial companions, and to
them he left all minor details of paraphernalia and
equipment. Not that Peter was lazy or inclined to
\ .


The Prophecy II
shift his burdens to others' shoulders, but he was so
engrossed with the itinerary and calculations of dis-
tance, climate and season that he had no time to
engage guides or buy camp outfits.
But the two men he picked,—and who jumped at
the chance,—were more than willing and perfectly
capable of all this, and so all details of the expedi-
tion were carefully looked after.
There had been opposition, of course. Peter's
parents were emphatically unwilling to let their only
son run dangers, all the more fearsome because only
vaguely apprehended.
But their big boy smiled genially at them and
went on with his calculations.
His sister, too, pretty Julie, besought him not to
go. “You'll get lost in the ice,” she wailed, “and
never come back to me—and Carly.”
Now Carly,–otherwise Miss Carlotta Harper,
was a disturbing element in the even tenor of Peter's
life, and of late her disturbance had attained such
importance that tucked away in a corner of his big,
happy heart was a cozy, cuddly little notion that
when he came back from Labrador he would take
her to embark with him on a certain Great Adven-
ture. -
Perhaps her womanly intuition sensed danger, for
Carly joined with Peter's sister in her entreaties
that he spend his vacation nearer home.
“But I don't want to,” stated Peter, with the air
of one giving a full explanation.


I2 The Come Back
I
“That settles it,” sighed Julie; “what Peter Boots
wants is law in this house.”
“Autocrat! Tyrant! Oppressor!” and Carlotta
wrinkled her little nose in an effort to express scorn-
ful disdain.
“Yes,” Peter agreed, with his benignant smile,
“despot, demagogue, dictator, oligarch, lord of the
roost and cock of the walk! It's a great thing to
be monarch of all one surveys!”
“To the surveyor,” flouted Carlotta, “but if you
knew what the surveyed think of you!”
“I'd be all puffed up with pride and vanity, I sup-
pose,” Peter nodded his still golden head, though
Time's caressing fingers had burnished the yellow
to a deeper bronze. -
“You’ll break mother's heart,” suggested Julie,
but in a hopelessly resigned tone.
“Only the same old break, sister, and it's been
cracked and mended so many times, I'm sure it'll
stand another smash.” -
“Oh, he's going, and that's all there is about it."
said Carlotta with the air of a fatalist.
“I’m going,” Peter assented, “but that isn't all
there is about it. I'm coming back!” and he looked
at the girl with unmistakable intent.
“Maybe and maybe not,” she returned, with
crushing carelessness, whether real or assumed.
“Yes, indeed, maybe and maybe not!” put in
Julie. “You don't know about the prophecy, Carly!
Shall I tell her, Peter?”


The Prophecy I3
“Tell me, of course,” and Miss Harper looked
eagerly interested. “Who prophesied what? and
when?”
“Oh, it was years ago,” Julie began, “we met a
lot of gypsies, and mother would have them tell the
family fortunes. And one of them said that Peter
would go off on a long journey and that he would
die a terrible death and never come home.”
“Oh,” Carly shuddered, “don’t tell me any more!”
“But the more is the best part of it,” said Peter,
smiling; “you see, mother was so upset by this
direful news, that another gypsy took pity on her
and amended my cruel fate. The second seeress
declared that I must meet the destiny number one
had dealt me, but that to mitigate the family grief,
I would return afterwards.”
“As a spook?” cried Carlotta, “how interesting!”
“Perhaps; but it doesn't interest me at present.
You see, this trip is not the fatal one—”
“How do you know?” from Julie.
“Oh, it's too soon. That old prophecy isn't fairly
ripe yet. Moreover, I'm not ready for it. I'm going
to Labrador, and I'm coming back,-and then, if
all goes well, perhaps I’ll never want to go away
again. And if not, ” he looked at Carly, “I may
be glad to take the last and final trip! But if I go
on with the program and return as my own ghost,
I’ll lead ygu girls a dance! I'll haunt you in season
and out of season!”


I4 The Come Back
“Pooh, I'm not afraid,” Carly tossed her head;
“I’ve no faith in any of this spiritist foolery.”
“Don’t call it foolery, my child,” said a serious
voice, as Peter's father came into the room.
Benjamin Crane gave the impression of power
and gentleness, a fine combination and rarely seen
in its perfection. A man of sixty, he looked older,
for his thick hair was white and his smoothly shaven
face was lined with deep furrows.
He joined the group of young people, and it was
indicative of his nature that there was no pause in
the conversation or appearance of constraint of any
Sort.
“But it is foolery, Mr. Crane,” Carlotta defended,
“I’ve tried the Ouija Board myself, and it's a silly
business.”
“Not so silly as to condemn something you know
little or nothing about,” Mr. Crane said, in his seri-
ous, kindly way. “My dear Carlotta, even though
you don't “believe in the supernatural, do try to
realize that your lack of belief doesn't bar the rest
of us from having faith in revelation.”
“Oh, that's all right, Mr. Crane,” Carly wasn't
a bit offended, “don’t mind me! Believe all you
want to. But, do you believe in this “Gypsy's Warn-
ing’ about Peter? That's different, you know, from
the usual claptrap.”
“It's not exactly a question of belief,” Mr. Crane
said, slowly. “You will, I am sure, agree that Peter
may be killed on some of these wild and dangerous


The Prophecy I5.7
*
his spirit's return,-that is, of course, possible, to
my mind, at least.”
“If possible, then extremely probable,” declared
Peter, laughing; “I’ve just told the girls, Dad, that
I'll haunt them like a continuous performance, if
conditions allow. Want me to appear to you, too?”
“Don’t be so flippant, Son. If you die while away
from us, and if your spirit can return and com-
municate with me, I shall, indeed, be glad to receive
such messages, no matter through what medium.”
“Oh, goodness, gracious!” exclaimed Carlotta;
“not through a medium, I beg of you, Peter! I
don't want spook messages that way! I don't mind
a nice little Ouija or Planchette, but a common,
blowsy, untidy medium person, and they're all like
that, I can't stand for l’’
“Why, you little rascal, what do you know about
mediums?” Peter Boots frowned at her.
“I went to a séance once,—but, wow! never
again!”
“I should hope not! You stay away from such
places, or I won't come home to you at all,—dead
or alive! How would you like that?”
“Not at all, oh, despot, oligarch, Grand Panjan-
drum, or whatever you call yourself. Please come
back, and all will be forgiven.”
It was tea time in the Crane home, and though
the home was only a summer cottage, up West-
adventures in which his soul delights. Let us hope.”
the day is far off, if it must come at all. And as to wº
-
~
ºr


16 The Come Back
hester way, yet the big living room, with its hos-
_pitable easy chairs and occasional tables, its willow
and chintz, gave an impression of an English house-
hold. It was late in July and, though warm, it was
not sultry, and the breeze coming in at the big win-
dows was crisp and fresh.
Mrs. Crane drifted into the room almost at the
same moment two men appeared from outdoors.
A happy complacency was the chief attribute of
Peter's mother, and this spoke from every smile of
her amiable face and every movement of her plump
but still graceful form.
As Peter adjusted the cushions she took a low
willow chair and smiled a greeting at all, including
the newcomers. -
These were Kit Shelby and Gilbert Blair, the two
companions of the Labrador trip.
They were good-looking, well set-up chaps, quite
evidently unable to talk of anything save the plans
for the momentous journey.
“Got a wonder for a guide,” began Shelby, as
soon as decent greetings had been made. “He’s just
been let loose by Sir Somebody of Somewhere, and
I nailed him. Name o' Joshua, but we can stand
that. He really knows it all,—without continually
proclaiming the fact.”
“I’m thankful that you've a fine guide,” mur-
mured Mrs. Crane, in her satisfied way. “It means
so much to me to know that.”
“You're right, Lady Crane,” assented young


The Prophecy I7
Blair. “And old Peter will have to obey him, too.”
“Of course I shall,” put in Peter. “I always bow
to authority, when it's greater than my own. Oh,
won't it all be great! I'm crazy to start. Think of
it, Dad, we three fellows sitting around a camp
fire, smoking our pipes and spinning yarns of an
evening, after a long day's hike over the ice, and
Snow!”
“Thought you were going in a canoe,” said his
sister.
“Part of the way, but, later, we abandon the
craft and hoof it.”
“Maybe and maybe not,” said Shelby. “It all
depends on the weather conditions. But the season
is just right, and we'll have good going, one way or
another, I’m sure.” -
“You’re the surest thing I know, Kit,” Gilbert
Blair said; “now with no hint of pessimism, I own
up I look for pretty hard lines a good bit of the
time.”
“Calamity Howler!” returned Shelby; “why
damp our enthusiasm like that?”
“Can't damp mine,” and Peter beamed with glad
anticipation. “Let the hard lines come if they like.
I'm expecting them and expecting to enjoy them
along with the rest.” -
“Pollyanna Peter!” chaffed Carlotta; “shan't you
mind it if the blizzard blows down your tent and
the dogs run away with your dinner and your feets
give out?”


18 The Come Back
“Nixy! I'll set up the tent again, get some more
dinner from the larder and rest my feet for a spell.”
“That's right, boy,” said his father, “that's the
spirit. But do take enough provisions and, if they
run low, make a dash for home.”
“Just my idea, Dad, exactly. And as Shelby's
looking after the commissariat, and Blair attending
to the tents and cooking outfit, something tells me
they'll be top hole. Maybe not such traps as
these—” and Peter nodded toward the elaborate
tea service being brought in and arranged before
Mrs. Crane, who was in her element as hostess.
“No, you poor boys,” she said, “I suppose you'll
drink out of horrible thick china—”
“Not china at all, ma'am,” corrected Blair;
“lovely white enamel, though, with blue edges > *
“I know!” cried Carlotta, “like our motor lunch-
box.”
“Yes, that sort, and not bad, either. Oh, we'll
rough it more or less, but it won't be absolutely
primitive, not by a long shot!”
“It'll be absolutely perfect,” said Peter, dreamily
gazing off into space, and seeing in his mind great
white stretches of snowy landscape, or black, gur-
gling holes in ice-bound rivers.
“You are so ridiculous!” declared his sister.
“You’re a regular Sybarite at home. You love easy
chairs and pillows and fresh flowers all about, and
all that, then you want to go off where you'll
have nothing nice at all,—not even a laundry!”


The Prophecy I9
“Right you are, Sis. The Human warious is hard
to understand. Come along, Carly, take me for a
walk.”
Rather slowly the girl rose, and the two saun-
tered forth, across the wide veranda, across the
lawn and down a garden path. Neither spoke until,
coming to a marble bench, they sat down and turned
to look into each other's eyes.
“Going to say yes before I go, Carly, or after I
come back?”
“After you come back,” was the prompt response.
“Oh, good! You promise to say it then?”
“Well, I don't say how soon after.” -
“I’ll decide on the soonness. Then I take it we're
engaged?”
“You take it nothing of the sort! You know,
Peter Crane, you can't boss me as you do your own
family!”
“Heaven forbid! Why, dear, I want you to boss
me! Our life together will be one grand boss,
and you can be it!” .
“Don’t be silly, I'm in earnest. I couldn't be
happy with a dominating, domineering man.”
“Of course you couldn't. But I assure you I'm
not one. You see, I only dictate in my own family
because they like to have me to do so. Mother would
be awfully upset if I didn't tell her what to do.
Dad the same, although I’m not sure the old dear
knows it himself. And as for Julie, why she just
depends on me. So I naturally gravitate to the


20 The Come Back
place of Grand Mogul, because I can't help it. But
with you, it's different. You're a whole heap wiser,
better and more fit to rule than I. And if you'll rule
me, I'll be greatly obliged,—honest, I will.”
“Oh, you're so absurd, Peter! I don't want to
rule, either. I want us to be equally interested in
everything, and have equal say in any matter.”
“All right, equality goes. I’ll race you to see
which can be the equalest. Now, are we engaged?”
“No, Peter, not till you come back.”
“But I want to kiss you, and I can't, I suppose,
until we are engaged. Oh, can I?”
“Of course not! Take your hand off my hand.”
“Lordy, can't I even touch your hand?”
“Not with that ownership grasp! I am afraid
of your possessive qualities, Peter.”
“Meaning just what?”
“Oh, that if I do give myself to you, you'll own
me so—so emphatically.”
“I sure shall! And then some. Don't imagine,
my child, that I'll accept you with any reservations.
You'll be ‘mine to the core of your heart, my
beauty' ' Bank on that!”
“I do, and if I'm yours at all,—it will be that
way. But wait till you come back. There's time
enough. I suppose there's no chance for letters?”
“No; not after the first few days. We'll be out
of reach of mail very soon.”
“And you're returning?”
“I want to be home for Christmas. Kit thinks


The Prophecy 2I
we'll make it, but Blair is some doubtful. So, look
for me when you see me.”
“Alive or dead?”
“Carlyl What made you say that?”
“I don't know.” The girl shuddered and her eyes
stared into Peter's. “I seemed to say it without any
volition,-the words just came—”
“Well, don't let them come again. I don't like
it a little bit. I’m coming home alive, very much
alive, and I'm coming home to claim you, -re-
member that.”
“Unless either of us falls in love with some one
else. Those girls of the far North are beautiful,
I hear.”
“An Eskimo with a nose ring? No, thank
you! My heart is true to Poll! But don't you go
and set your somewhat fickle heart on another man,
'cause if you do, I shall have to kill him, much
as I'd regret such a necessity.”
“My heart isn't fickle! What do you mean?”
“Just what I say. I think it is. I think my little
black-eyed, rosy-cheeked Carly is quite capable of
being on with a new love whether she's off with the
old or not.”
“Oh, Peter,” and the black eyes showed moisture,
“how cruel you are!”
“Isn't it so, Carly? Tell me it isn't, I'll be so
glad!”
But the coquettish glance that answered him was
not entirely reassuring.
l


22 The Come Back
“Anyway,” Peter pleaded on, “tell me you like
me better than Kit or Gilbert. Tell me that if I’m
a prey to green-eyed jealousy up there in the camp,
at least, I needn't envy either of those chaps.”
“Of course not!”
“Oh, you torment! Your words are all right,
but your emphasis is a little too strong. Carly, look
me straight in the eyes and tell me you don't care
for either of them!”
“Either of your eyes?”
“Silly! Well, yes, then, tell me that!”
The chicory flower eyes looked into the great,
dark ones, and for a moment there was silence. The
blue eyes were sweet and “le, and they burned with
a strong, deep lovelight. The eyes that gazed into
them fell a little and seemed unable to meet them
squarely.
“What is it, Carly? What is it, dear?” he
begged.
“Nothing,” she said, lightly. “I do 1-like you,
Peter, better than any man I know »y
“Better than Kit Shelby?”
“Yes.” -
“Better than Gil Blair?”
“Yes.” .
“They're the ones I most feared. And mostly
because I didn't want to go on a trip with a man
I'm jealous of ! That would be a fine kettle of
fish P’


The Prophecy 23
“Well, you won't do that. Don't worry about
them,-or any one else.”
“Oh, you blessed little girl! Carly, dearest, why
can't you say yes, now? Won't you, Carly,–
please.”
The caressing voice was low and gentle, the
pleading blue eyes were very earnest, but Carlotta
still shook her head.
“When you come back,” she repeated.
“All right, then,” and Peter's face showed one
of its masterful looks. “I’ll accept your decree,_
as I can't very well help myself, but just as sure
as you're sitting there, Carly Harper, I’m going to
kiss you!”
And he did; gathering her into his arms with a
gentle insistence and kissing her squarely on her
surprised red lips.
“There!” he said, “I guess you'll remember now
that you belong to me, whether you call yourself
engaged or not! Mad?”
“Yes,” she responded, but the one swift glance
she gave him belied her words.
“You’ll get over it,” he said, cheerfully. “I’d
like to kiss you again, though. May I?”
“When you come back,” she said, and Peter
waited.


CHAPTER II
The Labrador Wild
T was late in July before Peter Boots marshaled
his merry men and let himself be marshaled
by the guide, Joshua, on the trip of exploration
and recreation.
A liner took them as far as Newfoundland, and
at St. John's, a smaller steamer, the Victoria Lake,
received them for their journey farther North.
This ship belonged to a sealing fleet and also car-
ried mails. It was not especially comfortable, and
neither staterooms nor food were of the best.
But Peter was discomfort-proof, and his negli-
gence of bothersome details and happy acceptance
of existing conditions set a standard for the man-
ners and customs of their party. Joshua, who had
come to New York City to meet them, was not, by
nature, possessed of the sort of heart that doeth
good like medicine. But under the sunny smile
of Peter's blue eyes, his customary scowl softened
to a look of mild wonder at the effervescent gayety
of the man who was yet so efficient and even hard-
working when occasion required it.
Shelby was a close second in the matter of effi-
24


The Labrador Wild 25
ciency. He was a big chap, . not handsome, but
good-looking, in a dark, dignified way, and of a
lithe, sinewy strength that enabled him to endure
as well as to meet hardship bravely.
Not that they looked especially for hardships.
Discomfort, even unpleasantness, they did anticipate,
but nothing of more importance than inclement
weather or possible colds or coughs. And against
the latter ills Mrs. Crane had provided both reme-
dies and preventions to such an extent that some
were discarded as excess weight.
For the necessities of their trip, including as they
did, canoe, tent, blankets, tarpaulins, duffel bags,
shooting irons and cooking utensils, besides food,
were of no small bulk and weight even divided
among four porters.
And Blair, though possessed of will and energy
quite equaling the others', was less physically fit to
stand the hard going.
It was already August when they were treated
to a first sight of the Labrador.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Shelby, “and Shackel-
ton, and Peary, yes and old Doc Cook! What an
outlook! If those breaking waves were looking for
a stern and rockbound coast to dash on, they missed
it when they chose the New England shore instead
of this! I've seen crags and cliffs, I've climbed
the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, but this
puts it over all the earth! How do we get in, any-
way?”


26 The Come Back
“Great, isn't it?” and Peter lay back in his inade-
quate little deck chair and beamed at the desolation
he saw.
For the coast of Labrador is nearly a thousand
miles of barren bleakness and forbidding and fore-
boding rock wall. After buffeting untold ages of
icy gales and biting storms the bare rocks seem to
discourage human approach and crave only their
own black solitude.
The one softening element was the fog that rode
the sea, and now and then swooped down, hiding
the dangerous reefs until the danger was increased
tenfold by the obscurity.
“Oh, great!” mocked Shelby. “You can have
mine. I'm going to stay on the boat and go back.”
“Yes, you are!” grinned Peter, knowing full well
how little importance to attach to that speech; “in-
side of a week, you'll be crazy about it.”
“I am now,” said Blair, slowly. “Most weird
sight I ever saw. The rocks seem like sentient
giants ready to eat each other. Termagant Nature,
unleashed and rampant.”
“Idea all right,” said Crane, lazily, “but your
verbiage isn't hand-picked, seems to me.”
“You can put it more poetically, if you like, but
it's the thing itself that gets me, not the sand-papered
description of it.”
“Nobody wants you to sand-paper it, but you
x-
ought to hew to the line a little more nearly—


The Labrador Wild 27
“Lines be bothered! Free verse is the thing for
this place!”
“I want free verse and I want fresh air,” bantered
Peter, “and Lasca, down by the Brandywine,—or
wherever it was that Friend Lasca hung out.”
“You’re harking back to your school days and
Friday afternoon declamation,” put in Shelby, “and
Lasca was down by the Rio Grande.”
“Only Alaska isn't down there at all,” Blair in-
formed them, quite seriously, and the others roared.
After delays, changes and transfers made neces-
sary by the uncertainties of Labrador travel, they
came at last to Hamilton Inlet, and the little steamer
approached the trading post at Rigolet.
“Reminds me of Hamilton Harbor, Bermuda,”
observed Shelby, shivering as he drew his furs
round him.
“Oh, how can you!” exclaimed Blair; “that
heavenly Paradise of a place,—and this!”
“But you'd rather be here?” and Crane shook
a warning fist at him.
“Yes, oh, yes! This is the life!” and if Blair
wasn't quite sincere he gave a fair imitation of
telling the truth. -
“Will you look at the dogs!” cried Crane. “I
didn't know there were so many in the world!”
The big Eskimo dogs were prowling about,
growling a little, and appearing anything but
friendly. Not even to sunny-faced and kindly-


28 The Come Back
voiced Peter Boots did they respond, but snarled
and pawed the ground until Joshua advised Crane
to let them alone.
“They're mighty good things to keep away from,”
the guide informed, and his advice was taken.
“I’m glad we have a trusty canoe instead of those
villainous looking creatures,” Blair admitted, and
when, later on, they heard tales of the brutality and
treachery of the pack dogs, the others agreed.
At Rigolet final arrangements were decided on
and last purchases made for the dash into the wilds.
Peter Boots, in his element, was as excited and
pleased as a child with a new toy.
“Here I am, where I’ve longed to be!” he ex-
ulted; “at least, I'm on my way. Buck up, you
fellows, and enjoy yourselves, or you'll answer to
me why not!”
“I’m for it,” Kit Shelby cried; “I hated that
dinky little old steamer, but now we're ashore in
this live wire of a place, I'm as excited and glad
as anybody. I say, the mail from England comes
every year! Think of that!”
“Once a year!” wondered Blair.
“Yep; the good ship Pelican brought it yester-
day, and it's due again next summer! Up and com-
ing, this place, I tell you!”
“It nothing means to us,” said Crane, calmly;
“I’m expecting no valentines from England myself,
and we'll be back home before mails from the States
get around again.”


* The Labrador Wild 29
“And, moreover,” said Shelby, who had been ac-
quiring information by various means, “old Cap-
tain Whiskers, forminst, says that we're bound to
get lost, strayed and stolen if we go the route we've
planned.”
“That's our route, then!” Peter said, satisfiedly;
“they always prophesy all sorts of dismal fates, and,
like dreams, they go by contraries. "Fraid, boys!”
He extricated himself from the onslaught this
speech brought and then all set about getting the
outfit into shape for the start.
Pounds and pounds of flour, bacon, lard, pea
meal, tea, coffee, rice, tobacco and other necessaries
were packed and stowed and maneuvered by the
capable Joshua, before whose superior judgment
Peter Boots had to bow.
Some natives were hired to help carry things that
were to be cached against the return trip, and three
tired but happy men went to rest for their last night
beneath a real roof for many weeks.
Next morning their happiness was even greater
and their spirits higher, for the day was clear and
perfect, the air full of exhilarating ozone and the
golden sunlight and deep blue sky seemed to promise
a fair trip and a safe return.
Gayly they started off, and gayly they continued,
save when the rain poured unpleasantly, or the
swarms of Labrador flies attacked them or steep
banks or swift rapids made portage difficult.
However as no threats or persuasions could in-


30 The Come Back
duce Joshua to travel in the rain, there were en-
forced rests that helped in the long run.
Another trial was the midday heat. Though the
temperature might be at the freezing point at night,
by noon it would buoyantly rise to ninety degrees,
and the sudden changes made for colds and coughs,
that were not easily cured by Mrs. Crane's nostrums.
“Fortunes of war,” said Peter, serenely, and
Shelby responded, “If that's what they are, I'm a
regular profiteer!”
Days went by, the hours filled with alternate joy
and woe, but accepted philosophically by willing
hearts who had already learned to love the vicis-
situdes of the wild.
One morning a portage route was of necessity
winding and rough. Not as much as usual could
be carried by any of them and two or three trips
of two miles must be made by each.
Joshua arranged the loads to weigh about seventy
pounds each, but these became tiresome after a time.
The work took all day, and when toward sunset
camp was made and the tired pleasure seekers sought
rest, each was far more exhausted than he was will-
ing to admit.
“Had enough?” asked Peter, smiling. “Turn
back any time you fellows say. Want to quit?”
“Quit! Never!” declared Shelby. “Go home
when you like, or stay as long as you please, but
no quitting!”
“It's goin' be nice now,” put in Joshua, who was
:


The Labrador Wild 3I
always sensitive to any discontent with his beloved
North land. “Nice fishin', nice sleepin', oh, yes!”
And there was. Rest that night on couches of
spruce branches, that rocked like a cradle, and
smelled like Araby the Blest, more than knit up the
raveled sleave of the hard day before.
And when they fished in a small, rocky stream,
for heaven sent trout, contentment could go no
further. Unless it might have been when later they
ate the same trout, cooked to a turn by the resource-
ful Joshua, and then, lounging at ease before a
camp-fire that met all traditions, they smoked and
talked or were silent as the spirit moved.
The black firs showed gaunt against the sky; the
stars came out in twinkling myriads and the dash
and roar of the river was an accompaniment to their
desultory chat.
“If I were a poet,” Blair said, “I’d quote poetry
about now.”
“Your own, for choice?” asked Shelby, casually.
“You are a poet, Gil,” said Peter. “I’ve noticed
it all the way along. You don't have to lisp in
numbers to be a poet. You just have to-"
“Well, to what?” asked Blair, as Peter paused.
“Why, you just have to want to recite poetry.”
“Yes, that's it,” put in Shelby, quickly; “under-
stand, Gilbert, dear, you don't have to recite it, you
know, only want to recite it. If you obey your
impulse, you're no poet at all.”


32 The Come Back
“I’ll restrain the impulse then, but it's hard—
hard l’’
“Oh, go ahead,” laughed Kit, “if it's as hard as
all that! I'll bet it's highbrow stuff you want to
get out of your system!”
“Yes, it is. In fact it's Browning.”
“Oh, I don't mind him. Fire away.”
“Only this bit:
“You’re my friend;
What a thing friendship is, world without end.
How it gives the heart and the senses a stir-up,
As if somebody broached you a glorious runlet
--
“That'll do,” laughed Peter. “That's far enough.
And you didn't say it quite right, any way.”
“No matter,” said Blair, earnestly; “I mean the
thing. Without any palaver, we three fellows are
friends,-and I’m glad of it. That's all.”
“Thank you very much,” said Shelby, “for my
share. And old Pete is fairly overflowing with ap-
preciation,--I see it in his baby-blue eyes ->
“I’ll baby you!” said Peter, with a ferocious
smile. “Yes, old Gilbert, we're friends, or I
shouldn't have picked us as the fittest for this trip.”
“Good you did, for the fittest have the reputation
of surviving.”
“Let up on the croaks,” Peter spoke abruptly.
“Have you noticed any fearful dangers, that you
apprehend non-survival of them?”


The Labrador Wild 33
“No; but 29
“But nothing! Now, Blairsy, if you're in
thoughtful mood, let's go on with that plot we
started yesterday.”
“What plot?” asked Shelby.
“Oh, a great motive for a story or play. Setting
up here in the Labrador wilds and »y
Shelby yawned. “Mind if I doze off?” he said;
“this fire is soporific yy
“Don’t mind a bit,” returned Peter gayly; “rather
you would, then Gil and I can maudle on as we
1ike.”
And they did. Both were of a literary turn, and
though they had achieved nothing of importance as
yet, both hoped to write sooner or later.
“A story,” Peter said, “maybe a book, but more
likely a short story, with a real O. Henry punch.”
“H’mph!” came in a disdainful grunt from the
dozing Shelby.
“You keep still, old lowbrow,” advised Peter.
“Don’t sniff at your betters. There's a great little
old plot here, and we're going to make a good thing
of it and push it along.”
“Push away,” and Shelby rolled himself over and
dozed again.
“Where's Joshua” asked Crane, later, as, the
talk over, they prepared to bunk on their evergreen
boughs.
“Haven’t seen him since supper,” said Shelby,
sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Queer, isn't it?”


34 The Come Back
Queer it surely was, and more so, as time went
by and they could find no trace of their guide.
“He can't be lost,” said Kit; “he's too good a
scout for that.”
“He can't have deserted us,” declared Peter.
“He’s too good a friend for that! He'll no more
desert us than we'd desert one another.”
“Well, he's missing anyway,” Blair said, undenia-
bly; “then something must have happened. Could
he be caught in a trap?”
“Not hel he's used to them about. No, he's had
an accident, I think.” Peter's eyes were anxious
and his voice told of a fear of some real disaster.
The dusk fell early and though only about nine
o'clock, it was as dark as midnight. Clouds had
obscured the stars, and only the firelight relieved the
black darkness.
But after an hour's worriment and distress on
the part of the three men the guide returned. He
looked a little shame-faced, and was disinclined to
reply to their questions.
“Come, now, Joshua, own up,” directed Peter;
“I see by your eyes you've been up to mischief. Out
with it!” -
“I—I got lost!” was the astonishing reply, and
they all burst into laughter. More at the rueful
countenance, however, than at the news, for it was
a serious matter.
“You, a guide, lost!” exclaimed Shelby. “How
did it happen?”


The Labrador Wild 35
a
“Dunno. Jest somehow couldn't find the way.”
“Hadn't you a compass?”
“No, sir; I got sort of turned around like, and
I went a long hike the wrong way.”
Simple enough, to be sure, but apparently it was
only good fortune that had made him find at last
the road home to camp.
Light-hearted Peter dismissed the whole affair
with a “Look out after this; and always carry a
compass or take one of us boys along,” and then
he sought his fragrant, if not altogether downy
couch.
Blair, too, gave the episode little thought, but to
Shelby it seemed more important. If a hardened
guide could get lost as easily as that, it might hap-
pen to any of them. And a compass was not a
sure safeguard. A man could wander round and
round without finding a fairly nearby camp. Shelby
was a few years older than the other two, and of
a far more prudent nature. He had no daredevil
instincts, and not an overweening love of adventure.
He was enjoying his trip because of the outdoor
life and wildwood sports, but as for real adventure,
he was content to omit it. Not from fear—Kit
Shelby was as brave as any, but he saw no sense
in taking unnecessary risks.
While risks were as the breath of life to Peter
Boots. Indeed, he was sighing because the condi-
tions of modern camping ways and the efficiency of


36 The Come Back
the guide left little or no chance for risk of life
or limb. -
He didn't by any means want to lose life or limb,
but he was not at all unwilling to risk them pretty
desperately. And he found no opportunity. The
days were pleasantly taken up with fishing, shoot-
ing, moving on, setting up and taking down camp,
and all the expected routine of a mountain expedi-
tion; but, so far, there had been nothing unusual
or even uncomfortable to any great degree.
The next day brought a fearful storm, with gales
and sleet and driving rain and the temperature
dropped many degrees.
The party experienced their first really cold
weather, and though it depressed the others Peter
seemed to revel in it.
The tent was practically a prison, and an uncom-
fortable one, for the wind was terrific and the
squalls became hourly more menacing. -
Shelby was quiet, by reason of a sore throat, and
Blair was quiet with a silence that was almost
sulky.
Not quite though, for irrepressible Peter kept
the crowd good-natured, by the simple process of
making jokes and laughing at them himself, so con-
tagiously, that all were forced to join in.
But at last he tired of that, and announced that
he was going to write letters.
“Do,” said Shelby, “and hurry up with them.
The postman will be along any minute now.”



38 The Come Back
and a saucy, turn-up nose, and a dimple in her left
cheek.”
“A peach,” said Shelby, “but no sort of a heroine
for that yarn you two fellows are spinning. I'm no
author, but I'm an architect, and I can see the in-
congruity.”
“If you know so much, write it yourself,” said
Peter, but not pettishly. “If I'm doing it, I create
my own heroine or I quit.”
“Oh, don't quit,” begged Blair. “We’re just get-
ting a good start. Have the treacle and taffy hero-
ine if you like, only keep on.”
His point won, Peter did keep on, and a fair bit
of work was accomplished. For the first time it
began to seem as if the two authors would really
produce something worth while.
“Not likely,” Peter said, as they talked this over.
“I’m no sort of a collaborator, I'm too set in my
ways. If I can't have it the way I want it, I can't
do it at all.”
“But you can have your own way in details,” said
Blair, musingly. “They don't matter much. Give
me the swing of the plot and let me plan the cli-
maxes, and I care not who makes the laws for the
heroine's complexion.”
“Well, I'm for a run in the rain,” said Peter.
“I’ve worked my brain into a tangled snarl, and
I must go out and clear it out.”
He shook himself into his storm togs, and as no
one cared to go with him, he started off alone.
*
*


CHAPTER III
The Snowstorm
IVEN three good-natured young men, a sat-
isfactory guide, a stretch of Labrador wild,
and no cares of any sort, it is not surprising,
that the happy days and weeks followed one another
into the maw of Time, until the date of departure
for home drew near.
“I’d like to stay here forever,” declared Blair, as
he filled his pipe and stretched luxuriously before
the fire. “Civilization has lost all charm for me.”
“Go away with you!” scoffed Peter Boots, “that's
a fine, ambitious spirit to show, and you a rising
young author, or about to become one.”
“Not unless you duff in and help, old chap. Our
book hangs on your efforts, I've pretty well done
my part of it.” -
“And I'll do mine, don't worry. I'm a procras-
tinator and a put-offer, but I'll get there! Now,
cut out the book till we get home. These last few
days up here must be given over to Nature as she
is snowed underſ”
It was the last week in September, but snow-
39


40 The Come Back
squalls were frequent, winds were high and rains
were cold and sleety.
Joshua had been urging the homeward journey
for several days, but the men were loath to go, until
now, a more severe bit of weather had persuaded
them. Even as they sat round the fire, with storm
coats drawn high up around their ears, the sleet-
squalls drove against their faces and the gale howled
among the snowy trees.
Peter loved the life, the outdoor days and tented
nights, but his mind once made up to leave, his
volatile spirit turned toward home.
“A couple of days more staving round in the
snowdrifts and I'll be ready,” he announced, and
Joshua began to pack up.
The guide growled a little at the reluctance of
his party to start.
“You men wait too long, and you'll be sorry,”
he warned. “This wifid won't only let up for a
little spell at a time, mostly, it'll blow like some-
thin' let loose! And if a big snow comes, and it's
likely to, we'll be in a fix.”
“Now, now, old man,” began Shelby, “don’t
growl. We've been a pretty good sort, haven't we?
We're going home, aren't we? Why croak at us?”
“That's all right, sir, but meantime this North-
west wind keeps up its force, and—well, it means
business.”
“All right, we'll get the better of its business


The Snowstorm 4I
deal,” prophesied Peter, and he and Blair went off
for a hike.
As they started, the sun shone clear, and though
the temperature was below thirty, the two men
strode along, happy with sheer physical joy of
living. *
“This is the life!” said Peter, flapping his arms,
and watching his breath congeal in frosty clouds.
“Yes,” Blair agreed, “to a certain point >y
“Freezing point?”
“I guess that's right! I like it all as well as you
do, but it's nicest when the sun shines. And by
Jiminy, she's clouding over again!”
Clouds meant cold,—a raw, penetrating chill that
seemed to strike to the marrow, and the pair were
glad to turn back toward camp.
“What do you think most about, when you think
of home?” asked Blair, idly.
“Carly Harper,” replied Peter, speaking from the
fullness of his heart.
“Good Lord! So do I!” exclaimed Blair, his tone
that of surprise only.
Peter turned and looked at him. “Not a chance
for you, old chap,” he said. “Little Carly is wait-
ing for me. Yeo, ho, lads, ho, Yeo, ho!” -
“Oh, I say! Really?” Blair's consternation was
almost comic.
“Yes, sir! Fair warning, keep off!”
“Engaged?”
“Same as.”


42 The Come Back
“Meaning she hasn't said a positive yes?”
“Meaning that, if you like.”
“Then it's fair field and no favor! We're too
good friends to misunderstand, but let's call it a
case of may the best man win.”
“All right, but I'll win and you can be best man
at the wedding, how's that?” Peter's eyes shone
with good humor, and his happy face left Blair little
room for doubt as to Peter's own view of the case.
What Carly herself thought was another matter.
But the two were too good friends to quarrel, and
moreover, each knew the other too well to mis-
trust him for a minute. It would, indeed, be a fair
field where they were concerned.
“I didn't know you'd gone so far,” said Blair,
ruefully, “of course, there's no chance for me.”
“I hope not,” returned Peter, cheerfully. “But
when we get back we'll soon find out.”
“Perhaps find out that she's gone with a hand-
somer man,’” suggested Blair.
“Not impossible. I suppose there are such.”
But a disinterested observer, looking at Peter's
fine, strong face, with its radiant coloring, brought
out by the sharp air, might not have agreed.
And then conversation became abstract, for the
wind rose to a piercing gale and it was all they could
do to keep their balance and fight their way along.
“I said this here wind was bound to ease up
some time and it has,” said Joshua, with decided
*s
N


The Snowstorm 43
satisfaction, the morning of the start for home.
“We ought to make good goin' to-day, and maybe
get ahead of our own schedule.”
“That's the trick,” said Shelby, “always get ahead
of your own schedule, and you're bound to succeed.
Come on, Peter, here we go.”
The leave-taking was a bit silent, for all three
had become attached to the camp, and they gave
long farewell glances backward.
Then off they went, and throwing sentiment aside,
turned their thoughts and their talk to the coming
journey.
For home was yet a long way off. Many days'
traveling before they reached the mail boat and
then many more before they could lift New York
Harbor.
“And I'm glad of it,” declared Peter. “The
longer we are on the home stretch, the better I'll
be pleased.”
“Granting we don't miss the boat,” added Blair.
“When I start out I want to arrive.”
It was about three days later that a big storm
set in. Relentlessly it blew and snowed and the
gales were almost unbreastable.
“Don’t dare stop,” said Joshua, in his usual
laconic way; “the winter's set in, and any day may
be worse'n the day before. Old Merk is down to
twenty-four, and we want to peg ahead, that's
what we want to do.”
They did, by day,+and by night they enjoyed


44 The Come Back
the rest and warmth of camp, but still, Joshua urged
them ahead continually.
He parceled out longer days and shorter nights,
until even strong Peter began to feel the strain.
Shelby was of a wiry sort, and stood hard going
well; Blair was a patient, plodding nature and
wouldn't have complained if he had dropped in his
tracks; but Peter was impulsive and impatient, and
he growled frankly.
“We'll get there, Eli,” he said to the guide;
“don’t hustle us so.”
“Got to do it, Mr. Crane. I know more about
this here winter that's closing in on us, than you
do. It's a bit early, but it's sure!”
So on they went, through snow that was wet and
heavy, through icy sleet that stung and cut their
faces, through roaring winds that choked their
lungs, but full of indomitable courage and per-
severance and of unimpaired good nature.
And yet a week of this traveling at last began
to tell on their morale. Not that they grew testy
or irritable, but the silences were longer, the re-
partee less gay, and even buoyant Peter's spirits
drooped a little.
Joshua then took a turn as comforter.
“The worst'll soon be over,” he reassured them.
“Two days will get us to Big Lake, and once we
finish that, we'll be well on our way.”
So on they pushed, heavily laden, traveling slowly,
but all well and sound in wind and limb.
~


The Snowstorm 45
It was the middle of October, when a bright
sunny day beamed on them and their spirits rose
in consequence. -
But Joshua did not smile. “Weather breeder,”
he said, laconically, and looked gloomy.
The others knew better than to call him a pessi-
mist, for when Joshua predicted weather, it came.
And come it did. Not a squall; there was little
if any wind, but a snowfall. A steady, straight
down snow that was so thick, so dense, they could
scarce see one another's forms.
“Keep a-going,” directed Joshua; “and for the
land's sake, don't get far apart. Stay close together,
single trail, and close!”
Thus they went on, the guide first, then Shelby,
then Blair, then Peter. There was no reason for
the order they took, it merely happened that it was
SO. -
. They kept close, as directed, but the going was
hard. If one stumbled, one must recover quickly
and hasten ahead not to lose sight of the others.
And the snow continued. Soft, white, feathery
flakes, more and more thickly falling every mo-
ment. Joshua plowed ahead, the others followed,
and each had all he could do to keep his eyes clear
enough to see the man in front.
Which is how it happened that when Peter
stumbled and fell, and found himself unable to rise,
the others had no knowledge of it.


46 The Come Back
As the big man went down, he essayed to rise
quickly, but his right leg refused to move.
“Broken!” he said to himself, as one noting a
trivial occurrence. “Queer, to break a leg, falling
in a bed of soft snow!”
But that was exactly what he had done, and
realizing it, he set up a yell that would have made
a North American Indian envy its force and volume.
But for all the good it did, it might as well have
been a whisper. The wind, though not violent, was
against him, and carried the sound away from the
plodding travelers. His friends could not hear it.
Not looking back, as indeed, they had no thought
of doing, they did not miss their fallen comrade
and on they toiled, ignorant of the fact that they
were three instead of four now.
And Peter, big, strong Peter Crane,—brave,
intrepid Peter Boots, sat there in the furious snow-
storm, unable to rise, but with brain and mind
vividly alive to what had happened.
Quick of thought, always, he now traced with
lightning rapidity, just what the future held for
him—and such a short future, at that—unless
His only hope lay in his lung power.
He yelled, screamed, whistled, hooted, and put all
of his strength and nerve force in his desperate
efforts to reach the ears of his comrades.
But it was impossible. The cruel wind drove his
voice away from those it was meant to reach, the
snowflakes filled his open mouth as he shouted; and
A


The Snowstorm 47
as hope failed, strength failed and Peter faced his
fate.
Strong, able-bodied, save for the broken leg, he
tried to crawl along. The result was pitiful, for
he merely floundered in the deep mass of soft white-
ness. His share of the luggage was heavy packs,
nothing of which he could make a flag of distress
or even build a fire. He felt for his matches, and
lighting a cigarette, waved it aloft, almost smiling
at his tiny beacon.
Then came despair. His mind seemed to grow
more alert as his body was overcome by the cold.
His blood boiled, even as it froze in his veins. He
felt abnormally acute of intellect, and plead with
himself to think of something, to invent some-
thing that would save his life.
Yet he knew there was no hope. The fast-falling
snow obliterated all tracks almost instantly. Even
though the others missed him, they could never find
him, and,-this thought struck a new chill through
his veins,—in a short time the snowfall would even
obliterate him!
What a death! Helpless; unable even to meet
it standing, he must lie there, and let the snow
bury him alive!
He could maintain a half-sitting posture, but
what use? Why not lie down flat and get it over
quickly? Yet he must hold on as long as possible,
for the men might come back-he began to think
what they would do—but, he was sure they would


48 The Come Back
not miss him until too late to do anything. If the
snow would only let up. It was such a pity to have
his whereabouts hidden by a foolish fall of snow!
As Peter grew colder he grew calmer. His senses
mercifully became numbed at last, and as the actual
moment of his freezing to death came nearer and
nearer, he cared less and less. A state of coma
is a blessing to many dying men, and into this state
Peter gently drifted, even as the snow drifted over
and covered his stiff, silent form.
And his friends trudged on; not that it could be
called trudging, rather, they plodded, stumbled,
pitched, fought and merely achieved progress by
blindly plunging ahead.
It was nearly a half hour after Peter's fall, that
Blair, accidentally turned round by a gust of wind,
called out an exasperated “Halloo!” which gained
no response. -
“Halloo!” he repeated, “Peter! how goes it?”
Still no return call, and Blair called to those
ahead.
They turned, and, huddling together in the storm,
they looked at one another with scared faces.
“I warned you to keep close together,” began
Joshua, but forbore to chide, as he saw the dumb
agony in the eyes of the other two men.
“Turn back,” said Shelby, “and quickly. How
long do you suppose he has been gone? Has he
missed the track? What happened, Joshua”


50 The Come Back
“All foolishness,” muttered Joshua, “but of
course, I'll go along.”
It was all foolishness, there was no doubt of
that. The snow had covered all signs of their own
tracks, there was no road to follow, no landmarks
to go by. Though Joshua had pursued his route
by compass, he could not retrace it surely enough to
find a lost man.
However, they persisted; they dashed at snow-
covered mounds only to find them hummocks or
rocks. They hallooed and shouted; they stared into
the snowy distance, hoping to discern smoke; but
though their big, strong Peter was less than half
a mile away from them, they could get no hint of
his presence.
Night came on. They built their camp fire of
enormous dimensions, hoping against hope that it
might attract the lost man.
None slept, save for a few fitful dozes from sheer
exhaustion and grief. Joshua stolidly insisted that
Peter was undoubtedly all right, and though they
could scarcely believe it, this comforted the other
tWO.
Next morning they held council. Joshua was all
for going on and giving up the search for Crane.
Blair, too, felt it a useless waste of time to re-
main, but Shelby begged for a few hours.
“If the storm abates just a little—” he began.
“It won't,” declared Joshua. “It’s a little mite
less windy but this snowfall's only just begun. It


The Snowstorm 5I
won't quit for days, lessen it turns to rain,_and
then the goin' 'll be a heap worse.”
It didn't seem as if the going could be much
worse. Already the men had difficulty in moving
because of their wet, half-frozen clothing. Avail-
able wood was buried under the snow, their strength
was becoming impaired, and all things pointed to
even worse weather conditions.
Reluctantly Shelby and Blair agreed to Joshua's
plans, realizing that Peter might be all right and
on his homeward journey, and further delay might
result in their own loss of life. For the outlook
was menacing, and Joshua's knowledge and advice
were sincere and authoritative.
And still it snowed. Steadily, persistently, unin-
terruptedly. There seemed a permanency about that
soft, downward moving mass that foreboded danger
and defeat to any one who remained to dare it
further.
And so they started again, half glad to go, half
unwilling to leave. It was the terrible uncertainty
that told on them. They shrank from facing the
thought of what it would mean if they didn't find
Peter, and forced themselves to believe that they
would meet him.
Their objective point was a trapper's log house
on the shore of the lake.
They reached it, tired, footsore, but full of hope
for good news. A quick glance round the tiny in-


52 The Come Back
terior, consisting of but two rooms, showed no smil-
ing-faced Peter.
A few words from Joshua to the trappers, gave
no cause for rejoicing, and further conversation
and explanation revealed the fact that the experi-
enced trappers had no doubt as to Peter's fate.
Nor did they blame Joshua in any way. Had he
stayed for a longer search, they averred, there would
have been four dead men instead of one.
And then both Shelby and Blair realized that
Joshua's expressed hopefulness of finding Peter safe
at the end of their journey was merely by way of
urging them to move on, knowing the result if they
did not.
They also realized that he was right. The opin-
ions and assertions of the experienced trappers
could not be gainsaid. The two came to know that
there was but one fate that could have overtaken
their comrade and that there was no hope possible.
If Shelby had a slight feeling that Blair ought
to have looked back oftener, he gave it no voice, for
he knew he himself had never looked back with any
idea of watching over Blair. To be sure the last
one of the four was in the most dangerous position,
but Peter had come last by mere chance, and no
one had given that point a thought.
They surmised something must have disabled
him. Perhaps a cramp or a fainting spell of ex-
haustion. But it was necessarily only surmise, and
one theory was as tenable as another.


The Snowstorm 53
Long parleys were held by Blair and Shelby as
to what was best to be done. It proved to be im-
possible to persuade any one to start on a search
for the body of Crane. The winter had set in and
it was a hopeless task to undertake in the snows of
the wild. No, they were told, not until March at
the earliest, could a search be undertaken, and there
was small chance of finding the body until later
spring melted the snow. It was to be an especially
bad winter, all agreed, and no pleas, bribes or threats
of the men could move the natives from their deci-
sion.
Then, they debated, should they go home, or wait
till spring?
The latter plan seemed foolish, for it was now
nearly November and to wait there idly for five or
six months was appalling. Moreover, it seemed
their duty to go home and report Peter's loss to his
father, even if they returned in the spring to search
for the body of their chum.
The last boat left for Newfoundland the middle
of November, and they concluded that if there was
no news of Peter by that time they would sail on it.
“I feel cowardly to go,” said Shelby, whose brain
was weary, working out the problem of duty. “Yet,
why stay?”
“It's right to go,” Blair said, gravely. “You see,
Mr. Crane must be told,—not written to.”
“One of us might go, and one stay,” Shelby
suggested.


54 The Come Back
“No use in that,” Blair said, after a moment's
consideration; “the remaining one couldn't do any-
thing.”
“You men talk foolishness,” said Joshua, gravely.
“Mr. Peter Crane is by this time buried under eight
feet of snow. You can do nothing. You'd both
better go home.”
So they went.


CHAPTER IV.
The Prophecy Recalled
HE steamer from Newfoundland that
brought Shelby and Blair to New York ar-
rived during Christmas week.
The two men, however, were far from feeling
holiday cheer as they reached the wharf and faced
the hard trial of telling Mr. and Mrs. Crane of
their son's death.
But it had to be done, and they felt it their duty
to lose no time in performing the sad errand.
No one met them at the steamer, for its hour of
arrival was uncertain and they had discouraged their
friends from the attempt.
Indeed only telegrams from Newfoundland had
apprised any one of their arrival, for letters would
have come by the same boat they came themselves.
“Let's go straight to the Cranes' and get it over,”
said Blair, with a sigh. “I dread the ordeal.”
“So do I,” Shelby confessed. “I wish we could
see Mr. Crane alone, first.”
“We must do that, of course. It's only eight
o'clock, and we're ready to start now. Come
ahead.”


56 The Come Back
They sent their luggage to their homes and took
a taxi for the Crane town house, on upper Park
Avenue.
By good fortune, Mr. Crane was at home and re-
ceived them in his library. They had asked to see
him alone, giving no names.
“My stars, if it isn't the wanderers returned "
exclaimed their host, as he entered and saw the
two. “Where's my boy? Hiding behind the win-
dow curtain?” -
But the expression on his visitors' faces sud-
denly checked his speech, and turning pale, Ben-
jamin Crane dropped into the nearest chair.
“What is it?” he whispered, in a shaking voice.
“I know it's bad news. Is Peter—”
“Yes,” said Shelby, gently, but feeling that the
shortest statement was most merciful. “The Labra-
dor got him.”
By a strange locution, Labrador, as we call it,
is spoken of up there as The Labrador, and the
phrase gives a sinister sound to the name. It per-
sonifies it, and makes it seem like a living menace,
a sentient danger. -
“Tell me about it,” said Benjamin Crane, and
his tense, strained voice told more of his grief than
any outburst could have done. -
“Lost in the snow! My little Peter Boots—”
he said, after he had listened in silence to their
broken recital. “Tell me more,” he urged, and


The Prophecy Recalled 57
eagerly drank in any details they could give him
of the tragedy and also of the doings of the party
before that last, fatal day.
Blair looked at him in secret amazement. How
could the man take it so calmly 2 But Shelby, a
deeper student of human character, understood how
the fearful shock of tragedy had stunned the loving
father-heart. Slowly and quietly, Shelby related
many incidents of the trip, drew word pictures of
Peter in his gayest moods, told tales of his courage,
bravery and unfailing good spirits.
But, though these things interested Crane and
held his attention, there was no way to lessen the
poignant sorrow of the last story, the account of
the terrible storm and the awful fate of Peter.
Shelby broke down, and Blair finished, with a
few broken sentences.
The deep grief of the two, the sincere love of
Peter and sorrow at his death proved better than
protestations that they had done all mortal effort
could do.
“I am not sure, sir,” Shelby said, finally, “that
we acted wisely, but it seemed the only course to
take. We could not persuade any one to go for
us or with us in search of Peter's body, until March
at the earliest. To go alone, was mere suicide, and
though I was tempted to do even that, rather than
to return without him, it would not have been
allowed.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Crane said,


58 The Come Back
quickly, “I wouldn't have had you do otherwise
than just as you did. There was no use trying the
impossible.”
“But we will return in March ” began Blair.
“Perhaps,” said Crane, a little preoccupied in
manner, “or I will send a search party myself.
There's no reason you boys should go.”
This was a real relief, for though more than
willing, the two men were far from anxious to un-
dertake the gruesome errand.
“And now,” their host went on, “if you agree,
I'll send for Mrs. Crane. At first, I thought I'd
rather tell her the news when we were by ourselves,
—but, I know there are questions she will want to
ask you, things that I might not think of, and I
know you'll be willing to answer her.”
All unconscious of the scene awaiting her, Mrs.
Crane came into the room.
A bewildered look on her sweet, placid face
showed her inability to grasp the situation quickly.
Then, “Why, boys,” she cried, “when did you
come home? Where's Peter?”
To the others' relief Benjamin Crane told his
wife of their mutual loss. Very gently he told her,
very lovingly he held her hand and comforted her
crushed and breaking heart. Shelby and Blair in-
stinctively turned aside from the pitiful scene and
waited to be again addressed.
At length Mrs. Crane turned her tear-stained face
to them. Not so calm as her husband, she begged


The Prophecy rº- 6I
- Peter
for details, then she wept and sobbed so hysteri,
she could scarcely hear them. Her thoughts fi
back to the years when Peter was a lad, a child, a
baby, -and her talk of him became almost inco-
herent.
“There, there, dear,” Benjamin Crane said,
smoothing her hair, “try to be quieter, you will
make yourself ill. Perhaps, boys, you'd better go
now, and come round again to-morrow evening.”
“No, no!” cried Mrs. Crane; “stay longer, tell
me more. Tell me everything he said or did, all
the time you were gone. Did he know he was going
to die?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Crane,” Shelby assured her. “It
was an accident, you see. The storm was beyond
anything you can imagine. The wind was not only
icy and cutting, but of a sharp viciousness that
made it impossible to hear or to see. Almost im-
possible to walk. We merely struggled blindly
against it, against it, you understand, so that if
Peter, who was behind, had called out, we could
not have heard him.”
“Why was he last?” demanded Mrs. Crane.
“It happened so,” replied Shelby. “I’ve tried
hard to think if we were to blame for that, but
I cannot see that we were. Whenever we walked
single file, we fell into line in any order. The sub-
ject never was mentioned or thought of. And so,
that day, Peter was the last one. If Blair or I
had fallen or been overcome by the cold,—which
We


58 ~1. Come Back
-
2’
º we know must have happened,—we would
ve been seen by Peter, of course. But when he
gave out, no one looked backward.”
“You had been trudging like that long?” asked
Crane.
“Oh, yes, for hours. We were all pretty nearly
all in, but Joshua wouldn't let us stop, dared not,
in fact, for he knew the danger of that storm far
better than we did. No, Mr. Crane, on the part of
Blair and myself, I want to say that we had no
thought other than our individual progress. That
was all any one could think of, as Peter himself
would say if he could speak.”
“He has spoken,” returned Crane, quietly; “he
did say it.”
“What!” exclaimed the two men together.
“Yes,” the older man went on; “I think I will
tell you, though I had half decided not to. What
do you say, Mother?”
Mrs. Crane looked up. Her expression of dumb
despair gave way to a look of quiet peace as she
said, slowly: “Yes, dear, tell them. But let it be
held confidential.”
“You’ll promise that, boys, won't you?” asked
Crane, and only half understanding Blair and
Shelby promised.
“Well, it was this way,” Crane began. “You
know we couldn't get letters from you chaps all
the time you were away,+except the few early ones.
Of course we knew that before you went, but we


The Prophecy Recalled 6I
didn't realize how lonely we would be without Peter
Boots. Whenever he has been away before we
could hear from him frequently. Julie is a dear
girl, but she is a busy little butterfly, and many a
time my wife and I are alone of an evening.”
“And we're happy enough together,” Mrs. Crane
put in, gently; “but being alone, we naturally talked
a great deal of Peter, and—and we couldn't help
remembering the Gypsy's warning.”
“Oh, I'd forgotten that!” exclaimed Blair.
“What was it, now?”
“A prophecy that Peter would go on a long
journey, and would meet with a terrible death.
Now, the prophecy is fulfilled.” Mrs. Crane's face,
as she gazed upward, her eyes filled with tears, was
like that of a seeress or prophetess. She appeared
exalted, and unconscious of her grief for the mo-
ment. -
“And there was further prophecy,” Benjamin
Crane continued, “that after his death, Peter would
return. And when I say he has done so, I expect
you to respect my story and not to doubt its truth.”
“We shall most certainly respect your story, and
no one could doubt your veracity, Mr. Crane,” said
Shelby, sincerely, though with a mental reservation
that believing in Benjamin Crane's veracity did not
necessarily mean subscribing to his hallucinations.
Blair's face showed his interest and curiosity, and
Benjamin Crane went on with the tale to a breath-
lessly absorbed audience.
y


62 The Come Back
“It did come about, I've no doubt, because of our
talks of Peter; and also, because we chanced to
hear of some neighbors who had wonderful success
with a Ouija Board.”.
A sudden, involuntary exclamation on the part
of Blair was immediately suppressed by a warning
glance from Shelby. It would never do to show
scorn of the Ouija Board and all its works in the
presence of this afflicted couple. If any comfort
from its use had reached them or could reach them,
it must be a blessing indeed.
“Yes,” Crane said, catching the meaning of the
look on Blair's face, “I know how you feel about
such things, but just reserve judgment until you
hear our experiences. We bought a Board, and
mother and I tried to use it alone. We had no
success at all. It would spell nothing coherent,
only meaningless jumbles of letters, or simply re-
fuse to move. Of course, you understand, we had
no thought that our boy was—was in any danger-
but we had been told that sometimes living persons
communicated by such means. So we persevered,
but we never got a message.”
“Then what happened?” asked Blair, eagerly, see-
ing from the faces of the older people that some-
thing had.
“Why then,” Mrs. Crane spoke now, “we found
somebody to help us. I'd rather not tell the name,
it was a lady—”
“A medium?” asked Shelby.


The Prophecy Recalled 63
“Oh, no! I mean, not a professional medium,_
a lady we've known for years. She had had some
experience with the Board, and she tried it with us.
And then, you tell it, father.”
“Then,” said Mr. Crane, speaking very seriously,
“then we got a message from Peter. The message
said that he had died in the snow.”
“What!” cried Shelby, “incredible! When was
this?”
“In November.”
“Peter died the seventeenth of October.”
“Yes, and it was the tenth of November that we
had the message.”
“Just what did it say?” asked Blair, his eyes
wide with amazement.
“It was a little stammering and uncertain, as if
hard to get it through. But the Ouija spelled out
Peter's name, and when she-Miss—when the lady
with us asked if it had a message from Peter, it
pointed to ‘yes.” Then she tried to get the mes-
sage. But the words were a little mixed up. There
was snow and ice and storm and at last the word
dead. When we asked if Peter had died in a snow-
storm the Board said yes. So, we knew the
prophecy was fulfilled at last. The news you
brought us was corroboration, not a surprise.”
Shelby restrained himself by an effort. His
sharp glance at Blair made him keep quiet also.
Neither was at all impressed at the story Crane told
them, except to be moved to ridicule. Well they


64 The Come Back
knew how a Ouija Board will make glib statements
as startling as they are untrue.
But this one happened to be true. Even so, the
fact of its relation by such means was unbelievable
to both the hearers.
Yet, they could not disturb the faith of the
parents of their lost chum.
“I am glad, for your sakes, that you had a pre-
monitory warning,” said Shelby, in all sincerity.
“Such things are indeed beyond our ken. Did you
get any further details?”
“No,” said Crane; “but, I learn, you have no
further details yourselves. My boy perished in the
snowstorm, alone and helpless. What more is there
to know?”
“Nothing that we could tell,” spoke up Blair, a
little excitedly, “but surely, the spirit of Peter,
if it was he speaking to you, -could have told
more!”
“It is clear you have had no experience in these
matters,” Crane said, mildly; “the messages are not
easy to get, nor are they concise and clear, like a
telegram. Only occasionally does one get through,
and then if it is informative we are duly grateful,—
and not dissatisfied and clamoring for more.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Crane; I am inexperi-
enced, but I assure you I am not a scoffer. And
of course, I believe your statements.”
“Of course!” exclaimed Mrs. Crane, a little


The Prophecy Recalled 65
crisply. “Surely we would not invent such a
story!”
“No, indeed,” said Shelby. “It is strange, you
must admit. Have you had any further communica-
tions from Peter?”
“A few,” Mr. Crane spoke a bit reluctantly, for
he could see that the men were receptive from a
motive of politeness, and not with sympathetic in-
terest. “He has sent other messages, but they
would not, I fear, convince you.”
“Now, don't blame us, Mr. Crane,” Blair broke
out, impetuously; “remember, we're just from the
place where we left Peter, remember, we love him,
too, and remember, if we could be convinced that
he had spoken we would be as interested as you
are.”
“Well put, my boy,” and Crane seemed greatly
mollified. “Now, merely as an admission of facts,
do you believe that the Ouija Board gave the mes-
sages exactly as I have detailed the proceedings to
you?”
“I do,” said Blair, “that is, I believe you have
told the exact truth of what you observed.”
“Then, can you refuse to believe that the mes-
sage came from the spirit of my dead boy? Who
else knew of his death? How could any one know
of it?”
“True enough,” and Blair shook his head, non-
committally.
Crane sighed. “You don't believe,” he said, but


66 The Come Back
without annoyance. “Yet, remember, greater minds
and wiser brains than yours believe. Are not you a
little presumptuous to set your opinion against
theirs?”
“I don't mean to be presumptuous, Mr. Crane,”
Blair spoke decidedly, “but I do think my opinion on
this subject as good as any man's.”
“Then you are condemning the matter, unheard,
which you will allow is not strictly just.”
“Come, come, Blair,” said Shelby, distressed at
his attitude, “don’t discuss things of which you
know nothing. Mr. Crane has gone deeply into the
subject and must know more about it than we do.”
He gave Blair a positive glance of reproof, and
tried to make him see that he must stop combating
their host's theories, if only for reasons of common
politeness.
“But I'm interested,” persisted Blair. “If
Peter came here and told his father he was dead,—
I want to look into these things. You see, it's the
first time I've ever been up against a real case of
this sort. Own up, Shelby, it's all mighty queer.”
Benjamin Crane looked kindly at Blair. “That's
the talk, my boy. If you're really interested, come
round some night, and with you here, Peter may
talk through, all the better.”
“Rubbish!” Shelby thought, silently, but aloud, he
only said:
“Yes, Blair, do that. And drop the subject for
the present. Is Julie at home, Mrs. Crane?”


The Prophecy Recalled 67
“No; she's away for a few days. Poor child, she
will be heartbroken. She adored Peter Boots,”
and Mrs. Crane again gave way to tears.
“What does Julie think about the messages?”
asked Blair, thoughtfully.
“We didn't tell her,” said Crane. “She's so emo-
tional, and—well, of course, we couldn't help hop-
ing that it mightn't be true. And, too, Julie hates
all talk of spiritism.”
“Sensible girl!” thought Shelby, as Mrs. Crane
was saying: *
“But Julie went to Sir Rowland's lectures and
she was deeply interested.”
“Lectures?” asked Blair.
“Yes; there have been a great many this season.
I'm sorry you had to miss them. They're over now.
But I can't see how any one could listen to that
delightful man talk on such subjects in his beauti-
ful way and not be convinced of the truth of it all.”
“What did he say?” asked Shelby.
“That's too big a question to be answered in a
sentence,” and Crane smiled a little, “but he gave
us incontrovertible proof that the spirits of the
dead return and communicate with their friends
who are still on earth.”
“Through a Ouija Board?” Blair inquired.
“Yes; and by actual manifestation as well. I’ve
never consulted a real medium, but now that I know
Peter is gone, I shall do so.”
“Don't!” Shelby said, quite involuntarily. Then,


68 The Come Back
seeing the look in Crane's eyes, he added: “Forgive
me, sir, I have no right to advise. But I've been
told that all professional mediums are frauds.”
“We are told many things, both for and
against,” returned Crane, “but if Sir Rowland is
willing to consult them, and believes in them, I'm
ready to sail under his flag.”
“Of course. And you've a perfect right to do
so.” Shelby felt he couldn't control his real opin-
ions much longer, and wanted to go. “May I come
to see you again, soon,_and talk over the matters
of Peter's things, which, of course, we brought
home? And, I’d like to see Julie.”
“She'll be home by to-morrow evening. Of
course, we'll send for her. And I know she'll want
to see you both. Perhaps not just at first, but after
a few days. Please come to the house whenever
you will,—just as you used to do.”
“Yes, do,” added Mrs. Crane, her lip quivering
at the remembrance of the old days when the boys
were jolly together.
“And Miss Harper, how is she?” asked Blair,
who had been longing to put the question for some
time.
“Well, as usual,” replied Mrs. Crane. “She was
here last night. She-”
“She's a dear girl,” Crane interrupted his wife,
and a peculiar look crossed his face. “You come
round soon again, boys, but I fear we must let you
go now. My wife is keeping up bravely, but—”
*


The Prophecy Recalled 69
he glanced at the little woman tenderly, and took
her hand in his. “And I, too, don't feel like talking
more now. So good-night-and, thank you for
all your good comradeship with my boy, my Peter
Boots.”
“We want sympathy, too, Mr. Crane,” said
Blair; “Peter was very dear to us both. We're not
given to spilling over, but we have lost a dear friend
and chum whose place can never be filled by an-
other.” *
“Right!” said Shelby, in a choked voice, and his
handclasp with Peter's father said the rest.
But once on the street his exasperation broke
forth in words. “I can stand any sort of idiots,”
he said, “except spook idiots! They make me want
to go back to the Labrador!”
“Sort of queer, though, that message, from
Peter -> -
“From Peter—nothing! Don't desecrate that
boy's memory by even an implication that he'd
fiddle with a Ouija Board! Ugh!”
“How do you explain it, then?”
“There's nothing to explain.”
“You think Crane,—er—misstated?”
“Oh, I think he thought he had a message, but
he was duped. They all are. I know all about that
Sir Rowland. I've read his books. He's dotty on
the subject. Keep off the rocks, Blair. You've a
leaning that way, and if you don't look out you'll
fall for it, too.”


70 The Come Back
*
“Wonder why Mr. Crane shut his wife up when
she started to say something about Carly Harper.”
“Oh, that was nothing particular. Anyway, you
can see Carly for yourself. I expect she'll be hard
hit by Peter's death. They were practically en-
gaged.”
“How'd you know?”
“Peter told me, not in words, bless his heart!
He just let it out when he was in a babbling mood.
I mean, he let fall side remarks, and I just gath-
ered the truth. I didn't tell him I knew. Open-
hearted as he was, Peter was reserved in some
ways.”
“Dear old chap, so he was. Our great work will
never materialize now. Unless I write it alone.
I’d like to do that, and publish it over both our
names, and explain in a preface.”
“Do,” said Shelby; “it would please the old people
a lot.”


CHAPTER v
Madame Parlato
LAIR'S first interview with Carly Harper
was painful for both. The Cranes had told
her of Peter's death, but the sight of Blair
seemed to bring home to the girl a further and
more vivid realization of her loss.
“I wish now I'd been kinder to him,” she said,
her voice quivering.
“Oh, come now, Carly, I know you weren't un-
kind.”
“No; but I wouldn't—wouldn't do what he asked
me—”
“Never mind, dear; I think I know what you
mean, and, let me tell you, old Peter was happy
enough—about you. He seemed pretty sure that
things were coming his way.” -
“Of course,” the girl said frankly. “I only
wanted him to go away, free, and then if he still
wanted me when he came back—and now he'll never
come back!” she gave way to silent weeping.
“His parents say he has come back,” offered
Blair, more by way of diversion than comfort.
71


72 The Come Back
Carly looked up quickly. “They told you that?"
she said.
“Yes, told me pretty much all about their “mes-
sages.” Foolishness, of course, but it seems to com-
fort them.”
“It doesn't comfort me,” and Carly sighed. “I
don't believe in it, you see.” And she looked at
him with a curious glance.
“No; I don't either. But the old people do, and
if it helps them bear their grief, why x-
“Yes; I understand. How—how much did they
tell you?”
“All, I suppose. They said some medium,_well,
not a professional, but some friend of theirs,
helped them to get messages ‘through,’ as they call
it.” *
“Didn't they tell you who the friend was 2.”
“No; but they weren't mysterious about it. They
simply didn't say. I believe Julie doesn't like to
have them try it, the Ouija, I mean.”
“Oh, she feels as I do, as anybody must,-if
they like it let them have it. She went to the lec-
tures.”
“Everybody did, it seems.”
“Yes, the whole town went crazy on the subject.
Is yet, but not quite to the same extent.”
“The war brought it all about, of course. After
a short time, the fad will die out.”
“Yes, if it is a fad. But, do you never think
there may be a grain of truth in it all?”
|


Madame Parlato 73
“I haven't seen the grain yet, but I'm open to
conviction.”
“Oh, well, I've no intention of trying to con-
vince you. Tell me all about your trip, tell me
all the queer experiences you had, and everything
you can think of. And tell me lots about Peter.”
Blair did her bidding. He described their life
in the Labrador, told of their exploits and discom-
forts and also of the glorious outdoor days and
nights that were so enjoyed by them all.
“I’d love it!” Carly declared. “Oh, not all the
tramping and portaging, but the camp life.”
“Better try it nearer home. The Adirondacks
would give you enough excitement. There's no use
braving that cold up there, and those fierce storms.”
“If it hadn't stormed, Peter wouldn't have been
lost, would he?”
“Probably not. You see, we've mulled it over
and over. He must have fallen and hurt himself
in some way, or he would have followed us some-
how.”
“He would have called out.”
“That's the point. The wind was in our faces,
it was a villainous blast, and nothing any one said
could be heard by one in front of him, unless they
were near each other. If Peter had shouted, the
wind would have carried his voice back and away
from us. That is undoubtedly what happened.”
“Don’t you think the guide was greatly to
blame?”


74 The Come Back
“No; he had no reason to look back at us, as if
we were sheep. We had always followed his trail,
there was to all appearances no difference between
this trip and any other. We had breasted equally
severe storms, and come home, laughing. I feel
sure Peter met with an accident, or, it may be,
probably enough, his strength suddenly gave out,
or even his heart went bad, or something like that
Perhaps he couldn't shout. I blame myself, of
course, for not looking back sooner, but I do hon-
estly feel that it was not a culpable omission.”
“Of course it wasn't! I see just how it was.
Great, big, stalwart Peter was not a baby to be
looked after by you others. But—oh, Gilbert,
it's so dreadful to think of his dying there alone!
Perhaps he-he didn't die right awa x -
“Don’t, Carly! Try not to think about that.
Think only that old Peter Boots is gone,—that he
lived a fine, clean, splendid life, and met his end
bravely, whatever happened. And, too, I'm told
that he couldn't have suffered much. He must have
lost consciousness very quickly.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But—oh, Gilbert, I didn't
know how much I cared, until—until I lost him."
“I know, dear, it's awful hard for you. Come
on, get your hat and let's go over to Julie's. I
haven't seen her yet, and I promised to call to-day."
They went to the Cranes', and found Shelby al-
ready there.


Madame Parlato 75
It was tea hour, and several people were gath-
ered about Julie's pretty tea table.
For the Crane family, though in mourning, re-
ceived gladly the intimate friends who had loved
Peter, and who came, full of sympathy, to talk of
him.
Julie received Blair with a warm welcome, but,
or at least so Blair thought, she was a little cool
in her greeting to Carlotta.
The two girls were pleasant enough, but there
was an evident constraint between them, and both
turned quickly aside to talk to some one else.
Blair pondered. He was by way of noting sig-
nificant details and his own interest in Carly Harper
made him quick to resent any slight put upon her.
Not that Julie's attitude could be called really
slighting, nor was it more so than Carly's own, but
there was some dissonance there.
His observation, though veiled by a pleasant,
general interest in everything, was no less acute,
and he continued to note that the girls really avoided
each other. It was none of his business, but he
was curious and surprised at a state of affairs so
different from the intimacy he had known them
to enjoy of old.
He bided his time, and at last, finding an oppor-
tunity, he spoke to Julie alone. She still sat at the
tea table, but all having been served, she was idle
and a little distrait.
“I’m glad to see you again, Gilbert,” she said,


Madame Parlato 77
when I’ve been away,+and stirred up father and
mother with that silly, hateful, vicious old Ouija
Board performance,—that's what she's done!”
“Ouija! Carlyl Surely you're mistaken.”
“Indeed, I'm not. Father and mother couldn't
make the silly thing go at all, till Carly helped them.
She pushes it, of course, and they are gulled and
duped—”
“But, Julie, wait! Why should Carly do such a
thing?”
“Oh, she's got the fad. Lots of people have, you
*now. And I haven't—I hate it all—and so Carly
comes over when I'm not home.”
“And was it she who got the messages from
Peter?”
“Yes, it was; that is, she pretended to.”
Blair was amazed. Carly had given him the im-
pression that she didn't believe in occult manifesta-
tions. Why should she do that, if she had assisted
at the Crane séances? He hated to think of Car-
lotta Harper as insincere, but—he mused—that sort
of thing tends to make people insincere. He came
to a quick decision that he would observe for him-
self and not seek further enlightenment directly
from either of the two girls.
So he only said, carelessly, “There's no account-
ing for the doings of people who are obsessed by
that sort of thing. But, look here, Julie, if it is
any comfort to your parents to think they have mes-


78 The Come Back
sages from Peter, you wouldn't disturb their belief,
would you?” -
“No, I don't. That's why I don't have a real
quarrel with Carly. I think she knows I’ve discov-
ered her part in it all, and I think she knows I resent
it; but, as you say, if it helps dear old dad and
mother to bear their grief, I'm willing they should
wear out one Ouija Board after another!”
“Good girl. You attended the lectures, I hear.”
“Yes, and they meant nothing to me. What was
produced as evidence seemed to me no evidence at
all. I’d like your honest opinion, Gilbert.”
“I didn't hear the lectures.”
“But you can read the books. Sir Rowland has
written several, and there are hundreds of others.
Do read some, and see if you can find anything in
them—anything at all that is conclusive proof.”
“Proof of what? Of continuity of existence?"
“Not that, no. But proof that the spirits of the
dead have ever communicated with the living.”
It was during this conversation that Benjamin
Crane came in. He was evidently in a happy mood.
his face was radiant and his fine features glowed
with enthusiasm.
“I’ve had such an experience,” he exclaimed
“I’ve had a séance with a real medium --
“Oh, father!” Julie cried out, involuntarº
he only smiled benignly at her.
“Just listen, Julie, dear. Reserve your co
till you hear it all. Then we'll see.”


Madame Parlato 79
He drew his armchair nearer the fire and rubbed
his hands to the blaze, then settled back in comfort,
taking the cup that Julie brought him.
“Yes, yes,” he went on, “a wonderful experience.
You know,” he looked round, including all his hear-
ers, for all present had drawn near to listen, “you
know I felt sure we had no real mediums here in
America. When Sir Rowland told of the trust-
worthy ones he has consulted in England, I almost
decided to go over there myself. But I heard of
one here in New York, and I investigated fully her
credentials and references before going to her.
Truly, she is a marvel.”
“I thought they weren't allowed,” observed
Shelby, smiling a little.
“‘Not allowed' is sometimes a mere figure of
speech,” and Mr. Crane smiled, too. “However, I
was allowed to see her and have a real séance—oh,
Helen,” he turned to his wife, “I can scarcely wait
to go there again and have you go with me.”
“Father, I can't stand this!” Julie's eyes were
blazing. “Please drop the subject—at least, for
the present.”
“There, there, my daughter, don't lose your tem-
per. If you don't want to hear about this, you may
be excused.” He smiled at her lovingly but with
a decided intention.
k “You're all interested, are you not?” he went on,
turning to the various attentive faces, and receiving
Cºnods and words of assent.
|
|


80 The Come Back
“Then I'll go on,” and he glanced at Julie, who
sat still, controlling her expression of face but with
tumult in her heart.
“Take it easy,” Shelby whispered to her, “you'd
better hear it, you know, whatever it's all about.”
“The lady,” Crane said, “is a medium, well
recommended by members of the Society for Psy-
chical Research, and by individuals who have been
her clients.”
“What sort of recommendations does she offer?"
asked an interested voice, “letters?” \ -
The speaker was McClellan Thorpe, a friend of
Blair's, who shared a studio with him.
Thorpe was frankly skeptical, but by no means
controversial. He asked his question in an honest
desire to know of the credentials. *
“Yes,” returned Crane, “letters from many well-
known Spiritists, Psychics, Scientists and plain
citizens, who are enthusiastic and sincere in their
praise of this lady.”
“What's her name?” asked Mrs. Crane, who, it
was plain to be seen, fairly hung upon her husband's
words.
“Madame Parlato,” returned Crane. “She is no
fraud, no charlatan, but a refined, gracious lady,
whose sympathies are as wonderful as her occult
gifts.”
Carlotta Harper, who sat by Thorpe, was ab-
sorbed in the tale, and her large dark eyes glowed
with intense interest as she listened.


Madame Parlato 8I
;
“Tell us just what happened,” she said, and Julie
gave her a look of mingled scorn and apprehension.
“I will,” Crane's deep voice went on. “The lady,
you understand, knew nothing of me or of Peter.
I was careful about this, for I know there are un-
scrupulous mediums, and I wanted to feel sure of
this one's honesty.”
“How do you know she'd never heard of you?”
asked Thorpe. He had a manner of speaking that
was definite without being annoying. Apparently
he was curious, and not, necessarily, incredulous.
“How could she?” returned Crane, “we have no
mutual friends. I heard of her through a com-
parative stranger, and I went to her at once. Don't
be carping, Thorpe, just wait till you hear my story.
Well, she greeted me pleasantly, and with a most
courteous and lady-like demeanor. I had an ap-
pointment, of course, and she directed me to sit at
a table opposite herself. I did so, and for quite a
time nothing happened.
“Then—she was not exactly in a trance, I should
say, but rather she seemed absorbed in deep thought
—she said, ‘I see a man, a fair-haired man with a
sunny, boyish smile. Do you recognize that de-
scription?' I didn't say much, for I'm no fool to
give myself away, you understand, but I nodded
assent, and she went on: “He seems very active,
full of life and energy, and of a loving, affectionate
nature.’ You may guess how I felt when she de-
scribed Peter so exactly! I wanted to exclaim,


82 The Come Back
‘Yes, that's my boy!" but I'm always careful not to
help in any way. So I just nodded, and she went
on. “He passed away about two or three months
ago, and he seems willing to communicate with me.
What shall I ask him?”
“Now, I'm canny, you know, and I said, ‘Make
sure of his identity first. Ask him what name we
used to call him by?’ And, will you believe it?
after a short pause, she said, “Peter Boots!' She
seemed surprised herself at such a name. I thought
I ought to tell her how true that was, so I did. She
looked pleased to think it was all right, and waited
for me to ask another question. So I said, ‘Ask
thim how he died.” She did, and he told her he was
frozen to death in a fearful snowstorm. Think of
that! And I said, “Ask him how it happened.’ And
she did, and Peter said he couldn't exactly say—he
lost consciousness, and he knew nothing more until
he found himself on the other side. He said for
me not to grieve, for he should carry on over there
all he had attempted to do here. He said he re-
tained all his ambition and energy and hope—you
know he was blessed abundantly with those traits—
and—”
“Did he say he was happy?” asked Mrs. Crane,
eagerly.
“He said he was content, and though it was all a
little strange as yet, he was becoming accustomed
to that life and did not wish to return.”


Madame Parlato 83
“Did he send any message to me?” urged the
anxious mother.
“I’m coming to that, dear. Yes, he said for you
not to grieve for him, but to think of him as busy
and happy and entirely contented. Oh, Helen, isn't
it wonderful? I arranged for another séance, and
you shall go with me. She held out a hope of ma-
terialization later, but she wasn't sure she could
compass that for some time to come. You needn't
look skeptical, Thorpe; that expression on your face
only proves your ignorance of these things. I tell
you, man, if it were somebody you loved and cher-
ished you'd be mighty glad to hear from him!”
“Never mind my expression, Mr. Crane,” Thorpe
returned, looking apologetic, “I’m deeply interested,
I can tell you, and I'd like to hear more.”
“There's little more to tell. It was a quiet ses-
sion—none of that curtained cabinet, tambourine-
playing business, you understand; but a plain rev-
elation from my boy's spirit through the medium
of a refined, cultured woman. I'm sorry, now, I
didn't take my wife with me to-day, but I feared
it might not be so agreeable, and I tried it out my-
self first. But we will go together soon.”
Crane beamed happily, and it was impossible not
to rejoice with him in his delight and satisfaction
at his experience.
Julie, her lips pressed tightly together, made no
comment on her father's story. Christopher Shelby,
who sat beside her, eyed her covertly, not quite


| 84 The Come Back
decided whether to speak to her on the subject or
not.
He concluded to do so, and whispered, “How
does it all strike you?”
“I don't know,” she returned, passing her hand
across her white brow with a wearied gesture. “If
it had been those foolish cabinet affairs I should
have been disgusted, but the really nice woman,—
as father describes her, and he never misrepre-
sents, gives a slightly different face on it. Still,
I can't believe—”
“Shall you go to the next séance?”
“I haven't been asked. I doubt if they'll want
me. I wonder what Carly thinks of it all.”
But Carlotta was talking with Blair and Mr.
Thorpe, and their conversation had no connection
with the subject in hand. They were discussing a
wedding of two of their mutual friends, which had
proved a surprise to them all. Blair and Julie joined
that discussion, and the matter of the séance was
not again referred to by the young people.
But on the way home Thorpe spoke his mind to
Blair, who accompanied him.
“How can a sensible, otherwise well-balanced man
like Benjamin Crane fall for that fake?” he ex-
claimed. “I’ve known Mr. Crane for years and he
never showed signs of paresis before!”
“I don't attempt to explain it,” returned Blair,
casually, “but I do know that lots of other equally


Madame Parlato 85
hard-headed citizens are tarred with the same
brush.”
“That's true enough, but this is the first time
I've run up against it so closely. I say, Blair, how
did the lingo tally with the facts of Peter's death?
Or would you rather not talk about it?”
“I don't mind talking about it at all. Why should
I, among Peter's friends? As to facts, we know
none ourselves except that he was lost in the snow,
You've no idea of that snow, Thorpe' It was like
a thick, white feather-bed, falling, falling contin-
ually. It was impenetrable to sight or hearing. The
wind blew it about some, but it fell so thickly that
it seemed a solid mass that we struggled through.
And it was quite all we could do to get along yy
“Oh, don't think for a minute I feel you were in
the least derelict! I know you weren't. It merely
chanced that Peter's heart gave out—or whatever
it was that did happen—while he was the last one
of the procession.”
“And not only that. If, say, I'd fallen, a man
behind might not have seen me go down. If we
swerved ever so little from a straight line, and, of
course, we did, couldn't help it, we lost sight for
a moment of the man in front. And as we all went
along, eyes down or closed much of the time, we
might have lost a man who wasn't walking last. I
wish I could make you see it, Mac' See the travel-
ing, I mean. I’ve never progressed against such
difficulties.”


86 The Come Back
“I know, old chap. Do get out of your head that
anybody blames any of you in the least. And if
they did, the blame would fall on the guide, not on
you fellows.”
“Joshua was not a bit to blame either. Surely
you see that. It was every man for himself, and—
fate took the hindmost! Oh, I hate to think about
it! It's even worse to me now than when it hap-
pened. The more I think about it the more I grieve
for dear old Peter. We were good pals, you know.”
“I know it; we all were. Mighty few chaps like
Peter Boots!”


CHAPTER VI
- -
Strange Revelations
LD man Crane's gone nutty,” Shelby re-
marked.
“Been going for some time,” agreed
Blair, and McClellan Thorpe nodded his head de-
cidedly.
The three sat in the studio apartment occupied
by Blair and Thorpe, who had just returned from
dining at their club.
Shelby had come home with them, but was soon
to leave to keep an engagement.
“You’ll scarcely believe what I'm up to to-night,”
Shelby went on, “I’m going to a séance with Mr.
Crane.”
“I say, Kit,” remonstrated Thorpe, “I don't think
you ought to encourage him. He's daft enough on
the subject now, and your approval makes him
worse.”
“I’m trying to stop him,” Shelby said, quietly.
“I think if I go to the fool thing I can see how she
works it and tell Mr. Crane, and he'll be convinced
of her trickery.”
“Are you convinced of it?” asked Thorpe.
87


88. The Come Back
“I’ve never seen this one, but it's my opinion all
professional mediums are fakes,” Shelby replied,
seriously; “it may not be so, but I believe I can tell
after one investigation. I shall pretend to be greatly
impressed and all that, but I'll keep my eyes open.
And I'm not going to upset Mr. Crane unneces-
sarily. But if I think she's just fooling him along
for the money that's in it, I’m going to tell him so.”
“Even at that,” Blair put in, “maybe it's worth
the money to him to be fooled. He's rich enough.”
“Maybe. But I hate to see a man swindled.
However, I've agreed to go with him once, and I'm
glad to go. Good-by, I'll report results later.”
“You see,” Blair said to Thorpe after Shelby had
gone, “Kit and I can't help feeling a sort of re-
sponsibility for this fad of Mr. Crane's. It may be
foolish and sentimental, but we feel an interest in
Peter's father, and we watch over him as if Peter
had asked us to do so, which, of course, he never
did.”
“But the medium business is such awful rubbish,”
objected Thorpe.
“It is and it isn't,” Blair said, musingly. “It's
six weeks now since we came home, and all that
time Mr. Crane has been receiving messages from
Peter, and every one of them that I've heard are
sane and believable. Moreover, Carlotta Harper
has almost convinced me there's something in it.
That girl is a sort of medium herself. She denies


Strange Revelations 89
*
it, says she only uses her common sense, but I think
she's clairvoyant.” -
“There's a heap of difference between being clair-
voyant, in a common sense way, and being a fake
medium! I don't care what Miss Harper does with
a foolish Ouija Board, but I’m like Kit Shelby, I
hate to see Benjamin Crane stung by a wily faker!”
Meantime Mr. Benjamin Crane was altogether
enjoying the process that Thorpe called stinging.
Shelby, deeply interested, and looking innocently
credulous, sat by while the medium conducted the
séance.
Madame Parlato was, as Crane had asserted, a
quiet-mannered, refined looking woman, of a gra-
cious and pleasant personality. She was tall and
fair, rather English in type, and spoke with a no-
ticeable English accent. She frequently ended sen-
tences of simple statement with a rising inflection
and was addicted to the use of the word very, which
she pronounced virry. -
“You are a bit skeptical?” she said, with a care-
less glance at Shelby.
“Only by reason of lack of occasions for belief,”
he returned. “I am, however, open-minded and
fair-minded enough to be willingly convinced. You
may or may not know, this son of Mr. Crane's was
one of my closest friends, and y?
“Don’t advance information, please,” she remon-
strated, “lest I be thought to make use of it. I will


90 The Come Back
ask you both to be quiet, whilst I compose myself.”
“Hush up, Shelby,” growled Crane, and Shelby
did.
The medium closed her eyes and leaned back in
her armchair.
She did not seem to be asleep, but she breathed
heavily and a trifle irregularly, and now and then
gave a slight convulsive shudder.
At last she spoke, very slowly, and in a voice
decidedly different from her own. Shelby couldn't
quite make up his mind whether it seemed to him
like Peter's voice or not.
The voice said, “I am here, father,” and, after a
moment's pause, repeated the words.
“Yes, yes,” breathed Benjamin Crane, enthralled,
as always, by the sound; “talk to me, Peter, tell me
things.”
“I can't talk much this time, father, it is hard to
get through. There is some obstacle.” .
These words did not follow each other in natural
succession, but came haltingly, with waits between.
Madame Parlato seemed unconscious of the delays,
and merely acted as a mouthpiece for the revela-
tions.
“What sort of an obstacle?” asked Crane.
“An unbeliever is near,” the voice hesitatingly
asserted. *
“Oh, I say!” exclaimed Shelby, “tell him who I
am!”
“It's only Shelby,” Mr. Crane said, “Kit Shelby.


Strange Revelations 9i
He's not really an unbeliever, only inexperienced.”
“May I speak to him?” asked Shelby, as if per-
mission were necessary. -
“Go ahead,” consented Mr. Crane.
“It's old Kit, Peter—Kit Shelby, who went on
the trip with you.”
“Oh, Kit—all right—all right, old fellow—can't
say much to-night—something wrong 2x
“Well, but Peter,” Shelby begged, “give me some
sort of a sign—a test, you know. I can't help want-
ing that.”
“All right,” very slowly, “what test.”
“Let me see—well, tell me whose picture you
carried in your watch case.”
“Why, it was—Caroline—Caroline Harper.”
Shelby looked dazed. True, they had never
called Carly Caroline, but the Harper was unde-
niable, and the test quite near enough to the truth.
The medium sat still, save for frequent slight
shivers. Suddenly she opened her eyes:
“Who is talking?” she said.
“I am,” Shelby told her. “Please let me say a
few more things.”
Madame Parlato's eyes closed, and she was
motionless.
“Are you still there, Peter?” asked his father,
who was not at all pleased with the presence of
Shelby. It seemed to interfere with the continuous
talk he had hitherto enjoyed at the séances.
“Yes, father. Is Kit there?”


92 The Come Back
“Can't you see me, Peter?”,
“Not—not clearly. There's a haze in the room.’
There was no haze visible to the mortals present,
but Shelby went eagerly on.
“Never mind seeing me, Peter, but do tell me
this: What happened to you?”
“When?” asked the voice, with a far-away, fad-
ing sound. -
“When—when you died, you know. Oh, Peter,
don't go away until you tell us!”
“Tell you—tell you—what?”
“What killed you? How was it? Did you fall
down?”
“I—I fell down, yes.”
“In the Snowdrifts?”
“Yes, the snow was so cold »
“But why couldn't you get up? What happened
to you? Did any attack 92
“Yes, I was attacked. Attacked by a--"
“What!”
“By a wild animal of some sort.”
“Oh, Peter! What was it? Are you sure?”
“No, not sure—but attack by y?
The voice grew fainter and more incoherent, and
in a moment the medium sat up straight and shook
her head.
“He was troubled,” she said, “I could see him
though you couldn't, and he was sad and worried.”
“What about?” asked Shelby, abruptly.
2


94 The Come Back
“Surely not,” returned Shelby, “indeed, I think
it wonderful that you succeeded in getting as much
coherence and information as you did. It is some-
thing to know that Peter was attacked by a wild
beast, for, horrible as is the news, it does explain
why he couldn't proceed on the journey.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Crane. “And I am so avid
for word from my boy, that even if the messages
are disturbing and harrowing, I want them all. I
have always told Madame Parlato not to spare me.
I prefer to know the worst. For my boy is happy
now. We have had several sittings; my wife has
attended some, and they are always comforting be-
cause of Peter's assertions that he is now happy and
contented.” - -
At Shelby's urgent request, the medium endeav-
ored to induce Peter's spirit to return for a further
word. -
Her success was only partial, but they did hear
a message to Shelby direct.
“Persevere, Kit,” Peter said, “you're doing right
in that matter. Go ahead, Kit.”
“Your voice sounds queer, Peter,” Shelby said,
frowning a little. “It used to be pitched in a higher
key.”
“It's the medium,” came a reply, and the pitch
was higher. “I don't mean the human medium, but
the medium through which I must talk—the ether,
I suppose it is. Good-by, Kit.”


Strange Revelations 95
Madame Parlato then came out of her trance, or
whatever term she used to designate her half-con-
scious state.
“The session is over,” she said, pleasantly. “I
fear, Mr. Crane, you did not get your usual degree
of satisfaction from it, but that was because of a
third party here. I don't think Mr. Shelby's an-
tagonistic exactly, but he's—well, uncertain whether
to believe what he hears or not.”
“That's quite true, Madame,” said Shelby, with
due respect, “but you are doubtless accustomed to
people in my frame of mind.”
“Oh, yes,” and the lady smiled a little, “but I
trust, Mr. Shelby, you will come some time by your-
self and let me see what I can do to help you make
up your mind.”
“I shall be glad to do that. You have a strange
power, at any rate.”
“Strange, yes; but by no means unique. There
are minds tuned by nature to receive spirit mes-
sages, as wireless stations are tuned. I cannot ex-
plain my strange power, I marvel at it myself, but
I recognize it, and I use it humbly and gratefully
as a God-given treasure.”
“And that's what it is!” declared Benjamin
Crane. “I’m glad you came to-night, Shelby, but,
after this, I admit I prefer to come alone, or with
only my wife. The messages from Peter to his
father are naturally more of a loving and domestic
nature, and I revel in them.”


96 The Come Back
“I don't wonder at that, Mr. Crane. And I con-
gratulate you on having found such a capable and
skillful medium.”
Madame Parlato gave Shelby a quick glance, al-
most as if doubting his sincerity. But his frank,
honest face reassured her, and she said:
“And, I'm proud to say, I'm not only a medium,
but I am possessed of the power that is called im-
personation or transfiguration. This is compara-
tively rare, and it enables me to perform what really
seem like miracles. I am taken possession of by the
departed subject, and I speak and act so perfectly
with that other personality that sometimes I even
resemble the person who is talking through me.”
“It is indeed wonderful,” Shelby said, and Benja-
min Crane looked happily contemplative of the
séances in the future when Madame would utilize
this miraculous gift of hers in his behalf.
Shelby did go alone to see the medium, and it
happened also that, about a week later, going again,
he chanced to meet Mr. Crane there. The younger
man offered to leave, but Crane said, “No, come
along. Madame is going to try to-night to ma-
terialize Peter's face, and I want you here to see it.”
And so the strange séance began.
Materialization, of course, called for a darkened
room, and Shelby's naturally suspicious mind was
alert for possible fraud.


Strange Revelations 97
w
But he could discover no chance for such. There
was no cabinet, no tambourine, bell or trumpet, and
no curtain was drawn or screen set up.
After they had sat in darkness and silence for a
time, a face seemed to form in mid-air. It was a
misty, vague countenance, and was wrapped about
with a soft, floating drapery or veil, which exposed
only the features.
“Peter!” exclaimed Benjamin Crane in a half-
gasping voice. “My boy himself!”
“Peter Boots!” cried Shelby, and slowly the face
vanished.
Not another word was spoken, and in a moment
the lights were turned on. This was done by
Madame Parlato, at whose elbow the light switch
WaS.
“Did you see anything?” she asked, in an ex-
hausted, harassed way, yet with an air of eagerness.
“Yes,” cried out Crane. “I saw Peter, my own
Son!”
“I couldn't be sure,” she went on, speaking wea-
rily. “It always exhausts me utterly to induce a
materialization, and I doubt if I can achieve any-
thing more to-night.”
“Nor do you need to,” declared Mr. Crane.
“That's enough for one séance. Some time you
may do that again, and also get speech from him.”
“May be,” she rejoined, with a gentle politeness,
“and now I should be glad to say good-night.”


98 The Come Back
. The two men walked off, Crane in a tumult of
delight, Shelby wondering at it all.
“You accept marvels very easily, Mr. Crane,” the
latter said.
“Because they are marvels,” said the older man
simply. “If they were fraud it would be no marvel.
But being genuine, it is a marvel, it is a miracle,
and I am glad, rejoiced to accept it!”
It was soon after this that Shelby, calling on
Carlotta Harper, asked her what she thought of
it all.
“Rubbish,” she replied flatly.
Shelby looked at her. “But,” he said, “I’ve been
told that you can work the Ouija Board wonder-
fully!”
“Work the Ouija Board! What sort of talk is
that? Do you mean push it, to spell what I want it
to P”
“No; I spoke carelessly. I mean use the Board
with results that are surprising.”
“Who can’t do that?”
“Lots of people—myself, for one. Let's try it
now, Carly. Will you?”
“Certainly, if you like. And, if you'll give me
your word of honor that you won't voluntarily or
purposely urge the thing in any direction or toward
any letter.”
“Of course I promise that! Where'd be the fun
if we cheated? You promise, too?”


Strange Revelations 99
“Yes, indeed. Like you, I've no interest if either
pushes the least mite.”
They placed themselves with the board between
them on their knees.
It was but a short time before the little heart-
shaped block began to move.
Carly, who was no novice, said in a sing-song
way: “Is there a spirit present?”
The board slid quickly to the corner marked
“yes.”
“Will you spell out your name?” Carly went on
in a very matter-of-fact voice.
The pointer went from letter to letter, now hur-
riedly and now making wide circling sweeps, but it
spelled correctly “Peter Boots.”
Shelby kept most careful watch on Carly's finger-
tips. He could see that there was no apparent mus-
cle movement, no surreptitious pushing and no mo-
tion of any sort save to follow the moving board.
Her hands were quite evidently resting as lightly as
his own on the wood, and the board without doubt
moved without the voluntary help of either.
“Shall we go on?” asked Carly, in a half whisper.
“Go on ? Of course!” returned the other.
“Peter, have you a message for us?” Carly asked,
again using that calm, uninflected tone.
“Yes,” pointed the board, and then, as they set-
tled down to receive it, the wooden heart spelled
rapidly: “Do not grieve for me—I am happy.”
Carlotta looked disappointed, “Oh, dear,” she


IOO The Come Back
said, “I’m so tired of that message! I thought
Peter would do better than that! Let's try again.”
Again the board moved, and the message came,
“Tell mother not to grieve—”
“Oh, Peter,” Carlotta said, in real impatience, “do
say something beside those stereotyped phrases!
Tell us something we don't know, something about
yourself.”
“Tell us how you died,” said Shelby, suddenly.
“Yes, tell us that,” Carly repeated.
The board moved more slowly.
“I was,” it spelled, and “Go on!” the girl urged.
“I was—in the snow **
“Yes, yes—go on.”
“And I fell down, and I–I—couldn't get up.”
“Why not?” this sharply from Carly.
“H–” the board stopped; then went on,
“Heart failure.”
“I thought so!” exclaimed Shelby; “there aren't
any wild animals up there in xx
“Hush—it's moving again,” said Carly.
“Heart gave out,” the board spelled, moving rap-
idly now. “Couldn't make the boys hear. Could
only gurgle in my throat. Couldn't shout. So I
died.”
“Do you believe it?” asked Carly, her big, brown
eyes solemn and serious.
“Yes, I do,” said Shelby. “It's highly probable,
anyway. Go on, Peter, tell us something else.”
Whether Shelby “believed” or not, he was deeply


CHAPTER VII'
The Tobacco Pouch
T was doubtless owing to Benjamin Crane's atti-
tude regarding his son's death that the home
did not present more the aspect of a house of
mourning. Both Crane and his wife were not only
resigned to Peter's fate, but they seemed positively
happy in what they believed to be continued com-
munion with his spirit.
As Mrs. Crane said, “When Peter was a child
the gypsies said he would go away and be lost, but
he would return to us. He has done so, he is doing
so—why should we grieve? He tells us he is happy
and contented in his new sphere of existence, there-
fore, we are, too.”
“That's all very well,” Carlotta Harper would
respond, “but I don't look at it that way at all. I
want my Peter Boots back again in the flesh. I'm
not contented at all with a lot of spirit talk com-
municated through a paid medium !”
“Don’t say paid medium, as if the paying de-
tracted from her worth,” Benjamin Crane chid the
girl. “Of course, we pay Madame Parlato for her
time—why should we not? It's the best money I
IO2 º


The Tobacco Pouch I03
ever spent! And you're a medium yourself, Car-
lotta. You hate to acknowledge it, but you are.
Your work with the Ouija Board is perfectly mar-
velous, and I have proved to my own satisfaction
that you never use the least fraud.” "
“Indeed, I don't,” said Carlotta, earnestly, “but
what's the use? What do I care to have Peter talk
on that wooden board—if it is Peter—I want him,
himself ſ”
Carlotta was passing through strange moods.
Living alone with her mother, their home seemed
far more a house of mourning than the Cranes'.
The girl grieved deeply for Peter. Though not
definitely engaged, she knew their betrothal would
have been sealed on his return. And not having
the comfort that the Cranes so gladly accepted, she
sorrowed for her lost love.
Her success with the Ouija Board was a matter
of mystery to her mother and to all who knew of it.
It seemed that she must be a medium, or possess
some occult power, for whenever she placed her
finger-tips on the little board it immediately began
to move, and told such remarkable things that there
was occasion for surprise. Nor did Carlotta move
the board of her own volition. It was easily seen
that she did not “push” or urge it in any direction.
The most careful scrutiny could not only discern
no effort of hers, but could not fail to be convinced
that she made none. Her friends came often to beg


The Tobacco Pouch I05
“How do you know that?”
“Peter told me, oh, we were confidential up there.
And, now, Peter's gone, and try, won't you, Carly,
try to love me. Shelby isn't in my way, is he?”
“I don't know—he wants to be.” -
“Of course he does! But I won't give up to him!
Peter was different. He was a wonder, that chap!”
“Indeed, he was. And I care too much for his
memory to think about any one else—yet.”
“But some day, Carly—dear, some day?”
“Some day we'll see about it. Gilbert, what do
you think of that medium the Cranes go to all the
time?”
“Absolute rubbish.”
“I think that, too. But she's doing queer stunts.
She's begun materializing things.”
“What sort of things?”
“I don't know exactly. Flowers, I believe, and
hands and faces.”
“You know all the legerdemain people do that.”
“That's no argument, Gilbert, and you know it.
The charlatans can do all the things that the real
mediums do. The question is not whether the
fakers can do them, but whether the real mediums
can.”
“Meaning whether the real mediums are real or
not?”
“Yes, that's what I mean. If ever there was a
real one. I think Madame Parlato is one. But


I06 The Come Back
I'm not sure. She does the Cranes a lot of good.
They believe—”
“Not Julie.”
“Oh, no, Julie hates the whole business. I think
she'd be convinced, though, except for Mr. Thorpe.
He's such a skeptic that he influences Julie.”
“I thought Thorpe was rather interested in that
direction.”
“Well, rather! Why, they've been exclusively
interested in each other all winter.” |
“Thorpe's a close-mouthed chap. We live to-
gether, but we seldom exchange confidences. I like
him pretty well, but—”
“But What?”
“I oughtn't to say it, but I don't altogether trust
him. We're working for a prize, you know, the
Callender medal, and sometimes I’ve imagined that
he—”
“I know, he steals your ideas.”
“Well, I wouldn't put it so bluntly, but he is an
unconscious kleptomaniac, I think. He watches my
drawing—I go astray sometimes to mislead him—
and next thing I know he incorporates the same
motive in his own sketches. I wouldn't say this to
any one else, but I'm a little worried about it. Not |
so much about his taking my stuff as the fear that
some one will think I’ve taken his.”
“How's your work progressing?”
“Well—if Thorpe lets me alone.”
“Can't you lock yourself in?”


The Tobacco Pouch IO7
“Oh, no; we use the same studio, and if I seemed
fearful he would be angry at once. He's a strange
nature, Thorpe. Morbid and secretive, yet a good
friend and a first-rate living companion. You see,
we've separate bedrooms, of course, but we've only
the one big room that's studio and sitting-room
combined. We have to use it together, but as our
friends are pretty much the same bunch, we get
along all right. We have lockers and all that, but
I hate to lock up my sketches when I go out. It
looks as if I didn't trust him.”
“Well, you don't.”
“No ; but I can't tell him so. Nor do I want to
hint it—at least not until I find some definite proof.
Get out your Ouija Board, Carly, and see if it will
tell us anything.”
“Oho, you believe in it fast enough when you
want to use it?”
But a trial of the occult only brought Blair the
advice to beware of a friend who might be at heart
an enemy. To be careful of his plans and sketches,
for there was some one near who might be guilty
of deceit.
All of which Blair knew before.
The sessions which the Cranes held with Madame
Parlato increased in importance and interest.
She had succeeded in materializing the face and
form of their son to their satisfaction of his iden-
tity. They told remarkable tales of seeing and


I08 The Come Back
hearing Peter Boots, until Julie ran out of the
room lest she voice her disapproval too strongly.
For Julie Crane, though an absolute unbeliever in
Madame Parlato and all her works, was a devoted
daughter, and would do nothing to disturb the hap-
piness her parents felt in the séances with the
medium.
But one performance fairly staggered the group
of listeners to whom the Cranes recounted it.
They returned from the medium's to find the
young people sitting round the hospitable Crane
fireside. It was mid March and the weather still
allowed of the cheerful open fire.
Carlotta was there and Shelby, and Blair and
Thorpe, with Julie, of course, made up the little
party.
“The most marvelo is yet!” Benjamin Crane ex-
claimed, as he dr. near the fire. “Julie, dear, if
you don't want to hear, run away, for I must tell
about it.”
But Julie stayed, and her parents told the story.
It seemed the medium had promised them some-
thing very definite by way of proof, and she had
certainly kept her promise.
The materialization of Peter had taken place, and,
as the spirit form slowly dissolved and faded from
their view, there was left behind, lying on the table,
an object that had not been there before.
It was a tobacco pouch, old and worn, and bear-
ing Peter's initials.


The Tobacco Pouch I09
Julie looked at it with horror-stricken eyes, as
her father produced it from his pocket.
“Why,” she gasped, “it’s the one I gave him on
his birthday.”
“Not really" cried Shelby, and both he and Blair
leaned eagerly forward to look.
“It's the one he always carried with him in Lab-
rador,” Blair said, with an expression of blank won-
derment. “How did it get down here?”
“I offer no explanation, save the true one,” Ben-
jamin Crane said, seriously. “That is, as you see, a
real object. It is Peter's property. You, Blair,
recognize it. Do you, Shelby?”
“I do,” Shelby replied, his eyes staring at the
thing.
“Julie recognized it at once,” went on Crane.
“So there's no doubt of its identity. Now, I submit
that it would be impossible for Madame Parlato to
have come by this in any natural way, therefore it
is supernatural.”
“Supernatural!” McClellan Thorpe exclaimed,
with utter scorn in his voice. “How could that be,
sir?”
“It was materialized by my son, Peter,” Crane
returned, looking at Thorpe, calmly. “That may
seem incredible to you, but it is not so incredible as
any other explanation you may offer. You cannot
think my wife or I would misstate what happened,
can you? You cannot assume that Madame Parlato
obtained this in any underhanded way, for you can-


IIO The Come Back
not conceive of any way in which she could do so.
Then, what do you suggest?”
“Anything, but that Peter brought it!” Thorpe
cried.
“Ah, yes; anything but the truth. You glibly say
“anything,' but I ask you to suggest what you mean
in that ‘anything,' and you fail to reply.”
“There is nothing to suggest,” Blair said; “I con-
fess myself utterly at a loss to suggest anything.
To my certain knowledge Peter had that on his per-
son when he died ' Why, that morning he had given
me a pipeful out of it, and had then returned it to
his pocket! My explanation is that Peter is alive!”
“I wish that were the true one,” said Benjamin
Crane, fervently, “but if you'll think a minute, Gil-
bert, you'll realize that if Peter were alive he would
come to us in the flesh, and not send his tobacco
pouch by a medium.”
“Indeed, he would!” agreed Carlotta, “much as
I'd love to believe Peter alive, this episode contra-
dicts such a belief, not proves it!”
“That's right,” said Shelby, thoughtfully; “I, too,
can believe anything rather than that the medium
caused the materialization of this thing, but **
“The medium didn't cause it, exactly,” broke in
Mrs. Crane's gentle voice; “you see, we had begged
Peter so hard for a material proof that he prom-
ised to try to give it to us. And at last he suc-
ceeded. It is miraculous, of course, but no more
miraculous than the strange things recorded in the


The Tobacco Pouch III
Bible. You see, I hold that the day of miracles
is not past.”
Shelby said gravely, “You must be right, for
there's surely no other explanation. I, too, saw this
in Peter's hand that last day we were together. I
can't believe he's alive—”
“Of course not!” interrupted Blair, “if he were,
he'd have no use for mediums! Whatever is the
truth, it's not that Peter's alive! I only wish it
might be, but as Carlotta says, this thing contra-
dicts such a theory. I’m beaten. I see no light
at all.”
Benjamin Crane smiled. “You boys admit you
see no explanation yet you refuse to accept the
obvious and only one possible. But I'm not going
to try to persuade you, I've no reason to do so. It
all means little to you, but it is as the breath of life
to me and to Peter's mother. I trust that some day
Julie will be convinced of these truths, but that is
for her to decide. I shall add this revelation to my
book, by way of an appendix. It's too late to incor-
porate it in the body of the work.”
Benjamin Crane's book had been a work of ab-
sorbing interest to him if not to his friends. He
was entirely obsessed by the whole matter of Spirit-
ism, and his book, following the style of a cele-
brated work of a similar nature in England, was
even now in the publisher's hands.
The book was a memorial to Peter and an account
of the experiences of his parents during the sessions


II2 The Come Back
with the medium. Crane possessed a pleasant, con-
vincing style, and the book was well written and of
a real interest quite apart from the question of the
reader's belief in its matter. *
When the volume was published, and that was
early in April, it became an immediate success. Not
the least of the reasons for this was the astounding
account of the materialization of the tobacco pouch,
detailed exactly as Benjamin Crane had told the
story the night of the occurrence.
The book went like wildfire. Edition after edi-
tion was sold, and Benjamin Crane found himself
famous. The benign old gentleman took his no-
toriety calmly, and refused to see the people who
thronged to his door unless they were personal ac-
quaintances. He had to engage secretaries and other
assistants, but his methodical and efficient mind
easily coped with all such matters. Mrs. Crane, too,
was serenely indifferent to the publicity of it all,
and pursued her simple ways of life undisturbed.
But Julie was angry at it all. Her life, she said,
was spoiled by being known as the daughter of a
demented monomaniac.
Her father smiled at her and told her she would
change her views some day, and her mother scolded
her now and then, but mostly ignored the subject
when talking with her.
Julie found sympathy in the views of McClellan
Thorpe.


II4 The Come Back
he write to Joshua, their old guide, as to their recep-
tion. -
This was done, but the reply received caused a
halt in the preparations.
For the letter, which Shelby brought over for
Crane to read, ran thus:
“DEAR MISTER SHELBy:
I think youd better not try to take back the boddy
of Mister Peter. We berried it verry deep and it
better remain here. Anny way, you cant mannage
it till late summer. Say about August or so.”
“However, Mr. Crane,” Shelby said, “if you say
so, we can go ahead in spite of Joshua's letter. He's
a good guide, but he always was a bit dictatorial.”
“No,” Benjamin Crane said, “I believe in taking
advice from one who is undoubtedly good authority.
We'll postpone the plan until August.”
When Blair was told of it he was rather relieved,
for he was busy with his prize drawings and he
didn't want to leave town.
“Let’s see the letter,” he said to Shelby.
“I haven't it, Blair. I left it with Mr. Crane.
But I’ve told you the gist of it.”
“All right, Kit,” and Blair went on with his work.
It was the next night at the Crane house that Mr.
Crane again spoke of his disappointment at not put-
ting through his hoped-for expedition.
“You see, Kit,” he said to Shelby, “I want to


The Tobacco Pouch II5
write another book, and I want it to be about the
recovery of Peter's body.”
“Oh, don't do that, Mr. Crane,” Shelby said, im-
pulsively; “it would be anti-climax. You've done
a big thing, and scored a success. Another book
would spoil it all.”
“I don't think so,” said Crane, not at all annoyed
at Shelby's attitude. “Anyway, I hate to give up
my plan. See here, Shelby, are you sure that man
Joshua wrote the letter you got?”
“Why, yes. What makes you ask that?”
“Only because it's in a big sprawly hand, and once
Blair showed me a letter from Joshua, which he's
kept as a memento, and it was in a small cramped
hand.”
“That's queer. But I expect Joshua might have
got somebody to write for him. Those half-breeds
are not very scholarly, you know. However, if
there's any doubt about it, the matter must be looked
into. Do you mean that maybe we can go now,
after all? But I can't help thinking that Joshua
wrote that. I know he's not very strong on spell-
ing!”
“Well, Blair will know. You ask him for that
letter he has of Joshua’s.”
“All right, Mr. Crane, I will. I'll see him to-
night. There's a dinner on at the Club, and he'll
be there. You know he's in a fair way, I think, to
get that Callender prize.”
“I hope so, I'm sure. A rising young architect,


II6 The Come Back
Blair is, and I hope he wins it. I suppose he
wouldn't want to go to Labrador until that matter
is settled?”
“No, probably not. But the award will be made
this month.”
“And he's in a fair way to get it?”
“Looks that way to me. His sketches are fine,
though I haven't seen his finished work. Thorpe's
a close second, I imagine.”
“I suppose I'd rather see Thorpe get it, but don't
tell Blair that. A man is naturally interested in his
future son-in-law.”
“Oh, it's gone as far as that, has it?”
“Yes, but it's not announced yet. So say nothing
till Julie tells you to. She's a dear girl, but as hard
as adamant where belief in the occult is concerned.”
“She and Thorpe are at one there.”
“Yes, that helped the affair along, I fancy. But
it's all right. Julie can think what she likes. Peter
used to hate the subject, too.” -
“I know it. We touched on it now and then, but
he usually veered off to something else at once.”
“What do you think about the pouch, Shelby? .
I'm not sure I ever asked you.”
“I don't think, Mr. Crane. I mean I can't ex-
plain the thing by natural means, and I'm unable to
believe in the supernatural. What more can I say?”
“Nothing. I suppose most people are like that.
Thank heaven, I'm made so that I can believe!”


Blair Knows II9
“No, no,” Blair declared, but Thorpe jumped up,
and, going into his bedroom, closed the door behind
him.
“Drop it,” commanded Blair, quietly, and Shelby
changed the subject.
“Mr. Crane says you had an old letter from
Joshua,” he began, “let’s see it, will you?”
“Sure, if I can find it,” and Blair began rum-
maging in his desk. “Confound it, Kit, if Thorpe
hasn't been poking in here among my letters!”
“I wouldn't stand for it, Gilbert. What would
he do that for?”
“Hush,” with a glance toward Thorpe's closed
door, “never mind now. But, anyway, I can't find
that letter. What do you want it for?”
“Mr. Crane thinks the one I received from Joshua
looks so different that I wanted to compare them.”
“Let me see yours. I can tell at once. Joshua
wrote a small cramped hand y-
“This one was rather large and of loosely formed
letters, but, of course, some one may have written
it for him.”
“Yes, Joshua hated to write—”
“Well, never mind, don't hunt for it any more.
Pretty queer thing about that tobacco pouch of
Peter's, don't you think?”
Blair looked up quickly. “No, I don't. I know,
or at least I think I know, the explanation of that.”
“You do? Well, out with it!”
“No, not now,” and Blair gave a significant glance


I2O The Come Back
toward Thorpe's door. “But I've had my suspi-
cions roused, and I'm going to verify them, and
then I'm going to expose somebody. I can't stand
any more of this sort of thing. I tell you, Kit, I
know!”
Shelby looked at him in amazement.
“Well, if you won't talk now, we'll whoop it up
some other time. See you to-night at the dinner?”
“Yes; get along now, and we'll meet there later.”
Blair looked anxious and preoccupied. As he
went toward the door with Shelby he said suddenly,
“I say, Kit, will you drop Carlotta Harper?”
“Drop her!”
“Yes; stop calling on her or paying her any atten-
tion.”
“I will not! Just why 29
“All right.” Blair's voice was cold and sharp.
“Good night.”
“Good night, Gil. You're queer to-night. See
you later.”
While dressing for the dinner Kit Shelby thought
long and earnestly of Blair's strange words and his
peculiar mental attitude. He thought Blair was like
a man who had reached the end of his rope. A sort
of exasperation had showed in his face and manner,
and Shelby wondered what it meant.
He went over every word of the conversation
they had had, including Blair's demand that Shelby
desist from future acquaintance with Carly Harper!


Blair Knows I2I
-
:
That was some demand, Shelby decided. And one
to which he had no intention of acceding.
His ruminations resulted in his calling again at
Blair's on the way to the dinner.
He found Blair nearly ready, and Thorpe, too,
waiting to start.
Shelby scrutinized the faces of both men, and
concluded they were still at odds. He went into
Blair's bedroom, where that correct young man was
carefully tying his immaculate evening tie.
“There, you made me spoil it,” Blair exclaimed,
as Shelby's sudden entrance caused a nervous ges-
ture and a resultant wrinkle of the strip of lawn.
“Fiddle-de-dee! Don't be a fuss Only men,
you know. That's good enough.”
But Blair selected another tie, and, while he
manipulated it, Shelby fussed around the room. He
could say no word in confidence to Blair, for Thorpe
was impatiently calling them to hurry, and shortly
the three started off, gay of manner on the surface,
whatever they might be thinking about.
They carefully avoided all mention of the Cranes,
and also avoided the coming prize competition as a
subject of discussion.
This, itself, proved the rift in the lute was still
recognized in the souls of Blair and Thorpe at least.
The two had enough artistic temperament to feel
the inevitable jealousy of each other's designs, and
if Blair suspected Thorpe of appropriating his
ideas, whether consciously or unintentionally, it


122 The Come Back
would have the effect of making him unusually quiet,
even morose, rather than to result in so much as a
spoken hint of his thoughts.
Moreover, habit is strong, and the three walked
off to keep their engagement with much the same
gay laughter and chatter as usual.
Shelby, especially, was purposely talkative and
jocular, for he wanted to get the other two in com-
plete good humor before the feast began.
In a general way he succeeded, and though Blair
was a bit quiet, Thorpe regained his ordinary tem-
per, and the men met and mingled with their fellows,
their attitude properly in the key of the occasion.
It was a merry little dinner, and at last the talk
drifted to Mr. Crane's book about Peter. Every-
body present had known and loved Peter Boots, and
various were the opinions regarding Benjamin
Crane's extraordinary work.
“All rubbish,” declared one man. “Strange, how
sensible men can fall for that stuff! Makes me
sick '''
“Oh, come now,” another urged, “there must be
something in it. Benjamin Crane never made up
all that.” -
“No, he didn't make it up, but he was fooled,
gulled, taken in.” -
“By the medium?” asked some one.
“Partly,” answered somebody else. “But I think
there's been underhand work going on.”
“Such as what?”


I24 The Come Back
“I’m going along with you,” Knight said to
Blair. “I want to see your sketches, you said I
might.”
“All right,” Gilbert returned, and, Thorpe with
them, they went on to the studio.
Knight acted as a peacemaker, though not know-
ing it. He was a jolly, good-natured man, and he
guyed the work of both his friends until they joined
forces to contradict him.
Late they sat, smoking and talking over general
matters. Also they discussed the Crane book, and
agreed that, whether true or not, it was a great doc-
ument and wonderfully popular.
“People are crazy over it, who always hooted at
that sort of thing,” Knight asserted. “It's partly
the charm of Mr. Crane's manner, for the book is
delightfully written, and somehow it does carry
conviction.”
“Thought you didn't believe in it!”
“Me? Oh, I don't,” and Knight winked; “l
mean it carries conviction to those who like that
sort of thing. No, I don't believe a word of it is
truth.”
“Yet you have confidence in Mr. Crane's sincer-
ity ?”
“Oh, yes; he's merely fooled by a medium
and xy
“GO on.”
“And somebody who's telling her things.”
“Who’d do that?”


Blair Knows I25
“I don't know, but it's too palpable. Look at that
tobacco pouch affair. You know somebody must
have given her that. Who did?”
“Hush up,” said Blair, determinedly. “If you
want to discuss that, do it somewhere else.”
“You're all on edge to-night, Blairsy. What's
the matter?”
“Nothing, and I'm not.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” Knight went on. “But, of
course, it's nervousness about the competition.
What'll either of you boys do if the other gets the
prize?”
“Congratulate him,” said Thorpe, but there was
not much ring of earnestness in his tone.
Blair looked at him moodily, and Knight rose to
go.
“You chaps are out of sorts, and I’ll not see you
again till the prize business is settled. Then I hope
you'll be your own sweet sunny selves once more.
Good night.”
He went off, and the other two began a desultory
conversation. It lagged, however, and soon they
separated for the night.
Nobody in the Leonardo Studio apartments was
an early riser. For that reason it was nearly eleven
o'clock when Thorpe, his face very white, tele-
phoned downstairs and asked the doorman to come
up at once.
When Hastings appeared he found Thorpe sit-


126 The Come Back
ting on the edge of a chair in the studio in a state
of agitation. º
“Blair ” Thorpe said, speaking with difficulty.
“Mr. Blair, you know, he's—he's very ill—"
“Ill, sir? Where is he?”
“In bed—in his room—go in, Hastings.”
The man went in, and it needed only a glance to
tell him that Blair's illness, whatever it had been,
was fatal.
“He’s dead,” Hastings said, in an awe-stricken
voice. “He’s surely dead.”
“Well, do something,” Thorpe said; “what's the
thing to do? Get a doctor?”
“A doctor couldn't help him, but yes, we ought
to send for one. Who, sir?”
“I don't know. I've never had a doctor. This
unnerves me, Hastings. I wish you'd do what's
necessary.”
“Ain’t you a friend of his, sir? Can't you show
a little heart?”
Hastings had never liked Thorpe, but had always
been an admirer of Gilbert Blair. There was no
special reason for this, unless that Blair was of a
kindlier nature, and rarely found fault with
Hastings, while Thorpe was sometimes irascible and
even unreasonable.
Moreover, if Thorpe was nervously upset,
Hastings was, too, and neither man knew exactly
what to do.
“Well, you must get a doctor,” Thorpe went on,


Blair Knows I27
a little peevishly. “You're responsible in cases of
emergency
“Me responsible, sir? What do you mean, Mr.
Thorpe?”
“Nothing to make you look like that. But you're
in a position of responsibility, and it's up to you to
do something. Now, do it.”
“Yes, sir.” The tone of authority brought
Hastings to his senses. He was responsible in a
case like this, and he went to the telephone. He
called the superintendent, who did not live in the
building, and asked him to come at once, and to
bring a doctor. Then, his work done, he left the
room, and Thorpe was alone with his dead comrade.
But McClellan Thorpe made no move. He sat
still on the edge of the chair, his face turned away
* from Blair's bedroom and toward the outer door.
At last Somers, the superintendent, arrived, and
with him was Doctor Frost.
They went straight to Blair's bedroom, scarcely
speaking to Thorpe.
“Hastings tells me he's dead,” Somers merely
said, as he passed Thorpe's chair.
With practiced experience, the doctor examined
the body.
“The man has been dead about eight or nine
hours,” he said, “it’s impossible to fix the time
of his death exactly,–but I place it at about three
o'clock this morning. Though it may have taken
place an hour sooner or later.”


I28 The Come Back
“What caused it?” Somers asked, “a stroke?”
“Can't tell without an autopsy. There is posi-
tively no indication of any reason for it.”
“A natural death, of course?” Thorpe asked,
jerkily. *
The doctor gave him a quick glance. “Looks
so,” he returned. “Maybe a stroke, though he's
young for that. Maybe acute indigestion, is he
troubled that way?” -
“With indigestion? Yes,” Thorpe said; “he has
it most of the time. But not acute, merely a little
discomfort when he overeats, which he often
does.”
“Does he take anything for it?”
“I don't know, yes, I’ve seen him take remedies
now and then. I’ve not paid it much attention.”
“Queer case,” the doctor mused. “If it had been
that, he would have cried out, I think. Did you
hear no disturbance?”
“Not a bit,” said Thorpe. “Are you sure it's not
a stroke?” \
“He’s too young for a stroke. Where are his
people?”
“’Way out West. And he hasn't many. An in-
valid mother, and a young sister, I think that's
all.”
“Well,—who should be notified? Those rela-
tives? Where are they? Will you take charge?”
“Oh, I can't!” Thorpe spoke shrinkingly. “I’m
—I’m no relation,-you know, merely a fellow


Blair Knows I29
_*
lodger in his apartment. I’d—rather get out, any
way.”
“You and he chums?”
“Yes; both architects. Of course, I know all
about Mr. Blair's work and that, but I know
nothing of his private affairs. Can't you get some-
body to—to settle up his estate?”
“If he has an estate to settle. But somebody
ought to look after things. Who are his friends?”
“Mr. Crane is one,—Benjamin Crane. And
Christopher Shelby, he's an intimate chum.”
“Crane, the man who wrote the book about his
son's spirit?”
“Yes, that one. Shall I telephone him?”
“Yes; you'd better do so. And I think it neces-
sary to have an autopsy. This death is mysterious,
to say the least. It's unusual, too, in some of its
aspects.”
“Do what you like,” said Thorpe, “but—but I'd
rather not be present. I think I'll go down to the
Cranes' and tell them,--while you—you go on with
your work.”
“All right,” said Doctor Frost, “I’d just as lief
have you out of the way. Leave me the telephone
call that will reach you.”
As Thorpe went off, he realized that he'd had
no breakfast. He felt little like eating, but dropped
into a restaurant for a cup of coffee.
He found himself totally unable to drink it, and


I30 . . The Come Back
Seaving it untasted he went on to the Crane house.
He told the story to Benjamin Crane, who was
shocked indeed.
“But I'm not greatly surprised,” Mr. Crane said;
“I’ve been thinking for some time that Blair didn't
look well. A sort of pallor, you know, and he was
thin. I don't think the Labrador trip agreed with
him at all. And Peter's death affected him deeply.
No; Blair hasn't been well for months.”
“What are you doing here at this time in the
morning, McClellan?” asked a laughing voice, as
Julie Crane came into the room.
But her laughter was hushed as she was told the
news.
“Oh, Mac, what an awful ordeal for you,” she
exclaimed, her sorrow at Blair's death apparently
lost sight of in sympathy for Thorpe.
“It was, Julie,” he returned, earnestly; “I'm—
I'm positively foolish about such things, death, I
mean. I, I almost went all to pieces.”
“Of course you did! Had you had your break-
fast?”
“No; I tried to take some coffee, but I couldn't.”
“You will now,” said the girl, decidedly. “You
come with me, to the dining room, and I'll make
you some coffee myself, on the electric percolator,
and some toast, too, and if you don't enjoy them,
I'll be mad at you.”
He followed her in a sort of daze, turning back
to say:


Blair Knows I31
“Are you going up to the studio, Mr. Crane?”
- “Yes, at once. You go along with Julie, and let
her look after you. And, Julie, you must tell your
mother. It will be a shock,-she loves all Peter's
friends.”
The two went to the dining-room, where Julie,
housewifely girl that she was, brewed golden coffee
and made toast with no aid from the servants.
Mrs. Crane joined them, and Julie told her mother
the sad news.
“Poor Gilbert,” she said, wiping her tears away.
“Peter loved him. Have you told Kit Shelby?”
“Not yet,” Thorpe said; “I’m so broken up my-
sel * -
“Of course you are,” Julie said; “I suppose
father will send him word. Don't think about that,
Mac, father will attend to everything.”
“I know it,” said Thorpe, “and I'm so relieved.
Don't think me a weakling, but death always un-
nerves me, I can't help it, and when I found Gil-
bert, like that ->
“There, there,” Julie soothed him, “you did all
you could. Now let me make you one little piece
more of brown toast * >
But Thorpe declined. To please the girl he had
managed to eat one tiny crisp bit, but another he
could not accept. Nor could he take more than a
small part of the cup of coffee she gave him.
“I’m a fool,” he said, “but—I'm all in!”
*


CHAPTER IX
Investigation
OR did Thorpe's nerves grow calmer. Both
Mrs. Crane and Julie tried to soothe him,
but he was jumpy and his mouth twitched
spasmodically. - -
The women endeavored to change the subject and
talked of other things, whereupon Thorpe sat,
brooding, his dark, handsome face strained and
despairful.
“Now, McClellan,” Julie said, at last, decidedly,
“it’s awful enough, goodness knows, but I'll go crazy
if you sit there like that any longer! Let's think
what's to be done. In the first place, there's Carly
to be considered. She's worse hit than you are.
Oh, I know you and Gilbert were great friends and
all that, but I think he and Carly were more than
friends.”
“Julie,” said her mother, “don’t assume more
than you know. Carly hasn't forgotten Peter,
of that I’m sure.”
“No; and I don't say there was anything definite
between her and Gil Blair, but I think it would
have come in time. Gilbert was crazy over her, even
132


Investigation I33
before they all went on that trip, and when Peter
didn't come back, I think Gilbert felt he had a
right to win Carly if he could.”
“Oh, he had right enough,” Mrs. Crane con-
ceded, “but—I suppose I'm a bit jealous of my
son's memory. However, I'm sorry for poor little
Carly, if she did care for Gilbert in that way.”
And then Carlotta came in. Shelby was with
her; he had heard the news and had gone straight
to Carlotta's home, and they had come over to the
Cranes' together.
Carlotta's eyes were red with weeping, but she
was even more indignant than sad.
“Who could have killed Gilbert?” she cried, “and
why should any one do so?”
“Killed him!” cried Julie, “what do you mean?”
“Why, yes, haven't you heard? Gilbert was
poisoned.”
“Oh, Carlotta! Who said so?”
“Kit told me;—tell them about it, I can't.”
So Shelby told them.
“Mr. Crane telephoned me,” he said, “only about
half an hour ago. He said the doctor found that
Gilbert was poisoned, either by himself—”
“Oh, he never did it himself!” Carlotta cried out.
“Why should he? He was just on the eve of the
great competition,-and he was so excited about it,
and so hopeful, it's absurd to say he killed him-
self!” -
“Of course it is,” agreed Julie. “But are they


I34 The Come Back
sure it was poison? Mac thought it was acute in-
digestion,-or a stroke, or something like that.”
“No,” Shelby said. “Mr. Crane said there was
no doubt about it, I mean about the poisoning. But
don't be too sure that Gilbert didn't take it him-
self. It might have been by mistake, you know.
And anyway it's a mistake to theorize much until
we know more of the details. I'm going up to
Blair's place. Coming along, Thorpe?”
“No, no, I don't believe I will,—I'll stay here
a while, if Mrs. Crane will let me.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Crane, in her kind,
motherly way, “Mac is all broken up. And no
wonder . The shock of finding Gilbert dead—”
“Oh, Mr. Thorpe, did you make the discovery?”
exclaimed Carlotta. “How awful! I don't wonder
you're upset. Yes, Kit, you go up to Gilbert's.
There may be something you can do.”
Shelby went away, and when he reached the
studio the first one to greet him was Mr. Crane.
“Hello, Shelby, I'm glad you came. This is a
bad business.”
“Tell me all about it, I know only the main
fact, of Gilbert's death.”
“Yes, that's the main fact, and the next one in
importance is that the boy was poisoned. It's not
known whether he took the poison himself or
whether x *
“But how? I mean, what are the circumstances?”


Investigation I35
“Come on in-the police are here and the doc-
tor. Listen to them.”
The two went into the familiar studio, the big
room where Blair and his friends had so often for-
gathered with jests and laughter. -
There were two doctors there and two or three
men from the Police Department.
The Medical Examiner was talking.
“It’s one of those cases,” he said, “where there
seem to be no clews at all. The autopsy revealed
the mere fact that Mr. Blair was poisoned by prus-
sic acid, taken into the stomach. But there is no
evidence in the way of a glass or container of any
sort, there is no odor of prussic acid about his lips,
no real reason to suspect foul play, and yet no ap-
parent reason to think he killed himself. It may
have been an accident, yet I can see no real evidence
of that. It's mysterious from the very lack of
anything suspicious.”
“Was he—was he in bed?” asked Shelby, who
had heard no detail of Thorpe's finding the body.
“Yes,” said Doctor Middleton, the Examiner.
“It seems his room-mate found him, in bed, in his.
night-wear, and immediately called the doorman of
the house.”
“And then Thorpe lit out,” remarked Detective
Weston. “I want to see him.”
“Oh, Thorpe's all right,” said Mr. Crane. “He’s
down at my house. I'll vouch for him. You


I36 The Come Back
needn't look that way for the criminal,—if there is
a criminal.”
“I should say not!” declared Shelby. “McClellan
Thorpe and Mr. Blair were the greatest friends.”
“But I can't think Gilbert was killed,” Mr. Crane
went on. “Seems to me if that were the case,
there'd be some evidence of an intruder. And as
Gilbert has no friends,--I mean no relatives or
family in the city, I'll take up the matter myself.
I’d like a thorough investigation, not so much to
prove there was a criminal as to prove there wasn't
one. I don't think there was, but I'd like a search
made for any light that can be thrown on the
matter.”
“Oh, we'll investigate all right,” said Weston;
“I think somebody bumped the man off. I don't
see any possibility for an accident, but it's more
like suicide to me.” -
“Let's look around a bit,” said Shelby. “I’m
with you, Mr. Crane, in assuming responsibility.
Why, who is there to take charge of Gilbert's things,
—his estate?”
“It's hardly a big enough matter to call an
estate,” Crane said; “of course, I know more or
less of Blair's affairs, and he wasn't by any means
affluent. Indeed, his hopes of the prize in the com-
ing competition represented his chief asset.”
“Thought he'd get a prize, did he?” said Weston,
“for what?” -
“For his architectural design,” Crane answered.


Investigation I37
: “He was working hard, and was hopeful. That's
why I feel sure he never killed himself.”
“Here are his designs,” said Shelby, as he opened
- a big portfolio. “Why don't you take these, Mr.
Crane, and take them home with you. They're
really valuable.”
: “Of course they are, I'll do that,” agreed the
, older man. “Blair has a sister, somewhere out
West. If anything comes of the drawings, it will
be hers.” -
“Can you get in touch with his family?” asked
Middleton.
“Don’t know anything about them,” Crane re-
turned. “I suppose there must be letters or an
address book or some such matters in Blair's desk.
Thorpe may know more about it than I do.”
“Thorpe may know a lot of things,” suggested
Weston. “Better get him up here, I say.”
“All right,” Benjamin Crane said, after a mo-
ment's pause. “He’s down at my house,_I'll tele-
phone him to come up here now.”
But when connection was made it transpired that
Thorpe had left the Crane house and nobody knew
where he was.
“Looks bad,” said Weston, shortly. “Why'd he
run away?”
“See here, Mr. Weston,” Crane said, “if you've
any suspicion against McClellan Thorpe just put it
out of your mind. He had no hand in Mr. Blair's
death—”
*


138 The Come Back
“I didn't say he had.”
“I know you didn't, but you implied it, and I
want to quash any such suggestion at once.”
“It's absurd,” Shelby agreed. “You don't know
the friendship that existed between the two men.
Why, they were fellow architects and have lived
here together for over two years. They were like
brothers.”
“That's all right, but why did Thorpe run away?"
“He hasn't run away!” Crane said, “what a
ridiculous charge! Merely because he left my
house, you say he's run away! He's probably on
his way up here. This is his home.”
“Well, until he gets here, I'll look around his
room a bit,” Weston remarked, and as he went into
Thorpe's bedroom, Crane followed.
There was nothing sinister there. Merely the
usual appointments, and rather plain ones, for the
young architects were not of luxurious tastes or
In eans.
With a practiced eye and deft hand, Weston went
through dresser drawers, and cupboard shelves.
Looked into the books on the night table, and in a
short time had satisfied himself that there was no
evidence apparent, so far.
Into the bathroom next, they all went. This the
two men shared, and the detective scrutinized the
glasses and brushes that were on shelves, either
side of the wash stand. They were of tidy appear-


Investigation I39
ance and presented merely the array that might
be expected.
Weston sniffed hard at the glasses, but could
detect no untoward odors, nor any sign of poison
or drugs of any sort.
The small white cupboard on the wall showed
only a few bottles containing toilet appurtenances
and simple medicines.
“Witch Hazel, Peroxide, Talcum powder, Chol-
era mixture and soda mints,” he said, from the
various labels, “hello, here's laudanum ! How
about that?”
“No,” Doctor Middleton declared, “it wasn't
laudanum poisoning. It was prussic acid. The
effects are quite different, and ther-s no mistaking
them. I don't know what the young men were
doing with laudanum, but it wasn't that that killed
Mr. Blair.”
“Curious, to have poison around at all,” said
Shelby, musingly.
“Gives a hint of intended suicide,” suggested
Weston. “Though not necessaril **
“I should say not!” broke in Benjamin Crane.
“Gilbert Blair wasn't coward enough to take his
own life for any reason. Why, he was my son's
friend. It was an accident, and the fact of find-
ing that other poison about, points toward accident,
to my mind.”
“Just how do you make that out, Mr. Crane?”
asked Weston, with a slight smile.


I40 The Come Back
“Why”—began Crane, a little lamely—“I’m not
sure that I can explain, but it appeared to me that
if Blair had one poison in his possession, he might
have had the other, and **
“How do you know this laudanum was Mr.
Blair's possession?” asked Weston. “Might it not
have been Mr. Thorpe's?”
“How you hark back to Thorpe!” exclaimed
Crane, with real petulance. “I wish you'd stop it,
Weston. If you've a definite suspicion that he
killed Gilbert Blair, say so, but don't throw out these
silly hints.”
“Nothing especially silly about them, Mr. Crane,"
the detective was quite unruffled, “only I hold that
the poison we've just found is quite as likely to
be Mr. Thorpe's as Mr. Blair's. That's all.”
“Of course it is,” Shelby said, placatingly, “but
that's neither here nor there. If you have reason
to think Mr. Blair was murdered, you've reason to
look for the criminal. But I don't think you've
proved it was not an accident, and until you do,
it's well to be careful how you throw suspicion
about.”
“It's not so easy to prove an accident, or a
murder, either, when there's practically no clew
to be found. Therefore, it's our duty to question
any one who can give any material evidence, espe-
cially one who was presumably the last one to see
Mr. Blair alive.”


Investigation I4I
“Except the murderer, if there was one,” said
Shelby.
“Yes, and if he was not the murderer himself,”
grunted Weston. * .
“Send for that doorman,” said Middleton, a
bit curtly. “Let's get somewhere.”
Hastings, being summoned, appeared, and told
all he knew, which was little, and all he surmised,
which was more.
“Yes,” he said, “Mr. Thorpe called me, this
morning, and when I came, he was all of a shiver.
He sat on the edge of that chair there, and his
teeth chattered and his voice shoo yy
“Small wonder!” said Crane. “Mac is a very
nervous man, and a shock such as he must have
1 d d ->
“Go on, Hastings,” ordered Doctor Middleton.
“Well, Mr. Thorpe said Mr. Blair was ill, and
told me to go in and see him. Now, of course, Mr.
Thorpe knew Mr. Blair was dead, but he said he
was ill. Why did he do that?”
“Tell your story,” said Crane, scowling at him.
“Don’t ask fool questions as you go along!”
“Yes, sir. Well, I went in and I saw Mr. Blair
was dead. And I told Mr. Thorpe so, and he didn't
seem surprised, but he was all of a blue funk, and
he said, ‘Well,—get a doctor—or whatever is the
thing to do.’ Just like that. He didn't show any
grief or any sorrow, only just seemed scared to
death.”


I42 The Come Back
“And he didn't show any surprise?” This from
Middleton. -
“Of course he didn't!” Crane cried; “of course'
he knew Blair was dead when he called Hastings.
I know Thorpe, and he's a most nervous tempera-
ment. And when he called for help, as of course
he had to do, it was the most natural thing in the
world for him to say that Mr. Blair was ill. Nor
would he be apt to show his grief then and there.
He was stunned, and moreover, he's not the man
to talk over his sorrow with the janitor! I say
Thorpe acted as any of us would do in the same
circumstances. Now, I for one, object to having
him misjudged.”
“You’re a good champion, Mr. Crane,” said
Doctor Middleton, “and I don't blame you for stand-
ing up for your friend. But he'll have to speak
for himself, Mr. Thorpe will,—and the sooner we
get hold of him the better.”
“I agree to all that,” Crane replied, “all I ask
is that he shall not be condemned unheard.”
“That's reasonable enough,” granted Middleton,
“but we must get hold of him soon.”
“He'll come back here,” Mr. Crane assured them.
“He hasn't run away, as you seem to think, but he
has a natural aversion to this place, and I shouldn't
be surprised if he stayed away for a few days.”
“A few days! Where would he stay?” asked the
Examiner.
“Probably at his Club.”


Investigation I43
“Which Club? I'll call it up and see if he's there
now,” Weston said, briskly.
“The Artists' Club. Call it, and they'll tell you
something about him, I'm sure.”
Weston called the Club and received word that
Thorpe was there.
“Ask him to speak to me,” he ordered, and in a
moment he was talking to Thorpe himself.
“Yes, I'll come home right away,” Thorpe agreed,
when urgently invited to do so.
“I told you so,” said Crane, triumphantly; “that
man had no thought of running away, but he dreads
this place just now. He's of a sensitive, nervous
nature, and I hope, Mr. Weston, you'll be decent
to him. No third degree manners, that won't help
with McClellan Thorpe.”
They all remained awaiting Thorpe's return.
Shelby busied himself looking over some of Blair's
books and papers, while Benjamin Crane talked
to Dr. Middleton.
He rather liked the Medical Examiner, but he did
not at all admire detective Weston or his ways. So
he endeavored to give Doctor Middleton a mental
picture of Thorpe, and prepare him for an inter-
view that should temper justice with mercy, or at
least, consideration.
Weston spent the time prowling round Blair's
bedroom in search of clews. But his keen glances
could find no single thing that gave any hint of


I44 The Come Back
means or reason for suicide, nor any that suggested
an accident.
“Wherefore,” he concluded to himself, “it’s a -
murder. No clew, means a careful removal of any
clew, and a mighty clever criminal at that. Maybe
it wasn't friend Thorpe, but a few words with him
will convince me one way or the other.”
Thorpe came, and though his expression was in-
scrutable and his face set and stern, it seemed to
those who knew him best that he was trying to
hold himself together and not give way to his ner-
VO11SneSS.
“Take a seat, Mr. Thorpe,” Doctor Middleton
said, courteously, after Crane had introduced them;
“we expect from you a straightforward account
of all you can tell us of your experiences this morn-
ing.” -
“Why should my account be other than straight-
forward?” Thorpe said, breathing hard, and making
an evident effort at self-control. “I have nothing
to conceal, and if I seem distraught, it is, I dare say,
not astonishing.”
“Now, Mac,” Mr. Crane said, kindly, “don’t
bristle. We're all your friends, and we only want
you » -
“Good heavens, Mr. Crane, why do you take that
conciliatory attitude? I’ve no confession to make,
—I—I didn't kill Blair y?
“Why do you say that?” cried Weston. “Who


Investigation I45
even hinted that you killed Mr. Blair? Why do
you think anybody killed him?”
“Why do you?” countered Thorpe, turning an
angry glance at the detective.
“I haven't said I did.”
“Not in so many words,--but you imply it. I tell
you I didn't kill him! I didn't!”
Thorpe was not excited of manner, he was very
calm, but his blazing eyes and quivering mouth, and
his intensity, rather than force of speech gave him
the effect of intense excitement.
“Don’t deny or assert, Mr. Thorpe,” said Mid-
dleton, coldly. “Just tell your story. At what time
did you rise?”
“About ten o'clock,” was the short reply.
“And then?”
“Then I bathed, shaved and dressed just as usual.
I generally dress before Mr. Blair, and I thought
nothing of his silence.”
“His bedroom door was closed?”
“Yes; then, after I was dressed and about to go
out to my breakfast, I called to him through the
door.”
“What did you say?”
“I can't repeat the exact words, but it was only
to the effect of ‘good-by, old chap,' or maybe, ‘I’m
off, Blair, or something of the sort.”
“And you went on?”
“I didn't hear him reply,–he usually says, “All
*


I46 The Come Back
right, Mac,' so I repeated my call. Then, when he
didn't respond that time, I knocked at his door.”
“Fearing something was wrong?”
“N-no-not wrong-I think I just wanted him
to say something—”
“Why were you so anxious he should say some-
thing?” This last from Weston, with a direct
glance.
“Why, good Lord, man,” Thorpe's eyes blazed,
“because I am accustomed, to a reply, and when
it didn't come, I naturally wondered why.”
“Didn't you think he might merely be asleep?”
“I didn't think anything about that. I acted on
impulse. I didn't hear him, and I wanted to see
him.”
“And you did? You opened the door?”
“Yes, after I knocked twice,—then I–I opened
his door.” -
“It was not locked?”
“No; we never lock our bedroom doors.”
“Go on, and then?”
“Then"—Thorpe spoke slowly, as if choosing
his words—“then, I saw him lying in the bed,—
still,—as if asleep. I went closer, and I saw by the
look on his face that he was dead.”
“You knew that at once?"asked Middleton. “You
didn't think he was only asleep—”
“No, the pallor was unmistakable—”
“Have you often looked upon death?”
“Never before, except at a funeral.”


Investigation I47
“And yet you knew at once it was death you
saw, not sleep. That is remarkable, Mr. Thorpe.”
Thorpe met Middleton's eyes, and then his own
fell.
“I can't help that, Doctor,” he said; “I was sure,
—that is, almost sure Mr. Blair was dead.”
“Yet you called Hastings and told him Mr. Blair
was ill.”
“Yes, – I couldn't seem to say the – the
other y;
“Why did you kill him, Mr. Thorpe?”
“I—I kill him! Oh, I didn't!—I told you I
didn't!”
“Yes; but we can't believe you.”


CHAPTER X
Evidence
HE few days following Gilbert Blair's death
were like a nightmare to his friends. A
search of his papers had revealed a probable
address of his mother, but a telegram sent there
had as yet brought no reply and though a letter
was despatched, no answer could be expected to
that for a week or more.
Meantime, by general consent, Benjamin Crane
took charge of Blair's affairs. The funeral took
place in an undertaker's establishment and the body
was placed in a receiving vault, until Blair's people
could be heard from. His immediate possessions
remained in the studio rooms, for the lease had
still six months to run, and the police objected to
any removal of the dead man's effects. It was
practically impossible to seal them up as Thorpe
occupied the same rooms, but a strict surveillance
was kept, and Weston doggedly asserted he would
yet track down the murderer. -
For no one could doubt Blair had been murdered.
On the eve of the prize competition, in which he
was so deeply interested,—on the eve, as he hoped,
148


I50 The Come Back
was present, for she wanted to know every detail
of any discovery that might be made.
“I don't believe it!” she flared out at the de-
tective's statement.
“Yes, Miss Crane,” Weston said, “I found a
pretty suspicious circumstance to-day. Nothing less
than a very small bottle, without cork or label, but
smelling unmistakably of prussic acid.”
“Where was it?” demanded Crane.
“Hidden in an old and unused paint-box of
McClellan Thorpe's.” . -
“Where was the paint-box?”
“’Way back, on a cupboard shelf. Pushed back,
behind a pile of old books.”
“Planted evidence,” suggested Crane. “The real
criminal put it there to incriminate Mr. Thorpe.”
“Not a chance!” said Weston, smiling. “I’ve
had that place watched too closely for that, sir!
Nobody could get in to plant evidence, or to do
anything else without being seen by my men. No,
sir, that bottle in Mr. Thorpe's paint-box was put
there by his own hand, and it will prove his un-
doing.”
“But it's absurd!” flashed Julie. “Mr. Thorpe
never killed his friend,-but if he had done so, he
wouldn't be fool enough to leave such evidence
around!”
“He couldn't help himself, Miss Crane. When
he used the bottle that night, he had to secrete it
somewhere, and since then he has been too closely


I 52 The Come Back
“some fellow artist, who feared Gilbert would win
that prize—”
“Miss Crane, you must know that's the motive
attributed to Mr. Thorpe. You must know that
he and Mr. Blair were rivals in that competition
and x-
Julie's eyes flashed fire. “And you mean to say
that he killed his friend,-his chum,_in order to
be sure of winning the prize!”
“That's the motive we're assuming. But there
was doubtless a scrap.-a row about the pictures or
drawings, in fact, I hate to tell you these things,
but we have learned that there was bad blood be-
tween the two men, for each thought the other
had imitated his own ideas. This brought about
more or less dissension, and—well, probably both
men lost their temper, and real hatred ensued.”
Weston tried to adapt his language so as to spare
Julie's feelings as much as possible, for the girl
was highly wrought up, and he was genuinely sorry
for her. He knew of the state of things between
her and Thorpe, knew, too, that it explained Ben-
jamin Crane's determination to free Thorpe from
suspicion, if it could be done. -
But Crane was staggered by the disclosure of the
hidden vial.
“It's a clew,” he said, but he spoke slowly and
thoughtfully.
“Yes, it's a clew,” agreed Weston, “and it will
convict the criminal. The label,-if it ever had


Evidence I53
one,—has been washed off. The cork is missing,
and, by the way, if that cork could be found it
would help a lot! But all the same, I've a notion
I can trace that bottle to its source.”
“How P’’ asked Crane. “Is it of a peculiar shape
or style?”
“No; just a common, ordinary two-ounce bottle,
such as most druggists use all the time. But there's
no name blown in it, that's important, for many
dealers have their names on their glassware, and a
blank bottle is conspicuous of itself.”
“Conspicuous by its rarity,+but not therefore
traceable,” said Mr. Crane.
“Perhaps so, by elimination zy
“Nonsense!” Julie cried; “you can't trace it,
and you know it! You're just making believe,
you're what do you call it? framing a case! you're
railroading McClellan Thorpe to prison! I won't
have it! Father, surely you can do something! You
must 1” \
Stifling her sobs, Julie ran out of the room.
There was an uncomfortable silence and then
Benjamin Crane said:
“You see what a hard position I'm in, Weston.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But of course,” Crane sighed deeply, “justice
must be done,—only I beg of you, Weston, use
every effort to find another suspect, a logical one,
—now, don't misunderstand me! I mean, if there
can possibly be a doubt of Thorpe's guilt, and a


I54 The Come Back
chance of another man's guilt, for Heaven’s sak
find that other man!”
“Not a chance.”
“But, at least, keep an open mind. And spare n
expense. Get a special detective, a big one,—
there now, don't bristle! I don't suppose you think
yourself the cleverest in the world, do you? Don't
you admit any superior? If so, get him; if not
then prove your own worth. I repeat, I want no
undue favor shown to McClellan Thorpe, but if
he is not the guilty man, then I want you to move
heaven and earth to find the real criminal. Can't
you conceive, Weston, of a murderer so clever as
to have committed the crime, planted the vial as
evidence against Thorpe and made his escape leav-
ing no clew?”
“I can conceive of such a thing, sir, as I can con-
ceive of a ghost,--but there is no evidence for either
conception.”
“Evidence enough for ghosts, Weston! Haven't
you read my book?”
“Oh, I clean forgot that book you wrote, Mr.
Crane. No, I haven't read it, but my folks have,
and I dare say you do believe in spooks. But, come,
now, you don't believe a spook killed Mr. Blair, do
you, sir?”
“No, and yet, it is within the bounds of pos-
sibilit »
“Not as the police count possibility! There's
small chance of any human agency other than Mr.


Evidence I55
horpe, but far less chance of a supernatural agent!
ll be getting along, Mr. Crane, if you're going off
n that track.”
“Hold on, Weston, I'm in earnest about this
pecial detective. Suppose I engage a private one.
an you and he work in harmony?”
“Oh, yes, I'm not pig-headed. So long as he
on't interfere too much, or get me into any scrapes
ith his highfalutin tricks,—which they all have,
o ahead and get him. I'll do my own duty, as I
ee it and as it's dictated to me by Headquarters;
ut if you want to engage a dozen private detectives,
here's no law against it. And, sir, I'm free to con-
ess I feel mighty sorry for that pretty daughter
ºf yours, and if anybody else can save her man
or her, when I can't—why, let him at it!”
“Good for you, Weston, I hoped you'd be above
etty jealousy. Go on, now, and see if you can't
onnect up that empty vial with somebody whose
lame isn't Thorpe, and, I say, you're not going
o arrest him yet, are you?”
“Not just yet-but-well, I'll let you know
oon, where we stand.”
His visitor gone, Benjamin Crane put on his hat
ind went at once to see Madame Parlato. He had
cquired the habit of an interview with her when
inything bothered him, and his faith in her powers
was unshaken.
His request for a séance was granted, for since
he book of Benjamin Crane's had made such a suc-
-


I56 The Come Back
cess, the medium was besieged with patrons, yet
she always gave Crane the preference over other
sitters.
Admitted to the private sanctum, Crane told the
Madame he wished to learn anything possible con-
cerning the death of Gilbert Blair.
The medium went into a trance as usual, and
after a short interval, announced in her low mono-
tone that the spirit of Peter Crane was present.
“My boy,” said Crane, eagerly, “do you know
who killed Blair?”
“Yes, father,” came the reply, through the voice
of Madame Parlato; “do not seek further than you
already know.” |
“You mean it was
Benjamin Crane hesitated. He was a cautious
man, and often as he had had this sort of interviews
with Peter's spirit, he was always particular to give
no information unnecessarily.
“Yes, dad, it was.”
“Well, who? who, Peter?”
“Must I say the name?”
“Yes, boy. But only if you're sure you know.
It would be a grave error otherwise.” *
The medium stirred uneasily, and was silent for
a time. Then, with a long drawn sigh, she re-
sumed, “Well, father, if I must tell you, it was
Thorpe.”
“Oh, Peter, not really!”


Evidence I57
“Yes, dad. Don't look any further, it was
Thorpe.”
The medium was silent after that. She came
out of her trance state, looking a little bewildered.
“Did you get anything?” she asked, for, as she
had frequently told her sitter, she herself knew
nothing of what transpired while she was uncon-
scious.
“Yes,” Crane returned, and knowing there would
be no further communication that day, he went
home.
He found Thorpe there, discussing the matter
with Mrs. Crane and Julie.
“I don't know what to do,” Thorpe said, as Mr.
Crane joined the group. “I didn't kill Blair, at
least, I don't think I did.”
“What does that mean?” Crane asked.
“Only that if I did do it, it was unconsciously.”
“In your sleep?”
“No; but under hypnotism. I've not much belief
in that sort of thing, but, well, you know about
occult matters, might it not be possible?”
Benjamin Crane was disappointed. He had
hoped for a vigorous denial on Thorpe's part, but
this halfway confession seemed to him a mere quib-
ble. He found himself believing the man guilty
and that he was using this hypnotism suggestion as
a last resort to prove innocence. -
“Stop it, father!” Julie cried. “You are thinking
Mac did do it, having been hypnotized by somebody!


Evidence I59
“Yes, McClellan,” but Crane's voice had no
hearty ring, “yes, when you are a free man in every
- sense of the word, you may take my little girl for
your own.”
Thorpe gave him a searching look. “I can't
help seeing, Mr. Crane,” he said, “that you think,
or perhaps I may say, you fear I am guilty. I hope
I can prove to you that I am not.”
Crane noticed the wording of his speech. Thorpe
hoped to prove to him, but he didn't say he was
innocent.
And Benjamin Crane believed the man guilty. ,
Greatly influenced by what he had heard at the
séance with the medium, Crane was still willing to
be convinced to the contrary, but Thorpe's own
attitude and words did not carry conviction.
“Well, my children,” Crane said at last, “here's
my proposition. I can't think your determination
to do detective work will produce much fruit. Now,
if you like, I'll engage the best detective I can find
and put him on the job. What say, Thorpe?”
It was a test question, and Crane eagerly awaited
the answer. If Thorpe were really innocent, he
would welcome the clever sleuthing that would be
likely to unearth the truth.
But he was disappointed to hear Thorpe say, “Not
yet, Mr. Crane. Give us a chance. Let me try,
let us try,”—with a glance at Julie—“give us a few
days, at least,-then, if we gain nothing, then
bring on your detective.”


Evidence I6I
heard Blair and I had.combined on our work xx
“Why was that annoying?”
“Oh, it implied that Gilbert and I took each
other's ideas, or something, I don't know, any-
way, he stirred us up, and when he went off, Gil
and I were touchy. We had some words, and Blair
tore up his sketches, a-and-tore up some of mine,
too.”
“He did! No wonder you were annoyed.”
“Yes; they were the ones I had ready-or, al-
most ready, to send in.”
“Go on,” said Crane, briefly.
“Well, there's little more to tell. I went into my
bedroom and slammed the door. Yes, Islammed it,
for I had lost my temper, and I was mad at Blair.”
“And then P”
“I don't know anything more to tell. I heard
Blair around the studio for a time, and once I
heard his footsteps near my door, as if he wanted
to speak to me, maybe make up, but he didn't
say anything or knock, or call out, -and then, after
a time I heard him go into his own bedroom and
close the door.”
“And you heard nothing through the night?”
“Nothing unusual. The ordinary sounds in the
building, of course.”
“And you stayed in your room, in your bed,—
till morning?” -
“Yes, I did. I sleep very soundly, and I sleep
late. The details of the morning, and my finding


CHAPTER XI
Carlotta and the Board
UCH as Benjamin Crane desired to believe
M in Thorpe's innocence it was difficult for
him to do so, after the disclosure of the
medium, Madame Parlato. In her powers he had
absolute faith, of her honesty and sincerity he was
entirely confident, and it was largely the accounts
of her séances that made the bulk of his book about
his son's communications with him. The séances
were frequent, still, and at each one he gained more
material for use in a second book.
The book, the one already published, was in its
fourth edition and was still having large sales. It
was called “A Prophecy Fulfilled,” and dealt with
the old prophecy of the gypsy, that Peter should
be lost while on a distant journey, should die a
terrible death there, but should mysteriously return
to his family.
This, Benjamin Crane held, had been accom-
plished in full. The long journey, the terrible death,
were matters of fact, and Mr. and Mrs. Crane
believed that the return of their son was equally a
matter of fact. .
163


I64 The Come Back
Wherefore, the book was written in a sinne,
... straightforward style, without excitement or erag-
geration, and it gave detailed recitals of the nap-
penings at the séances.
Needless to say that the medium was besieged
with would-be clients, but she accepted very few,
for the Cranes claimed most of her time. Not that
they were continually in her presence, but the ex-
haustive nature of her trances made it impossible
for her to devote many hours a day to their prac-
tice. And Benjamin Crane made it quite worth
her while, financially, to reserve for him her peculiar
talents.
The sessions brought forth little that was new
or different, but the parents never tired of what they
implicitly believed was absolute direct communica-
tion with their son's spirit through the personality
of Madame Parlato.
Criticism, disapproval, even ridicule from their
friends and acquaintances moved them not a jot
from their faith and trust.
Wiser and better people than we, believe in it,
they would argue, and it is now so much a part
of our lives, that I think we could scarcely live
without it.
And so, they went along, cheered and made happy
by the communications and fully reconciled thereby
to the death of their cherished son.
Julie, though never quite satisfied of the truth
of the whole matter, had become more or less im-


Carlotta and the Board 165
bued with the atmosphere that she lived in, and
aside from her own feelings, was glad that her
parents could be happy in their grief, even though,
it were a delusion.
And the popularity of this book brought him ab-
sorbing work and many outside interests to Ben-
jamin Crane. Continually, people came to see him,
to discuss the question of Continuity, or Life after
Death, and to argue for or against the reappear-
ance of departed spirits.
Many of these he saw and learned to like and
his circle of acquaintances was continually enlarg-
ing.
Naturally, when he discussed matters with them,
the subject of Gilbert Blair's death was talked of.
Crane was a careful man, and rarely told what hap-
pened at his séances, save in a general way. For
he had learned of the dangers of having his state-
ments misquoted and exaggerated, and as a rule, he
was canny enough to let his visitors talk, while he
said little.
And from the consensus of opinion thus gathered,
he discovered that public sentiment was largely
against McClellan Thorpe. . This troubled him, for
if Thorpe were guilty it was surely Crane's duty
to guard his daughter from a criminal. On the
other hand, Julie was so deeply in love with Thorpe,
and so positive that he was in no way a wrong-doer,
that the father's heart was torn.
t


Carlotta and the Board 167
“I don't know, but it's possible Peter may
himself be misinformed. You know we've discov-
ered that the disembodied spirits are not omniscient.”
In the meantime Carlotta Harper was endeavor-
ing to use her occult powers to solve the mystery
of Blair's death.
Carlotta herself was a mystery. Disavowing any
especial clairvoyant ability, she yet achieved mar-
velous results from the Ouija Board.
She scoffed at it herself, yet whenever her finger-
tips were on the board it spelled words rapidly and
gave messages that were acclaimed as truth by the
audience.
One afternoon Shelby was with her, and he, a
little timidly, suggested a trial of the Board.
“Why, Kit, I thought you detested it,” said Carly,
surprised.
“I do; but you're a witch at it, and—suppose
it should tell us something about Blair, something
we don't know—”
“You think Mac did it, don't you?” Carly
spoke hesitantly, for the two had discussed the sub-
ject very little. -
“I don't say so, Carly, yet where else is there
to look? If you had seen, as I did, how much at
odds the two chaps were that evening I dropped
in sy
“The night of the dinner?”
“Yes, in the late afternoon. They were rowing
no end! Then I went off, but I called for them on


I68 The Come Back -
the way to the feast,--we always go together,
and Blair was in a regular stew. Nervous,
couldn't get his tie right, and all that. And—
Carly,–what do you think? He asked me if I’d
drop you! Think of that! As if I were a sort of
man to interfere with a friend's interests! Why, if
he'd told me there was anything between you two,
of course I should have stepped down and out at
once. Was there, Carly?”
“Nothing definite, no.” The girl spoke wearily,
pushing back her thick mass of dark, wavy hair.
“No, Kit, nothing promised. If he had lived—oh,
I don't know. You see, I loved Peter. And I
sometimes think I never can care at all for any one
else.”
“But, dear, Peter's dead and Blair's dead, and
you can't live all your life alone. Just give me a
ray of hope, Carly. I won't bother you about it,
only tell me that some time, maybe-”
“Let it stay at that, Kit. Some time, maybe
—and now come on, if you like we'll try the
Ouija.”
The session was interesting. Carly never, in any
circumstances, pushed or guided the board in the
very least,-nor did she ever sit with any one whom
she suspected of doing so. But with her friends
in whom she had perfect confidence, or with ac-
quaintances who, she knew were eagerly wanting
to learn, not anxious to tell, she often tried the
uncanny thing.
ſ


Carlotta and the Board 169
Lightly they rested their fingertips on the little
wooden heart, and after a short wait it began to
move.
At Carly's questions, replies came that there was
a spirit present and that it was Peter Boots.
Neither of the inquirers was surprised at this,
for they had fully expected it. Moreover, both had
watched most closely the other's muscles and
fingers and wrists, and each was positive the mes-
sages, whatever their source, were not the result of
human deceit.
After some preliminary talk, Carly said, “You
put the questions, Kit.”
So Shelby said, “Peter, you know Blair's gone?”
“Yes,’’ returned the board.
“Have you seen him—or I mean, is he with you
—in spirit?”
“Yes,” came the answer.
“Will he talk to us?”
“No.”
“Well—then can you give us a message from
him P”
“Yes.”
Yes and No are designated on the Ouija Board
as words. The movement of the Board toward
these was quick, almost jerky.
But when the message was asked for, when
Shelby said, “Will he tell us how he died?” there
was a pause and the Board moved aimlessly about.
At last, Carly said, “Peter, was Gilbert killed?”


I70 The Come Back
“Yes,” came the quick reply.
“Do you know who killed him?”
“Yes.”
“Who was it?”
Carly shot out the question quickly, and immedi.
ately the board moved to T. From that, as the
two breathlessly waited, the pointer very slowly
spelled Thorpe. -
The word did not go smoothly,–the board swung
round in large loops, but paused positively at each
letter, and then started slowly to the next.
“You didn't push, Kit?” Carly asked, but more
from force of habit than any doubt of him.
“Of course not. Nobody could push with you
watching, nor was there any reason why I should
Did you?”
“Of course not. Don't let's ask each other that.
We're both honest. But you know, Kit, Mr. Crane
had a communication from Peter and he said
Thorpe did it. But Mr. Crane thinks maybe Peter
doesn’t know.”
“Let’s try to get Blair's spirit.”
They tried,—if receptive waiting can be called
trying-and at last they succeeded in receiving the
information that Gilbert Blair's spirit was present.
“Will you tell us who killed you?” Carly asked at
once, fearing lest he go away. t
Slowly the pointer moved away from the letter
T. But after a series of swirls it stopped definitely
at M.
*
º


Carlotta and the Board 171
“Go on,” said Carly, in a whisper.
A long swing of aimless motions and then a stop
at A.
The next stop was at C, and then the board would
move no more.
Carly sighed, and took her hands off.
“Well, there's the message, Kit. You know Gil-
bert always called him Mac, now what do you
think of Ouija”
“I don't know what to think, Carly. Mayn't it
be only that Thorpe was in both our minds, and
that we subconsciousl 2x
“Oh, well, if you're going to take that tack,
there's no more to be said. It's easy enough to say
that, but how can the dead send messages if the
human beings always say,+oh, subconscious push-
ing!”
“But, are you so anxious to believe in Thorpe's
guilt?”
“Not that, but I want to know. Julie's devoted
to him, and if he's a–a murderer, Julie must be
saved from him. If he isn't, we must find it
out, and give him to Julie free and clear of suspi-
cion.” -
“We! Are you responsible for Julie's affairs?”
“Yes, in so far as I can help. You say, every-
body says, that I have occult powers. If so, I must
use them to help, if they really do help. But how
can I be sure?”
“I don't know. But I think, perhaps, you'd better


I72 - The Come Back
leave the whole occult business alone. It's uncanny
if it's real, and it's foolishness if it's faked.”
“I think Mr. Crane is going to get a special de-
tective,” Carly said, “but, oh, my gracious, I forgot
I promised not to tell that. So don't tell anybody
else. I don't suppose they'd mind you knowing."
“Who’s the man?”
“I think his name is Wise, good name for a
detective!”
“Never heard of him. But, let's hope he clears
Mac.”
“Yes, and finds the real murderer. Do you know
I can't realize Gilbert's gone,—even yet.”
“Don’t think about him, Carly. It can’t do any
good, and it only makes you sad and morbid. Let
me tell you of my hopes and fears, mayn't I?”
“Of course, go ahead.”
“Well, I'm getting up a big-a really big enter-
prise.”
“What?”
“I hope you won't disapprove, but it's in the Mov-
ing Picture business.”
“Why should I disapprove?”
“Oh, some people sniff at M. P's. But this is
a really big, fine production.”
“Are you the producer?”
“Yes; don't tell it outside, yet. You see, I've
written a big story, a picturesque thriller,-and
critics who've read it, think it's a wonder. Now,
it's too big to give to anybody, I mean, it would


Carlotta and the Board 173
be foolish for"me merely to get a royalty,+so I'm
going to put it on, myself.”
“Good, Kit, I'm glad to hear it. I always thought
you had it in you to be some sort of an organizer
or producer, in some important way.”
“Yes, I've always had that ambition. Well, this
is a great yarn! I want to read it to you some
time. Marvelous pictures,-they're being made
now. And that's not all of it, I mean to make it
into a boo 2x
“You can’t write a book!”
“If I can't I'll get it written, but the plot is such
a wonder, and the scenes!”
“Up in Labrador, I'll bet!”
“Yes, they are, Carly. And corkers! Well, I
figure to have the book and the pictures sprung on
an unsuspecting public simultaneously,–and after-
ward, maybe, it will be made into a real play!”
“And after that, into a Light Opera,_and after
that, into Grand Opera”
Carly's tone was mocking, but her smile was
sweet and approving, and Kit beamed at her.
“I knew you'd be interested! I want you to hear
the plot soon,_and would you like to go to the
studios?” *
“Where they're making the Labrador pictures?”
“Yes; they're faked, of course. No sense in go-
ing up there to take them. I know the stuff so well,
I can get it up right here.”
“Oh, Kit, you ought to have the real scenes.”


I74 The Come Back
“No; it isn't necessary. Snow's easy-enough to
manage. But the plot's the thing! Carly, it's a
peach! And then, it's all done up with real artistry.
No crude, raw scenes. All softened with lights and
shades and colors; and everything, even realism,
sacrificed to beauty. It will be the success of the
season, the talk of the town, and it will make my
reputation forever.”
“When will it be put on?”
“Soon, now, I hope. Well, I mean in a month
or so. I'd like to say the middle of May, and think
perhaps I can. It will run all summer and doubtless
longer.”
“And you don't want me to tell of this?”
“Not quite yet, Carly. I'll let you know when
you may.”
And so, when, after Shelby had gone, and Julie
and Thorpe came, Carly said nothing of the plans
for the great Moving Picture.
Nor did she tell of the Ouija Board experiences
she and Shelby had had. In fact, Carly said little,
preferring to let her guests talk, -
And they did.
“We're detecting,” Julie began, and Thorpe, his
eyes harassed and gloomy, had to smile at Julie's
enthusiasm.
“Can I help?” Carly asked, with a loving glance
at her friend.


Carlotta and the Board I75
“I hope so-but not with your old Ouija Board.
I hate it!”
“Wait till I suggest it,” Carly smiled, for she
saw Julie was in no mood for argument. “What
can I do?”
“Only advise. I don't think you're a medium,
Carly, but I do think you have sort of queer powers.
Now a queer thing has happened to me. This morn-
ing, on my bureau, there lay a note, here it is.”
She handed a folded paper to Carlotta.
It read: “Dear little sister. You must give up
old Mac. He did for Gilbert. Peter Boots.”
Carly stared at the note.
“It's in Peter's own writing!” she said; “what
can it mean?”
“It means fraud!” Julie exclaimed. “I know
that's no note from Peter! It is in his writing 22
“But so exactly his writing!” Carly said, “nobody
could have written that but Peter himself. Oh,
Julie!”
“Now, stop, Carlyl Don't you say it's really
a materialization of a note from Peter! It can't
be! I'm afraid to show it to mother or Dad, for
I know they'll say it's really from him, and I
won't believe it.”
“You won't believe it's from Peter, because you
don't want to believe what it says, isn't that it?”
Carly looked at Thorpe, though she spoke to
Julie.
“Partly,” Julie admitted; “but anyway, I can't


Carlotta and the Board 177
:
“All right,” Thorpe sighed. “I just wanted to
know, for Mr. Crane will know of it sooner or
later, and I’m sure he’ll identify it as Peter's writ-
ing.”
“And it surely is,” Julie added, again staring at
the paper.
“But, Julie, it's too absurd!” Second thoughts
convinced Carly of this. “How could such a thing
happen?”
“I don't know how it could, but it did,” Julie said,
doggedly. “And so, Carly, I feel, as Mac says,
there's no attention to be paid to this note. If–
mind I say if—Peter sent it, why then Peter thinks
Mac did something that he didn't do, that's all. I
know Mac is innocent, and so I shall say nothing of
this note to any one, and you mustn't either.”
“I won't,” Carly smiled to herself as she realized
how many secrets she was accumulating, “but you
will, Julie. You can't keep that from your father,
even though you mean to.”
“Yes, I can, if to tell of it would cast a straw of
evidence against Mac' You see, Carly, we've got
to find the real criminal, and I'd rather do it myself
than get a new detective on the job.”
Carly knew this was because Julie feared the
astuteness of the new detective. Which, in turn,
meant that Julie, herself, feared Mac's guilt. Oh,
it was a tightly closing net round Mac, as she saw
it!
“I wish I could help,” she found herself saying,


I80 The Come Back
“You don't think he killed Gilbert, then?”
“Oh, Lord, no! He was always fond of him.
But he wants to get me in bad, and so I think he
planted that bottle. It must have been planted,
Julie, I never put it there. I never had it in my
possession.”
“Who did kill Gilbert?”
“I’ve no idea, but I don't think it was anybody
we know. I'm inclined to the belief that it was
some enemy of long standing. You know Gilbert
Blair's past life was by no means an open book to
his friends. He had turned-down pages that we
never knew about or inquired into. It would not
have been impossible for some one to get into his
room in the night ->
“And give him poison? Not likely!”
“But it must have been something of the sort,
Julie. Blair never killed himself.”
“No, I suppose not. Oh, Mac, how unfortunate
that you and he quarreled so much. Otherwise
they wouldn't have suspected you at all.”
“Yes, they would. It's opportunity they con-
sider, exclusive opportunity.”
“And that empty bottle! I should think they'd
see that's a plant!”
“They don't see anything an inch away from
their noses! I'm the nearest suspect to hang a
charge on, so they choose me.”
Thorpe wasn't pettish, but he was discouraged
and unstrung. He knew that his arrest, which was


I82 The Come Back
So Wise came, and with him came his queer little
assistant, the girl called Zizi.
There was ample room in the big city house, and
the two were treated as honored guests.
Wise was alert, quick-witted and tactful, but Zizi
was even more so. She made friends with the
Cranes at once, and they all admired the odd, fas-
cinating girl. Small of stature, dark of coloring,
Zizi was not unlike a gypsy, and the mention of
this brought about the tale of the gypsy's prophecy
regarding Peter Boots.
“What an interesting story,” the girl said, after
hearing Benjamin Crane tell it. “It is wonderful
how you dear people bear your loss so bravely.”
“But it isn't really a loss,” said Mrs. Crane, “you
see, we have our boy with us continually.”
It was only by desperate effort that Zizi kept
from laughing, for of all fads or whims, spiritism
seemed to her the worst and most foolish. But
she was there on business, and part of her business
was to gather all the information she could regard-
ing this same spiritism, so she showed only deep
interest and apparent sympathy with their beliefs.
“You do believe in these things, don't you?” Mrs.
Crane asked, and, being thus confronted, Zizi had
to answer directly. -
“It's hard to say,” she replied, “for, you see, I’ve
had so little real experience. Practically none. But
I'm eager to learn, and most interested in what you
tell me.”


Wise and Zizi 183
“I’m a frank unbeliever,” declared Pennington
Wise. He had considered the matter and concluded
it was better to state this fact and thereby rouse
the others to defense.
“You wouldn't be, Mr. Wise,” Benjamin Crane
said, “if you'd had the experiences we're continually
enjoying. You've read my book?”
“Yes, Mr. Crane, and an able, well written work
it is. But you must number some among your
friends who find difficulty in accepting it in just the
way you do.”
“Certainly, and though I do what I can to con-
vince them, I think none the less of them for their
honest unbelief. But with you right here in the
house, Mr. Wise, it will, I'm sure, be an easy matter
to make a convert of you.”
“We'll see; at any rate, I'm ready to be converted
if you can do it. Now, let's begin with that note
your daughter received from—ah, shall I say from
your son?”
“Of course, it was from my son. You may com-
pare the writing with Peter's own—we've lots of
his letters, and I think you'll be convinced it's no
forgery.”
“And it doesn't seem illogical to you,” Wise went
on, as he took the papers Crane handed to him,
“that your son should materialize this paper, this
note, and leave it for you, when, if he can do such
things, he doesn't write a letter to his mother or to
you?”


184 The Come Back
“From the average mortal's point of view ther
is much that seems illogical in spiritism,” Cran:
said, easily, as if quite accustomed to answering:
such arguments; “we who believe, never questic:
why or why not. We merely accept.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Crane, “and when we are:
granted such wonderful boons as we are, it seems
ungrateful and ungracious to ask for anything we
do not get. When I hear my son's voice—”
“Do you recognize his voice?” asked Zizi.
“I can hardly say that, my dear, but we have
heard Peter talk so often, through the medium, that
it almost seems like his voice.”
“And he told you that Mr. Thorpe was responsi-
ble for Mr. Blair's death?” Zizi went on, wanting a
plain statement.
“Yes, he told us that.”
“Then how can you have any doubt of it?”
“Spirits do not know everything. It is quite as
likely for them to be misinformed as for earthly
people to be. It may be that my boy doesn't know
who killed Gilbert Blair, but has some reason to
think it was Mr. Thorpe.”
“Do you think it was?”
“I can't say that,” Mrs. Crane looked very seri-
ous, “nor can I deny it. We are all so fond of Mr.
Thorpe that we can scarcely bring ourselves to be- |
lieve ill of him »
“But if he is a criminal, we want to know it,”
her husband interrupted her. “Mr. Thorpe is en-


Wise and Zizi 185
gaged to my daughter, and if he is an innocent man,
I want it made clear to the world. If not, then, of
course, the engagement must be broken.” /
“He is an innocent man,” Zizi said, quietly.
“Oh, you darling!” cried Julie, running across the
room to embrace her. “How do you know?”
“By that letter,” and Zizi pointed to the note
from Peter, which she had been scrutinizing and
comparing with some old letters of Peter's.
“You think it isn't from my brother?”
“I know it isn't. I've made a study of hand-
writing, and whoever wrote that wrote it in imita-
tion of your brother's writing. I mean the writer
was disguising his own hand and imitating your
brother's.”
“How can you tell? They are very much alike.”
“That's just it. The salient points are imitated,
the long terminal strokes, the peculiarities of the
capitals, but the less conspicuous details, such as
slant and spacing, are not so carefully copied. It is
a forgery, and though well done enough to deceive
the average observer, it would not deceive an ex-
pert.”
“What a lot you know!” and Julie looked at the
other girl in surprised admiration.
“’Course I do. It's my business to know things.
Am I right about this, Penny Wise?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling at her. “I thought you'd
see it, Moreover, Mr. Crane, this note was written
by a man, or by a person capable of deep, even


I86 The Come Back
venomous hatred. If, as may well be the case, it
was written by the murderer of Mr. Blair, and with
an intent to throw suspicion on Mr. Thorpe, ther
we must look for a criminal of great cleverness and
of patience and perseverance in the workings of his
nefarious plans. I mean a nature of inborn evil.
capable of premeditated wrong. This murder of
Gilbert Blair was no impulsive or suddenly brought
about job. It was carefully planned and carefully
carried out. If you will show me some of Mr.
Thorpe's writing I will tell you if he forged this
note.”
“No, he did not,” Wise asserted, after a study of
a letter of Thorpe's, which they gave him; “we can-
not say this note signed with your son's name was
written by the criminal we're looking for, but we
can be sure it was not written by McClellan Thorpe.
You see, Mr. Crane, penmanship is a very exact
science. Some one forged your son's writing, but
he or she was utterly unable to omit the personal
characteristics that are in every one's hand.”
“And you can deduce character even from a
forged hand?”
“Absolutely. It is those inevitable and unmis-
takable signs that make the individual writing a true
mirror of character.”
“But it is often impossible to determine the sex
of a writer,” Zizi informed them. “Frequently, to
be sure, penmanship is undoubtedly that of a man
or a woman, but sometimes it is not definitely evi-
|
!


Wise and Zizi 187
ient. In this case, I think we have the work of a
man, but I can't be sure.”
- “Who would do it, anyway?” queried Mrs. Crane.
“Any one interested in concealing the identity of
the murderer and desiring to have Mr. Thorpe sus-
pected. A clever person, because, knowing of Miss
Crane's love of her brother and also knowing of
your interest in the occult, it would doubtless seem
to you a strong bit of evidence.”
“It did,” Benjamin Crane admitted, “at least,
until you proved to us that it is not a note from
my son at all. But you must remember, Mr. Wise,
that we are in no way doubting my son's communi-
cations with us in other ways. If this is not from
him, that does not cast doubt on other communica-
tions we have had from him. And, as he has re-
peatedly told us that Mr. Thorpe is responsible for
Blair's death, I can only say that my boy may be
mistaken, and I sincerely hope he is.”
“Of course, he is,” Julie cried. “Peter has sent
us other messages that turned out to be untrue, but
he was mistaken.”
“You believe in the mediums, then?” asked Zizi,
flashing her big dark eyes at the girl.
“Oh, I don't know. I didn't at first, and I was
unwilling to, but I’ve heard so much and seen so
much, and, of course, I can't help being influenced
by Dad and Mother.” -
“Of course not,” agreed Zizi. “It's all so inter-
esting to me. I'm only afraid I'll become so ab-


I88 The Come Back
sorbed in the spirits that I'll neglect the detective
work.”
“It may be they're interdependent,” Wise ob.
served.
“They are, I'm sure,” said Julie. “You see, Mr.
Wise, it's not only father and the medium that have
told us things against Mr. Thorpe, but we have a
friend who is an expert on the Ouija Board rx
Zizi rolled her eyes skyward.
“Oh,” she groaned, “I thought you people were
real honest-to-goodness Spiritists!”
“We are,” defended Crane.
“Not if you fool with an Ouija Board!”
“But Carly, Miss Harper, can make it tell won-
derful things,” Julie went on, “things of which she
really knows nothing.”
“But the other person at the Board knows them?"
“Well, maybe; but they can't get Ouija to tell
them without Miss Harper has her fingers on, too."
“And Ouija is against Mr. Thorpe?”
“Yes; at least it has said he was guilty, but, as
you say, an Ouija Board means nothing.”
“It means something, indeed, but not the thing
it says.”
“A brilliant remark, Zizi!” Wise smiled at her.
“But I mean just that, Penny. I'm getting a line
on this thing, and I think that the criminal or the
criminal's friends or accomplices are utilizing occult
forces in their own behalf. I think, Mºss Crane,
the more messages you get telling you of Mr.


Wise and Zizi 189
Thorpe's guilt the more you may believe in his inno-
cence!”
“Look out, Ziz, don't go too fast,” Wise coun-
seled her. “You’ve only begun this thing—there's
a lot yet to be learned.”
“I’ll learn it, and I’m sure I'm headed in the right
direction. And I’d like very much to see this Miss
Harper. The Ouija witch! Has she told you to
suspect Mr. Thorpe?”
“Don’t put it that way,” Julie begged. “Miss
Harper is my dearest friend, and whatever she does
with the Ouija Board is absolutely honest on her
part, absolutely free from deceit.”
“Then she's a unique case,” declared Zizi. “Never
has such a thing been known to science.” Her smile
robbed the words of invidious intent, and though
Julie stood up for Carlotta's innocence, she had al-
ways wondered whether there was not some invol-
untary, even unconscious helping along done to the
little board.
“Let's go to see her now,” she suggested, and
Wise agreeing, the two girls started off.
“This is Miss ?” Julie looked inquiringly at
the girl she was about to introduce to Carlotta, re-
membering she didn't know her last name.
“Just Zizi,” was the smiling reply, and the slim
little dark hand was held out in greeting. “I’m so
glad to know you, Miss Harper. For, though I
-


I90 The Come Back
admit I don't believe in Ouija, I am interested, and
Miss Crane tells me you never ‘push’.”
“No, I never do that,” Carlotta smiled, “but don't
think I believe in the thing, for I don't at all. It
amuses me, and it puzzled me, at first, but now I
understand it, and it's beginning to lose interest for
me.”
“Understand it?” Zizi looked bewildered. “You
mean: 25
“I mean I know what makes it work, why it
tells the truth, when it does tell the truth, and why
it fibs when it does fib.”
Carly Harper's face was frank and honest; she
had no effect of mystery or clairvoyant power, and
Zizi was bewildered.
“I am indeed glad to know you!” she exclaimed,
“will you impart this knowledge to me, or is it a
secret?”
“It's not a secret, perhaps it isn't knowledge,
it's, after all, only my own theory, or rather, dis-
covery, based on long and wide experience.”
Zizi was enchanted.
“Oh, goody!” she cried, her black eyes dancing.
“I’m crazy to know just what you mean! Will you
give me a session with the board?”
“Will you promise not to push?”
“Of course, and, anyway, you'd know it if I did.”
So Carly got the board, and the two sat at it,
while Julie looked on.


Wise and Zizi I9I
The usual routine followed, and at last the pro-.
fessed spirit of Peter Crane was “present.”
On being asked if Thorpe killed Gilbert Blair, the
Ouija Board promptly replied “No.”
“Oh, Peter, the other day you said he did!” Car-
lotta exclaimed, but again the Board flew to the
corner where “No” was printed.
Julie, watching closely, was sure neither of the
girls in any way cheated or helped things along.
She was an acute observer, and she was certain
both the manipulators were strictly sincere.
“Well, then,” Zizi said, her thin, dark fingers
merely touching the little wooden heart, “who did?”
There was no reply. Motionless the board re-
mained, and no persuasion would induce it to move.
Other subjects were brought up, questions were
asked to which only Carlotta knew the answer, or
to which only Zizi did, and they were answered, if
not always definitely, at least in a general way. But
when they returned to the question about Blair there
was no response.
“Don’t you know?” Carlotta demanded of Peter's
“spirit,” which obligingly announced its presence
when requested.
But the board remained stationary, and they fi-
nally gave it up.
“All of which goes to prove my theory the true
one,” Carlotta declared, and then Zizi begged her
to disclose her discoveries.
“Why, you see, it's this way,” Carlotta began,


Wise and Zizi , I93
word or phrase, brings it about. Tradition and
habit ascribe the messages to the dead, and the uni-
versal desire to get such communications is respon-
sible for the belief that they are such. Now, here's
proof. Whenever I have asked the Board who
killed Gilbert it has responded with the name of the
person whom my companion thought guilty. I have
no idea who is the criminal, neither, I take it, has
Zizi; consequently, as we are both open-minded and
waiting for the answer, we get nothing.”
* “Right,” and Zizi nodded her head. “People fool
themselves into believing they get information from
Ouija. But, if they were honest, they would have
to admit that never has it told a truth that was not
known to at least one person present. Of course, I.
except coincidences, which must happen occasion-
ally.”
“But,” objected Julie, “then why will it work so
much better when Carly has her hands on?”
“Just because I'm impassive,” Carlotta said, “and
sit quietly while the other one gets the message she
wants. Without effort the message desired comes,
merely because nobody stops it.”
“Then,” said Julie, “none of the help we get from
Ouija means anything at all?”
“No, and it isn't help,” said Zizi.


CHAPTER XIII
“Labrador Luck”
IT SHELBY'S play was a wonderful suc-
K cess. Though a motion picture, it was one
of the finest ever produced, and no expense
had been spared to make it the sensation of the sea-
son. It was called “Labrador Luck.”
The Crane family attended the opening night, as,
indeed, all Shelby's friends did, and the verdict was
unanimous that never had such a beautiful and fin-
ished play been screened. The scenes of ice-bound
Labrador were picturesque and fascinating, while
the plot was ingenious and thrills plentiful. The
audience applauded continuously, for so real was
the acting that it seemed as if the performers were
actually there.
Benjamin Crane had helped Shelby finance the
production, and he realized at once that he would
get his money back with interest.
“It's a gold mine, boy!” he said to Shelby, as they
were all at the Crane home afterward, “and it must
be made into a spoken drama. There's scope for a
great play in that plot.”
194


“Labrador Luck” I95
“Marvelous plot,” commented Pennington Wise.
“All your own, Mr. Shelby?”
“Yes,” Kit replied, with frank pride; “it did turn
out well, didn't it?”
“And you're going to make a book of it, too,
aren't you?” asked Julie.
“Yes, a book, and a serial story and, oh, I'm
going to do lots of things with it!”
“Grand opera, maybe!” chaffed Julie.
“Why not?” said Shelby, seriously. “Slighter
plots than that have been put into grand opera. It
may yet come about.”
Without undue conceit Shelby was quite con-
scious of his great success, and as he walked home
with Carlotta from the Crane house, he begged her
to consent to his repeated proposals of marriage.
“This thing will make me rich, dear,” he said,
“and while that sounds mercenary, it does make me
glad to have a fortune to offer you.”
“But I don't love you, Kit,” and Carlotta smiled
carelessly at him. -
“You will, Carly. You'll have to, 'cause I love
you so. Oh, sweetheart, I love you just desper-
ately—I must have you, my little girl, I must!”
“Now, Kit, you wouldn't want a wife who didn't
care for you as a woman ought to care for the man
she marries. Truly, my heart is still Peter's. I
sometimes think I'll never marry, his memory is so
vivid and so dear to me.” -
“Weren't you beginning to care for Blair?”
*


I96 The Come Back
“N-no; not that way. Of course I was fond of .
Gilbert, and I'm fond of you, but there's always the
thought of Peter between us.”
“But, Carly, there's no one you care more for
than for me, is there?”
“No, I'm sure of that.”
“Then say yes, darling. Even though you won't
marry me quite yet, let's be engaged, and truly you'll
soon learn to love me. I'll make you!”
But Carlotta wouldn't consent, and Shelby had
to be content with her promise to think about it.
“Kit,” she said, suddenly, “are those queer de-
tectives going to find out who killed Gilbert?”
“Oh, I suppose they'll fasten it on Mac. Poor
chap, to think of his being in jail while we're hav-
ing all this excitement over my play. But I don't
see any other direction for Wise to look. What a
funny little thing that Zizi is.”
“Yes, but I like her a lot. And she's nobody's
fool! Her black eyes take in everything, whether
she remarks on it or not. You should have seen her
watch you to-night.”
“When?” -
“At the Cranes', when you were talking about the
play.”
“She's dramatic herself. She ought to be in the
Moving Pictures!”
“Yes, she'd be a film queen at once.”
Zizi must have had something of the same idea


198 The Come Back
point against Thorpe. Who else had any motive at
all?”
“That's what we have to find out. And we're
going to do it. And, I say, Penny, I want to go
to see that medium person the Cranes are so fond
of.”
“Think she'll help you?”
“Yes, though not by her spiritism. But I sus-
pect she's one big fraud, and I want to be sure.”
“Come along, then. No time like the present.
Mr. Crane can arrange a session for us.”
To Madame Parlato's they went, and soon had
the pleasure of seeing that lady in one of her
trances.
The room was dimly lighted but not in total dark-
ness. After a silence a faint, low-pitched voice
said, “I am here.” 2 : *
“Are you Peter Crane?” asked Zizi, who chose
to be spokesman.
“Yes”
“Will you talk to us?”
“Yes, for a short time only.”
“Very well, then tell us who killed Gilbert Blair.”
“His friend, McClellan Thorpe. Good-by.”
“Wait a minute. I own up to being skeptical, is
it too much to ask for some proof of your identity,
Peter Crane? Will you, can you give some ma-
terial proof?” -
“It is not easy.”
“I’m sorry for that, but, oh, I do so want to be
!


200 The Come Back
“Dunno, yet. Maybe the Cranes left it there by
chance.”
“Oh, no, that won't do. Guess again.”
“I think I could if I tried. But we'll see what
the family say about it.”
Both Mrs. Crane and Julie declared the handker-
chief to be one of Peter's own, and, moreover, that
it was one of a set Carlotta had embroidered for
him just before he went to Labrador. And he had
taken the whole dozen with him, of that they were
both sure. It had been Carly's parting gift, and
Peter had been delighted with it.
“It’s too wonderful!” Julie said, amazed. “Now,
how do you explain it, Zizip We know this to be
Peter's own handkerchief. We know he took it to
Labrador with him. How did it get back here?
How get into Madame Parlato's possession? And
how appear to you, out of nothingness?”
“Yes,” said Benjamin Crane, smiling happily,
“answer those questions satisfactorily, or else admit
that it is real materialization!”
Wise looked a little nonplused. Positive though
he was of the medium's trickery, he could not tell
Mr. Crane exactly how it had come about. Ma-
terialization was easy enough for a charlatan, but,
as had been said, where could she get the handker-
chief to do the trick with?
Convinced of the Cranes' honesty, of course,
Wise couldn't doubt that Peter had taken all the
handkerchiefs with him. His luggage had never
*


“Labrador Luck” 2OI
been sent home, therefore how did the handkerchief
get to New York, and more especially how did it
get to Madame Parlato?
“I can't explain it yet,” Wise said, frankly, “but
I’ll find out all about it. To you, Mr. Crane, it
seems additional proof of your son's communication
through that medium. To me it is additional and
very strong proof of her fraud. Now, we'll leave
it at that for the present, but I promise to explain
it to you soon.”
“All right, Mr. Wise, you'll not be offended, I
trust, if I say I don’t believe you can make good
your word. But I’m not surprised at your attitude.
Some minds are almost incapable of belief in the
occult, and will accept the most absurd and far-
fetched explanations rather than the simple and
plausible one of spirit communication. I can't un-
derstand such a mental attitude, but I’ve met so
many like you that I'm obliged to recognize its exist-
ence.”
“Oh, Mr. Wise,” Mrs. Crane said, “it does seem
so strange that a clear-headed, deep-thinking man
like yourself prefers to believe that Madame Par-
lato could get Peter's handkerchief and could pro-
duce it so mysteriously for you rather than the ra-
tional belief that Peter sent it himself.”
Zizi looked at the speaker with kindly eyes.
“Dear Mrs. Crane,” she said, “what will hurt me
most when we expose that medium's fraud is the
fact of your disappointment.”


202 The Come Back
“Don’t worry about that,” smiled Benjamin
Crane, “you haven't exposed her yet! Meantime,
I shall incorporate this experience of the handker-
chief in my next book.”
“Oh, don't!” cried Zizi, involuntarily. “You’ll
make yourself a laughing-stoc yy
She paused, unwilling to hurt his feelings.
But so assured of his beliefs was Benjamin Crane
that he shook his head and said:
“No fear of that, child. I’ll take all risks. Have
you any idea how my book has been received? It's
just gone into another big edition, and my publish-
ers are clamoring for my second book, which is
nearly finished. But to return to the case of
McClellan Thorpe. Did Peter tell you—”
“Yes,” Wise said, “according to Madame Par-
lato, the spirit of your son said that Thorpe is the
criminal, and it was as proof of identity that Zizi
received the handkerchief.”
“Fine,” said Crane, nodding his satisfaction, “I
think I'll use that séance for the finale of my book,
and get it in press at once.”
“Do, dear,” said his wife, “as far as the hand-
kerchief is concerned. But don't put in the book
that Mac killed Gilbert.”
“Oh, no, certainly not. In the first place, we're
all agreed that though Peter believes that, it is a
mistake on his part; that is, it may be a mistake.
Don't let it influence you too much, Mr. Wise.”
Penny Wise laughed outright. He couldn't help it.


204 The Come Back
She held up an empty bottle that was labeled soda
mints.
“There's a new full bottle in the medicine chest,”
she went on, “and as this was in the basket, mayn't
it be that he took the last ones, an 2 x
“And they were poisoned!”
“One of them was. See, somebody had put a
poisoned one in among the others.”
“That leads back to Thorpe, who else could do
that?”
“And we don't know that anybody did, only it
might have been.”
“Can you smell any prussic acid in the vial?”
“No,” and Zizi sniffed at it, “I seem to think I do,
but I daresay it's my vivid imagination. Do you
suppose a chemist could discern any?”
“Probably not, but we might make a try at it.
Pretty slim clue, anyway, Ziz.”
“I know it, but I have a hunch it's the real thing.
You see, Blair was in the habit of taking these
things 25
“How do you know?”
“Carlotta Harper told me. I've quizzed her a
lot about Mr. Blair's personal habits, and he always
carried soda mints in his pocket, and took one now
and then. So, as there was no soda mint bottle
found in his pockets, and this was in the basket, it'.
a logical deduction that he finished this bottle tha
night that he died. And they all think the poisor
*


“Labrador Luck” 2O7
by such tragic means. I don't know which death
was the worse.”
Zizi showed him the small bottle she had found,
and asked his opinion of her theory about it.
“What an ingenious notion,” Shelby exclaimed;
“yes, it might be the truth, of course, but a dozen
other ways might have been used either.”
“Such as what?” asked Wise, “it’s always a help
to talk these things over.”
“Well, granting that some one administered poi-
son to Blair, secretly, mightn't he have put it in
anything that Blair was about to eat or drink?”
“Not this poison,” objected Wise. “It acts too
quickly. Whatever plan was adopted, it was some
scheme by which Blair would take the poison un-
knowingly, but naturally. As Zizi says, if it had
been put in some one of his bottles of medicine, he
must take it, sooner or later.”
“Yes; well, then say it was put in a cigarette, no
that's foolish; why, hang it all, Wise, don't you see
there's no plausible theory except that some one put
it in a drink Blair took just before going to bed,
or even after he was in bed.”
“Where's the glass, then?”
“That's just the point. What's the answer, ex-
cept that Thorpe washed it and put it away? Of
course, Blair would take a drink Thorpe offered
him.” *
“Also, he might have taken a soda mint just as
he went to bed or after,” said Zizi.


CHAPTER XIV
'A Prophecy Fulfilled
MONG the passengers disembarking from a
steamer at a Brooklyn pier was a tall, gaunt
man, who walked with a slight limp.
He was alone, and though he nodded pleasantly
to one or two of his fellow passengers, he walked
by himself, and all details of landing being over, he
took a taxicab to a hotel restaurant, glad to eat a
luncheon more to his taste than the ship's fare had
been.
He bought several New York papers, and soon
became so absorbed in their contents that his care-
fully selected food might have been dust and ashes
for all he knew.
Staring at an advertisement, he called a waiter.
“Send out and get me that book,” he said, “as
quick as you can.”
“Yes, sir,” returned the man, “it’s right here, sir,
on the news-stand. Get it in a minute, sir.”
And in about a minute Peter Boots sat, almost
unable to believe his own eyes, as he scanned the
chapter headings of his father's book, detailing the
209


alo The Come Back
death and the subsequent experiences of him who
sat and stared at the pages.
He looked at the frontispiece, a portrait of him-
self, but bearing little resemblance to his present
appearance. For, where the pictured face showed a
firm, well-molded chin, the living man wore a brown
beard, trimmed Vandyke fashion, and where the
expression on the portrait showed a merry, care-
free smile, the real face was graven with deep lines
that told of severe experiences of some sort.
But the real face grinned a little at the picture,
and broke into a wider smile at some sentences read
at random as the pages were hastily turned, and
then as further developments appeared, the blue eyes
showed a look of puzzled wonder, quickly followed
by horror and despair.
Peter closed the book and laid it aside, and fin-
ished his luncheon in a daze.
One thing stood forth in his mind. He must take
time to think—think deeply, carefully, before he did
anything. He must get away by himself and meet
this strange, new emergency that had come to him.
What to do, how to conduct himself, these were
questions of gravest import, and not to be lightly
settled.
He thought quickly, and concluded that for a
secure hiding-place a man could do no better than
choose a big city hotel.
Finishing his meal he went to the desk and asked
for a room, registering as John Harrison, which


A Prophecy Fulfilled 2II
was the name by which he had been known on the
ship that had brought him to port.
Once behind the locked door of his room he threw
himself into an armchair and devoured the book he
had bought.
Rapidly he flew through it; then went over it
again, more slowly, until Peter Boots was familiar
with every chapter of the book that his father had
written in his memory.
Memory! And he wasn't dead!
The book, he saw, had gone through a large num-
ber of editions, wherefore, many people had read
the tale of his tragic fate in the Labrador wild, and
of his recrudescence and communications with his
parents, and now, here he was reading it himself.
It is not easy to realize how strange it must seem
to read not only one's own death notices but the
accounts of one's return to earth in spirit form, and
to be informed of the astonishing things one said
and did through the kind offices of a professional
medium !
A medium! Madame Parlato! And she “got in
touch” with him! She succeeded in getting mes-
sages from him—and materializations!
Peter's chicory blue eyes nearly popped out of
his head when he read of the “materialization” of
his tobacco pouch.
“Jolly glad I know where it is,” he thought; “I’ve
missed the thing, but how did it waft itself to a


2I2 The Come Back
professional medium! Bah! the stuff makes me
sick!
“But Dad wrote it! Dad—my father! And
mother's in the game! Got to read the book all
over again.” -
And again he delved into the volume, seeming
unable to take in the appalling fact of what had
been done.
“They believe it!” he said at last, reaching the
final page for the third time; “they believe it from
the bottom of their blessed souls!
“Who is that medium person? Where'd she get
the dope to fool the old folks? Let me at her! I'll
give her what for! Messages to mother from her
departed son! “Do not grieve for me,’ ‘I am happy
over here.” Oh, for the love o' Mike! what am I
going to do first?”
Followed a long time of thought. At first, cha-
otic, wondering, uncertain, then focussing and crys-
tallizing into two definite ideas.
One, the astonishing but undeniable fact of his
father's belief and sincerity, the other, what would
happen if that belief and sincerity were suddenly
stultified.
“Good Lord!” he summed up, “when I appear on
the scene that medium will get the jolt of her sweet
young life—I assume she's young still, and
Dad
“H'm, where will he get off?”
That gave him pause. For Benjamin Crane to


2I4 The Come Back
And he had thought they would probably assume
his death—as, by reason of this astonishing book
he now knew they had done—and, what was he to
do about it?
Impulse would have sent him flying home—home
to his mother, Dad and Julie, and—and dear little
Carly.
But—when he thought of the possibility of his
reappearance being the means of making his father's
name a by-word of ridicule, of heaping on the old
man's fame obloquy and derision, of shocking his
mother, perhaps fatally, or at least into a nervous
prostration, he was unable to shape a course.
Could he tell Carly first? He glanced at a tele-
phone book at his elbow.
No, that would never do. To hear his voice on
the telephone would throw her into a convulsion.
He didn't believe she stood for that spirit foolish-
ness, but if, by any chance, she had been won over,
his voice would surely give her some sort of a
shock. -
The boys, then. Yes, that was the only thing.
He must see them, but he must telephone first and
learn their whereabouts.
He could, he concluded, call in a disguised voice,
and get a line on things anyhow.
So, still in a haze of doubt and uncertainty, he
looked up the number and called Shelby.
As he rather expected, Shelby was not at his
home, but the person who answered could give no


216 The Come Back
over to Blair's place—but if—if it had occurred two
months ago there was small use going there now.
Also, he must preserve his incognito for the pres-
ent, at least. His return would be blazoned in the
papers as soon as it was known, and the effect on
his father's reputation would be most disastrous.
He must learn more facts—the facts he had al-
ready discovered were so amazing, what else might
not be in store for him?
Concentrating on the subject of Blair's death he
concluded his best course would be to get a file of
newspapers covering the past two months and read
about it.
In a big newspaper office he accomplished this,
and spent the rest of the afternoon reading up the
CaSe.
Of late the subject was not a principal one in the
papers.
McClellan Thorpe was in prison, awaiting his
trial, and the police, while still on the job, were not
over aggressive.
Pennington Wise was not mentioned, so Peter
had no means of knowing that that astute person
was connected with the matter.
But the news of Thorpe's arrest struck Peter a
new blow. While not as chummy with Thorpe as
with Shelby and Blair, Peter had always liked him
and found it difficult to believe him guilty of Blair's
death.
Back to his hotel went the man registered as John


A Prophecy Fulfilled 2I7.
Harrison, and, going to the restaurant for dinner,
he ate and enjoyed a hearty meal.
After all, strange and weird as was the news he
had heard, his parents were alive and well—and,
strangest of all, they were not grieving at his death.
He was relieved at this, and yet, he was, in an
inexplicable way, disappointed. It is a blow in the
face to learn that your loved ones are quite recon-
ciled to your death because, forsooth, they get fool
messages from you through the services of a fool
medium!
Peter's ire rose, and he was all for going to lis
father's house at once, and then, back cam: .he
thought, how could he put that dear old man to the
blush for having written that preposterous book?
From the papers, too, Peter had learned of the
furore the book had made, of the great notoriety
and popularity that had come to Benjamin Crane
from its publication, of the enormous sales it had
had, and was still having, and of the satisfaction
and happiness the whole thing had brought to both
Mr. and Mrs. Crane.
So, stifling his longing to go home and to see his
people, Peter decided to sleep over it before taking
any definite steps.
He had small fear of recognition. Nobody in
New York believed him alive, or had any thought
of looking for him. His present appearance was so
different from the portrait in the book that, after
he had changed his looks still further by a different


218 The Come Back
brushing of his hair, he felt there was no trace of
likeness left save perhaps his blue eyes. And only
one who knew him well would notice his eyes, and
he had no expectation of running up against one
who knew him well. -
So, after dinner, he sat for a time in the hotel
lobby, not wishing to mingle with his fellow men,
yet not wishing to seem peculiar by reason of his
evading notice.
Worn with the succession of shocks that had
come to him, and weary of meeting the big prob-
lems and situations, he thought of diversion.
“Any good plays on?” he asked the news-stand
girl, and his winning smile brought a chatty re-
sponse. -
“Plays—yes. Nothing corking, though. But
say, have you seen the big movie?”
“No; what is it?”
“‘Labrador Luck, oh, say, it's a peach! Go to
it!” *-
“Where?” and Peter stopped himself just in time
from exclaiming, “Labrador anything would inter-
est me!”
“Over in N’York. Hop into the sub and you're
there.”
Peter hopped into the sub and shortly he was
there.
“Labrador Luck,” he read from the big posters.
“Monster production of the Tophole Producing
/


A Prophecy Fulfilled 2I9
Company. Thrilling scenes, thrilling plot, thrilling
drama.”
There was more detail as to the names of the
Film Queen who was starred, and the Film King
who supported her, but without stopping to read
them Peter bought a ticket and went in.
The picture was under way, and as he sank into
his seat he saw on the screen the familiar scenes of
the Labrador wild.
Not quite true to nature were they, this Peter
recognized at once, but he knew they were taken in
a studio, not in Labrador itself, and he had only
admiration for the cleverness with which they were
done. *
With a little sigh of pleasure he gave himself up
to a positive enjoyment of the landscape, and, as
the story went on, he was conscious of a vaguely
familiar strain running through it.
Suddenly a scene was flashed on, and an episode
occurred which was one of his own invention.
“Why,” he smiled, “that's my very idea! Now
how'd they get that? Oh, I know, of course, such
things often occur to various minds without collu-
sion, but it's sort of queer. If he follows up that
lead, it will be awful queer!”
The lead was followed up, and, a bit bewildered,
Peter sat gazing while the whole story was un-
rolled. -
Greatly changed it was, greatly elaborated; the
main plot side-tracked by a counter-plot; the num-


22O The Come Back
ber of characters multiplied by a score; yet, the
mystery interest, the suspense element, the very
backbone of the piece was the plot he and Blair had
worked out while up in the Labrador wild.
“Labrador Luck!” he mused. “Fine name for it.
too. The “Luck' being that old heirloom—just as I
planned it. Wonder how it all came about?”
Then he realized how long he'd been away from
Blair. How Blair, doubtless, supposed him dead,
and, most naturally, the boy had gone on with the
story, and here was the splendid result.
He sat through the thing enthralled, and when
the finale came, so exactly as he had planned that
smashing great scene, he could have yelled his ap-
plause. But he didn't, he simply sat still in glad
anticipation of seeing it all over again.
But he was disappointed. It was not a continuous
performance—the long play was a whole evening's
entertainment, and opening and closing hours were
like those of a regular theater.
So Peter determined to come the next night to see
it again, and to see the first part that he had missed.
“Great old play,” he thought, delightedly. “Won-
der if Blair put it on before he died, or if it's post-
humous.”
He picked up a stray program’ as he left the
place—he had had none before—and put it in his
pocket to look over at home.
“At least, I'm not suffering from lack of inter-


* A Prophecy Fulfilled 223
Much stress was laid, in his father's story, on the
spiritual return being what the gypsy meant. Now,
Peter had proved that that prophecy meant, if it
meant anything at all, his return in the flesh.
Anyway, here he was, very much alive, and very
uncertain what to do with his live self.
Should he go away, out West, or to some distant
place and start life anew, under an assumed name,
and leave his father to his delusion? Was that his
duty?
He was not necessary to his parents, either as a
help to their support or as a comfort to their hearts.
He did not do them the injustice to think that
they had never mourned for him, or that they had
not missed him in the home. All this was fully and
beautifully set forth in the book.
But they had been compensated by the comfort
and enjoyment afforded them by their séances, and
by the messages they continually received from him!
And he could see no way, try as he would, that
he could inform them of his return without causing
them dismay and distress.
For if they knew him to be alive he must take
again his old place in the home—and then what
would his father be?
A laughing-stock, a crushed and crestfallen vic-
tim of the most despicable sort of fraud!
It would never do. He couldn't bring positive
trouble into his father's life on the off chance of
removing a sorrow, which, though real, was soft-


CHAPTER XV
An Interview
ELL, Mr. Douglas, what can I do for you?”
Benjamin Crane spoke cordially, and
smiled genially at the young man who had
called on him in his home.
“You can turn me down, sir, if you like, or, if
you'll be so kind, you can give me a few details of
these strange experiences of yours in occult mat-
ters.”
“Are you a reporter?”
“I am, but also I want to be something more
than that. And in this case I want to write up these
things for a special article, and a personal interview
would help a lot.”
“Well, my boy, you impress me pleasantly, and,
as I like nothing better than to talk on my favorite
subject, I'll give you a fifteen-minute chat. More
than that I cannot spare time for.”
“Then let's confine our talk to the phase that
interests me most. I can get your beliefs and experi-
ences from your book, you know. And your per-
sonality,” Douglas gave him a humorously apprais-
ing glance, “I am gathering as we go along. First,
225


226 The Come Back
will you tell me your attitude, mental and spiritual,
regarding the loss of your son? I mean, though I
fear I put it crudely, are you entirely reconciled to
his death because of the comfort you receive from
his—er—communications and all that?”
“A difficult question to answer,” Crane paused a
moment, “but I think I may say yes. I bow to the
will of a Higher Power in the death of my son, and
I am grateful to that same Higher Power for the
comfort that is mine in the communion I have with
my boy.”
“Then you do not really grieve over his loss?”
“Not now—no. At first, of course, both his
mother and I were crushed, but when he came to us,
in the spirit, we took heart, and now we are per-
fectly satisfied—more than satisfied to accept our
life conditions just as they are.”
“You have frequent communication with the
spirit of your departed son?”
“Almost daily.”
“With the same medium always?”
“Nowadays, yes. I tried various ones, but I rely
on Madame Parlato. She has had the greatest suc-
cess, and now can readily get into communication
with my son at almost any time.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Crane, if I am indiscreet, but
have you never felt that she might be—not entirely
—honest?” -
Benjamin Crane smiled benignly. “Don’t hesi-
tate to put your doubt into words. I am quite ready


An Interview 227
to answer that question. I have no doubts of any
sort concerning the medium's honesty, sincerity and
genuineness. I have no doubt that the communica-
tions she obtains are really from my son Peter.
That his spirit speaks to me through her. This has
been proved to me in many ways, but a far greater
proof is the conviction in my soul of the reality of
it all. My wife believes as implicitly as I do, and
no amount of scoffing from outsiders can in any
way shake our faith.”
“You have had material proofs?”
“Yes; here is a letter from my son himself. Here
is a tobacco pouch that I know was his. Here is his
handkerchief.”
With a calm pride Benjamin Crane took these
articles from a table drawer and showed them.
Douglas was deeply impressed, examined the ar-
ticles and watched Crane as he returned them to the
drawer. *
“You see,” said Crane, “it is not only difficult but
impossible to account for those things except by
supernatural explanation, so why refuse the logical
truth?”
“That's so. And, I understand now, why you are
so happy in your beliefs, for it all gives your life a
continual and absorbing interest. You are writing
another book, are you not?”
“Yes; it contains the detailed account of my
séances, and will, I trust, prove an additional source


228 The Come Back
of information and education on the great subject
of survival.”
“And your daughter? Does she, too, subscribe
to all your theories?”
“Almost entirely. She is not so absorbed in the
subject as Mrs. Crane and myself, but she has be-
come persuaded of many truths.”
“And now, my time is nearly up, may I ask you a
word regarding the Blair case. Do you think
McClellan Thorpe is the guilty man?”
“No! a thousand times no! I am trying by every
means in my power to prove that he isn't. I hope
to succeed, too. But we mustn't go into that sub-
ject, as I have an important appointment to keep.
Come to see me again, Mr. Douglas, if you like.
I'm not unaccustomed to such calls, and I'll be glad
to see you again. By appointment, though, for I’m
a busy man.”
Tom Douglas went back, over to Brooklyn, and,
going to a hotel, asked for one John Harrison.
In a short time Peter Boots was eagerly listen-
ing to the report of the messenger he had sent to
his father. *
“I learned a lot, Mr. Harrison,” the visitor began.
“I think I can give you quite a bit of the local color
you need for your novel.”
“Not so much local color as mental attitude,”
Peter returned. “You see, in writing a psycholog-
ical novel the author has to be careful of shades of
feeling in his delineation of the characters. And as


An Interview 233
How could communications from a dead man be
received when the man was not dead?
How he longed to go home, disclose himself, and
run to earth that fearful fraud! How gladly he
would do so, except that it would ruin his father's
reputation. What would the public think of a man
who had been so taken in by fraud, and had blaz-
oned it to the world.
To be sure it was no reflection on Benjamin
Crane's sincerity, yet he would be the butt of deri-
sion for the whole country, and his discredited head
would be bowed for the rest of his life.
Peter couldn't bring himself to do that, espe-
cially now that he had discovered that his loss was
not a source of hopeless grief to his parents.
“I’m not wanted in this world,” he told himself,
sadly. “I’m a superfluous man. I’ve got to dispose
of myself somehow,” and he gave a very realizing
sigh.
And the thought of Carly,–that tried to obtrude
itself, he put resolutely from him.
“She's probably forgotten me,” he assured him-
self, “and anyway I must do the right thing by
Mother and Dad first. If I decide that I can't de-
molish their air castle, so carefully built up, I must
light out-that's all.”
Trying hard to be cheerful, but feeling very blue
and desolate he ate a solitary dinner and went
again to the theater to see “Labrador Luck.”
Douglas' graphic description of his home and his


234 The Come Back
father had given him a great longing to go there,
to see the dear old place, the dear old man,—and his
mother, and Julie.
He felt he must go. Then, he knew he couldn't
go, without breaking his father's heart and life.
“I broke his heart when I didn't go home,” he
thought whimsically, “now, I mustn't break it again
by going home!”
He sat through the moving picture performance
again, and marveled anew at the beauty of the pro-
duction. It was far above the rank and file of mow-
ing pictures, it was adjudged by all critics the very
greatest production ever put upon the screen.
Shelby's name had become famous, his work was
applauded everywhere, and Peter yearned to see him
and renew their friendship,
But he knew he mustn't think of those things.
First of all he had to decide whether or not he was
to come back to life, and if not, and he had a
conviction that that would be his decision,--he must
not dally with tempting thoughts and hopes of any
Sort. f
But it was hard! Blair dead, Shelby famous, and
he, Peter, unable to talk things over with any rela-
tive, chum or friend.
He must talk to somebody, and on his way out
of the theater he spoke to the box office man.
“Wonderful show,” he said, smiling at him.
“Who's this Shelby?”
“He’s the big push of to-day,” was the enthusi-


An Interview 235
astic reply. “He’s a marvel of efficiency and gen-
eralship. And a big author, too.” *
“He wrote the play as well as produced it, I see.”
“Yes. Oh, he can do anything.”
“Married man?”
“No; but I’ve heard he's engaged to a girl, -a
Miss Harper, I believe.”
Peter choked. The last strawl But he might
have known, he, himself, supposed dead, Blair
dead, what more natural than that Carly should
turn to Old Kit?
With a mere nod to the man who had unwittingly
dealt him this final blow, Peter walked out into the
night.
And he walked and walked. Up Broadway to the
Circle, on up and into Riverside Drive, and along
the Hudson as far as he could go.
Thinking deeply, planning desperately, only to
be confronted with the awful picture of his father's
consternation at the shattering of his beliefs and
the collapse of his celebrity.
At times he would tell himself he was absurdly
apprehensive, that any parents would rather have
their lost son restored than to have the applause and
notoriety of public fame. And, then, he would re-
alize that while that might be generally true, yet
this was a peculiar case. His father was a proud,
sensitive nature. Perhaps—Peter shuddered,—per-
haps he wouldn't love a son who by his return made
him the most laughed at man in the whole world!


236 The Come Back
Peter longed to go to some one for advice.
Shelby, now, his big efficient mind would know at
once what was best to do.
But he couldn't disclose himself to Kit and not
to any one else. Kit couldn't keep that a secret,
even if he wanted to do so.
And—Kit was engaged to Carly! He never
wanted to see either of them again!
Poor, lonely, troubled Peter. Only one plain,
sure truth abided. He must do his duty, and he
felt pretty sure he knew what that duty was. It was
to stay out of the life he had lost.
There was no other possible course.
He turned and retraced his steps southward, and
finally went across town, drawn as by a magnet to
his own home. -
Home! What a mockery the word was
It was two o'clock in the morning now; he had
been walking or sitting on a Drive bench for hours.
He was not conscious of fatigue, he only wanted
to see his old home and then go away forever. He
didn't plan his future. He was sure he could make
a living easily enough, he felt he could build up a
new life for himself over a new name. But oh,
how he longed for the old life!
He stood in front of the house and stared at it.
He walked round and round the block it was on,
pausing each time he passed the front door, and
walking on, if there chanced to be a passer-by.
At last, he concluded to give up the painful


An Interview 239
“Must you go?” whispered a mocking voice, and
Peter Boots, for once in his life was absolutely
stricken dumb.
Who or what was this sprite, this Brownie? What
was she doing in his father's house? Were mate-
rialized spirits really inhabiting the place?
“Hush!” Zizi warned him, “don’t speak above a
whisper. Are you a burglar?”
Peter shook his head, unable to repress a smile,
and his smile made the same impression on Zizi
that it had always made on everybody, that of
absolute pleasure.
“Who are you?” she asked, scarce breathing the
words. -
“John Harrison,” he returned, still smiling. “I’ll
go now, please.”
“Without further explanation?”
“Yes, please.” –
“All right, I’ll let you out. I know all about
you. You sent a chap here to interview Mr. Crane,
—and you're getting follow-up literature.”
“Right! Good night.”
And with a swiftness and silence born of the
dire necessity of the moment, Peter went to the
front door, out of it and down the street in record
time.
He turned the first corner, and walked rapidly
many blocks, before turning to see if he were fol-
lowed.


240 The Come Back
He was not, and he went on his way to Brooklyn,
his life tragedy still ahead of him, but relieved by
the touch of comedy added by that mysterious and
wonderfully attractive girl.


242 The Come Back
won't do. You've got to concentrate on the Blair
murder. And you've got to get at it from a differ-
ent angle. Suppose you take a run out West and
see that mother and sister. They may give you a
line on things.” -
“I’ve been thinking I'd do that. There must be
something in Blair's past that can be unearthed and
may prove enlightening. I could do it in a week,
and it might be time well spent.”
“Of course it would. And, truly, there's no way
to look, here. I've thought and thought but we’ve
no hint or clew pointing to any one but Thorpe,
and, it wasn't Thorpe.”
Then Zizi told him of the strange man she had
seen in the Crane library the night before.
“And you let him get away! Why, Zizip”
“He was no burglar. I saw that. There was no
use in alarming the house. He was xx
“Well?”
“Oh, I knew at once who he was. He was the
John Harrison who sent that Douglas person here
to interview Mr. Crane.”
“Well, is he to be allowed to walk in and out as
he chooses! How did he get in P’’
“I don't know, but I hope he'll come again. I
like him. Why, Penny, he's a gentleman.”
“But who is he? What's he up to?”
“He didn't confide in me, but I know. He's
the medium's agent. He comes here and gets data
and information and tells her and she works it off


* Zizi's Opportunity 243
on the Cranes. I saw through that at once. He
must have a key and he just walks in and helps
himself, you see.”
“Absurd!”
“Maybe; but that's what he does, all the same.”
“And he told you his name!”
“Yes; but that's nothing. He'll have another
name and another home before night. These
mediums resort to the strangest tricks to get their
stuff! Why, Penny, he was prowling in that drawer
where the tobacco pouch is, and I think he meant
to take it away so they could “materialize' it over
again. I'm going to watch for him nights. He'll
come again.”
But Zizi was mistaken. John Harrison did not
come again, though the girl was alert to welcome
him. -
Pennington Wise went West, to see the relatives
of Blair, for it had frequently been his experience
that such inquiries into a man's early life brought
about useful knowledge.
This left Zizi in a position of responsibility, to
keep watch of developments and to learn what she
could from them.
She was not so sure as Julie of Thorpe's inno-
cence, but she meant to find another suspect if one
could be found, and she redoubled her efforts. º
Zizi had become a welcome guest in the Thorpe ** sºn->
household, and they all admired and loved her. A
most adaptable little piece, she fitted into the family


Zizi's Opportunity 245
the reporter, Zizi had suspected something beneath
the surface,—it did not seem plausible to her, that
the case was just as it was stated.
And somehow, in the back of her astute little
brain, she had a notion that the Blair murder and
the supernatural manifestations were in some way
connected, at least, indirectly.
So she was merely receptive, and put herself in
the way of learning all she could of the medium's
affairs without showing her own hand. She ob-
tained a detailed account of the séances from the
elder Cranes, and each time she became not only
more convinced of the medium's fraud, but sure
that the faker, more and more secure in her clients'
credulity, was growing both daring and careless.
This, Zizi concluded, was her opportunity, and
she hoped to profit by her knowledge of the visit
of John Harrison.
And meantime, the so-called John Harrison,
whom Zizi had sized up so mistakenly, was puzzling
his head over the identity of the girl who had seen
him. -
He was not alarmed by fear of discovery, for he
could change his name and address at will, but he
was piqued by the saucy announcement that she
knew all about him, and amazed at her knowledge
that he had sent Douglas to see Benjamin Crane.
Moreover, the sight of that familiar old tobacco
pouch of his own had stirred him, and some logical


Zizi's Opportunity 247
eyes and doubt his veracity, and Douglas believed
exactly what was told him.
“Can I help?” he said, simply, and Louis Bartram
told him he could.
Wherefore, Bartram expeditiously acquired such
information as he needed, and the first item was
the name and address of the medium who was re-
sponsible for the séances detailed in Benjamin
Crane's famous book.
And then to the house of Madame Parlato, Louis
Bartram went, having made an appointment through
the useful Douglas.
The madame's quick glance of inquiry was satis-
fied and her ever-ready suspicions lulled by her first
glance into Peter's eyes. It was impossible to dis-
trust that frank gaze, and though Peter was an
unbeliever in her and all her works, yet his cause
was honest and sincere and he met her on her own
ground.
“You want a séance?” the occult lady inquired.
“No, Madame Parlato,” Peter returned, quietly,
“I want to bribe you to undertake a commission
for me.”
“Wh—what!” she cried, turning white and quite
losing her poise at his astonishing remark.
“Now, let's cut out all that,” Peter went on,
practically, “let’s assume that we've thrashed it all
out, and agreed that you're one of the cleverest of
your sort and can fool the gullible ones very neatly.
But, let's also assume that when one who knows


248 The Come Back
comes alone that you will meet him halfway, and at
least, listen to his proposition.”
“But, this, this is outrageous—”
“Not at all. You see, I know of the faking you
have done,—and are doing, in the Crane matter.”
“Oh, ah ” Madame cautiously awaited
further speech from her attractive but unusual
caller.
“Yes, and,” here Peter made a bold stroke, “I
know who is giving you things to “materialize,’ and
why, and I want to know how much you are being
paid, in order that I may offer you more to follow
my directions.”
“I do not acknowledge that you are right—”
she began, but Peter interrupted:
“You needn't; your expression, your countenance
tells me all I want of acknowledgment. Now, listen
to reason. I only want one séance, conducted ac-
cording to my orders, and I'll pay you what you
demand. Your other patron needn't know any-
thing about my hand in the matter.”
“I refuse your requests, sir. I resent your ac-
cusations, and unless you leave here at once, I shall
call—”
“Oh, no, you won't call the police, or any one
else. You would greatly object to an investigation
of your place here, and you and I know why.
You'll do much better, madame, to listen to my
proposition, and accept it. You see,_I know?”
The mysterious tone Peter used seemed to carry


Zizi's Opportunity 25I -
“Well, then,” he said, slowly, “I’ll not discredit
him, nor you, for, of course, one involves the
other. But this, on condition that you obey my
commands implicitly in this matter of a séance. If
you fail me in one particular, if you disobey one
tiny detail, or, if you so much as hint a word to
your—your other employer, I mean the one who
has bribed you to certain frauds,-then, I shall
show you up, even if it does distress Mr. and Mrs.
Crane.”
Madame Parlato thought in silence for a moment.
Then she said, astutely, “I don't know who you
are, Mr. Bartram, but I am quite certain you are
something more than you wish to tell. I mean a
bigger factor in the Crane affair than you admit.
I ask no questions, I agree to your terms, and I will
do exactly as you direct, relying on your promise
that if I do so, you will not tell of any—any in-
sincerity you may notice.”
“Wait a moment, that promise may lead to com-
plications. If the result of my proposed procedure
is to reveal your—er, insincerity—I cannot be re-
sponsible for the consequences. Those you will
have to bear. But I will admit that my interests
are those of Benjamin Crane, and I shall do all in
my power to preserve his secrets and, thereby,
yours.”
“I think, then, you may go ahead and tell me
your plans that you wish me to carry out.”
“I’ve revised them,” Peter said, thoughtfully,


252 The Come Back
“they may, as I now see it, call for more than one
séance. But here's for a starter. When do you
expect Mr. Crane again?”
“To-morrow.”
“All right. Merely give him a further material-
ization. And let the object be this,”—he laid a
small paper parcel before her, which he had taken
from his pocket-“yes, and this,” and he pro-
duced a second parcel.
She opened the papers, and found the first to be
a handkerchief, the duplicate of the one already
“materialized” and bearing the monogram Carly
had so painstakingly embroidered.
The other parcel contained a silver quarter of a
dollar, one side of which had been smoothed off and
engraved with the entwined letters P. C.
“These belonged to the son?” Madame exclaimed,
excitedly. “Where did you get them?”
“From the son,” replied Louis Bartram; “but re-
member you are under oath of secrecy. You are
merely to produce these things as materializations
at your next session with Mr. Crane, and also,
I want to be present, unseen. Can it be man-
aged?”
“Of course, that's easy enough.”
Further arrangements were made, terms were
agreed on, and Louis Bartram went away from the
house of the medium in New York and returned to
his hotel in Brooklyn.
And as he came down the steps of the Parlato


254 The Come Back
“My Lord,” cried the puzzled Madame, “who are
you? Why do you think that man is my accom-
plice? It is not so! I never laid eyes on him until
this morning!”
“That is not true,” Zizi said, sure of her ground,
and wondering why the medium looked so unfeign-
edly puzzled. “He works for you—”
“He does not! He is a client. Now you leave,
or I'll have you put out.”
“I am going to leave,” and Zizi rose, “but you
remember what I said. If you show up any more
materialized belongings of Mr. Crane's dead son,
I'll have you exposed and arrested!”
It is doubtful which of the two was more per-
plexed by this conversation.
Zizi, with her quick reading of human nature,
saw that Madame Parlato was truly surprised at
the girl's accusation of an accomplice, therefore,
she decided, he could not be an accomplice, after
all. And if not, what was he, and what was he
doing at the medium's house?
That he was a client, she did not believe, for
had she not seen him, rummaging in the Crane
library and in that table drawer? It was all most
mysterious and Zizi determined to stick to this new
mystery in hopes it would shed some light on the
old ones.
Meanwhile Madame Parlato was absolutely be-
wildered. Who was this strange girl who had come


256 The Come Back
And Zizi, worried and uncertain, in Wise's ab-
sence, as to just what she should do, laid her plans
to be present also at Benjamin Crane's next session
with the medium.
And Peter Boots, communing with himself, and
rapidly getting more and more excited at his dis-
coveries and the developments of his theories, impa-
- tiently awaited the hour when he should see his
father and perhaps his mother.


CHAPTER XVII
The Heart Helper
EVER during her association with Wise,
had Zizi wanted him so much as she did at
present. The situation, she felt, was too
big for her to handle, and the contradictory con-
clusions forced upon her bewildered her.
Public interest in the Blair murder had waned,
or at least it was waiting for the trial of McClellan
Thorpe, and while the police were ready to listen
to any new evidence or theories, none seemed to be
forthcoming.
Julie was in despair, feeling that the great Pen-
nington Wise was making no headway in his en-
deavors to free Thorpe, and Benjamin Crane too
was beginning to doubt Wise's ability. .
Zizi, therefore, felt the brunt of upholding her
colleague's reputation for cleverness and success,
and now that things were getting so complicated,
and Penny Wise so far away, the girl felt her re-
sponsibility almost greater than she could bear.
But, she concluded, after deep thought, the first
and most important thing to be done was to locate
that John Harrison.
257


The Heart Helper 259
“Oh, please,” she begged. “It’s so necessary,
so important. I won't make any wrong use of the
information. Please tell me.”
“But I can't, Miss Zizi. You see, Mr.—Har-
rison isn't where he was. He-he isn't anywhere.”
Clearly, Douglas thought, he was making a mess
of things. But what could he say?
“Are you making game of me?” Zizi's tone was
wistful, and with her head cocked to one side like
an alert bird, she waited breathlessly for his answer.
“No, not a bit of it!”
“But-you say—he isn't anywhere! What do
you mean?”
Still under the spell of her smile, her fascinating
manner, and her sweet, piquant little face, Douglas
hesitated,—and was lost.
“Well, you see, he, he was somebody else. I
mean he isn't, that is, he isn't himself.”
“Are you sure you are?” Zizi laughed outright,
so infectiously, that Douglas joined in.
“No, I'm not!” he admitted. “Now, if you're
not, either, we're all in the same boat.”
But Zizi was not to be put off with foolery.
“Mr. Douglas,” she said, seriously, “truly, I'm
on an important errand, and one involving grave
consequences. You can help greatly by giving me
that man's address, and help not only the girl of
whom I spoke, but help the cause of right and
justice, even, perhaps, in a matter of life and
death. Don't refuse—”


The Heart Helper 261
ranked in front of the hotel, and by a lucky chance
found the one who had driven Mr. Harrison away.
A proper bribe brought the knowledge that he had
been driven to the Wilfer, a much smaller hotel
nearby.
To the Hotel Wilfer Zizi went, and learned there
was no John Harrison there, but a very few in-
quiries proved to her astute intellect that the Louis
Bartram, who was the only guest registered at that
time on that afternoon, was in all probability the
man she sought. At any rate there was no harm in
trying.
She asked for an interview, and was connected
with Mr. Bartram's rooms by telephone.
“I want to see you again,” she said, in response
to his Hello, “Let me come up, Mr. Midnight
Visitor, please.”
Partly the pleading voice, partly the fact that
Peter was eager for new developments in his de-
vious course, and partly a sudden recollection of
the girl he had seen in his father's library, brought
about a cordial invitation to “come along.”
And Zizi exultantly went, hoping against hope
that she was on her way to learn something of real
importance.
For so many hopeful openings had proved blind
alleys, so many bright prospects of success had
dimmed on nearer view, that Zizi had begun to lose
heart, and this seemed to her perhaps a last chance.
Peter received her in his sitting room, and as


264 The Come Back
“Then why were you there?”
Uncertain what to say, Peter just sat and looked
at her.
And somehow, by some subtle intelligence or
telepathic flash—all of a sudden,_Zizi knew
“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes like stars, “oh,
you're Peter Boots!”
Slowly, Peter nodded his head.
“Yes,” he said, “I am. Now, what are we going
to do about it?”
“Do about it? Why, everything! Oh, wait
a minute, let me take it in, let me think what it
will mean—”
“To father? Yes, I know.”
These two, so lately strangers, were immediately
at one. Zizi, with her instantaneous understanding
and quick appreciation saw the whole situation at
once, and realized fully its tragedy.
“It can't be, you know,” she cried out; “it mustn't
bel Think of the ”
“I know,” returned Peter, “I’ve thought.”
Instead of being appalled at the knowledge that
his secret was out, Peter felt a positive relief, a
sudden let-down of his strained nerves, and a queer
sensation of confidence in this strange girl's powers
to set things right.
Peter's intuitions were quick and true; Zizi was
not only charming, but gave an effect of capability
and efficiency that were as balm and comfort to
poor, harassed Peter.


The Heart Helper 265
E.
He was willing to nail his colors to her mast;
to give his affairs and perplexities into her hands;
to abide by her decisions.
And Zizi accepted the tremendous responsibility
gravely.
“But it is all too wonderful,” she said. “What
happened? Where have you been?”
“Two broken legs, – compound fractures, –
frozen feet,_gangrene—ugh'—fierce—cut it out!”
“The gangrene!” cried Zizi, horrified.
“Yes, but I didn't mean that. I meant can the
description of my sufferings! They'd put the early
Christian martyrs to the blush. They would in-
deed! But let's take up the tale from the present
moment.”
“Oh, wait a minute, do! Who rescued you?
Why haven't you x -
“Lumbermen, camp, miles from any sort of a
lemon. Couldn't get into communication. Fiercest
winter ever known, everything cut off from every-
thing else. Came home the minute I could,—and,-
oh, thunder! how I want to know things! Tell
me heaps, do! And who are you, anyway?”
, “Heavens, what a tale! Yes, I'll tell you every-
thing, but what shall I fly at first? And—oh, I
can't stand the responsibility of your secret! I
can't! Why are you keeping it secret? On account
of your father?”
“Yes, that's the sole reason. How can I come
forward, the son who is supposed dead, who is


266 - The Come Back
supposed to come back as a spook, the son who
has had a book written about him xx
“Oh, what a situation! And your father so
wrapped up in the whole business, so positive in
his beliefs—”
“And that rascally medium!”
“And those wicked materializations!”
“And the fool Ouija Board!”
“And that letter from you to Julie—oh, I say!”
“And I say! But, tell me, what can I do? Do
you see it as I do? That I must go away again,
disappear forever, or—”
“Or break your father's heart, I mean,—oh, I
don't know what I mean! Mr. Peter, I think I'll
lose my mind!”
“I’ve almost lost mine, puzzling over the thing.
But I've put the kibosh on that Parlato!”
“Oh, that's why you were there! I got things all
wrong, didn't I? And you came to your own
home—”
“Only because of a terrible attack of homesick-
ness. You see, I still have my latch key, and if
you hadn't seen me, I should have merely had a good
look around, and then silently steal away, without,
however, stealing anything else!”
Zizi smiled at her accusation of his burglarious
intent, and then sat musing.
“I can't grapple with it,” she said, at last. “It's
too big. I shall telegraph for Mr. Wise. He must
come back at once and help us.”


268 The Come Back
“Exactly that, and, simply, it is my duty.”
“And Carlotta Harper?”
Peter jumped.
“Tell me about Carly,” he said, speaking thickly.
“Is she engaged to Shelby?”
“No, she isn't!”
“I heard she was.”
“Probably he hinted it, and the report started.
He's eternally after her, but, to my certain knowl-
edge she hasn't yet said yes.”
“Oh, my God! Dear little Carly! What can I
do?”
“She would go with you, into a new life—"
“No; don't be absurd! This secret must be kept
inviolably. Nor could I marry her under an as-
sumed name, even if she were willing. Also, she
may have forgotten me.”
“No, she has not. Oh, Mr. Peter, you must come
home.” -
“I can't. But tell me more, tell me of mother,
of Julie, -why, I sent a reporter to the house just
to get a line on home life, on present conditions,—
oh, little girl, you don't know what I suffered; it's
all so foolish,_so absurd, the spook stuff, I mean,
—yet, as I’ve learned, it's the very breath of life to
my Dad.”
“It is; but, look at the thing from another angle.
Couldn't you help unravel the Blair mystery.
Here's Mr. Thorpe held for a crime I don’t think


270 The Come Back
“Well, then, come back to the murder case. Have
you any suspect other than Thorpe?”
“Why, sometimes, I think I have. But it's a
serious thing to accuse, without evidence. Now, I
think I can get evidence, but mainly from Madame
Parlato. You see, she has been bribed by a power-
ful influence,—she is absolutely under orders from
some one, and it is because of that she is so fright-
ened for fear of exposure. I think in the ordinary
séance with my father, where my spirit—ugh!—ap-
pears and talks guff and rubbish, the medium is
more fool than knave. But when the spirit gives in-
formation concerning the murderer, and wrong
information,--it's criminal work itself, and ought
to be shown up.”
“Showing up the medium would expose the falsity
of your father's book, even without your reappear-
ance.” -
“I’ve thought of that, but there's duty there,
too. If I can free Mac Thorpe from unjust ac-
cusations, and incidentally, I'm thinking of Julie-
it's in all ways my duty to do so, even if—”
“Even if it makes your father a butt for ridi-
cule.”
“Yes, even that. All things are matters of com-
parison. Thorpe's life, or even Thorpe's name
mustn't be sacrificed to father's feelings. I may
sacrifice my own future, even my own life if I
choose, but not that of another.”


* The Heart Helper 27I
“Are you sure Mr. Thorpe is innocent?”
“As sure as shooting! But you must tell me all
the details of your investigations. I've studied the
newspaper reports, but I want your accounts, too.
When can you get Wise back here? Send for him
at once, will you? He can't get anything on Blair
out there. Blair's life was blameless. I know it
as I know my own. Why, Zizi, you don't realize,_
I’ve lived with my family and my friends for a
whole long lot of years. I’m no newcomer, except
regarding the last six months. You can't tell me
of Blair's character, or Thorpe's either. Now,
what I want to puzzle out is whether I can do my
- part in producing the real murderer, without re-
vealing my presence here and without even show-
ing my hand in the matter.”
“You might appear as your own spook.”
“I’ve thought of that, and it offers wide possi-
bilities. But it isn't fair to mother and Dad.
Let the medium fool them, if she will, it's not for
their own son to fool them, too! No, I can't do
that.”
“You might appear to the the criminal.”
“And give him the scare of his life! Yes, I might
do that. But I'm not yet sure he is the criminal,
—I'm basing my suspicion on generalities, not any
specific evidence.”
“Tell me his name.”
“Not yet. Let's plan a little first. You see, I've


The Confession 275
fort to my parents in my absence, and when they
know of my presence, they'll have no further use
for Madame!”
The séance was staged in the Crane home.
It was a simple matter for Madame Parlato to
persuade Benjamin Crane to allow her to hold a
session there, promising him a probable materializa-
tion of his son, if allowed to attempt it in the
scenes familiar to Peter Boots.
It was pathetic to see the hope and joy on the
faces of Peter's father and mother as they were
offered this experience. Gladly they accepted the
proposition, and when the medium further advised
them to invite a few friends, they willingly did so.
It was not announced that materialization was
expected,—Madame Parlato preferred it should not
be, she said; so the friends were merely asked to a
séance.
After all, Zizi, who had charge of the invitations
informed them, interest must be falling off, for no
one was coming except Miss Harper, who would
also bring Mr. Shelby.
However, with the Crane household, that made
quite a group, and as Detective Weston had heard
about it, and asked to be present he also had a seat,
in the rear of the room.
There was no air of secrecy, the waiting audience
were receptive, hopeful or skeptical as their natures
prompted.
Shelby and Carlotta whispered to each other that


The Confession 277
“Poppycock,” whispered Shelby to Carlotta, as he
held her hand.
Zizi, who sat on Shelby's other side, heard it
and answered, “Absolutely.”
Then the usual things happened. The medium
went into a trance state, and the regular proceedings
took place.
She gave messages to Mr. Crane, purporting to
be from his dead son. She gave messages to Julie
and to Peter's mother, all vapid and meaningless
and mentally scoffed at by all present, except the
two elderly listeners.
At last the medium said, “I am weary, weary,
I would sleep. The spirit of Peter Crane himself
would speak to you.”
“Will you?” eagerly asked Benjamin Crane, “will
you speak, yourself, Peter?”
“Yes, father,” came a reply, and everybody
started.
Surely that was Peter's own voice! Not loud,
almost a whisper, but with the unmistakable cadence
and tone of Peter, himself.
“That's Peter!” cried Julie, excitedly, “oh,
father, is it?”
“Hush, dear,” her father said, himself greatly
agitated. “One must be very calm and quiet on
these occasions. Peter Boots, will you talk with
us?”
“Gladly, Dad,” came the voice again,_seeming


278 The Come Back
to emanate from behind Detective Weston's chair,
as indeed it did.
“Then tell us of yourself, my boy.”
Mrs. Crane said no word, but sat, her hand in
that of her husband, full of faith in the genuineness
of it all, and ready to listen and believe.
“I am very happy here, father,” Peter's voice
declared,—and Zizi bit her lip to keep from smiling
at the hackneyed phrase uttered by mortal tongue!
“You sound so real, Peter,” Julie said, bluntly.
“Is it always like this?”
For Julie had never attended a séance before.
“No, sister,” the voice said, speaking more clearly
with every word; “this is an unusual occasion.
Perhaps, perhaps the medium can bring about
materialization to-night.”
“Oh, don't,” Julie cried out, “I’m scared!”
“Don’t be frightened, Julie,” Peter said, his voice
faint again, “I won't hurt you.”
The well-remembered gentleness reassured Julie,
and she held tight to her parents' hands and
listened.
“I have a message for each of you,” the voice
went on; “or you may each ask me a question, as
you prefer.”
“I’ll ask,” Julie exclaimed; “Peter, dear Peter
Boots, tell me that Mac never killed Gilbert. I
know it, yet I want you to say so. They told me
you didn't know, and that you were misinformed
and all that. You do know, don't you, Peter?”


280 The Come Back
and instantaneously that it was her son, alive and
found.
Benjamin Crane was a picture of utter perplexity.
Unable to accept the obvious, he tried for a moment
to believe in a marvelous “materialization,” but
Peter came to him, smiling and holding out an
eager hand.
“Welcome me home, Dad,” he said, a quiver in
his strong voice. “I know what a shock it is, but
brace up and meet it, I'm here, and very much
alive. In fact, I never have been dead at all.”
“Peter, Peter,” his father muttered, and fear-
ing ill effects, Zizi came quickly to his side.
“Yes, Mr. Crane,” she said in her brisk little way.
“Peter Boots, home again. Never mind the spook
stuff now. Cut it out, forget it, let him tell us
of his adventures.”
And now Carly came toward Peter.
One glance passed between them, and she was in
his arms, a smiling, sweet Carly, who kissed him
right before everybody, and said triumphantly, “I
knew you'd come back!”
“Of course,” said Peter, happily holding her to
him. “I had to, the gypsies prophesied it, you
know. They didn't mean come back as a silly old
spirit, they meant come back in the flesh, and here
I am. Kit, old man, I'm sorry.”
And there was infinite sorrow and pity in the
face that Peter turned on Shelby, who was still
trembling and mouthing in a vain effort to speak.
*


282 The Come Back
“But, father, think what people will say! I un-
derstand your book is read and discussed from pole
to pole—”
“And it may be hooted at from pole to pole for all
I care! Oh, Peter! Peter Boots! Good old
chap!”
Peter's blue eyes beamed. The thing that had
worried him most had turned out all right. More-
ever, Carly seemed still kindly disposed toward him.
Remained only the dreadful business of Shelby
and that must be put through.
“Then,” Peter resumed, “I came home, and found
old Gilbert Blair was dead. Murdered. And Mac
Thorpe arrested for the crime.
“I know Thorpe, and I know he never did it.
And I wondered. Then I read in father's book
about that old tobacco pouch of mine being ‘mate-
rialized.” So I knew there was trickery afoot. For
I had handed that pouch to Kit only a short time
before I fell down. And he hadn't handed it back.
So, that accounted for its presence in the pos-
session of the medium, though it didn't necessarily
incriminate Shelby. He might have lost it or had it
stolen from him.
“But, next I went to the Picture Show of
‘Labrador Luck.” That, or at least the plot, the
backbone of it, was Blair's and mine. Together we
doped it out, sitting by our camp fire up there in
the wilds, old Kit dozing near by. He talked with


284 The Come Back
scene at the time death took place. These state-
ments I submit, and if Christopher Shelby can deny
or refute them, none will be more glad than I.”
Shelby maintained a sullen silence, refusing to
look at Peter at all.
But Weston adjured him to reply to the accusa-
tions with either confession or denial, and he mut-
tered: “Of course it's all true. I got in deeper
and deeper and there was no way out but to do
for Blair. I began giving the medium things just
for fun, the whole matter seemed to me such rub-
bish, and I never dreamed Mr. Crane would take
it so seriously. Then when he did, and when Blair
found out I had primed the medium, and when I
wanted his play and he wouldn't let me have it, and
when I wanted his girl, and when he declared he
would expose the medium business, I fell for the
temptation. That's all.”
He lapsed again into utter dejection and Weston
led him away before he should collapse utterly.
“Now, Julie, you can have your Mac,” Peter
went on, smiling at his sister. “It’s too late to-
27
night
“Not a bit of it,” declared Penny Wise, “come
along, Miss Crane, I'll take you to him, and let you
tell him yourself, and I shouldn't be surprised if he
came back with you.”
The two went off joyfully, leaving Peter to be
lionized and petted by his adoring people.
|
|


The Confession 285
Madame Parlato had long since disappeared, be-
ing allowed to get away unmolested because of the
help she had been.
Then Peter and his parents had a talk, while
Carlotta just sat and looked at the group, knowing
her turn would come. Zizi, too, like a little dea. ex:
machina, sat, gloating over the outcome of it all.
Benjamin Crane utterly refused to listen to a
word of regret at his discredited book, he only
laughed happily and declared it was a joke on him-
self, and he didn't care what the result might be
or what loss he might suffer in reputation or in
pocketbook.
Mrs. Crane said little but she held tight to the
hand of her boy, and lost herself in an oblivion of
happiness.
And then, turning to Carlotta, Peter said, “And
you thought I'd never come back?”
“Peter,” Carly said, “I’m an expert Ouija
Boarder. I have the reputation of making the
Board say whatever I want it to. But my own
theory is, that the little pointer always goes straight
to the message that the performer wants. And
whenever I tried it alone, and asked it if you'd
come back to me, it said you would.”
Peter smiled at her, a little quizzically.
“I don't know, Carly, whether you're making that
up or whether you mean it, but it doesn't matter,
I did come back-and I came back to you, -and


286 The Come Back
for you. Which, being interpreted, means, that
when you're ready to go home, I'll walk along with
you I'll have time to see the family here to-
inorrow.”
Whereupon Carly smiled happily, and they two
“walked along.”
THE END








º )/ ſ A.
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