|CHLBRARIES ||||||| 76O7614 4 - | | - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - | - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - | “You mean you saw her at the first window on the west side?” “Yes, suh, de front one, nearest de altar, on de west side; an' she jest glared at Miss Ethel all thoo de ce'mony. An’ she had a long, capey kind o' garment, like it was a ottermobil cloak, an’ she kep' it wrop' 'roun' her, like's if she was cold, w'ich ob co'se she couldn't 'a' been. An' after Miss Ethel done fell ober, dat woman picked up her skirts and ran like de debbil!” “Where to?” “Right out towa'd de front gate, an’ she jumped into a big motor cah, an’ dey scooted off like de wind 1 '' The recital was dramatic, so much so that Fer- rall had doubts of its entire truth. But questioning failed to shake Charlotte's story in any detail. She avowed that it all happened exactly as she had re- lated, and said she had not told of it before because she had been told that the shot was fired from the east side and she knew that in that case the woman she saw could not have fired it. “How did you happen to pay so much attention to this strange woman when there was so much going on inside the church?” The Woman at the Window 133 “Well, suh, I'd been a-noticin' ob huh all along; an' den when dey all began to crowd 'roun' Miss Ethel, and hollah an’ cry, I couldn't see nothin' much inside, an' I ran 'roun’ to de front do' to try to get in de chu'ch, an’ den was w'en I seen de woman gettin' in de cah in such a hurry.” “Who was in the car?” “Dere was a chuffer an' anudder man. Dey was all strangers to me, Suh, an' I don't believe dat cah b'longed in town, 'cause I knows most ob de swell cahs, suh. I'se mighty observin', I allus was, suh, an' I most gen’ally notices all what's goin' on.” “What did this woman look like?” “Well, suh,” and Charlotte's eyes rolled in sat- isfaction at being allowed to launch into descrip- tion, “she was a lady what has been a ravin' beauty, suh. An’ she's some beautiful still, but she's been too gay, suh, too gay, dat's what she's been l’” “Describe her briefly,” and Ferrall frowned at Charlotte's verbosity. “Yes, suh. She had big black eyes dat shet up most to slits w'en she looked at Miss Ethel; she had black hair, but all I could see ob dat was what was plastered down ober her years. Den she had a peart, bright little face with rosy cheeks and 'ceed- ingly red lips, too red altogether for a decent woman. 'Pon my soul, Mr. Ferrall, I t'ink dat woman was a chorus girl! I’ve seen dat sort on de stage an' off, an’ she jest looked like dat was what she was!” I34 The Bride of a Moment “You didn’t see her shoot?” “Laws, no, suh; if I had I'd 'a' told you long ago! But bein’ a stranger an' a sinner, Loh, yas, Suh, she was a sinner!—why ain't she de li'l piece ob wickedness what shot our Miss Ethel?” “We'll look into the matter, Charlotte, and meanwhile, don't say a word about it to any one. Did you have full view of Mr. Bingham during the ceremony?” “Yas, suh, I sho’ did. Mighty han’some he looked, po’ man!” “Yes, Mr. Bingham is a fine man. Everybody likes him, don't they?” “Yes, suh.” Charlotte had become suddenly laconic. “Even your young mistress admires him, eh?” “I dunno 'bout Miss Eileen, but laws' sakes! How Mr. Bingham does admire huh!” “They're old friends?” Ferrall was quietly insinuating, and chose his words with infinite Care. “Not so berry old friends. Lessee, de Randalls on'y came here to lib last September, w'en de school year begun in de ’cademy; an’ Mr. Bingham, he nebber saw Miss Eileen till after dat.” “Love at first sight?” “Mighty near it! I thought for sure Miss Eileen was goin' to cut Miss Ethel out wid dat man, but she didn't. Miss Ethel, she wouldn't let him go. Yo' see, suh—” The Woman at the Window I35 “Charlotte! What are you talking about? Mr. Ferrall, what are you doing here?” Eileen Randall appeared in the doorway, with a face like a thundercloud. “What does this mean?” she went on; “Char- lotte, go to your room; Mr. Ferrall, come with me!” XI The Woman the Bridegroom Loved TILL frowning, Eileen led the way to the S library, where her father sat at his desk. He rose, as his daughter and the detective en- tered, and bowed courteously to the visitor. “I found Mr. Ferrall in the kitchen, quizzing Charlotte!” exclaimed Eileen. “What do you think of that?” Doctor Randall smiled. “There, there, my dear, don't excite yourself. Detectives must use every possible means of getting the information they seek.” “Good for you, Doctor Randall!” said Ferrall; “I felt sure you would understand. Miss Randall took umbrage at my unconventional call on her servant, but I am sure she will forgive me in the interests of justice.” Eileen said nothing, but continued to look coldly disapproving. “Be seated, Mr. Ferrall,” went on the Profes- sor, “and tell me what you have done in the mat- ter of the crime.” “We have done very little,” confessed Ferrall, ruefully; “it seems impossible to get any clues or evidence of any sort. Your black servant has told I36 The Woman the Bridegroom Loved 137 me of a mysterious woman, whom she observed on the day of the wedding, but I scarcely dare hope for any great developments from the information.” Doctor Randall's eyes twinkled. “But if you are a detective, Mr. Ferrall, ought you not to take this or any other hint, and go straight to the heart of the mystery?” “Oh, I’m not one of those story-book detectives, who look at a victim's wound and immediately say, ‘The criminal is a dark-haired man with a cast in his left eye, and a tendency to asthma!' I can read a clue with the next one, but I must have the clue. In this case we have no clues, absolutely none.” “And yet,” said Doctor Randall, musingly, “these deductive feats, that you satirize, are merely the result of using common sense and common ob- servation. The more you study them, the less mar- vellous they seem. Indeed, to me, the wonder is, that a detective can fail to deduce the dark-haired and asthmatic criminal.” “You are pleased to belittle my powers, sir,” said Ferrall, trying to hide his anger; “could you suggest, perhaps, a direction in which to look for these illuminating clues?” “I am not a detective, but I am a scientist, a pro- fessor of psychology, and as such, I have learned to realize what an exact science criminal investiga- tion has come to be. It all rests on facts. There is no room for unsupported theories or imaginative The Woman the Bridegroom Loved 139 “Will you, then, kindly show them to me, Doctor Randall?” Again Ferrall choked down his wrath at his host's attitude, in the hope of learning something of use to himself. “Don’t, father,” broke in Eileen, laying her hand on her father's arm. “You are not a detective, and all your visionary reasoning will only ham- per Mr. Ferrall, without in any way helping him.” “Don’t be alarmed, my dear. Though I would gladly help Mr. Ferrall, I cannot do so, for, as I have said, I am not a detective. No one can be, without giving years to the profound study of one of the greatest of all sciences, psychology of crim- inalistics.” “You incline to long words, Doctor Randall,” said Ferrall, smiling. “They are necessary if there are no shorter ones for the purpose,” returned the Professor testily. “Most so-called detectives have no technique, no system. They know nothing of the impulses that urge or force the criminal to his deeds. They know nothing of the established facts of applied psychology, and what little they hear of them they scorn, thinking thereby to show superiority when really they only expose their ignorance. Had I not shaped my career along other lines, I would have been a detective, for the work fascinates me. But other departments of psychology have claimed my attention, and I have merely noted in passing I4O The Bride of a Moment the wonderful connection between mental proc- esses and criminal impulse.” Now Ferrall took very little stock in this sort of talk, but he determined to get some help from the Professor, if possible, and he turned to definite propositions and repeated what the coloured woman had told him. Doctor Randall listened attentively, and then said, “But there you are again, Mr. Ferrall. The true detective knows the truth when he hears it. This is not a supernatural faculty, nor is it in- tuition or clairvoyance, it is merely experience and study. He must know thoroughly how prone human beings are to lie unconsciously. He must realize the impossibility of exact truth telling. Distorted perceptions, lack of a sense of values, uncontrollable emotions, all of these and scores of other influences preclude truth telling, even from those most eager to be veracious. And trained ap- praisal of these influences is absolutely necessary to a scientific detective.” “Then you make out my case hopeless, Doctor,” and Ferrall spoke with a forced jocularity. But the older man took his speech seriously. “I fear so, Mr. Ferrall. The case of Ethel Bingham can never be solved without the application of the highest type of scientific and psychologic knowl- edge brought to bear on its mysteries.” “And as that can't be done,” said Eileen, “we must be content to let the mystery remain unsolved The Woman the Bridegroom Loved I4I and the name of the criminal unrevealed. I hope, however, Mr. Ferrall, you will pay no attention to our Charlotte's story. Like all her race, she is imaginative and fanciful. She is inclined often to invent dramatic incidents for the sake of creating a sensation, and I feel sure she has done so in this case. I am convinced, myself, that it would be better to drop the whole matter, for a suspicion directed toward an innocent person would be worse than no suspicion at all.” “Eileen,” said her father, looking at her in mild surprise, “why are you taking this attitude? To me it sounds as if you had some hidden reason for wanting the investigations discontinued.” Eileen Randall was accustomed, and had been accustomed all her life to having her father make embarrassing remarks, based on his reading of her thoughts, but in this instance she showed plainly her chagrin and dismay. Ferrall seized the opportunity. “Yes, Miss Randall,” he said, “one would think you were afraid of suspicion resting on some one dear to you.” “How absurd,” began Eileen, her cheeks flam- ing, but Ferrall went relentlessly on: “I feel it my duty to tell you, in this connection, that very grave suspicions are directed toward Mr. Stanford Bing- ham.” It was one of Ferrall's favourite methods to come out suddenly with a disconcerting statement, and I42 The Bride of a Moment watch for its effects. He was not disappointed. Eileen Randall turned ghastly white and giving a sharp cry of pain, covered her face with her hands. “Bingham!'” exclaimed Doctor Randall. “Non- sense! I know that man too well to consider such a thing for a moment. Why, he's a fine man! It doesn't require much psychological instinct to know that any suspicion in that direction is rubbish! Absolute rubbish, Mr. Ferrall!” “Then why is your daughter so unnerved over the mere suggestion?” “Eh P Unnerved? Are you, Eileen? But that is only natural. Bingham is a great friend of both my daughter and myself. We have known him ever since we came to this town. Last fall, I came here to take the chair of Psychology in the Hill- side School, and Bingham was one of the first friends we made, and has proved one of the best. Stanford Bingham a criminal? Never!” “I’m afraid your friendship influences your judg- ment, Doctor Randall;” and Ferrall rose to go. “And I'm afraid, too, that we can't secure the ser- vices of the sort of transcendent detective you talk, about. We'll just have to get along with our own tried and trusty force. But I thank you for this interview. I have learned quite a deal from it, I assure you.” Eileen followed the detective to the door. “Mr. Ferrall,” she said, “have you any definite evidence against Stanford Bingham P.” The Woman the Bridegroom Loved 145 “What a question! I know because I love you. I couldn't love you if you were wicked!” “Couldn't you?” and the low whisper was in- tense and persuasive. “Yes!” and Eileen flung her arms round his neck in a mad embrace. “Yes, I should love you if you were the worst criminal on earth! Now, are you satisfied But I know you only said that to test me! Stan, who did kill Ethel?” “I don't know, darling, and since I have you, nothing else matters. Don't think me a brute, Eileen, but you know, oh, darling, you know, how I hated to marry her!” “Yet you would go through with it.” “How could I help it? She wouldn't let me off; I tried every means to persuade her. I couldn't be such a cad as to refuse to marry her after our long engagement. I didn't deceive her. She knew I cared for you, but she wouldn't give me up.” “I know. She was bound to marry you, but she didn't love you, Stan. Not as I do.” “No, dearest, she didn't. Oh, Eileen, be patient with me! I am in a fearful position. Everybody knows I love you, and that I didn't love Ethel, and SO- 33 “And so they think you killed her. You didn't, did you, Stan?” “Don’t ask me, Eileen! Promise me you will never ask me that question!” Startled at the vehemence in his voice, Eileen I46 The Bride of a Moment raised her head from Bingham's shoulder to look in his face. He was deathly pale, and his dark eyes were blazing. The girl felt as if a cold hand clutched at her heart. But she looked straight into his eyes. “No,” she said, “no, I will never ask you. I know you didn't, but, if you did, it was for me.” “Yes, if I did, it was for you.” Bingham spoke almost solemnly, and Eileen shuddered in his arms. “Oh, Stan,” she moaned, “don't! I can't bear it! Tell me the truth, whatever it may be!” “Hush, dear; you promised not to ask that. Keep your faith in me, though no one else in all the world does. Won't you?” “Yes, I will,” said Eileen, and she raised her beautiful face to Bingham's with a look of utter- most faith and trust. XII Two Telegrams surprised to receive a call from Eileen Ran- dall at his office. Courteously he greeted her, gave her a chair, and then waited for her to announce her errand. She hesitated before speaking, but the lawyer felt no impatience as he sat watching the girl be- fore him. In a dainty summer costume of pale buff linen, with a hat to match, Eileen's dark beauty was further enhanced by a cluster of scarlet geranium at her belt and a duplicate cluster in artificial flowers on her hat. A little nervously she played with her buff parasol, and then, in a sudden burst of determination, she said: “Mr. Farrish, will you please tell me anything you know about the murder of Ethel Moulton?” Farrish looked at her in astonishment. “What can I tell you, Miss Randall,” he said, “that you do not know already? Have you not talked with the District Attorney?” “Yes, and with Mr. Ferrall. But they know very little, positively. As Ethel's lawyer, I hoped you could tell me something about her personally, that would help me in this matter. For I am try- A COUPLE of days later, Guy Farrish was I47 I48 The Bride of a Moment ing to do a little detective work myself,” Eileen smiled winsomely, “and I so hoped you could help me.” “I wish I might,” said Farrish, gazing at her admiringly, “but though you call me Miss Moul- ton's lawyer, I really did very little for her in a legal way. Of course, she had but few occasions to use my services. I am the lawyer of the Swift family, but even the men of the house rarely have any work for me. In what way did you think I could give you information?” “In no definite way, I'm afraid. But I thought often lawyers knew secrets about their clients that other people didn't know—” “And that they were willing to divulge such Secrets!” “Why, yes, if it were in the interests of justice.” Eileen's big, dark eyes shone, and her beautiful eager face came a trifle nearer to the lawyer's own. The girl was well aware of her powers of fascina- tion, and voluntarily endeavoured to charm Guy Farrish into a confidence. “I don't know exactly what I want you to tell me, but I do want to know if you know anything of Ethel's private affairs?” “You probably know, Miss Randall,” Farrish said, slowly, “that at one time Ethel Moulton and I were very good friends.” “Of course I know that! Why, I have been told that two years ago everybody said you were en- gaged to her. But, we all know what Ethel was. Two Telegrams I49 A born flirt, an insatiable coquette, a girl who was engaged to one man one week, and another the next.” “Don’t speak too lightly of her, please. She was of a butterfly nature, and so fond of admira- tion that she drifted into affairs—and out of them with equal ease. However, Miss Randall, if in my own acquaintance with her I learned anything of a confidential nature, you can't expect me to tell of it now, can you?” “Yes, if it will cast any light on the mystery of her death.” “Is that a mystery?” “Of course it is! Whom do you suspect as the criminal?” “I don't care to say. But who had reason for desiring her death? Who was near enough to her at the fatal moment to commit the deed unob- served? Who-” “Stop, Mr. Farrish! I know to whom you re- fer, and I tell you that Stanford Bingham is as innocent of that crime as you or I. He couldn't do it! He is too fine, too noble a nature! Too clean of heart, and 22 “Stop, Miss Randall! Try to realize that to my experienced ear your assertions are too emphatic to be sincere. They sound rather like the protesta- tions of one who is trying to convince another of what she does not believe herself l’” Eileen's face went white. Her fingers tensely I5O The Bride of a Moment strained themselves round her parasol handle, and her breath came quickly. “You are a keen observer, Mr. Farrish,” she said, controlling herself with an effort. “I will tell you frankly what I have learned myself. I have just come from the Swifts' house, and while there I looked through some of Ethel's papers and letters. I found these two telegrams that arrived the morning of her wedding.” “Brides usually receive a lot of telegrams, do they not?” “Yes; but read these.” Farrish took the two papers and looked them over with a perplexed glance. One read: “Word my will wedding with go if I remember.” And the other: “Sworn keep I this through you vowed what.” “Some sort of a joke?” he asked, looking in- quiringly at Eileen. “I thought so at first. But I showed them to my father, and he solved the mysterious messages.” “Oh, is it a puzzle? A cryptogram?” and Far- rish again pondered over the ambiguous words. “Not exactly that, but it conveys a concealed warning. I have brought it to you because I hate to give it to the police. I hoped you could help me find out where it came from.” “If you know what it means, tell me, please. I am not always quick at deciphering enigmas.” “Nor I. But my father is very clever at it, and Two Telegrams I5I he had looked at these but a moment when he read them intelligibly. See, you must read the words alternately and backward. Begin at ‘Remember,’ and going backward, take first one paper, then the other.” Slowly, Farrish read as she directed. His eyes stared in horror as he enunciated the message: “Remember what I vowed. If you go through with this wedding I will keep my sworn word.” “Do you believe,” he said, slowly, “that this message was sent to Ethel by the-by the man who killed her?” “Yes, by the man or woman who killed her.” “What do you mean by that?” And then Eileen told of Charlotte's story of the woman looking in at the west window of the church. Farrish listened attentively. “Describe the woman again,” he said, briefly. “Dark and beautiful, but from Charlotte's ac- count, ‘fast’-looking. Intensely black eyes and hair, and a wicked expression.” “There is a possibility, Miss Randall, that such a woman was there, that she sent these extraor- dinary telegrams and that she committed the mur- der. But how could one go about it to find her? Your servant says she was no resident of this town. If she came up from New York,+I see the telegrams are from that city, we surely have no clue to her identity.” I52 The Bride of a Moment “That's what I came to ask you. I hoped you might know of some such person who was an enemy of Ethel's. I hate to put this matter in the hands of the police, they bungle everything so. Do you think I ought to, Mr. Farrish?” “If you look at me so persuasively, Miss Ran- dall, I shall not be able to give you an unbiassed answer. If you choose to destroy those telegrams, you may rest assured I shall never disclose their existence.” “But I don't want to do that! I want their sender hunted down and convicted I’m sure the murderer sent them, and they must be traced.” “But, pardon me if I pain you, Miss Randall, what if they were sent by—by the one who—” “Oh!” Eileen gave a low moan. “You don't, you can't mean Stanford! Say you didn't mean that!” “I mean nothing that you don't want me to mean. But, you must see that others, the police, for instance,—might take it to be his work.” “But it is absurd | * “Not to an unprejudiced mind.” Farrish looked again at the telegrams. “Be frank, please. Don't you know that Bingham went to that altar unwill- ingly?” Eileen flushed, but she bowed a slow assent. “Don’t you know that Miss Moulton practically forced him to keep his part of their marriage com- pact?” Two Telegrams I53 “How do you know this?” and Eileen's eyes dilated wide with fear at this disclosure of her own SecretS. “You came here to ask me if I knew any secrets of Ethel Moulton's. I know that she wouldn't free the man she married from his promise, although he wished her to, in order that he might marry xx “Don't! Oh, don't, Mr. Farrish I don't know how you know these things!” “Lawyers know many secrets. Now, Miss Ran- dall, don't be alarmed; you may trust me not to reveal the state of things between Bingham and yourself. But you must see that these telegrams could just as plausibly be ascribed to the bride- groom of that unfortunate wedding, as to any one else. Just for a moment lay aside your own sym- pathies and look at the case. Indeed, if you are going to do anything in the matter, you must look at it impersonally. Here we have an unwilling bridegroom. We have these telegrams anony- mously sent. Then we have the tragedy. Is it not obvious that Bingham might have married the lady to secure the fortune that could be his in no other way, and then have her put out of his life by a desperate means, only possible because of his great desire not to have her for his wife, when—he- loved another?” Across Eileen's mind flashed Bingham's words, “If I did it, I did it for you.” I54 The Bride of a Moment With an agonized face she gazed at Farrish. “I cannot believe it,” she murmured. “I shall never believe it.” “Of course not. We cannot believe ill of those we love. But do you not agree with me that it would be better to suppress those telegrams and say nothing that might direct further suspicion Bingham's way?” “It may be so.” “If you let it alone, the suspicion may die down. After the open verdict of the Coroner's jury, and the entire lack of definite evidence, the police have so little to work on they will be obliged to drop the case.” “But if it should have been that woman Char- lotte saw She calls her ‘a little piece of wicked- ness.’ Perhaps the shot was intended for Stanford himself.” “Then that only opens up unpleasant chapters in Bingham's life. Do you want to do that? And, too, I am sure you can never trace that vague, semi- mythical woman, probably existing only in your servant's imagination.” “Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Farrish, that it might have been Warry Swift, after all? I hate to say this, but Warry is a queer sort of nature, and I could believe it of him far easier than of a man like Stanford Bingham.” “So could I. And Swift's sudden disappear- ance is against him.” Two Telegrams I55 “But he's home again, now.” “Is he? When did he return, and what does he say?” “He came back on Tuesday. He says he went to track down a clue, but it amounted to nothing. The police don't suspect him any more, because they've proved that Ethel could have turned after she was shot, and so they're bound to prove it was Mr. Bingham.” “That is why I advise you, as a friend, if you're anxious to protect Bingham, don't show those tele- grams. They're dangerous weapons in the hands of the District Attorney.” “Do you know, Mr. Farrish, what I've just about determined to do? I’m going to send for a friend of my father's, who is a wonderful scientific detec- tive. He can get at the truth of any case.” “And you want the truth revealed?” “Yes, I do! I am so sure of Stanford's inno- cence that I am willing to have the matter probed to the utmost. I am going to try to get Alan Ford.” “Alan Ford! Don't do it! Miss Randall, you are sounding the death knell of Stanford Bingham if you get Ford!” Eileen, who had risen to go, clutched at her chair back. “You mean ” she faltered. “I mean that Alan Ford is the greatest detec- tive I know of. I mean he will go straight to the heart of this mystery and solve it. And I mean Two Telegrams I57 “I’ve been to see Mr. Farrish,” she said, as she entered the library where the two men Sat. “Guy Farrish!” exclaimed Bingham; “what for P’’ “I wanted to see if he knew anything about Ethel's past.” “Ethel's past! You talk as if she were no- torious! ” “No, not that,” and Eileen spoke very gently; “but there is much in her life that we don't know about, and as the family lawyer, I thought Mr. Farrish might give me some information.” “And did he?” asked Doctor Randall. * “Not definitely. But he set me thinking. And, father, I’ve decided that I want you to ask that friend of yours, Alan Ford, to come here for a few days, whether he takes up the case professionally or not.” “Ford, the detective!” exclaimed Bingham. “Oh, don't do that!” “Do you know him?” “Not personally; but I know of him. Every- body does. Don't get him, Eileen.” “Why not?” and the girl gazed calmly at Bing- ham. “Because, oh, because—I'm afraid to have him come.” “Afraid he'll find out the truth?’” “Yes!” and Bingham's eyes flashed with angry 158 The Bride of a Moment fire. “You know where suspicions are directed. Do you want to bring more trouble on xx Bingham stopped abruptly. “Do as you like,” he said in a hard voice, and turning on his heel he left the house and walked rapidly down the path- way. Eileen ran after him. “Come in here,” she said, gently, urging him toward a small arbour on the lawn. “Now, tell me, Stan, whom are you shielding? I know very well you are not afraid of Mr. Ford's investigation, and I know you are fearful for some one else. Who is it? Warry Swift?” Stanford Bingham took Eileen's face in his two hands. He looked deep into her eyes. For a long moment he gazed hungrily at her, and then with a deep sigh, he said, “Eileen—Sweetheart, don't send for that man. If you do, I will be convicted of Ethel's murder as sure as there is a heaven above us! Don't do it, I beg of you.” With a convulsive movement, Bingham drew her to him, and kissed her passionately on the lips, and then, almost flinging her from him, he left her and walked rapidly away. After a time Eileen returned to the house and sought her father. “Do you suppose,” she said, “that Mr. Ford could really find out the truth?’” “I am sure of it,” returned the Professor, posi- tively. “You see, Eileen, he is of a different cali- bre from these local detectives.” XIII Alan Ford letter to Alan Ford, and Eileen had not her expected chance to intercept it. And Ford came. An old friend of the Profes- sor's, he was glad to oblige him, and too, the case, as he had heard of it, presented unusual character- istics, and he was not averse to investigating it. Entering the little library where Eileen and her father awaited him, Ford's presence seemed to fill the whole room. He was a tall man, about six feet three, but with such broad shoulders and such perfect proportions throughout, that one never noticed his height except when he loomed up beside ordinary men. Lean, but as a race horse is lean,—strong-featured, with a forceful jaw, but of which one never thought because of his gentle smile; keen grey eyes that looked one through and through, yet so kindly that one never considered himself being scrutinized; in short, a magnetic, winsome personality that inspired confidence and friendliness even in a criminal. Though little over fifty, Alan Ford's hair was silver-grey, the grey of the outside of a clean oyster shell, with fine lines of black in the shadows and white high lights, B'. Professor Randall himself posted his I6I I62 The Bride of a Moment His eyes, deep-set under dark lashes, were tranquil and a trifle sad, but when his anger was aroused, he seemed to throw off as a garment his pacific air, his eyes flashed fire, his jaw hardened and showed its power, his muscles became visible under his clothing, his whole manner was alert and he looked like a tiger ready to spring. Woe to any one who ever caused him to look like that! In dress, Ford was a connoisseur, and his care- fully built clothes were always correct and never conspicuous. In manner he was a gentleman in the best and finest sense of the much misused word. Eileen had dreaded his coming, but she could not resist the subtle fascination of his manner as he greeted his hosts. And before she had talked with him ten minutes she was glad to put all her troubles in his capable hands. “Tell me everything,” he said, as, over the tea- cups, they discussed the tragedy. Supplementing each other Eileen and her father told all the tragic details, and as Ford listened he said little except, “Tell me more.” Briefly, yet graphically, Eileen described the wedding ceremony, and the mysterious death of the bride and subsequent events. Listening in- tently, Ford nodded his head as he mastered each new point. “A marvelous criminall” he said, at last, as if the expression of admiration were wrung from him. “Most murderers are fools as well as vil- Alan Ford I63 lains. They leave clues, more or less obvious; they forget or overlook conditions that fairly shriek in- crimination to one who can understand their language; they underdo or overdo their subsequent interest in the case; and their work lacks harmony and plausibility. Now, here, we have a criminal who boldly dared an original plan, a plan so dar- ing and so cold-blooded that we know at once we must look for a genius in crime. No ordinary nature would conceive of a murder at a wedding altar! The very conjunction of terms is unique, hitherto unknown | We need not waste time sus- pecting a man of low caste or of small education. The criminal is a man of brains, of culture, of poise.” “Was it a man?” said Eileen, musingly, and then she told Ford of Charlotte's tale of the beau- tiful woman looking in at the window of the church. “It could well have been the work of a jealous woman,” Ford agreed; “the human being who can love intensely, is also usually capable of crime. And, man or woman, whoever carries in the heart that deadly, burning acid of jealousy, may, on occa- sion, give way to the impulse of murder. But the coloured woman's story needs much further evi- dence and corroboration before it can take shape as a definite suspicion. On the face of it, it seems too daring, too careless of consequences for her to come to the church, openly, and fire through the I64 The Bride of a Moment window, no matter how cleverly she concealed her act. Of course, whoever did it, the act was clev- erly concealed, but that would not be difficult, in a crowded church, and with a pocket pistol. It is the master idea, of choosing the circumstances of the deed so cleverly, that makes me know the criminal is a genius. I have long wondered if a crime might not be committed which would be absolutely undiscoverable. This seems to me to present no loophole of discovery by ordinary or by physical means. The only clues must be psycho- logical, not material. We have none of the com- monplace evidences of footprints, broken cuff- links, or cigarette stubs. We can only hope to trace the criminal through mental procedure. And that is not an easy task.” “It seems hopeless,” said Eileen, slowly; “can you get no idea from the actual facts? Do you care to go to look at the church?” “I will go, of course, Miss Randall, but I can- not expect much help from that sort of observa- tion. Were there anything to be learned that way, it would have been discovered by your local detectives. For instance, the testimony of the doctor that the bride could have turned round after being struck by the bullet, leaves us no reason to assume the shot came from the left side or from the right. The fact that the bullet entered through her hair and thus left no visible powder mark is another accidental difficulty in placing the distance Alan Ford I65 of the assailant. No, so far as I can see, now, there is no definite, material clue of any sort though, of course, some may yet turn up. Now, for further information about people. To begin with the bride. Was she a lady of varied inter- ests, socially?” Eileen realized the trend of this inquiry, and replied, “Yes, Mr. Ford, there is no use begging the question; Ethel was a flirt, always. She couldn't seem to help it, and she told me often, that she would lead a man on to propose to her, for the fun of refusing him. This is hard to say of the dead, but if you want the truth, that is it.” “But she was in love with Mr. Bingham?” “Yes, in so far as it was in her nature to love. She had promised to marry him, and even though he—he 29 “My daughter finds it difficult to tell the exact state of things,” interrupted Doctor Randall, in his calm, direct way, “but it was this. Stanford Bingham was engaged to Miss Moulton when we came here to live last fall. The pair were not in love with each other, I know that. But Bingham must marry before his birthday of this year, or lose a large fortune. However, when he and my daughter met, it was 35 “Don’t, father!” cried Eileen, but the Profes- sor went calmly on, and Eileen ran out of the TOO111. “Just as well,” said her father, “for I want I66 The Bride of a Moment you to understand this, Alan. It was love at first sight with Bingham and Eileen. They tried to conquer it, but they couldn't. Eileen told me only part, but I read the poor child like a book. At last, it was about February, I think, he asked Ethel to set him free, because he loved Eileen. He was frank and manly about it, but Ethel refused to give him up. Many times he asked it, but Ethel held him to his contract, though she knew he loved another. It may be she wanted his money, and it may be she didn't want Eileen to have him. At any rate, I'm sure it was not love for Bingham that made her insist on the marriage, for Ethel had no heart. She proved it by carrying out all her plans, and asking Eileen to be her maid of honour. My daughter's proud spirit caused her to accept the invitation, and what the poor child suffered at that wedding, you may imagine!” “Do you suspect Bingham of the crime?” asked Ford, abruptly. “I can't. Like you, I feel the psychology of the case, and every instinct tells me Bingham is not the man to do such a thing. And yet ** “And yet, was there ever a criminal whose crime was not a surprise to his friends? Of course, I'm not speaking now of professional wrong-doers. But this is, in every respect, an ex- ceptional case, and we must look for an exceptional criminal. Not for one whom we would naturally suspect.” I68 The Bride of a Moment * can. It is a case in my own class. I’ve studied so long and so hard on this class of crime, that I be- lieve I am specially well equipped to work in this instance.” “I know it, Alan, that's why I sent for you. Of course, there's no use in making a secret of our at- titude,-Eileen's and mine. If Bingham is guilty, I want to know it. If he isn't, I want him to marry Eileen. That's all there is about it. He adores her. He wants to marry her as soon as it's decent. But I will never consent until the veriest shadow of doubt is cleared from his name. I, myself, do not believe he killed Ethel, but lots of people do, and I think he is in a fair way to be openly accused very soon. If you can prevent that, or refute it when it does come, you are a friend indeed. As to fees, I am not rich, but my bank account is yours if you succeed.” “Don’t bother about that part of it. I am enough interested in the case to go into it on my own account. What about the uncle and aunt? Are they not anxious to discover the murderer?” “They profess to be satisfied to leave it all to the local police. But underneath there is the glim- mer of fear that their son, Warren, is the crim- inal. They haven't admitted this, but I know it is true.” “Yes, you told me about young Swift's flight, and he has returned, you say?” “Yes, came back last Tuesday. Now it is Sat- Alan Ford 169 urday; just nine days since the wedding. A nine- days' wonder, indeed! But destined to be a longer one, I dare say.” “Not much longer, if I can help it. Now that Miss Randall is absent, tell me more of the vic- tim, the bride. Was she of fine character?” “It's hard for me to say. The Swifts are among the first families of the town. They move only in the best circles. Ethel was their niece, but she seemed of a different calibre, somehow. She was sly, and well, she was a sort of vampire. Now, my Eileen is fascinating, she can twist any man round her finger, but she is honest and steadfast in her nature. Ethel was engaged half a dozen times before she tied up with Bingham. This is all hearsay, you understand, for I’ve only lived here since last September, but through Eileen I’ve heard all the young people's gossip, and Ethel Moulton was never liked by the girls but was always a favourite with the men.” “She was engaged to men of this town? Who were they?” “I’ve heard since her death that she has been engaged to young Hall, and to Chester Morton, and to her lawyer, Farrish. Also that she refused Mr. Stone and Fred Benson. These are only re- ports, but from the people who have long lived here, so I’ve no doubt they're true.” “Enough to show the girl's fickle nature at any rate. Now I want to meet Mr. Bingham and young 17o The Bride of a Moment Swift without their knowing I'm a detective. Will that be possible?” “I’ll make it so in Swift's case. But Bingham knows of you. By the way wouldn't it be better to keep the fact of your profession a secret from everybody else in town?” “Yes, except the authorities. I'd rather they'd know. I'll guarantee not to antagonize them or let them resent my connection with the case.” Stanford Bingham came over that evening, un- summoned, so Ford had an opportunity of meet- ing him casually. The talk soon turned upon the all-absorbing topic of the murder. It had been noticed by many that Bingham never shunned this subject, but was always willing to talk of it, or to listen to new theo- ries or discuss possibilities. Some argued that this implied his own guilt, others the reverse. Ford paid deep attention to the two telegrams found in Ethel's room, and which had been received the morning of the wedding. The originals were in the hands of the police, but Eileen had copies. “This clearly proves,” said Ford, “that the bride expected some misfortune or tragedy on her wedding day. This explains why she was so per- turbed and nervous both before and during the ceremony. Had she ever mentioned these fears to you, Mr. Bingham?” “No,” said Bingham, fidgeting nervously; “no, of course not. But I couldn't help noticing her Alan Ford 171 extreme pallor and her painfully agitated demeanour when I met her at the altar.” Alan Ford looked at the man curiously. If he were, indeed, the murderer, he was endeavouring, not very successfully, to appear at ease; if not, he was surely excessively embarrassed about something. The talk became desultory, seeming to get no- where, and yet, had they but known it, Alan Ford was skilfully leading it, so that at every fresh turn of the conversation he learned something. At last, when the two elder men became involved in a psychological discussion, Bingham and Eileen slipped away for a stroll in the garden. “Your father's friend is a clever detective,” said Bingham, “but he can never fathom this mys- tery.” “Why do you speak so hopelessly, dear? Mr. Ford has scarcely begun his work yet. He may discover what we have never dreamed of.” “No, Eileen, the secret of Ethel's death can never, must never be learned. It is better for us all, that it should not be.” “Stanford, don't have secrets from me! Tell me what you mean by that speech.” “Don’t ask me, Eileen. You promised you wouldn't. Just let me forget all these troubles while I am with you. I shall not see you, often, dear. I’ve decided it's wrong to ask you to link your dear young life with mine. Even though I’m I72 The Bride of a Moment never convicted of this crime, never even openly charged with it, there are scores of people who be- lieve me guilty, and Alan Ford is one of them.” “Mr. Ford! Then, Stanford, show him you're not!” “I can't, Eileen. I can't prove that.” “But you can tell him so, in a way that he must believe you.” “No, I can't even do that.” “Stanford, dear, you're nervous and worried over it all. Let's not talk of it any more to-night. Let's just be happy together,” and in the shadow of an arbour Eileen let one soft, rounded arm steal about his neck and murmured a caressing word. “Eileen, you drive me crazy!” and Bingham drew her to him in a convulsive clasp. “I must have you, dearest, I must have you for my very own. And I can't, while this shadow hangs over me! A shadow I am powerless to remove.” “Tell me one thing, Stan; I promised never to ask you if you did do it—but would you have done it, for me?” “Siren How can you ask such a question as that! But since you ask, I will tell you! Yes, my beauty! My queen! I would have committed, I will yet commit, any crime if necessary, to win you! You, you glorious girl! You goddess! You Queen of Hearts!” Eileen gave a little cry and nestled closer in Bing- ham's arms. Neither dreamed that Alan Ford was Alan Ford I73 listening to their impassioned words. For a time they were silent, happy in one another's nearness, and then Ford spoke, as if he had just reached the scene. “Ah, are you there, Mr. Bingham 2 May I speak to you?” As if in no way intruding, Ford stepped into the old arbour, and the two moved apart, thinking themselves unseen in the gloom. - There was a little chat, and then Alan Ford pro- posed to walk home with Bingham, and after tak- ing Eileen back to the house, the two men walked away. XIV A Musical Cipher … HAT boy is scared out of his wits, but he's no murderer,” said Alan Ford, as Warren Swift left the Randall house. “I don't altogether understand his extreme fear of my investigation of this case, but I am sure he didn't kill his cousin. He is too inept, too weak- willed to accomplish such a deed. And the motive is insufficient. He knew from Farrish he could not inherit his cousin's money, after she married, and the chance of stealing the diamond was too un- certain for him to take such risks. I don't believe his running away from town that night had any- thing to do with the matter in hand, unless, indeed, he was actuated by sheer, unreasoning fear. But one thing he said is of decided interest. That his cousin, on the morning of her wedding day, said to him, “In case anything happens to me .” She went no further, but that seems to add proof that Miss Moulton anticipated disaster of some sort.” The interview between Ford and Warry Swift had taken place in the library of the Randall home. In accordance with the detective's previous instruc- tions, father and daughter had casually left the room, and Ford had ample opportunity to learn all I74 A Musical Cipher I75 he wished of the young man's connection with the mystery. “And so,” he went on, “assuming that the bride was fearful of tragedy, we can understand her ex- cessive agitation and her frightened glances, told of by her uncle, by the minister, and by others. So, working on this knowledge, we must search for the man or woman of whom she was afraid.” “And how will you begin?” asked Eileen, her eyes sparkling with interest. “By looking for the motive. A crime like this one is not committed without a strong motive. It was no impulsive, unpremeditated crime, it was the outcome of a fiendish and carefully contrived plan, which could only have originated in the fertile brain of a desperate, hardened sinner. The casual wedding guest does not carry a pistol in his clothes, unless for a definite purpose. The man, I cannot yet see a woman's hand in it, came to the church and deliberately carried out his premeditated scheme. His success was partly due to his own clever timing of the deed, and partly to the fact that no one looked for or could dream of such a happening. Now, in the absence of material clues we must probe for motive, and that, I feel sure, can best be done by examining the victim's papers or other belongings. We could learn more, I am sure, from a few minutes' work in Miss Moulton's own room, than from a day's examination of the church.” 176 The Bride of a Moment Eileen went with Ford to the Swifts' home. When the detective assured Mrs. Swift that he had no shadow of suspicion of Warren, that lady was entirely willing that he should go to Ethel's room. She herself begged to be excused from participa- tion in the ordeal, and Eileen and the detective went there alone. “It seems a sacrilege to open Ethel's private papers,” said Eileen, “yet it is in the effort to avenge her death, so it must be done.” Alan Ford stood, looking about the ornate room, with eyes that seemed to miss no detail of its fur- nishings. His fine face was tense and a trifle stern. Apparently he was forming judgments, not lightly, but with a merciless justice and a keen sense of values. “The lady was vain of her good looks,” he said, at last. “Why do you think so?” asked Eileen, who was looking a little in dismay at the bundles of notes and papers with which the desk was stuffed. “Her toilet implements and aids are practical, and have been much used. Some women have these contraptions merely as conventional belongings, but these were her daily servants. How old was she?” “Twenty-six, but she looked older. I do not say this in a catty spirit, but Ethel, though a very handsome girl, was of the type that ages young, 178 The Bride of a Moment “Yes; it seems somebody sent it to the minis- ter, Doctor Van Sutton, to be given to Ethel just as she was about to start up the aisle. I saw the sexton give it to her, and she read it and tucked it in her glove.” “Was she affected by it? Did she seem to con- sider it important?” “I don't know. She was so nervous, anyway. I suppose it was some sentimental reminder from some of her beaux. You know there were several men pretty much cut up by Ethel's marriage.” “She was a heart-breaker, you say?” “Yes, indeed! There never was a girl of my acquaintance so attractive to men as Ethel Moul- ton.” “Yet her beauty was waning?” “Oh, not really. She was so careless of herself, she resorted to a little artificial help, but it wasn't really necessary. Ethel was a beauty, and more than that, she had a wonderful, an almost magical charm, a fascination no one could resist.” “Yet Mr. Bingham did?” Eileen blushed. “Mr. Ford,” she said, simply, “Stanford Bingham and I were made for each other. By a mere chance of fate he was engaged to Ethel when we met. He acted only the part of an honourable gentleman. He told her the truth and asked her to release him. She refused most positively, so there was nothing for him to do but to marry her. She asked me to be maid of honour, A Musical Cipher I79 solely to humiliate me and rouse my envy and jealousy. I accepted the post because my pride forbade me to refuse and give her opportunity to gloat over my misery. I practically managed all the wedding details. I was bound she shouldn't think I was wearing the willow !” “And didn't she think so?” “I don't know. We never mentioned Stanford after I had agreed to be maid of honour.” “Miss Randall,” and Ford gazed deep into her eyes, “ you had sufficient reason to desire that woman's death.” “I did, Mr. Ford, and I have wondered why no one has voiced suspicion of me. But I did not do it; indeed, the idea is ridiculous; how could I shoot her when I was kneeling at her feet fixing her train, for that's when it happened.” “You didn't do it, Miss Randall, and you will never be suspected. But I feel that you have a mo- tive, and it is motive I am investigating. Now, who had the same motive you did?” “Stanford Bingham,” said Eileen, bravely; “but, Mr. Ford, if your investigation leads you in that direction, I beg you, I pray you, to stop it! I agreed to have you come here, in hope that you could find the real criminall Stanford Bingham never did this thing!” “Your assertions are of little use. Do you really desire to prove the man's innocence?” “Do I desire it? I would give my life for it!” I8O The Bride of a Moment “You needn't do that, but you must agree to help in ways of which you do not yet dream. Could you go through, to use a metaphor, ‘fire and water,’ to prove the innocence of the man you love?” “I could,” replied Eileen, simply, and her tone was more convincing than any more emphatic pro- testation could have been. “Then let us go straight to work. Where is that bit of music that was found in the bride's glove?” “I took it home with me. It seemed of no value, and then as I thought it might mean something, I gave it to Mr. Farrish, Ethel's lawyer. He's musical, you know, he's in the choir, and I asked him if he could see anything in it to suggest any clue.” - “And did he?” * “No, he said it was merely a scrap of ordinary music, not an old song or well-known air. I’m not musical myself, and though I could read it well enough to see it was not, ‘Thou hast learned to love another,” or anything like that, I didn't know but it might be a bit from the classics.” “Didn't you try it on the piano?” “No, I didn't think of that. Why, do you con- sider it important?” “Can't tell yet. It may be. Suppose you tele- phone to Mr. Farrish now, and ask him if he can place it?” Eileen left the room and returned to say that Mr. Farrish considered it a very peculiar matter. A Musical Cipher I8I He said it was not a familiar bit of music, and that he would rather not discuss it over the tele- phone. If Mr. Ford or Miss Randall would come to his office he would tell them about it, or he would call at the Randall home that evening. “H'm,” said Ford. “I don't want to lose time; suppose we go to his office now.” They started at once, as Alan Ford had exam- ined the papers and letters all he wished to, and had taken a small bundle of them with him. These he sent home by a messenger before they went on their errand. Guy Farrish received them in his private office, and opened the subject at once. “It baffles me,” he said, with a perplexed expres- sion; “for it seems to me as if it must be a message of some sort. You know what I mean, a cipher or a secret code. For, surely, it is not meant for music.” He handed the little slip of paper to Ford, and awaited his opinion. The detective scrutinized the paper. It was a little soiled and much creased, having been folded into a small wad. It contained several bars of notes, pen-written, and very well done, as if by one accustomed to transcribe music. Ford whistled the notes as they occurred on the staff. The result was chaotic. “Rubbish as music,” he said, briefly; “I incline to your opinion, Mr. Farrish, it must be a message or memorandum. Unless it is merely a picturesque reminder from some disappointed swain, that the I82 The Bride of a Moment marriage of the lady has turned his life to a hope- less jangle of discord.” “I believe that's it!” exclaimed Farrish. “That would explain it. You see, Mr. Ford, I'm more or less handy at ciphers and cryptograms, and I couldn't even get a start on this in any such direc- tion. You take it, and if you can’t detect any hid- den meaning I shall believe your view of it cor- rect. It will be a relief to my mind, too, for I hated to think it might be a clue, and yet I couldn't fathom it.” “Very well, I'll take it,” and Ford put the paper in his pocket-book. “I, too, am versed in the lore of cipher messages, and if there's a hidden mean- ing to this music, I fancy I’ll read it.” As the detective opened his good-sized wallet, there chanced to be on top of other papers a small photograph of a smiling, girlish face. “Cap—” exclaimed Farrish, and as Alan Ford glanced quickly up, the lawyer finished the word; “Capital!” he said; “I am glad, Mr. Ford, that you have this case in hand. I want to own up, I opposed your coming, for—well, I'd rather not put it in words, but I had a suspicion of one who may be innocent, and I feared a miscarriage of jus- tice. But since I have met you, I am certain that you will take no steps not entirely in accordance with law and order.” “You may be sure of that, Mr. Farrish,” and the interview over, Ford and Eileen went away. 184 The Bride of a Moment working with him, “these old ones I can read, but this latest one is only a jumble of letters without sense.” The messages taken from the desk were all in regard to a proposed journey somewhere. It was evidently the intention of the writer of the cipher notes to keep the matter secret, for only the most guarded allusions were made to dates or places. The papers were much crumpled and timeworn, as if they had been studied carefully. They gave little information, but it became evi- dent that they were written about a year previous. “Before we came here to live,” said Eileen. “I didn't know Ethel then. Who do you suppose wrote these notes?” “The man who killed Mrs. Bingham,” said Ford, gravely. “They are the work of a strong, deter- mined man who persisted in having his own way, in spite of Miss Moulton's scruples. I am afraid, Miss Randall, that these notes may disclose some- thing questionable in the lady's life. Who is Flora Wood?” “I don't know, I'm sure; I never heard of any such person. Why?” “In Miss Moulton's diary, last August, she writes several times of Flora Wood. In one of these ciphers is a reference to Flora Wood. And from the secrecy observed, I can't help thinking there is something wrong. I shall investigate the matter very thoroughly, as it may have a bearing I86 The Bride of a Moment guised hand, no one writes naturally with such care- ful strokes. It is baffling!” The letters were formed as carefully as if in a copybook. The slight shading on the down strokes was in accordance with the Spencerian school. In all probability the writer's natural hand-writing was very different. Nor could anything be learned from the typed address. The whole affair was anonymous, and very evidently planned to remain SO. “If I could only get at the message,” cried Ford in despair. “Oh!” and a sudden idea struck him, “Oh, Miss Randall, are you sure this is the very same paper that you had at first?” “The same paper? Why, of course. It's just like the envelope, you see.” “I know. But, who has had this since you re- ceived it, beside Mr. Farrish?” “Several people. Father studied over it, so did Mr. Bingham, so did Warry Swift. And so did Mr. Ferrall. Why?” “I think the paper has been changed. I think this is not the same message you had at first.” “That may be so,” and Eileen looked at the music in perplexity. “But who would do such a thing, and why?” “I don't know, but I begin to see a little way into the gloom.” And then Ford returned to his reading of the diaries and letters. XV Flora Wood EVERAL days passed without much light be- S ing thrown on the case, when at last Alan Ford's efforts were rewarded and he dis- covered Flora Wood. It turned out to be not a per- son but a place. A sort of inn, or road-house, where motor parties were entertained. While of a rather imposing type and of ornate appoint- ments, the place had a reputation for smartness that was not altogether above criticism. Some men of whom Ford inquired concerning the place, gave a meaning glance and shrugged their shoul- ders. But it seemed impossible to think of the haughty and exclusive Ethel Moulton having any- thing to do with such a place. Ford went there, taking a photograph of Ethel with him. He learned a great deal. The lady of the house, a Mrs. Ballou, readily recognized the picture. At first she was inclined to be uncommunicative, but Ford persuaded her in the interests of justice to tell all she knew of the matter. So Mrs. Ballou reluctantly told the story. It seemed that it occurred the summer before, in early August. The young lady, Mrs. Ballou said, 187 I88 The Bride of a Moment came to Flora Wood with a fine-looking gentle- man. The pair said they were eloping. They were frank about it; indeed, seemed to look on it as a sort of lark, and showed no seriousness of man- ner. They planned to be married in the parlour of the hotel, and the man said he would telephone for a minister or a justice to perform the cere- mony. The girl was in gay spirits, and asked Mrs. Ballou to stand by her. She assured the landlady that she was doing no harm. Said she was an orphan, and responsible to no one for her actions. They seemed very happy, and Mrs. Ballou contem- plated making a little wedding feast for the couple. But before any further steps could be taken, an- other woman appeared at the house and declared she was the man's wife. There was a terrible scene between the two women, each claiming the man as her own. One strange feature was that no names had been given, and all three refused to give their names. Or rather the man refused to allow them to tell their names. He said his own name was Henry Miller, but Mrs. Ballou knew that was not true. He called for a motor and took away with him the one who said she was his wife. The other lady, the one of the photo- graph, remained with Mrs. Ballou over night and left the next day. She changed her demeanour and instead of gaiety she showed a sweet, sad side of her character which completely charmed her host- eSS. I90 The Bride of a Moment to learn who the man was, before divulging the Secret. The references in the diary were now explained. There were no definite accounts of the Flora Wood episode, but the veiled allusions could have no other meaning. Also, the musical messages were ex- plained, for many of them referred to the meeting and the journey to Flora Wood, and endearing words about how happy they would be there, and thereafter, being always together. Ethel had been misled by some man who obvi- ously meant to marry her, although he had a wife at the time. This was villainy enough, but could it be the same man who had killed her on her wedding day? Ford couldn't make himself think so. In fact, all the details of the matter seemed to him to point to Stanford Bingham as the murderer. Ford never forgot the strong motive of Bingham for wanting to secure his fortune and not wanting to have Ethel for a life companion. And now, if by any chance Bingham had discovered Ethel's escapade at Flora Wood, that was another reason why he did not want her for a wife. Perhaps he had not known the truth of the story, but had rea- son to think Ethel was worse than she was. Perhaps he, Ford, had not heard the true story! What if there were more to it, and worse, and, bribed by Miss Moulton, the Ballou woman had not told the truth? I92 The Bride of a Moment the table, among other papers, lay a photograph which Ford had brought from Ethel's desk. “Lawd 'a' massy!” exclaimed Charlotte; “if dat ain't de berry lady now!” “What lady?” asked Ford. “Why, suh, de one I seen lookin' in at de winduh ob de chu'ch on de day ob de weddin'.” “Which window?” - “I done tole you 'bout it. De front winduh on de west side.” “Are you sure, Charlotte?” asked Eileen. “Yas'm, Miss Eily, I'se perfly suah. Dat's de one what looked in an' den ran away an' got in de motoh cyar an' scooted off.” “How are you so certain?” asked Ford, in- terestedly. “I couldn't mistake huh,” returned Charlotte, earnestly. “She was a beautiful lady, right peart an’ bright-lookin' as you see in dat picture.” The photograph was indeed that of a bright- looking lady. A beauty, too. Large, dark eyes and black hair, the whole countenance of a Spanish type. The picture had been tucked in Ethel's desk, hidden between some letters. The costume was not strictly up-to-date, but neither was it really old- fashioned. “We wore gowns like that summer before last,” said Eileen, reminiscently. “The picture must have been taken tº ....” “It would be easy to trace the photograph, if I94 The Bride of a Moment “No,” replied Farrish, taking the picture, and looking at it. “But it's a mighty handsome girl! Who is she?” “I don't know. We found it among Mrs. Bing- ham's papers. I'm going to take it to the police.” “Why? Has this lady anything to do with the tragedy?” “That's what I'm trying to find out. I think she is connected in some way, but I’ve no idea how.” “What do you know? Or don't you care to tell me?” “Only this; that she is said to have been seen looking in at the church window the day of the murder, and there is a possibility that she might have fired the shot that killed the bride.” “This girl! Why, she looks like a thorough- bred ” “Oh, I shouldn't say that! To me she looks like a handsome adventuress.” “Yes, in a way, she does; sort of Spanish type. Well, I hope you won't discover that she's a villain, I'm sure. Have you made any real progress, Mr. Ford P” “I have started several trails, but I haven't run them all down yet. Now, you remember that musi- cal cipher you gave me?” “Have you proved it to be a musical cipher? It looked to me like rubbish.” “And it is, that is, it seems to mean nothing. Flora Wood I95 But, Mr. Farrish, Miss Moulton had received some several messages that were written in a musical cipher, and in the same general style of bars and notes as that paper shows. How do you explain that?” - “Bless my soul, man! Am I called upon to ex- plain it? And, if so, why?” “For the very good reason that you changed the papers! The paper you gave to Miss Randall the other day is not the same paper she gave you to decipher. The one that was found in the bride's hand.” “This is strange talk! Explain yourself, Mr. Ford.” “It is for you to explain yourself, Mr. Far- rish. Why did you do this thing?” “How do you know I did do it?” “Because the other messages in the same cipher all can be easily read, but this one we're talking of is mere gibberish. I believe the message given to the bride before her wedding ceremony to have been a real message. I believe Miss Randall brought it to you, and after you deciphered it, you replaced it by a message written by yourself, which was in- capable of sensible interpretation. Did you do this?” Farrish looked at the detective a moment before he spoke, and then said slowly, “Yes, Mr. Ford, I did.” & 4 Why? 3 y 196 The Bride of a Moment “Because I wanted to save an innocent man from suspicion.” “Who is the man?” “Stanford Bingham.” “He didn’t do it.” “How do you know?” “I don't know, except by intuition. I have no proof, as yet.” “Well, I'm sure he didn't do it. But I also felt sure that if that cipher message were made public, it would incriminate him. So I made up one to look similar, but mean nothing. And I’m glad I did it, for you would have read the real one, as easily as I did.” “What did it say?” “I destroyed it, but it said, word for word, this, “If you persist in going through with the cere- mony, I will surely kill you.” Now, that may have been sent by any one, but with the amount of sus- picion already directed toward Bingham, by the police, I feared that the message would strengthen the case against him, and this I did not want to do.” “And, you, a lawyer, did this thing?” “Yes, and would do it again, if I felt it would save a man from unjust suspicion.” “Why are you so sure Bingham is innocent?” Farrish looked steadily at Ford. His eyes had a queer expression, and at first Ford did not grasp the man's meaning. At last it dawned on him, Flora Wood I97 and he said, “Mr. Farrish, I understand. You do believe Bingham guilty, and you destroyed that paper lest it really incriminate him!” “I shall not admit that, Mr. Ford.” “You needn't admit it, I see it myself, now. But I am not so assured of his guilt, and I’m going to clear him, if I can.” “I know you are, and I hope you will. But don't you see that that paper would have been a strong factor to fight against?” “Why? Could it be proved that Bingham sent it?” “Would it have to be? You know, as well as I do, that he didn't want to marry Miss Moulton; that he tried every way to get her to release him; that he sent her a telegram the morning of the weddin 92 “What!” “Haven't you seen that double telegram, sent in two parts; alternate words, to be read backward?” “Yes, I saw that. How do you know he sent it, or them?” “Who else? Who else wanted Ethel out of ex- istence?” “Why are you shielding him? Why don't you want him brought to justice?” “He is my friend,” said Guy Farrish, with a grave look. XVI Hal Kennedy ORD left Farrish with a lot of new ideas. F He concluded that the lawyer definitely sus- pected Bingham of the murder, but out of friendship was willing to suppress what might be incriminating evidence. And yet, it might not. As Ford knew, though he hadn't told Farrish, the mu- sical ciphers were without doubt all written by the same hand, and that hand was surely his who had enticed Ethel to Flora Wood under false prom- ises. There could be little doubt that Ethel did elope to Flora Wood, for the Ballou woman's story was so thoroughly verified by Ethel's diary. The more Ford thought about it, the more he felt inclined to put the whole matter up to Stan- ford Bingham. Then, if Bingham were guilty, his manner would probably show it, and if not, he would have a chance to defend himself. Before doing this, he conferred with Eileen. She thought it over very seriously. “If Stan never knew of Ethel's escapade,” she said, “it seems too bad to tell him of it. And yet, it might clear up a lot of the mystery. Yes, Mr. Ford, I say, let's tell him. For, if you don't you say you'll give the picture of that woman to the police, and sup- 198 Hal Kennedy I99 pose, just suppose, it should turn out that she is the wife of the man Ethel eloped with !” Ford smiled. “Why should you jump to that conclusion?” “Because I am a woman, I suppose, and make my conclusions from my intuitions. That is the only photograph we have found in Ethel's things, of a person absolutely unknown to us. All the others are people I know or her aunt knows, or at least, they are photographs that can be traced through the address of the photographer. This is the only one that has the address carefully scratched out. That makes it peculiar. Add to that, the fact that Charlotte saw this woman look- ing in at the church, and I believe that story, then why might it not be a picture of the wife who in- terfered with Ethel's marriage to the man she eloped with?’” “It is possible,” agreed Ford; “though a little far-fetched as a conclusion. However, if you are of the same idea, I propose we talk it over with Mr. Bingham.” It required only a telephone message from Eileen to bring Bingham at once to the Randall house. As succinctly as possible, Ford told him of the revelations of Ethel's diary, and of the facts known of the Flora Wood affair. To his surprise, Stanford Bingham was furious. His eyes blazed as his listened, and at last he said, 2OO The Bride of a Moment “I can scarcely believe it of Ethel! And yet I know it must be true, for it explains some things that were mysterious to me. I asked her, when we became engaged, if she had ever been engaged to any one else. And she said, ‘Yes, twice; to Eugene Hall and to Chester Morton.” But she said these were only boy and girl affairs, one of them occurring while she was still at school, and that she had never really loved before she knew me. Now, as to this elopement, I well know who the man was, must have been. And I could kill him, if it would do any good! But it is all in the past,- poor Ethel!” “You know the man!” exclaimed Ford and Eileen, almost simultaneously. “Yes; or at least I have the strongest conviction that I do. I won't say his name; you know him, Eileen. But I know that last summer, before Ethel and I were engaged, she went around a great deal with him, and in early August I was away for a week or more, and her aunt and uncle were away, and Ethel, left to her own devices, got into mis- chief. You know she was a headstrong, impetu- ous nature, and if she took the notion to elope, she'd fly off like a shot, and with no thought of how sorry she might be afterward! This man is fas- cinating, young, and of a dare-devil spirit. He is not ostensibly married, that is, no one knows him to be, but if a woman claimed to be his wife, I should not be at all surprised to learn that he had Hal Kennedy 2OI been secretly married. This must be the case, for of course, Ethel would never have gone with a man she knew to be married. Oh, Ethel! How could you!” “And you were betrothed to the lady soon after this?” “Yes, in the latter part of August. When I re- turned after my absence, Ethel seemed different, rather quieter and more subdued. Less flirtatious and coquettish. I attribute this change, now, to the experience you tell me about. It would have just that effect on the girl. But the subdued spirit wore away, and during last winter Ethel returned to her teasing, tantalizing ways. I am not the sort of man to be attracted by being piqued, and,-well, Mr. Ford, as you already know, I met Miss Ran- dall, and thenceforth Miss Moulton had no charm for me. This may not be a very brave or worthy admission, but it is none the less true. I admit that when I asked Miss Moulton to marry me, it was with the remembrance that I must marry be- fore my birthday in order to inherit a large for- tune. But this in no way dishonoured the lady. While I felt no deep love for her, she was at that time the most charming and attractive girl I knew, and her softened, chastened air after her unfor- tunate “elopement’ made her even more admir- able. So it happened, and we were no sooner en- gaged than I met Miss Randall and knew at once I had made the mistake of my life. I hesitated Hal Kennedy 2O3 other. Then, impelled by Eileen's imploring locks, he said, slowly, “Hal Kennedy.” “What!” cried Eileen, “Hal Kennedy! He is a reckless sort, but I didn't know he was ever in love with Ethel !” “Who wasn't?” said Bingham. “Yes, Ken- nedy was very much in love with Ethel, but I knew the man well, and I had her promise to drop his acquaintance. When I returned from that trip, I heard some rumours that Ethel had been going around a lot with him, but she denied it, and I be- lieved her. Mark my word, Eileen, if Ethel eloped to Flora Wood last August, it was with Kennedy. But I can't believe he killed her. He is a scamp, a dare-devil, but not a criminal.” “Somebody must be the criminal, Mr. Bing- ham,” put in Ford, “and with a lady of such natural coquetry, I think we may safely assume a man in her own walk of life, with a motive based on love, jealousy, or revenge, or all three. Do you know this lady?” Suddenly Alan Ford showed the photograph of the unknown beauty. “No,” returned Bingham, looking at the picture with little interest. They told him what they knew of it, and Bing- ham inclined to Eileen's opinion that it might be the real wife of the man they suspected. “If Kennedy were secretly married,” he said, “at college, say, or after leaving it, that is just Hal Kennedy 2O5 young lady all you could, and were exceedingly kind to her. Now, I ask you, officially, as a detec- tive, whether this is a picture of the young lady in question?” “It certainly is,” returned the woman as she glanced at Ethel's photograph, “I told you that be- fore.” “I know you did,” said Ford, quietly; “now, is this the man who accompanied her?” Mrs. Ballou took the newspaper cut of Hal Ken- nedy and scrutinized it. “No,” she said at last, “No, it's not.” “Are you sure?” Again a short hesitation. “Well, I am sure, and yet I don't remember the man so very clearly. You see, he went away, but the lady stayed with me over- night, so I recognize her more easily. And yet, yes, sir, I think I can say I am sure that is not the man.” “Not very satisfactory,” began Bingham, when Eileen produced the photograph of the strange girl. “Do you know this?” she asked of Mrs. Ballou. “Yes, indeed,” was the immediate reply. “That is the one who claimed to be the man's wife. He called her Caprice.” “Are you sure?” “Positive I couldn't mistake her!” “But,” objected Ford, “you tell us that this one went away with the man. Therefore, you saw no 2O6 The Bride of a Moment more of her than you did of him. But you are not so sure of him.” “It’s quite different. She is a most striking- looking lady, a beauty, of a distinct type. I'd know her anywhere. The man was not distinguished, or unusual-looking, and besides that newspaper pic- ture may not look exactly like him. They seldom do.” “That's so,” said Bingham. “Yet it seems to me that this is a good likeness of Hal.” “Yes, it is,” agreed Eileen. “But we have established the identity of this woman, at any rate. We must get her, somehow, and then we can dis- cover the man easily enough.” “Good reasoning,” said Ford, looking at her admiringly. “But how begin that search? Wouldn't it be better to trace Mr. Kennedy's move- ments last August? Or, even to investigate his past for a secret marriage?” “I wish the identification of Kennedy with this affair could be more sure before we attack him,” said Bingham, looking uncertain. “It’s an awful thing to begin to track down a man without posi- tive suspicion. I may have spoken too hastily, when I even mentioned his name.” “You say he was in the church?” asked Ford. “Why, yes,” broke in Eileen, “he was in the choir, you know. There were eight of them who preceded the bridal procession up the aisle, and then they went into the choir loft. It isn't high, you Hal Kennedy 2O7 know, it's just up above and behind the min- ister.” “He couldn't have shot from there,” said Ford. “What did he do afterward? After the bride fell ?” “He came into the church parlour, while we were all there,” said Eileen, thinking back. “Three or four of the choristers did that, and they stayed till the Coroner or somebody put them out. At least, they all went away then, except Eugene Hall. He stayed longer; I don't know why. It's all like a mixed-up dream, and yet, it all stands out clearly, too.” “It doesn't stand out clearly to me,” said Bing- ham, wearily; “it’s like a horrible nightmare. The whole thing is still as unbelievable to me as if it had never happened! I wish we could clear it up.” “We will, Mr. Bingham,” said Ford, gently; “there are so many new trails opening up, that some of them must put us on the right track.” After a few more words with Mrs. Ballou, they left, Ford again charging her to say nothing of the matter to anybody, unless it might be the police, should they call. For as Ford and Ferrall were not working in conjunction, the former did not know when the other detective might strike something that would lead him also to Flora Wood. “Don’t use Kennedy's name until you know 208 The Bride of a Moment more,” said Bingham, on the way home. “I shall greatly regret having mentioned him, if it is a wrong track.” “Never fear, Mr. Bingham, I shall be very dis- creet. But I don't place much confidence in Mrs. Ballou's recognition or non-recognition of the picture of him. It is just as she says about news- paper cuts; I've often seen my friends' faces when I couldn't recognize them at all.” “So have I,” said Eileen. “And she was sen- sible, too, in saying that a striking-looking woman was much easier recalled than a usual-looking man.” “The more I think it over, the more I doubt it's being Kennedy, after all,” said Bingham. “I be- lieve if it had been she would have remembered his face. And that picture is a good one. Don't say anything about him yet. I think I can get some more light on his connection with it.” - “There's one thing, Mr. Bingham,” and Ford looked positive, “Mr. Kennedy is musical, and that would point to the fact of his being the author of those musical cipher messages.” “Not necessarily,” returned Bingham; “you know if a man is making a cryptogram, he may as well use musical notes as any other characters, whether he is himself a musician or not.” “That is partly true, but the neat way in which these were written seemed to point to one accus- tomed to writing music, or copying it.” Hal Kennedy 209 “Are you a musician, Mr. Ford?” said Eileen, impulsively. “No; that is, not to be able to transcribe notes without great care and difficulty.” “Then you wouldn't notice. But father says that a real musician dashes off his notes like fly tracks, and would never make those very pains- takingly correct notes that all the ciphers show.” “That's doubtless true,” said Ford. “Doctor Randall is a most acute reasoner. I shall look on those ciphers hereafter as the possible, if not prob- able, work of one not a musician.” It was characteristic of Alan Ford to accept in all good will a hint from any source that seemed helpful, and it never occurred to him to feel any chagrin that it had not been his own thought. He was too great in his own line of work, to mind tak- ing help from any one in whose reasoning powers he had confidence. Reaching the Randall house, Ford went off by himself to collate his notes, and the other two were left alone. In the dim, cool living-room they stood, and Bingham held out his arms. Eileen went into them like a bird to her nest. For a moment or two he held her close without a word. Then he whispered: “Oh, Eileen, my own, my darling, if I could only have found you sooner, be- 2IO The Bride of a Moment º fore I became involved in this awful tangle of hor- rors.” “Never mind, Stan, dear, it was not to be. Let's be thankful, instead, that we've found each other at all. Oh, Stan, I am awful wicked, I know I am, but I'm glad Ethel is dead. Are you shocked too much at that? Don't be. I can't help it. I love you so, and now I can have you some day for my very own.” 2I2 The Bride of a Moment Hal's too easy-going and good-natured to kill any- body. And why should he?” “For the best reason in the world. Because he loved her, and couldn't bear to see her marry you!” “You’re imagining, Eileen.” “Yes, but why mayn't it be true? Hal had long been in love with Ethel, and after his plan of wrong-doing was frustrated, he tried, we'll say, to get rid of his wife. Then, if he couldn't do that, perhaps he was bound that if Ethel couldn't be his wife, she shouldn't be anybody's, and so—” “So he shot her at the altar? No, dearest, Hal couldn't do it.” “But—but his wife, if that woman Charlotte saw was his wife, Loh, Stan, it's all so mixed up! There's no light anywhere!” “There's the light of our love, dearest. Let us go away from this town. What do you say to going far away from here to live? Your father could get another professorship, and if he didn't it wouldn't matter. I will always take care of him.” “But it looks like running away. I want you cleared, dear.” “I’ve told you, Eileen, you can't have that. Be satisfied, my precious girl, with not discovering the murderer.” “I don't understand you, Stanford. Ethel was your wife, you can't deny that. Why aren't you desperately anxious to find the criminal and see him punished? Any other man would be?” The Cipher Solved 2I5 mond, saying that he had picked it up and kept it for me, and there it was.” “Well?” “Well, Mr. Ford, that was not my diamond that he gave me, but a paste stone just like it, which he had doubtless had made, or otherwise procured while he was away.” “And Ferrall saw it?” “Yes, they, Ferrall and Somers, chanced to come in while I was examining it to make sure. Startled, and anxious on Warry's account, I dropped the stone into my ash tray. Ferrall saw me do it, and picked out the stone. Being dusty with ashes, he assumed it was the original. Perhaps he could not have told the difference between the two, anyway, but all over ashes he certainly could not. How- ever he asked me if it was the stone I gave to my bride as a wedding gift, and I said it was not. He didn't believe me, but I didn't care. I only wanted to keep Warry's name out of it all, till I had time to think what to do.” “Are you not over-anxious about young Swift?” “Mr. Ford, I feel decidedly guilty toward the Swift family for having treated Ethel as I did. Don't think I don't realize what a wrong I did her in turning my heart from her to another. I couldn't control my affections; but none the less I feel sorry and ashamed of it all as it affected Ethel and the Swifts. So, not wanting to get any 216 The Bride of a Moment member of the family into further trouble, and especially Warren, who is the idol of his parents' eyes, I tried not to let his theft of the stone get out. You can see for yourself what the next thought of him would be.” “That he was the murderer, of course!” “Yes, and I don't believe for a moment that he is. But the least breath of suspicion against him would break his mother's heart.” “Of course it would. I’d like to see young Swift.” “I’ve been wondering whether to go to see him or not. He knows I saw him take the stone. He knows I accepted the one he returned to me, with- out a word of objection. And I would be willing to let him keep the real stone rather than have the story get out. But he is not a clever man. He is quite capable of trying to dispose of it in a way to expose himself to discovery. No one could sell that diamond without being asked for its history.” “Is it famous?” “Not by name, and it is not internationally known. But it is big enough to be familiar by de- scription to many dealers, and it is too valuable to be casually sold. Warry is sure to get into trouble if he tries it, and I feel sure he will try it.” “You don’t think he is the murderer?” and Ford looked keenly at Bingham, without appearing to do so. “He isn't capable of a deed of blood. He is too 218 The Bride of a Moment “I don't know,” was his usual reply to their queries as to his motives or impulses. “It ought to be mine,” he repeated, sullenly, over and over. “Ethel wanted me to have all her stuff, and this was hers when she died.” “Never mind the diamond, Warry,” said Bing- ham. “I mean, never mind who is the legal pos- sessor of it. You have it still, haven't you?” “Yes; I was afraid to try to sell it.” “And you may well be. Now, give it back to me, and I’ll pay off all your debts and let you start with a clean slate.” “You’re a good fellow, Bing; you always were good to me. Here it is,” and from an inner pocket Warry produced the gem and handed it over to Bingham. Ford looked at the miserable apology for a man. Swift was pale and haggard; his face was vacuous and weak. Surely he never had the necessary nerve to commit murder. And yet—who could say? Stanford Bingham, too, looked at him thought- fully. “You're nothing but a boy, Warry,” he said; “and you never will be. But at least, you can be a good boy. Now, don't say a word about this diamond business to any one. I will take care of it. But tell us, if you can, whether you chanced to notice a woman looking in at the church win- dow during the ceremony?” “A good-looker? A regular beauty? Yes, I The Cipher Solved 2I9 saw her, while I stood there with you waiting for Ethel to come. Who was she?” “What did she look like?” “Oh, dark, sort of wicked, rather foreign, but a hummer, all right. Who was she?” “We don't know. Did you see her do any- thing?” “Nope; just stood there looking in. She must have been up on something, outside, for her head nearly reached the upper window sash. She rested her hands on the sill. I had just noticed her, when the procession started up the aisle, and I never thought of her again. Why? What about her?” “Nothing,” and Ford looked stern. “Now, see here, Mr. Swift, if you want to be helpful, please answer questions, but don't ask them. First, what do you know of your cousin's acquaintance with the young men of the town, before she became engaged to Mr. Bingham?” Warry smiled a little. “Only that they were all daffy over her, and she led them all a dance.” “To be definite, then. How did she treat Mr. Kennedy?” “Hal? Oh, she liked him some. He was dead gone on her about a year ago, just before she was engaged to Stan. But Ethel didn't care specially about him. He had no money and no prospects. Just one of her beaux. She always had forty leven.” “Do you know Kennedy well ?” “Yes, pretty well. We went on a fishing trip to- 22O The Bride of a Moment gether last summer, and that's when I found out that he was hopelessly in love with Ethel. We were gone all August, and he poured out his trou- bles to me like I was his father confessor.” “All August? Last summer?” “Yes; mother and dad were away, and I had the month's vacation, and so did Hal. We went up to Lake Placid.” “And stayed the whole month? Are you sure?” “Sure I'm sure. Why?” “Did Kennedy stay with you the whole time, or was he away a few days?” “All the time there. Never budged. There were some girls there we liked, and we just loafed around, and fished daytimes, and danced evenings. Why?” “Nothing,” reiterated Ford, and Bingham said, “Warry, I'm going to do all I can for you; I'll say nothing of this diamond affair; I'll help you financially, and any other way I can; all on condi- tion that you repeat no word of what we have said to you, and that you say no word to any one concerning Ethel's death. I mean, of course, in the way of suspicion or evidence. You know noth- ing, and, if you think you do, consult with me before you tell what you know. I tell you all this, for the police will doubtless try to quiz you. Re- member, if you give them any hint of what Mr. Ford and I have talked to you about, you need not look to me for help with your affairs.” The Cipher Solved 223 The door opened, and Guy Farrish came in. The boy, turning scared eyes, saw his master clench his hands and set his jaw as he saw the intruder, but Ford did not at once look up. “A—hem,” said Farrish, with a quizzical smile. Ford raised his head, and smiled at his host. “Ah, Mr. Farrish, have you come back?” “I have. Is it asking too much to desire an ex- planation of this rather unusual scene?” “Not at all. I wanted to see the bit of music that you said you had destroyed.” “You doubted my word?” “To be frank, yes, I did. But you certainly have no objection to my seeing this.” Guy Farrish looked thoughtful and a little sad. “I have not, Mr. Ford. None at all. But I am quite willing to admit that I do not like the way you have chosen to get sight of it. I know you are a celebrated detective, and so have rights that ordi- nary citizens do not possess. But I did not know they included breaking into a man's desk in his ab- sence.” “Perhaps I have overstepped my rights in my eagerness to see this especial bit of paper. But you were not here, and I was in rather a hurry and SO– 32 “How did you know it was there?” “Miss Randall remembered seeing you put it in this drawer the day she brought it here to you. 224 The Bride of a Moment Then when you told us you had destroyed it, I thought, perhaps, you might be mistaken.” “I was not mistaken,” said Farrish, gravely, after he had sent his boy out of the room and closed the door. “I saved the paper, but I did not want you nor any one else to see it.” “Why not?” “You know why not,” and the lawyer passed his hand wearily across his brow. “Because it definitely incriminates Stanford Bingham in that murder business.” “Might it not be better, after all, Mr. Farrish, for us to face this incrimination out in the open?” “I’m not sure but it would, Mr. Ford. If you think so, go ahead.” “As you know, I am working for Mr. Bingham's interests. I do not think he killed his bride, and yet, I cannot find evidence in any other direction. Perhaps if we hunt down this cipher clue, it may turn in his favour instead of against him.” “Then do so, by all means. I am truly glad to cease trying to shield him from suspicion. I did substitute another paper for this, in the hope that the matter would be dropped. But since it isn't, I admit my part in the matter, and now turn the whole affair over to you.” “Thank you, Mr. Farrish, for your co-operation. And, also, for your good-natured acceptance of my intrusion here.” “Oh, that doesn't bother me. I knew as soon The Cipher Solved 225 as I saw you, what you were after, and that you would disturb nothing else. And as I have no ob- jection to your having the paper, I overlook your method of getting it, and set it down to the love of the detective nature for spectacular performance.” “Yes, we are credited with dramatic inclina- tions. Now let us read this together. You found the key?” “Yes, without any trouble. But have you?” “Very well put, Mr. Farrish I'm not surprised that so keen a man as yourself should suspect me of trying to learn the key from you by pretending to know it myself. Let us each write it down.” Without looking at each other, the two men wrote on bits of paper, and then exchanged the slips. Both nodded sagaciously. “To one familiar with ciphers it is an exceed- ingly easy one,” said Farrish. “Merely the two clefs; A being the ledger line below the bass and the alphabet running directly up the lines and spaces.” “Bringing Z on the first ledger line above the treble clef,” added Ford. “Yes. So simple an arrangement could scarcely fail to be seen at once by the expert. But it is admirably obscure to the general reader.” “There is decided artistic ability in the ar- rangement of the time and measures,” went on Ford. “Now, to decipher it.” 226 The Bride of a Moment Ignoring the real letters of the notes on the staff, and counting the alphabet directly from A on the line below the bass, there was no trouble in read- ing: “Last warning. If you marry Bingham I will surely kill you.” XVIII A Downward Course right on to the altar!” said Farrish, in a low, awed tone; “yet that is just what she did do.” “And you think Bingham wrote this?” “Who else?” “But it speaks of Bingham in the third per- son. It must have been sent by some one else.” Guy Farrish looked at Ford in astonishment. “I thought you were a detectivel” he said. “Can't you see that is just what a man would do, to turn suspicion from himself?” “I thought of that,” said Ford, “but I wanted to see if you did. If Bingham sent this, of course he wrote his own name to seem as if some one else did it. At any rate the hand that wrote this, wrote the other cipher messages found in the lady's desk.” “Were there many?” “Not many. Four or five. It was from them I learned the cipher. How well the notes are made. Bingham is not a musician, they say.” “No, and a musician does not make notes like those. One used to writing music, transcribing music, does it this way.” &c. | NANCY a bride getting that, and then going 227 228 The Bride of a Moment With a few careless strokes, Farrish dashed off a few bars, thus: “Yes, I see. By the way, a man's music manu- script is as individual as his chirography, isn't it?” “Indeed, it is. We do lots of it in the choir work, and I know most of the fellows' notes at a glance.” “And none of them are like these ciphers?” “Oh, no; they're all more careless. Some of them are almost as illegible as stenography, to a layman.” “When you made the dummy message to give back to Miss Randall, you copied these notes pretty accurately.” “That was no trouble. Those painstaking, col- ourless signs are far easier to copy than a mu- sician's work. I doubt if any one could copy my notes so that I couldn't detect the difference.” “I doubt it, too. Well, I'll jog along. I'm obliged to you for your frankness and courtesy. I'll take this paper, and I think I'll turn the whole cipher matter over to the police. I’m not in any way working against them, though not exactly with 230 The Bride of a Moment back with a positive hunger for more of the im- mediate facts of the victim's death. He visited the Coroner, the other doctors, the District At- torney, and the undertaker, and returned to Doc- tor Randall's a little late for dinner. As this was an unusual occurrence, he was for- given by the two who waited for him. He showed Eileen the cryptogram Farrish had given him, without, however, telling her how he had first obtained it. “Yes,” she said, “this is the one I had first. This is the very one that was in Ethel's glove. I recognize the way the notes run, though I couldn't remember them without the paper. What does it mean?” Ford told her. The girl refused to believe that the use of Bingham's name was a ruse of his own to direct suspicion away from himself. But to Doctor Randall it seemed plausible! “I don't suspect Stanford,” he said, “not for a minute! I know Stanford isn't guilty. But jus- tice makes me say that I do think a man who could conceive and carry out the deep plot that was car- ried out by somebody, would be quite capable of tricky messages of just that sort. I mean, I don't think it strange that Farrish, if he believes Bing- ham guilty, thought at once that the use of Bing- ham's own name was a clever ruse.” “I don't know what to think,” said Ford, wearily, “but I don't want to talk about it any more 232 The Bride of a Moment and impartial judgment. But my belief in Bing- ham is not because of my friendship for him, it is because I have yet to see anything to point toward his guilt.” “There isn't anything!” broke in Eileen. “This is to be a serious talk, Miss Randall,” said Ford, not unkindly, “and unless you are content to listen quietly, I would prefer that you go away.” “I’ll be good,” promised Eileen, “please let me stay.” “I’ve learned something new,” Ford went on, “that is, it's new to me. I should have inquired about it before, but I had so many other matters to attend to. It seems that when the doctors probed for the bullet, they found that its course into the brain was not quite straight. That is, while there was no evidence as to whether the shot was fired by a right or a left hand, there was a slight trend downward as if it had been fired from a point a little higher than the wound itself.” “You don't say!” exclaimed Doctor Randall; “why was this not noticed or commented on be- fore?” “Nobody seemed to consider it of any import- ance, as the down grade of the course was very slight, and the fact, though noted in the Coroner's report, made no impression on anybody.” “It seems to me of utmost importance,” said the Professor, thinking deeply. - “And to me,” said Ford. “Now, remember, Jim; A Downward Course 233 keep your mind unbiassed, remember the remarks made about Bingham's having raised his hand to adjust a veil pin, directly before the bride fell. Also of course, before she turned, but it has been shown that she may have turned after being shot. This would, if Bingham shot her then, cause the bullet to go a little downward, as his hand would be higher than her temple, where the shot entered.” “Yes,” agreed Randall, “go on.” “Also,” Ford continued, “if the shot had been fired by a woman, by any one, outside a window, that too would presuppose a higher point of aim, and the bullet would slant down a little.” “Go On.” “Also, and in spite of Warry Swift's alibi for young Kennedy, he might have been lying, also if Kennedy had fired that shot from the choir, the course would have been downward.” “From the choir Oh, that's not possible. He would have been seen. But if that woman at the window were Kennedy's accomplice, if she is his wife, and if she acted under his commands, then you have a point there, for to fire in at the window would cause a bullet to go rather down- ward.” “It must have been that woman!” said Eileen. She spoke quietly, but with shining eyes as if greatly rejoiced. “It couldn't have been Stan; even if he did fix Ethel's veil pin, he wouldn't have raised his arm so high. That pin was just behind 234 The Bride of a Moment her ear! And of course, it couldn't have been Hal Kennedy, from the choir loft: everybody would have seen him! The choristers would, any way, and the audience, too. Of course it was that woman! Whether acting for Hal, or on her own account—she did it!” “By the way,” said Ford, looking in his note- book, “it was Mr. Kennedy who told Ferrall of the bridegroom's touching that veil pin just before the bride fell.” “So it was 1” cried Eileen. “Of course then it was at Hal's orders, under his compulsion, that the woman fired. If she's Hal's wife, he could make her do it.” “Why?” said Doctor Randall. “I mean, why did he make her do it?” “Because he was in love with Ethel, and wouldn't let her marry Stan. I know Hal Ken- nedy! He's a very devil! And since this woman, this Caprice, as he called her, wouldn't let him marry Ethel when he wanted to, he took his re- venge this way!” “Eileen,” said her father, “that's a plot worthy of a melodrama, but it's hardly possible in civilized society.” “A murderer isn't civilized society!” “But he may move in it, and the plan you've laid out is too wildly improbable, my child. Now, I think, Alan 22 The telephone interrupted their talk. A Downward Course 235 Eileen picked it up from the table and answered the call. “Some one is asking for you,” she said, hand- ing it to Ford. “It’s a lady's voice.” Ford took it and informed the speaker of his identity. “I want to be sure,” said the voice, a pleasant, feminine one. “Is this Mr. Alan Ford?” & & Yes.” “The detective?” &&. Yes.” “Then I want to tell you that I shot the bride in the church, and it is useless for you to pursue the case farther—or, or, to make any arrests.” “Indeed! And who is this speaking?” . “As if I should tell you that! I have safe- guarded this—this conversation, you can never, never trace me, but I feel it my duty to—to pre- vent the prosecution of-of innocent persons.” “Thank you. And answer one question, will you? Are you Caprice?” The response to this was a wild shriek, in which dismay, fear, and horror were blended. A shriek so loud and piercing, that Eileen and Doctor Ran- dall heard it clearly, though Ford still held the tele- phone. And then silence. The call had shut off, no questioning met any further reply, and with that loud scream ringing in their ears, the three looked at each other. y XIX Caprice attempts to get further word, he hung up the receiver and set the telephone back on the table. “That woman,—you heard her Scream?” “Yes,” said the other two. “That woman was scared to death! She said to me that it was she who shot Ethel Bingham, but she didn't!” “How do you know?” “Because she was being forced to send that mes- sage! I distinctly heard a man's voice, low, but threatening, prompting her what to say, and mut- tering at her. She stammered, and her voice trem- bled. She was in deadly fear of somebody who was with her!” “You called her Caprice,” said Eileen. “That was a venture. I've been very curious about this Caprice person, and I sung out that name to trap her. She screamed then, but whether be- cause I used that name or not, I do not know. But I am certain that she is not the murderer, what- ever her name is. It may be the murderer himself "I DON'T like it!” said Ford, as after vain 236 238 The Bride of a Moment “That's so,” said her father, “Ferrall is ready to pounce on anything that can be made to point toward Bingham. If some man forced this woman to send that message, we'd better look it up our- selves, or keep the matter quiet for the moment.” “But,” objected Ford, “as you both believe in Bingham's innocence, it would be a whole lot bet- ter to let these things come out, and be truthfully explained. If we can trace that Caprice woman, it will, of course, go far toward freeing Bingham from suspicion, for it will expose the man with whom she is really connected in the matter.” Ford looked at the other two keenly as he spoke. “You see,” he went on, “you are not so sure of Mr. Bingham's innocence as you want to be!” “I am!” protested Eileen, stoutly; “but I know Mr. Ferrall is not; and I don't want to give him a chance to twist evidence to incriminate Stan- ford, when it really doesn't.” “I don't like it!” Ford said again, as he walked up and down the room. “This telephone message complicates everything, just as I thought I was get- ting things straightened out.” “Perhaps it's a trick or hoax of some one's,” suggested the Professor. “No, sir-ee!” declared Ford. “If you had heard that tremulous timid voice, saying words that were commanded,—well, that “Caprice’ woman must be found, that's all!” “Reason it out,” said Doctor Randall. “Grant- Caprice 239 ing the woman did do the shooting, at the command of the man who forced her to telephone just now, why did she do it? Why did he, how could he make her do it?” “Too easy,” replied Ford. “If that was really Caprice, she's the wife of the man who took Ethel to Flora Wood. She went away from there with him, you remember. He was in love with Ethel. When Ethel married Bingham, or was about to marry him, this man not only resolved to kill her, but sent her warnings to that effect, by telegram and by the cipher message. Unable to make her give up the marriage, he carried out his threat to shoot her; but through this accomplice, who may be his wife and may not. Now, who is this man?” “Hal Kennedy,” said Eileen, promptly. “But young Swift declares Kennedy was with him all last August, and the Flora Wood date is the seventh of August.” “I don't care what Warry says. Hal may have bribed him to say that. You know what a weak thing Warry is. Hal could easily bribe or threaten him to tell that story and stick to it. You'd better verify it by somebody else.” “It doesn't ring true,” and Ford shook his head, dubiously; “I can't see a woman shooting in at the window and not being discovered or suspected.” “Charlotte saw her.” “She didn't see her shoot.” “No, the woman was too clever. And, too, no- 24O – The Bride of a Moment body would be looking that way at that time. But directly after, Charlotte saw Caprice run around the church and escape in the waiting motor.” “There's something in it,” said Doctor Randall; “but how can we go to work to back up any such theory as that?” Alan Ford stared at him as if not hearing. Then, apropos of nothing, he asked, “What did the choir sing just as the bride fell ?” “They sang Barnby's ‘O, Perfect Love,’” Eileen told him. “The first notes of that were to be my signal to fix Ethel's train to go back down the aisle.” “I’ve got a bee in my bonnet,” said Ford, with a certain little smile of his that betokened hopeful- ness; “and it's buzzing pretty loudly; I’m going out on a few errands. Miss Randall, if any one calls, don't say anything about that telephone mes- sage till I return.” Eileen willingly promised this, and as Ford went away, the Professor went back to his study, and Eileen sat alone in the living-room, pondering over her troubles. She sat there again late in the afternoon. She seemed to have two distinct mentalities. One, actuated by her heart, that knew Bingham to be innocent, the other, ruled by her brain, that saw clearly the dire peril he was in, whether innocent Or not. She thought over the scene of the wedding- * 242 The Bride of a Moment him less; indeed, it rather, she thought, purified and refined her love for him. Nor did she put these thoughts into words. Her belief in his innocence was just a glow of loving faith and her doubt of it was a dim shadow that might or might not have to be reckoned with. As Eileen mused, the door-bell rang. Half un- heeding, the girl heard Charlotte's footsteps in the hall as she went to open the street door. Brought to alertness by a sharp exclamation from the coloured woman, Eileen stepped out into the hall. “Miss Eily,” and Charlotte's eyes rolled hysteri- cally, “dis yer's de lady what looked in de chu'ch winduh! Yas'm, dat she am!” A beautiful young woman, in fashionable attire, confronted Eileen. “Miss Randall?” she asked. “Yes,” said Eileen, too dumfounded to say n1Ore. “May I speak with you a few moments? On a matter of importance.” “Certainly,” said Eileen, finding her voice at last. “Come into this room, please.” Leading the way, Eileen preceded the guest into the living-room and closed the door behind them. The two women looked at each other as if each were taking measure of a foe. Both were beautiful, both of a dark, alluring type, and not unlike. But Eileen's hair was soft Caprice 243 and lustrous, her eyes eloquent of education and culture, and her soft, dainty house gown refined in cut and colour. The visitor, on the other hand, had shining black hair, brushed in exaggerated modishness; her eyes were brilliant and snapping, and showed hardness and worldly knowledge; while her costume was of loud, bizarre hues and flimsy materials. As she looked, Eileen had a sudden inspiration. She would make this woman serve her own ends; she would find out what she knew, and would use the knowledge as she chose. She would dominate her by force of a superior nature, greater clever- ness, and cannier wisdom. So, to take the guest at a disadvantage, Eileen said, coldly, “You are Caprice. What can you pos- sibly have to say to me?” Her plan worked well. As always, the lesser nature was cowed by the greater. The stranger looked at Eileen, surprised and abashed. But only for a moment, then she regained her poise, and added a bit of bravado not noticeable before. “Yes, I am Caprice,” she said; “at least that name is all I need tell you now. I am here to tell you what I know of the murder in the church, and to ask you if I shall carry my story to the police.” By a supreme effort, Eileen obeyed her better judgment, though she longed to cry out for the woman's story. “Why ask me?” she said, evenly; “why not, 244 The Bride of a Moment if you have anything to tell, go straight to the police with it?” - “You’re a cool one,” and Caprice gave her a look of grudging admiration; “but you'll sing a different song after you've heard me.” “One moment,” and Eileen forced herself to speak calmly, though her heart was beating wildly, “did you telephone here this morning that you fired that shot?” “That I did! Are you crazy? Of course I didn't telephone that! Why should I? But I know who did do it, and I saw him.” “Then,” and now Eileen had complete mastery over herself, “if you know anything so import- ant as that, I am sure it is your duty to tell the police rather than me.” “And I am sure it isn't! Look here, what's the matter with you? I am here to help you, but if you are so offish, I may go away again.” “I am in no need of assistance, and if I were, I know where to turn for it.” “Yes, to Stanford Bingham. But you make a mistake, my lady. He is the man that fired that shot, and I saw him.” “You are not telling the truth,” said Eileen, but she spoke weakly, for though these were the words she had feared, even expected to hear, they came as a shock. “I am, and what's more, you know it. Now, look here, drop this high and mighty air of yours, Caprice 245 and I will give you some really good advice. As Mr. Bingham is the criminal, call off that sleuth- hound of a detective, and so save yourself the pain and ignominy of having the truth made public. For, if Alan Ford keeps on, he will lay bare secrets that will send Stanford Bingham straight to the electric chair!” Eileen put up her hand as if to ward off a blow, then swiftly calling on all her nerve force to help her, she rose to the occasion, and looking straight into the bold, black eyes of her visitor, she said: “You have been sent here to say this. You have been commanded,—coerced, as you were made to telephone here this morning. Now, if you want to keep out of trouble yourself, listen to me, and an- swer a few questions. Who is the man whom you call husband, who was at Flora Wood last August with Ethel Moulton?” The question was flung at her so suddenly, that Caprice was caught off guard. “You know that!” she said, with wide eyes. “Yes, we know all about it, except the name of the man.” “Henry Miller,” was the answer, given in a flip- pant tone. “His real name, I mean.” “That's all the name you'll ever get from me. But, perhaps, you wouldn't have to go far to learn his real name.” “Was it Kennedy?” 246 The Bride of a Moment Caprice laughed. It was a short, insolent laugh, showing her white teeth, and displaying a temper which promised to be troublesome if roused. “I’m not saying. His name may be Kennedy, and it may not. But it is a matter of no moment to us, now. I'm here to ask you if you'll call off your detective or if I shall go to the police with the story of the crime as I saw it.” “As you did not see it! As you are making it up! If you saw the shot, why did you run away, in a motor car, and disappear? Why didn't you stay and tell what you had seen?” “Perhaps I don't want Stanford Bingham sus- pected, either.” This, said in a low voice, left no doubt as to the meaning intended to be conveyed. It roused Eileen to fury as nothing else could have done. To have Stanford, her Stanford, spoken of thus by a common, fast-looking woman, was more than Eileen could bear. “Go!” she cried, “go where you please, and tell whom you please! There is no truth in your story! You never saw Stanford Bingham fire that shot, and you know it!” Eileen's dark eyes were blazing now. Like a lioness at bay defending her young, so bravery, courage, and truth gave her strength, and her voice rang with scorn as she added, “Impostor!” “No,” said Caprice, curiously cool in the face of this outbreak, “no, I am not an impostor. But if you think I am, I do not resent nor wonder at Caprice 247 your anger. Perhaps, Miss Randall, it would be better worth your while to make a friend of me rather than an enemy.” Eileen looked at her wonderingly. “How can I, when you are so unfriendly? And, too, why should I?” “You don’t trust me?” “I most certainly do not. If you wish to please me, you will remove yourself from my presence as soon as you can.” “I have no wish to displease you, so I will go. You are quite willing, then, that I should tell my story to Mr. Somers?” Eileen wavered. Was she doing wisely to keep up this independent attitude? Oh, if only Alan Ford would come in An impulse seized her. “You see,” she said, more ingratiatingly, “I have put this matter wholly in Mr. Ford's hands, and I can take no step unadvised by him. Would you dare to state your case to him, if I can arrange for it?” “Are you crazy? I thought you didn't want Stanford Bingham convicted. Why should I tell Alan Ford the truth? I offer you this; if you will take the case out of Mr. Ford's hands, I will refrain from telling what I know to anybody. If you do not agree to this, I know Ford will run down the crime, and I shall tell Somers first, in revenge for your not doing as I wish. Is that straight?” “No, I think it decidedly crooked, and also in- T. M. T. E.T. “Of course. Mr. Hall, can I get access to the choir loft at any time?” “Certainly, Mr. Ford. Come on over there now, if you like. I'll go with you.” The two men stopped at the sexton's for the key of a side door to the church, and went up into the choir loft. Loft is an inappropriate term, as it was merely a small balcony or gallery not more than four feet above the church floor. It was directly behind the pulpit platform, as is usual in Congregational churches. “Here you are,” said Hall, leading the way. “Now, you see, Mr. Ford, it would be practically impossible for one of us to shoot without the knowl- edge of the others.” “Not with an automatic. In fact, the vines and greenery with which this rail was twined, afforded an excellent screen to shoot through, had one been inclined to do so.” “But who would do it? Not any of us who were fond of her. And as to the others, why?” “Which of you were ‘fond of her’?” “Kennedy, Farrish, Porter, and I have all been at different times favoured by Miss Moulton's preference. You doubtless know she was a coquette, and always had a love-affair on with somebody. No man could resist her fascinations and she was, in a way, a spoiled beauty. I speak of her thus frankly, for I myself loved her deeply two years ago.” 252 The Bride of a Moment “And you outgrew the affection?” “Not exactly that, but she threw me over when she had tired of me, and I learned the fickleness of her nature, and naturally lost interest in her.” “And Mr. Kennedy? Did she throw him over, too?” “Yes, I believe so. And Farrish and Porter. Oh, we are all her cast-offs. But no one of us, I am sure, felt desperate enough about it to want to kill her! Who is in your mind—Kennedy?” “Yes.” “Put him out, then. Hal Kennedy no more did that thing than I did! Why, he stood next to me, and I was looking at him as Ethel fell. I was looking at Ethel, of course, and as she fell I heard Kennedy exclaim, and turned to glance at him. He was trembling and white, but he held his music firmly, and he couldn't have fired that shot!” “Where is the music you were using at that time?” “Here it is,” and going to a cupboard, Hall produced a pile of sheet music. Ford looked it over with interest. There were eight copies of “O, Perfect Love.” “I’ll take these away with me,” said the detec- tive. “Please say nothing of it to any one. I shall keep them but a short time, and return them unin- jured. You'll not be wanting them soon?” “No; I shouldn't think anybody would ever want to be married in this church again.” 254 The Bride of a Moment love with the lady he married. But I think it was not his hand that fired that shot, and it is my duty to do all I can to prove his innocence.” “Of course, if you feel that way about it. But there is every motive and opportunity for Bingham and none for anybody else. I don't consider that the fact of being a rejected suitor of the bride's is enough to base suspicion on.” “I don't either,” returned the detective. “Then, what else have you got against Ken- nedy?” “Nothing definite, I admit. But what I do know must be followed up. I thank you, Mr. Hall, for your help to-day. And I will detain you no longer. I have your word, have I not, to say nothing of my taking this music?” “Certainly. And I hold you responsible for its safe return, as it is, of course, the property of the choir.” “Of course, I shall return it safely and promptly.” Alan Ford spent the entire evening studying those eight pieces of music. Before he began, he heard Eileen's story of the woman who called on her that afternoon, and who was, doubtless, Caprice. Ford was interested in the recital, but not so much so as Eileen had expected. He seemed a little preoccupied, and anxious to study the sheets of music. At last he excused him- 256 The Bride of a Moment “Who, then?” asked Eileen. “Have you no idea?” “Surely not Eugene Hall?” “No. Now look here. On the back cover of this piece of music is a brown stain that I think is a powder stain, left by the flash of the discharged automatic in the hand of the assassin. He naturally used his right hand, which, shielded by the sheet music, was noticed by no one. The hand rested on the greenery wreathing the choir rail. The music of the organ made the slight sound of the report inaudible, and the heavy scent of flowers overcame any smell of powder. The shot, of course, deflected a little downward, and the victim was hit just as she was turning, in fact, had turned part way, so that her right side was toward the choir. She turned farther before she fell, as the doctors have agreed she would be likely to do. There is, so far, no unexplained condition.” “But who was it?” insisted Eileen. “Granting that all this happened, the shell would be automatically discharged from the pistol and would fall to the floor. The criminal would doubt- less stoop to pick it up, but would drop something also, that his motion might seem natural. I in- quired if one had not dropped his sheet of music soon after the shot, and learned that one did.” & 4 Who? 22 “Farrish.” 258 The Bride of a Moment prints on this particular piece of music, and though I have not yet seen Mr. Farrish's finger prints, I think it a chance worth trying.” “But you say there are powder marks on two pieces of music,” said Eileen, still incredulous. “That's part of the evidence. You see these marks are on the back cover, which would naturally be over the holder's right hand. On this other sheet that shows marks, they are on the front cover, which would be held over the left hand of the singer, and would indicate a left-handed man, which none of the choir is.” “Then how did the marks come there?” “Because the music was piled up by the organ- ist or sexton, and the marks on one sheet are directly over those on the other. See, if the music had been piled up thus, the mark on this back cover would be exactly over the mark on this front cover. They coincide, but the one on the back is much stronger and clearer, showing that the other is merely a smudge from the first one.” “Good work, Ford l’exclaimed Doctor Randall. “You are entirely right, so far. These two pow- der marks are surely the result of piling up the music, as you say, for they are the same colour and shape, and each has a very faint odour of gunpow- der. Moreover, it is clear that the lighter mark is the result of the plainer one. As to these finger marks, I will dust them with black lead and photo- graph them for you.” 26o The Bride of a Moment rish, being innocent, read that message as it was really sent. Wouldn't he be much more likely to think some one else than Bingham wrote it? Why would he at once jump to the conclusion that Bing- ham wrote it, and spoke of himself that way as a blind? It isn't logical.” “No, it isn't,” said Doctor Randall. “But if you are right, if Farrish shot Ethel, then he was the man who went to Flora Wood with her.” “He must be,” said Ford. “Also, he must be the husband of Caprice; also, he must be the man who forced Caprice to telephone here that she killed the lady.” “But she said she didn't do that telephoning,” said Eileen. “I don't believe her,” and Ford looked obstinate. “I know I am right. That woman, Caprice, is mixed up in it all, but she didn't do the shooting. There are the powder marks and the finger prints.” “The latter haven't yet been identified,” re- minded Doctor Randall. “I know it, but they will surely prove to be Far- rish’s.” “Also, I doubt if those brown stains will be re- ceived as evidence; they may not be powder after all.” “But,” said Eileen, “there is one way you can make sure. Take Mr. Farrish's picture to Flora Wood, and ask that landlady there if he is the man who came there with Ethel.” XXI The Call of the Siren cº O, Eileen,” and Bingham held the girl closely to him, “I don't believe Farrish did it. Why should he?” “Did you never think, dear, that Mr. Farrish knew Ethel better than you thought he did? Don't you think that it was he who went with her to Flora Wood P’’ “But that woman out there swears he is not the man.” “I know, but I don't believe her, and neither does Mr. Ford.” “Do you know, Eily, I don't have much faith in that man Ford's work. What has he done, so far?” “He’s done a lot, Stan, and it's all for you. But that horrid old Mr. Somers, he's so taken up with that “Caprice’ woman, he believes all she says.” “I know. He believes her story of seeing me shoot Ethel. Well, dearest, there's nothing for me to do but stand trial.” “Indeed you sha'n't! Mr. Ford and I have a new plan. I won't tell you about it yet, but I'm go- ing to try it if all else fails.” “Do what you like,” said Bingham, wearily; 262 The Call of the Siren 265 Somers had not learned of the Flora Wood episode, and as the days went by, Somers and Alan Ford became more and more opposed in their opin- ions and in their work. “It's come to an issue between us,” declared Ford to Eileen; “Somers is bent on suspecting Bingham, and I know it was Farrish. Why, your father proved that those were Farrish's finger prints on the piece of music that shows the burnt stain, and Somers only pooh-poohs at that.” “How does he explain it?” “He says there's nothing to explain. Says they're Farrish's prints, all right, but that the brown stain is not a powder stain, and that there is no reason to think of Farrish in connection with it.” “Then there's only one way,” and Eileen looked earnestly in the face of the great detective. “I think there is only one way. It's a very pecu- liar case. It has no precedent, no parallel. I can't think Somers is personally prejudiced against Bingham; I think the District Attorney is honest in his beliefs. And, too, in a murder case, an eye- witness is invaluable if the statement can be be- lieved. That's why Somers is looking up the Ca- price woman so thoroughly. He doesn't want to credit her story unless she is reliable and respon- sible as a witness, but he hopes to prove that she is.” “What is he doing?” “He is investigating her past and present his- tory. He has found out little of importance, so 266 The Bride of a Moment far; nothing, in fact, that contradicts her own story. But if he gets hold of the Flora Wood incident, I am afraid there will be trouble. You see, the man that went there with Ethel Moulton was certainly Farrish. But he has bribed that Ballou woman to deny it. Farrish is so deep, so infernally clever, that it is next to impossible to fasten anything on him. But I'll get him yet.” Alan Ford stalked up and down the room in a fury. And Eileen wondered. She had faith in his powers, but he was a queer man, and his theory that Farrish was the criminal had so little to back it up, that she couldn't help doubting. And, too, what was Farrish's motive? He had been in love with Ethel, but of late he had not been very at- tentive to her; indeed, he had shown a decided preference for Eileen Randall. Surely the thing was a little absurd. Eileen dressed herself in one of her prettiest cos- tumes, and went to see Farrish in his office. “Come in,” he said, cordially; “this is, indeed, a pleasure?” “You told me to come when I chose,” and Eileen blushed a little, and looked up at him with a timid smile. “To be sure I did. You are always welcome. What can I do for you?” “Oh, nothing particular. I just want to talk over the murder case with some one who knows something.” The Call of the Siren 267 “About it?” “No; I don't mean about it, exactly; but some one who knows things generally.” Eileen gave him a quick, bright glance from the corner of her eye, and then looked down. It fas- cinated Farrish, who was susceptible always to woman's beauty, and Eileen had the seductive smile of a siren. As Farrish didn't speak, she looked up again, to find him smiling back at her, from under half- closed lids. She fluttered, and nervously fingered her pink parasol. She was looking her prettiest in a thin gown of apple-blossom pink, cut a bit low in the neck, and with transparent sleeves. Her broad-brimmed straw hat was wreathed with pink roses, and round it was draped a filmy white veil. This veil, which had been put back, Eileen now drew over her face with a coquettish gesture, and her dark eyes shone through it with a tantalizing gleam. It was dis- tinctly provocative, and Guy Farrish started from his seat, and stepped forward toward her. They were alone, in his private office, and as Eileen gave him a startled glance, he gently raised the silken veil and tossed it back over her hat. “Now I can see you better,” he said, smiling down as he stood over her. “Tell me your er- rand.” “I can't—with you so near 39 and Eileen 268 The Bride of a Moment blushed and toyed with her parasol. “I–I— think I'd better go—” and she rose slowly. “Go!” and Farrish laid a restraining hand on her arm. “Why, you've only just come. What is it you want, Eileen?” She stood beside him, beautiful, hesitating. Then she put a hand lightly on his shoulder. “No,” she said, looking down, and her voice quivered a little, “no, I find I can't tell you, after all—” Her soft voice trailed away to silence, and with eyes cast down and lip trembling, she stood, uncer- tainly turning toward the door. The lure of the girl was too much for Farrish. With a quick, uncontrollable movement, he caught her in his arms, and whispered, “Tell me now, here! You sweet, sweet thing!” In a fury, Eileen sprang away from him. “Mr. Farrish!” she exclaimed; “how dare you? What do you mean?” But though the tones expressed deepest indig- nation, the soft eyes were not altogether chiding. “What do you mean?” he cried, wonderingly; “you tempt me beyond endurance, and then re- proach me for yielding to your bewitchment!” “ Hush! You must be mad!” and Eileen looked at him with the stately air of an offended god- dess. “I am! Mad about you! Eileen, I didn't know you were so beautiful! What has come to you, girl?” The Call of the Siren 269 With no reply in words, Eileen gave him a sweet, shy smile that might mean anything. To Farrish it meant much. Again he clasped her in his arms, with exclamations of endearment. This time she showed no resentment, but said in a whisper, “Please, don't! Please let me go! Oh, what have I done! What am I doing! Oh, Guy, let me go!” Slowly Farrish released her. “Sit down,” he said, commanding himself, “and tell me what you— 23 “No, I can't, now said Eileen, putting down her veil. “I must go. Don't detain me now ! I can't—oh, I can't!” “Go, then, dear,” said Farrish, gently. “Go, and I will come to see you. May I come to-night?” Eileen gave no sign of assent, except a brief glance, but it seemed enough for Farrish, and he opened the door, and bowed his visitor out with formal courtesy. Eileen went away, and straight home. Going to her room she locked the door, and sat down in her favourite low chair to think. “It’s awful,” she said, to herself; “awful! But there is something about Guy that is wonderfully fascinating.” yy Farrish came that evening. Bingham called shortly after his arrival, and was told by Charlotte that Miss Eily was not at home. Uncertain as to the truth of this statement, Bing- ham went away, dejected and wondering. 27o The Bride of a Moment Eileen was even more lovely in her evening gown than she had seemed in her morning costume. Her soft, exquisite shoulders were bare, and her dainty arms flashed in and out of the draped lace that served as sleeves. Her laughing eyes were bright, and her cheeks rosy pink, as she smiled at Farrish. “I don't know what you must have thought of me this morning,” she said, glancing up through droop- ing lashes, “I—I think I–lost my head, a little.” “I know I lost mine, utterlyl When did you dis- cover it, Eileen?” “Discover what?” with a shy, wondering look. “That you love me! Don't deny it! You can't, for it's true! Gloriously true! Oh, my darling, how beautiful you are!” “Mr. Farrish! Oh, don't!” for Guy had clasped her wildly to him. “There, there, my beauty! You know you want me to love you! Why resist, my fluttering bird?” “Don’t kiss me! Don't you dare! No one shall ever kiss me but the man I marry!” “And you're going to marry me! You are!” “Mr. Farrish, you must be crazy!” and Eileen disengaged herself from his embrace. “Why, I scarcely know you!” “You scarcely know me in this rôle, yes. And I scarcely know myself. But it suits me to perfec- tion, and you'll learn rapidly. Eileen, my beauty- girl, say you will marry me, soon—soon!” “I will,” breathed Eileen; “and soon, Guy!” XXII Ford's Theory the Randalls’. It had been agreed by him and Eileen that they would say nothing of their engagement for a long time; not, at any rate, until the case was cleared up, and the whole affair settled one way or another. Bingham was in a bad temper. The situation was wearing on him, and the investigations of the Police Detective Bureau were getting annoyingly personal. “It's plain to be seen,” he said, “that Somers is drawing the net closer round me. Unless some other suspect is kind enough to put in an appear- ance pretty soon, I stand a very strong chance of being arrested.” “Not really, Stan?” said Eileen, looking at him curiously; “how can they arrest you?” “How can they? Why, because they think they have sufficient evidence, that's all.” “How do you know all about it?” “I don't know all about it, but I've found out enough to know they're feeling pretty sure.” “Then they're a lot of dunder-heads, and they A FEW days later, Bingham called again at 271 274 The Bride of a Moment they throw suspicion, in their opinion, back on yourself.” “Never mind about me, now; stick to the ques- tion of Guy Farrish. Could he have any other motive than jealousy; " “What makes you ask that question, Mr. Bing- ham?” and Ford looked at him, keenly. “Because if he did the deed, it was not through jealousy or envy of me. It was for some other rea- son, connected with » “Yes, connected with -> “With business matters. But they are subjects I do not feel myself at liberty to mention.” “Not to save yourself from suspicion.” “No. Guy Farrish is not officially suspected of this crime. Unless he were, I should not be justi- fied in telling of these things. I should not have referred to them, but that I thought possibly they might already be in your mind.” “Now, look here, Mr. Bingham,” and Ford spoke very seriously; “I am sure of Guy Farrish's guilt. Sure, I tell you. But he is a clever and deep scoundrel, and it is going to be very hard, if not impossible, to prove his guilt. Therefore, if you can help in any way, it is your duty to do so.” “Why are you so sure of his guilt?” “First and perhaps, principally, because he tried so hard to turn suspicion toward you.” “Toward me!” “Yes; that was part of his cleverness. While 278 The Bride of a Moment “But I didn't really mean it, you know. I was—” “Well, sweetheart, you were what?” “Oh, I don't know, I was a little infatuated by your—your nearness, I suppose.” “Then that's an infatuation that has come to stay! I shall always be near you, my beloved; I am near you now.” Farrish's face was close to Eileen's and his eyes looked deep into her own. “Don’t, Guy ” and Eileen dropped her eyes. “Let's talk of something else,” she went on, nervously fingering the dust-robe. But she gave him an oblique glance more eloquent than words could be. “Siren!” he exclaimed; “that's the only name for you! You are adorable! When will you marry me? When, Eileen?” “Oh, not for a long time. Tell me, Guy, have you ever loved any one before?” “Not as I love you! I have had love-affairs, who hasn't? But this is the love of my life, my hope for the future, Eileen, you don't know what you are to me! I adore you! I can't keep my hands off of you, and yet I worship you and I reverence you. My only love!” “But you loved Ethel.” “Ethel! That was a momentary infatuation. Ethel was a coquette, and at one time it pleased her to coquet with me. I humoured her, and—but don't let's talk of Ethel.” Ford's Theory 279 “Yes, I want to. Do you suppose they'll arrest Stanford Bingham?” “Probably. But they'll never convict him. There isn't enough evidence.” “But that Caprice woman is an eye-witness, so they say.” “But that isn't enough. Her unsupported testi- mony won't hang Bingham. Unless he confesses, he'll get off.” “Confesses! Why, he didn't do it!” “Then who did?” “Who indeed! Tell me whom you suspect.” “If I do, will you kiss me?” “What, now?” “No, not now, it would be too unsatisfactory. But in the garden at Flora Wood. I know a se- cluded little nook 27 “Just big enough for one kiss? But how do you come to know so much about Flora Wood?” “Oh, I’ve been there lots of times. For years it has been the Mecca of afternoon drives.” “Were you ever there with Ethel?” “H'm, let me see: Yes, I think I have been. Also with Betty Stratton, and several other pretty girls. But never before with you! And, now, never again with any one but you! Tell me, my siren, when can we be married?” “Don’t call me siren. It sounds like those wail- ing motor horns!” “Then I'll never call you that again. I'll spend 28O The Bride of a Moment the rest of my life making up names to call you that you do like. “Queen of my future,'—how's that?” “Horrid! It seems to imply a Queen of your past!” - “Now you're teasing me. But you may, if you like. Tease me more.” “Who was the “Queen of your past'? Is there any one, any one at all, who has the slightest claim on you now?” “Claim on me! How absurd ' " “But is there?” “No, of course not. Could I ask you to marry me if there were P’’ “Well; but—is there any one who thinks she has? Any little actress, or anybody?” “You little innocent! Do you think every man has some foolish entanglement?” “Haven't they?” and Eileen's big, dark eyes showed a wistful wonder. “Some men may have, darling; but don't worry about those. Is there any one in especial you're thinking of?” “Yes, Caprice.” Eileen flung the words at him and looked straight in his face to see how he took it. Farrish smiled and then looked grave. “Eileen,” he said, gently, “if Caprice is entangled with some one you know, look in another direction; not toward me.” º 282 The Bride of a Moment “It's rude to stare,” she laughed back at him. “Please order me some iced tea, I’m choked with dust.” “You shall have anything you want, to the half of my kingdom, and then, if you want it, you shall have the other half.” “Of course I shall want it. I am not one for half-way measures!” - “Neither am I? And I want you, Eileen, all of you, for my very own. When, dearest, when can I have you?” “Are we staying here for dinner?” asked Eileen, irrelevantly. “Indeed we are! I'll order it directly.” “Very well, but I shall not see you again until dinner time. I’m going to freshen up, and then I am going to take a rest in that very tempting- looking cool parlour we passed through when we entered. The landlady looks interesting, I may cultivate her acquaintance. At any rate, I dismiss you till dinner time. Shall we say seven?” 284 The Bride of a Moment keep a secret, I know. Would you be surprised to know I am going to marry that gentleman who brought me here?” “No!” and Mrs. Ballou's voice rang out sharply; “oh, no, not that!” “Why not?” and Eileen's eyes were big and questioning. “He’s a fine man.” “Yes, yes; ” and the other spoke hurriedly, “but, miss, oh, I mayn't say anything, but, miss, I beg you, don't!” Seizing the chance, Eileen leaned forward and whispered suddenly, “Is he the man who came here last summer with Miss Moulton?” “Oh!” and Mrs. Ballou gave a slight scream; then, immediately recovering herself, she said, “Oh, mercy, no! How could you ask such a thing as that? Of course not!” “Why were you so alarmed at the question?” and Eileen eyed her closely. “I wasn't; but any reference to that murder al- ways gives me a shock. No, miss, he never brought Miss Moulton here, she—she came with—with an- other man.” “Are you sure?” and Eileen stared, meaningly. “Yes, yes, of course—of course I'm sure.” “Oh, very well, I've no doubt you are. Now, why is it you advise me not to marry Mr. Far- rish P’’ “Oh, because,_because, he-he seems older than you are.” 286 The Bride of a Moment enjoy the fleeting moment,” and Eileen's finger tips lightly touched his hand as it lay on the table. Willingly enough, Farrish enjoyed the fleeting moments, and dinner over, he bade Eileen hasten, if she would see the moon rise from the glen in the garden. “No, not to-night,” she returned, very decidedly. “I’ve given you all the fleeting moments I intend to this time.” “But you promised,” he said, miserably; “dear, you promised.” “I never keep a promise,” she returned, laughing at his long face. “You are going too fast, alto- gether. I want to go home, and I want to go now.” “And if I refuse to take you?” “But you won't,” and she was wheedlesome. “Why, you promised me half your kingdom! Do you refuse my first request?” “But such a request!” “Very well, it is a command, then. Guy, take me home, at once!” The pretty air of proprietorship and authority over him charmed him into submission, and Far- rish ordered his car forthwith. “But you shall give me the kiss you promised,” he told her, as they drove home through the moon- light. “I didn't promise it,” and Eileen laughed dar- ingly at him, “and if I did, I've changed my mind. 290 The Bride of a Moment slyness. And Caprice has so bewitched the Dis- trict Attorney that he thinks every one of her words Gospel truth. So what can we do?” “There is only one way,” repeated Eileen, slowly, and sadly. “Oh, what would Stanford say if he knew l’” “He would never allow the sacrifice. Are you sure yourself you want to make it?” “To save Stan! Of course, I would make any sacrifice for that.” “Shall you let your father know.” “No, indeed! Father wouldn't hear of it! He's too fond of me!” “Hush, here he comes.” The entrance of Doctor Randall put an end to the discussion. Eileen walked away to the window and leaned her throbbing head on her hands. The telephone rang, and with a sigh Eileen went to answer it. “Yes,” she said to Farrish's call. “Yes,” she said to his invitation to go motoring again that afternoon. And then, to his next sug- gestion, she laughed, roguishly, and said only, “Oh, you rascal!” speaking softly at him. She dressed for the ride with especial care. She put on a gown of black chiffon, whose thinness re- vealed the soft curves of her shoulders, and fell away from her dainty throat and neck. Her dark hair, parted and coiled low, gave her face the seduc- tiveness of the Mona Lisa, and only a black chiffon 292 The Bride of a Moment “How has it happened, Eileen? Why has this great joy come to me so suddenly? A few weeks ago I scarcely knew you xx “Why, you've known me nearly a year “Not as I know you now. We were acquaint- ances, but I didn't realize your sweetness or dream that you cared for me.” “I haven't said that I do,” and again the bewil- dered glance enslaved him afresh. “You don't have to say so!” and Farrish gave a low laugh of content. “Your presence here proves it!” “I wonder ” and Eileen spoke vaguely, as if wrapt in happy dreams. “I’ll find out for sure to-night. Dear, let's have our dinner out on the terrace. What do you sav P -> “As you like, Guy. It would be more to our- selves, wouldn't it?” “And would you enjoy it for that reason?” There was a light in his eyes which deepened as Eileen whispered, “Try me, and see!” “What have you been doing all day?” she asked lightly, as later they were at dinner on the terrace. The terrace tables were each in a secluded arbour, fragrant of honeysuckles and lighted only by shaded candles. - Farrish started. “Why did you ask that?” he cried, almost angrily, and then, recovering his poise, he added, “Forgive me, darling, I lost my | ". 294 The Bride of a Moment “Guy,” and the soft fingers caressed his cheek, “suppose we say—now, to-night ** “Eileen' You don't—you can't mean it! Oh, if you only did Do you? Dearest, do you?” “I—don't—know—I think I did mean it when I said it, but—it would be too crazy! How could We?” “It doesn't matter how we could,—if you only will, I'll arrange all else! Oh, Eileen!” Farrish clasped her in a mad embrace, but she put him away, saying, “Wait, let me think.” “No, don't think! I'm afraid to have you think—” - “But if I consent to this mad plan, all must be as I say.” “Of course: what is it you want, sweetheart?” “Well,” and Eileen smiled at him in the moon- light, “first, I don't want to be married by Doctor Van Sutton.” “No,” said Farrish. “Nor by any minister. Could we get a Justice of the Peace, or whatever you call him, as late as this?” “We will, whether we can or not! And it isn't late, it's only a little after eleven.” “I won't be married before twelve!” the lovely, petulant lips smiled. “A midnight wedding seems so romantic.” “Our wedding is romantic, anyway; but we XXIV A Midnight Marriage F Mr. Riddell, Justice of the Peace, was sur- I prised by the sudden appearance of two people desirous of being married, he politely con- cealed his feelings, and asking them to wait until he could array himself more conventionally than in the bath-robe in which he responded to the door- bell, he finally made an appearance in his parlour, . properly clothed and accompanied by his wife and a housemaid as witnesses. The hour was shortly after midnight, and Farrish apologized for the dis- turbance of the Riddells' rest. “Not at all,” responded the jovial Justice, “we’re used to it. Mrs. Riddell declares this house is a regular Gretna Green, but as she always pockets the fees, she doesn't mind.” Mrs. Riddell glanced at her husband, reprov- ingly, for this rather broad hint, but both Farrish and Eileen were so engrossed in their own thoughts they scarcely heard it. Charlotte was weeping. She could not under- stand her young mistress, but she had always obeyed her without question, and she said nothing now. Still, it was almost more than she could 296 A Midnight Marriage - 297 bear to see her marry this man, when, as Charlotte believed, she loved another. “Pore lamb,” thought the coloured woman, “she's doin' of it to save Mr. Bingham, dat she is My lubly Miss Eily wouldn't do dis fer no od- der puppose, dat she wuddent!” Meantime, the service took place. Eileen hesi- tated and stammered as she said the solemn words, but she did say them. Farrish was excited and nervous, but he spoke clearly and firmly. When it was over, Eileen fainted. Farrish caught her in his arms, and Charlotte ran, shrieking, to her side. Mrs. Riddell brought water, and in a moment Eileen was herself again. “Forgive me,” she said, smiling at Guy. “I was foolish to faint. I never do such a thing! But I—I am—nervous.” “Yes, dearest, so you are. Never mind, we're going now, and I'll take care of you.” A substantial douceur found its way to Mrs. Riddell's pocket, and the bride and groom went out to the waiting car. “You may walk home, Charlotte,” said Eileen, “it isn't far. And say nothing to father concern- ing this. I’ll tell him myself, to-morrow.” “Yes, Miss Eily,” and Charlotte, mystified and tearful, went home. “And now for our own home,” said Farrish, his voice a little unsteady, as he took the wheel. “To the hotel, dear?” A Midnight Marriage 299 Farrish looked at her closely, but she only smiled and danced away. Calling a waiter, he ordered a dainty supper. “Now, my lady,” he said, decidedly, “that salad will take a bit of a while to prepare, so you will not keep me waiting, will you, -sweetheart?” Farrish held out his arms, and then Eileen looked serious. “Wait a moment, Guy; tell me, first, some things that I must know. Who killed Ethel?” Farrish looked at her with dilated eyes. “What do you mean?” he said, not so much surprised as puzzled. “What I say. Who did?” “I don't know, and it doesn't matter now. You are my wife, don't you let yourself forget that!” “I am not your wife!” and Eileen faced him bravely. “That woman Caprice is your wife!” “Eileen, is this a ruse? Did you marry me thinking it was not a marriage because of her?” “Well, tell me the truth. What is she to you?” “Nothing,” and Farrish looked solemn. “Noth- ing, Eileen, because she is dead.” “What! Caprice! Dead? What do you mean?” “Yes, it is true. I heard it to-night, after we reached here. While you went in the house to get Charlotte, I went on an errand or two, and I heard the news. Don't think about her, dearest.” “But, Guy, she was your wife, wasn't she?” 3OO The Bride of a Moment “Don’t talk about her, Eileen, I forbid it! You shall talk only of me! Tell me you love me!” Eileen looked uncertain. She smiled at him a little, but repulsed any attempt of his to touch her. “Don’t, Guy! The waiter will be here in a min- ute.” “Confound the waiter! Eileen, if you don't let me kiss you, I shall countermand the waiter, and give you no supper.” “Oh, no, you won't! Guy, is that woman really dead? Am I really your wife?” “Yes, Eileen, she is dead, and you are my wife.” “Then, listen to me. You shall not kiss me, you shall never touch me until you tell me who killed Ethel.” “How do I know?” Farrish spoke almost roughly. “Tell me the truth,” and Eileen came near him and laid her hand on his shoulder. “The truth, Guy. Don't attempt to deceive me, for you can't. And,” here her voice faltered, “if I am your wife I can't testify against you. So if it was—you— tell me, dear?” Eileen's arm slipped round his neck. Her face drew nearer his. But even as he grasped her, she drew away. “No, no,” she cried, smiling, “not till you tell me. Was it you? Guy, tell me!” No one could have resisted that siren face, that seductive smile, the lure of the great half-closed, dark eyes. 3O2 The Bride of a Moment me no harm. But Bingham already suspected what I'd done— ” “What was it, Guy? Anything very bad?” “Men would think so. I cheated a bit at cards, and a few things like that.” “Go on.” “Well, that's all. I told her I’d do it, and I did .do it. I'm sorry—for her, but, why, Eileen, I had to, or be ruined myself! I'm ambitious you know, and I foolishly let Ethel know these things, and they had to be hushed up. Bingham would have found them out from her, of course, and he would have put an end to me, so far as my social and business life were concerned. Now, you under- stand, don't you?” “Yes,” said Eileen, “I understand. But, Guy, suppose they suspect you and accuse you.” “They can't; I’ve been too careful. I was afraid of that man Ford at first, but I've hoodwinked him. He nearly had me, when he solved the mu- sical cipher, but I wormed out of that.” “That was a clever cipher. Did you make it up? xx “No; somebody showed it to me. I taught it to Ethel, and we used it a lot. I made the notes different from my own transcripts on purpose.” “How clever you are!” and Eileen smiled at him, from the corner of her eye. “And did you send Ethel the telegrams, too?” “Yes; I gave the girl every chance. She ought 306 The Bride of a Moment “Yes, Stan, let us go.” And the two went away, shaken by the cumulative tragedy, but happy in the knowledge of love and freedom. “How could you, Eileen?” Bingham would repeat over and over. “How could you do it?” “How could I not do it?” she corrected. “It was the only way to save you, dearest.” “The price was almost too great.” “Yes; almost, but not quite! It was a dreadful experience, but I went through with it!” “For me!” and Bingham looked deep in her glorious eyes. “For us!” and Eileen's lovely face glowed with her happiness. Few, if any, felt regret or sympathy when Guy Farrish was put behind bars to await a trial that could have only one outcome. “Strange,” mused Alan Ford, talking over the case with Doctor Randall, “we agreed there could be only psychological clues, and yet I traced that criminal by the very material clue of a brown stain of gunpowder on a sheet of music.” “But it was psychology that made us both be- lieve in Bingham's innocence, or we would have been as ready to condemn him as Ferrall was.” “Right. A detective worth his salt must combine psychology and ratiocination in his criminalistic investigations.” “Yes,” replied Doctor Randall, who was not afraid of long words. “But even granting those,