NYPL RESEARCH LIBRARIES
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THE
MEL WOOD MYSTERY





THE
MELWOOD MYSTERY
BY
JAMES HAY, JR.
Author of “The Man Who Forgot,”
“Mrs. Marden's Ordeal,” and
“The Winning Clue.”
New York: *. . * - : .
DoDD. MEAD AND COMPANY.; , .
1920 . . . . . . *.*
* *


THE N EºN WORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
º,"
AND
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i-
Aston, LEtº
R in 23
CopyRIGHT, 1920,
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INo.
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- - sº - * - -
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- - - - - - -- :
- -- - - - - - - wall--eallou company
... . . . . . . . . : -----to-a-b-a-wo-
- - - -


TO
MY GRANDMOTHER





CONTENTS
■MB
I Thx Woman in Black ....... 1
II Miss Newman's Three Callers .... 8
HI "They "Will Accuse Me" 24
IV The Accusation 40
V CONSPIBING FOB THE DEFENCE 61
VI The Hole in the Screen 72
VII Mr. Hastings Studies "Society" .... 83
VIII "The Supremely Veracious" 101
IX With the Patience of Job 110
X Gower Goes to Headquarters ■ . 123
XI Felix Joins the Hunt 133
XII Hastings Delivers His Letter .... 143
XIII The Phonograph Trick 158
XIV A Surprising Defence 170
XV Concerning a Second Attack « . . . 183
XVI Mr. Conrad by Moonlight 197
XVTI Rosalie Proposes a Test 217
XVIII Another Weapon Discovered 226
XIX Conrad is Himself Again 241
XX Rosalie Reveals a Secret 252
XXI Thayer Presents a Solution 265
XXII The Crime in Detail 274
XXm Through the Sliding Doors 291
XXTV The Story Gower Told 299
XXV Splendours of Romance 317








THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
DRESSED in severely tailored black, the
woman, as she turned from the " infor-
mation" desk toward the great, high-
ceiled lobby, was unintentionally conspicuous.
To even the habitues of the Wareham, where
good-looking women were the rule, she became at
once a figure of more than passing interest.
Save the spot of vivid yellow at her throat
there was nothing to mitigate the uncompromis
ing, almost harsh, simplicity of her costume
And yet, the undulating grace of her slow mo
tion stirred the hard lines to a waviness, a curv
ing softness, which indicated that a style not so
subdued might have subjected her to the danger
of seeming over-dressed — or, perhaps, flam-
boyant.
It was this effect of great vitality, or unusual
emotional power, that drew toward her a second
glance from the men and women in the rather
thinly populated lobby.
Her face, dead-white under the shadows of her


2 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
black hair and hat-brim, justified the curiosity of
which, apparently, she was wholly ignorant. It
expressed a real indifference to those who re-
garded her. The unforced calm of her features,
as well as the easy authority of her bearing, sug-
gested unmistakably an acquaintance with that
class of people ordinarily engaged in the world's
larger affairs.
Reaching the two massive sofas set back to
back in the centre of the lobby, she paused a mo-
ment and glanced at the clock near the entrance
to the writing-room. It was then, for the frac-
tion of a second, that something in her expres-
sion betrayed her anxious expectancy.
Studying her intently at that moment, one
might have concluded that she sought weighty
information, or that she had prepared herself
for a mission which she recognized as nearly im-
possible of accomplishment.
If her purpose connected her with people of
importance, it was only natural that she had
come to the Wareham —“everybody” in Wash-
ington went there, for lunch and gossip. Its
guests were the best known figures in the cap-
ital's official life. She gave no sign, however, of
watching for any special person.
It was five minutes past two when she halted
at the long sofas. She remained standing, and,
spreading open the newspaper she carried, folded


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 3
it to an inside page devoted to women’s “fash-
ions.”
At exactly seven minutes past two she sank
slowly to a seat on the sofa facing the “writing
lounge.”
At the same moment Cameron Hough, Assist-
ant Secretary of State, appeared with his lunch-
eon guest at the main exit from the crowded din-
ing-room, directly behind her and half the width
of the lobby from her. Deep in discussion, they
strolled toward the unoccupied sofa and for a
second or two stood near it.
“— and, therefore, nowhere on the seven seas,”
the pleasing barytone of Hough's friend finished
a sentence.
“But I don't see —” began Hough, in the man-
ner of a man surprised by an unexpected topic.
“I ran ahead of my subject,” came the quick
apology. “Let me explain.”
They took possession of the sofa, sitting less
than three feet from her. If she had leaned her
head back, the brim of her hat would have
touched Cameron Hough's neck.
A bellboy, gazing into space, stood fully thirty
feet from her. Scarcely moving her head in sig-
nal, but with a look that was distinctly imperi-
ous, she summoned him.
“I left a number with the telephone operator,”
she said.


4 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
The deep, rich timbre of her voice made the
words surprisingly distinct. The Assistant Sec-
retary of State, hearing them, broke a sentence
in half.
"See whether she has an answer, please. The
number is seven-one-seven."
Behind her the barytone was explaining to the
diplomat:
"If we could get this afternoon the authorita-
tive information that Wilson would be an unfail-
ing advocate of her right to trade, to grow rich,
to flourish, after peace is made —"
Obviously uninterested, however, the woman
studied the "fashion " illustrations. If appear-
ance counted for anything, she was unconscious
of their presence.
Twenty minutes later Cameron Hough was in-
formed by his guest:
"The man! Young and impulsive as he is,
his amazing knowledge of international affairs
makes him invaluable to Wilson. If anybody
knows the President's views on this, it's Thayer
— John R. Thayer. And what Thayer knows, if
he does know, would command, as I've said, any
imaginable price in Berlin on any one of the
seven days in the week."
A close observer of the woman in black would
have said that here she narrowly escaped a nerv-
ous start. Although she did not move percepti-


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 5
bly, there was, vaguely and intangibly, a change
in her posture — a strained, expectant readiness
for action.
Laying aside her newspaper, she left the sofa
and went to the main entrance, her grace of mo-
tion again breaking the harsh lines of her con-
ventual costume into appealing curves. The
expression of her face was still one of cool re-
moteness; but the pupils of her eyes were pin-
points, as if she strove to examine minutely the
difficult phases of important work she had con-
tracted to perform.
David Gower, standing on the pavement out-
side in the shining warmth of mid-May sunlight,
gave her the flattery of interested eyes when she
descended the steps.
His breathing quickened a little. A question-
able animation touched the unwholesome, paste-
like whiteness of his face. As she drove away,
alone in a seven-passenger car, he stood there,
watching her out of sight. He pulled with nerv-
ous fingers at the short-clipped moustache that
was like a black gash struck into the pallor of
his features. He was smiling unpleasantly.
Entering the hotel, he went to the register
clerk's desk.
There he made inquiry.
"Oh!" the clerk said. "The one in black?"
"Yes; yellow at her throat."


6 THE MELWOOD MYSTEEY
"Let me see." The register was consulted.
"Here it is — Miss Newman."
He turned the book, and Gower glanced at the
signature, Miss Zimony Newman.
"Zeemony," he said. "Registered as being
from Washington, didn't she?"
He lit a fresh cigarette, and, leaning an elbow-
on the desk, assumed a confidential attitude.
Words and smoke came simultaneously past his
heavy lips.
"Ever see her before?"
"No; never did."
"Any chance of finding out where she went?"
"She paid her bill and checked out about half
an hour ago," said the clerk. "Let me see."
He investigated.
"Yes, sir. She sent her baggage to the Mel-
wood — the Melwood apartments on Eighteenth
Street."
Gower's breathing quickened again.
"I guessed right!" he exulted inwardly.
"There are pleasant days ahead!"


TEIREE MONTHS GO OVER


II
miss Newman's three callers
SENATOR BRANDON was uneasy as he
looked at the younger man, lounging loose-
jointed and shirt-sleeved in the big leather
chair. They were alone in Senator Thayer's
private office.
In spite of electric fans, it was oppressively
warm. Mopping his smooth-shaven, ruddy face,
he went to the window overlooking the east plaza
of the Capitol.
"You know my affection for John," he said
at last, his back to Dr. Thayer.
"I should say so!" The agreement was en-
thusiastic.
"And my admiration, my pride in his influ-
ence in the Senate—"
Brandon stopped again and stared at the plaza,
watching the waves of heat thrown off by the
asphalt. Heat and humidity, the combination
that plagues Washington most severely in mid-
August, blanketed the city. The afternoon sky
was a shield of brass, glowing hot, solid.
The senator thought: "I've chosen a bad time.
This weather doesn't stop at breaking men's
bodies. It burns into their morale."
8


MISS NEWMAN'S THREE CALLERS 9
He turned from the outside glare. Larry
Thayer's lazy, cordial smile failed to hide com-
pletely the look of weakness about his mouth.
Brandon, impressed by it now, as if he had never
seen it before, prolonged his silence.
"There are," he began, "a few things, a very
few things, about which no man should talk to
another."
Thayer, his smile gone, waited.
"Do you see Miss Newman, Miss Zimony New-
man, often?"
"Pretty often," Thayer answered, bewildered.
"I thought so. Ever hear, Larry, that she —
ever hear anything about her, particularly, er —
ah — specifically?"
Larry kept himself well in hand, helped to it
by a gratitude he could not forget: his brother
owed much to the old man.
Brandon, walking slowly from the window to
a chair in front of Thayer, continued in a tone
strikingly sympathetic.
"I was at the Department of Justice the other
day, Larry — I've some good friends there. So
has John. They told me — well, if I were you,
I'd quit so much of this attention to Miss New-
man. Fact, Larry — I would."
He was finding coherence difficult. He mopped
his forehead again. Thayer, a fine tremor in his
fingers, waited for him to finish.


10 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"It seems absurd," he took up the hard going;
"we Americans have always laughed at the ' spy
menace,' but it's here. Felix Conrad has made a
good fight in that direction. He's proved his
case. Spies are a real danger. I'll tell you
about it."
Leaving the building an hour later, Larry
Thayer raged inwardly:
"And what about her? 'That's a secret'— is
it? They can bring me that stuff, and she isn't
to know! — gets no chance to deny it! I'll see
'em in 1■ -11 first!"
The heat, which according to Senator Brandon
had burned into men's morale that afternoon,
did not diminish with the coming of night. Skies
that were brass at sunset changed to malleable
iron, hot and close to the earth. In parks and
streets the scorched leafage of the trees stood
out still, like patterns of embroidery, against the
deeper black of the horizon.
Within doors, even in apartment houses as
roomy as the Melwood, fans fought in vain the
warm sogginess. Apathy was everywhere, ex-
cept when tempers gave way, revealing long-
hidden secrets of personality.
This was why Harry Fields, negro elevator
boy at the Melwood, remembered afterwards the
man who had been calling on Miss Newman.


MISS NEWMAN'S THREE CALLERS 11
Tall and powerfully built, he stepped into the
car at the third floor, looking as cool and fresh
as if he had been braced by the tang of late
October. Twirling a panama hat on his fore-
finger and whistling in a low key, he was the one
individual, Harry decided, untouched that night
by the city's killing heat. He was eloquent of
energy.
"I told Miss Newman," he said, thrusting a
dollar into the boy's hand, " I'd have you get her
some ice cream."
"Sorry, boss," Harry refused, "but dey'd fire
me sutt'in ef I wuz to leave de buildin'."
"That so?"
The tall man, not troubling to recover his dol-
lar, put on his hat and drew out his watch as
the car stopped at the ground floor.
"Let's see. Nine-twenty-six now — nine-twen-
ty-six," he calculated. "Time enough. Taxi
outside?"
"Yas, suh."
"Drug store at the next corner — isn't there?"
"Yas, suh; Eighteenth and K."
"Fair enough! I'll get it myself and still
make the train."
He hurried out, called to the taxi driver that
he would be ready in a few minutes and strode
rapidly down the street.


12 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Returning with the ice cream, he stepped,
jaunty and agile, into the elevator. He took out
his watch again.
“Nine-thirty-four,” he calculated a second
time. “Nine-twenty-six from nine-thirty-four —
eight minutes for that trip — and enough time
left to catch the train.”
Reaching the third floor, he was greeted by the
sound of a phonograph, the high notes of a grand
opera soprano ringing out, somehow grotesque
in the sweltering and otherwise lifeless building.
The music came from No. 35, Miss Newman's
apartment, the permanent door of which stood
open.
The tall man, hurrying down the corridor,
rapped once with his knuckles on the edge of the
wire-screen door, waited a moment and then
pulled it open. The doorway, forming a part of
the end wall of the corridor, gave Harry Fields,
who stood, lazy and sag-shouldered, just outside
the waiting elevator, an unobstructed view of
Miss Newman's dimly lit, narrow passage. He
could see also a small section of the living room,
or reception room, into which the passage led.
Inside this narrow hall, the caller struck the
left side of his head against the square glass
covering that had swung away from the dial of
an old-fashioned grandfather's clock. He swung
the glass into place and, after fumbling with the


MISS NEWMAN’S THREE CALLERS 13
catch, fastened it securely. From that, he went
into the reception room and stopped the phono-
graph.
With the parcel still in his left hand, he re-
turned to the passage, halting and bending over
slightly to call to Miss Newman through the
closed door of her bedroom.
“Don’t bother! Haven't a minute,” he said,
his bass voice clear and vibrant.
Miss Newman's reply was not audible to
Harry.
“I’ll put it on the table here,” he called.
“Don’t mention it!—If it refreshes you, fine!”
At the outside door he paused to fling over his
shoulder:
“Yes; plenty! Good-bye.”
He let the wire-screen slam behind him, and,
in a gait that was almost a run, came down the
corridor and into the elevator. Reaching the
ground floor, he made a rush for the taxi.
“Talk 'bout pep !” the coloured boy communed
aloud. “Heat ain’ nevuh goin’ touch dat man.
If he l’s hot as dey say, it sutt'inly will be nuts
fob him ' '
A few minutes later — at a quarter to ten —
another tall man entered the Melwood and, go-
ing to the telephone alcove at his right, asked
for Miss Newman. He gave his name as Sena-
tor Thayer. Seeing, however, that the boy's


14 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
movements were a tribute to the enervating
power of the heat, he did not wait to be an-
nounced.
"I'll go up," he said. "Miss Newman is ex-
pecting me."
Harry followed him into the elevator and, ex-
erting himself only enough to push the shaft
door partially shut, started the car.
"What's the number of Miss Newman's apart-
ment?" the senator inquired.
"Thirty-five, suh; third flo'," replied Harry,
and volunteered: "I b'lieve she done retired foh
de night."
"Hardly," the visitor objected, leaving the ele-
vator.
His demeanour was in direct contrast with that
of the powerfully built man who had brought
the ice cream. He was quick in both movement
and speech, but it was a quickness suggestive of
•worry, even apprehension.
Harry, regaining the switchboard, communed
further:
"Ain' nothin' like his brothuh. Humph!
His brothuh ain' no man 'tall 'longside (lis man!"
Ten minutes later the elevator bell rang.
Harry, stopping the car at the third floor,
found the senator awaiting him with the query:
"Miss Newman out — do you know?"


MISS NEWMAN'S THREE CALLERS 15
"Naw, suh. Leas'ways she ain' come down in
de elevatuh."
The senator hesitated, handkerchief to his
collar.
"That's strange," he said. "She specified
nine-forty-five.'' He addressed Harry directly:
"Do you know whether she might be in another
apartment in the house?"
"Naw, suh. She don' visit roun'."
Senator Thayer debated a moment longer.
"Funny," he worried, finally stepping into the
elevator. "Here; I'll leave my card. I wish
you'd tell her Senator Thayer waited ten minutes
— called at nine-forty-five — please."
At the telephone alcove he stopped.
"Please tell Miss Newman," he elaborated the
message slowly, " I called promptly at nine-forty-
five. No one answered my ring; but, finding the
door open, I went into her reception room to
wait — I was so certain that she expected me
and would appear. After waiting a full ten min-
utes, I left. You'll remember that?"
"Yas, suh."
The senator's slow, emphatic speech impressed
Harry, gave him the idea that there was in the
message something of unusual importance; that
he must repeat every word of it to Miss Newman.
He went back to his switchboard, talking to


16 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
himself in a low tone, fixing in his mind the facts
and figures Thayer had given him. He would
remember. He always remembered things for
Miss Newman. She was kind to him, with words
as well as tips.
Half-asleep again, he was startled by the rush
of a human body through the Melwood entrance,
past the telephone alcove and down the corridor.
As he, too, sprang into the corridor, he caught a
glimpse of a medium-sized, stocky man with his
foot on the first step of the stairway.
In a flash the running man was out of sight,
the "pat-pat" of his light-soled shoes scarcely
audible as he took the steps two at a bound.
Harry had recognized him. He was Frederick
Marcello, the artist.
What the boy did not know was that Marcello
had been standing for a long time under the
trees directly across the street from the Melwood
and had seen the entrances and exits of the two
men who had called on Miss Newman.
Harry, going back to his chair, looked at
the clock above the switchboard. It was ten
o'clock.
A quarter of an hour later the elevator bell
rang again. He raised his head slowly from the
pillow of his arms. The bell was still ringing.
Without intermission, it kept up a gong-like call.
"Let him ring," thought the boy sulkily. "Ef


MISS NEWMAN'S THREE CALLERS 17
he coul' run up so peart, he kin run down ef he's
in a hurry."
The ringing continued, as if the impatient
summoner had fallen against the button and kept
his weight on it. Harry, refusing the labour
of haste, ran the car to the third floor.
It was as he had expected. Even after he
slid open the shaft door, Marcello still leaned
against the button. Harry, catching sight of the
man's features, suddenly threw off his laziness.
With a familiarity born of fear, he caught hold of
the artist's shoulder, and was at once more fright-
ened by the feel of it, twitching under his fingers.
"Whut's de mattuh?" he squeaked, removing
by force Marcello's hand from the bell button.
"Whut's de mattuh?"
The artist's lips curled, taking queer shapes
in his attempts to speak.
"Doc-tor!" he said at last, looking once over
his shoulder toward No. 35.
Harry started down the corridor, but Marcello
clung to him.
"Doc-tor!" he repeated harshly, putting most
of his weight on the coloured boy. "Miss New-
man — sick — awful!"
He pushed Harry toward the stairway.
"Get doctor! Go after doctor!" he kept say-
ing.
Perspiration streamed from his hair and face.


18 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Blood was on the back of his right hand. His
eyes stared, like a hysterical woman's.
The boy sprang from his grasp and into the
elevator. As the car went down, he heard Mar-
cello going with weak, uneven steps back toward
No. 35.
Dr. Riley, whose offices and bachelor apart-
ments were on the ground floor, had come in half
an hour ago. Harry, remembering that the phy-
sician had a telephone extension at the head of
his bed, ran to the switchboard.
The answer was prompt:
"I'll come at once."
The doctor, in dressing gown and slippers, ap-
peared within a few seconds. Harry followed
him from the elevator to Miss Newman's apart-
ment.
Through the screen door they could see Mar-
cello's profile. He sat in a wicker rocking chair,
moving his body from side to side in a series of
involuntary jerks. His features, noticeably his
lips, were beyond his control. He brushed his
forehead and face with his hands continuously,
scraping away the perspiration.
His eyes alone were steady, fixed on the heavy,
dark-green curtains of an alcove which extended
from the right-hand end of the mantel to the fur-
ther wall. More exactly, his gaze was on the
yellow-slippered toe and silk-clad arch of a


MISS NEWMAN'S THREE CALLERS 19
woman's foot projecting from beneath the hang-
ings.
The foot, stationary as a piece of furniture,
was something from which he could not take his
eyes.
Dr. Riley, rolling back the heavy curtain, its
rings rattling against the rod, disclosed the figure
of a woman on the floor. It was then that Mar-
cello shifted his glance. After looking at her
once, he closed his eyes and, with a groan he
did not try to suppress, covered his face with his
hands.
Miss Newman lay full-length on her back.
Her head and the right arm, curved above her
head, rested on the edge of a drawing portfolio.
She was in full evening dress — yellow satiu with
small, black bows at her corsage, and a narrow
black girdle. Her left arm was parallel with her
body and supported by the bare floor of the
alcove.
Over the left cheek bone was an abrasion which
had been bleeding. The doctor, however, located
the principal wound in her breast, a little below
the line of her corsage and just above the left
breast. From this, the flow7 of blood had been,
and was now, excessive, staining the satin in a
splotch that widened and grew larger toward the
floor. Partly hidden by her arm, a dark pool had
formed on the floor and was spreading.


20 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Riley, instantly on his knees beside her, saw
that she had been stabbed and that the knife,
slanting downward toward the heart, had nar-
rowly missed the aorta, if, in fact, the aorta had
not been punctured.
"Quick!" he directed over his shoulder.
"Some towels — warm water!"
He was already opening his instrument case.
It was the coloured bay who answered his or-
der with action. Marcello, picking at one hand
with the fingers of the other, looked about shift-
ily, fright flaming in his eyes.
"And a teaspoon — any kind of spoon," Riley
added.
Looking around, he saw Marcello.
"Wake up!" he said crisply. "Hurry, man!
A teaspoon." •
Harry, returning with towels and a basin of
water, set them on the floor and ran for the spoon.
The artist did not move. He managed a hoarse
question:
"Is she alive?"
"Certainly," Riley said, and gave him a quick
look.
Even in that momentary glance he saw blood
on the right side of Marcello's face, smeared by
the restless right hand. There was more of it
on his hand than on his cheek. On the floor, at
his feet, was another splotch. Riley saw now


MISS KEWMAN'S THREE CALLERS 21
that a trail of blood-spots led from where the
woman lay to the door of her bedroom.
Harry Fields came down the passage from the
kitchenette, bringing the spoon.
"Call the Emergency hospital ambulance,"
Riley instructed. "And get a — ask some
woman to come in here — quick!"
His sure, slender fingers busy with the wound,
he questioned the artist:
"How long ago — when did you find her?"
Marcello did not answer. Instead, Harry
Fields, who had started into the passage but
changed his mind and turned into the bedroom,
made an announcement:
"Hyuh, boss — dis thing!"
He handed the doctor a long, sharp-pointed
paper-knife on which blood had already begun to
congeal.
"I foun' it in de bedroom dar, jes' inside de
do'."
Riley took it from him and ordered: "Hurry
up! Do that 'phoning."
Marcello made no sound except the creaking
of the wicker chair in which he constantly moved.
"Well!" the doctor asked him again. "When
did you find her?"
"Just then," he replied after another pause.
"I don't know — exactly. It seems a — years.
What is it — exactly?"


22 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Riley, changing his attitude for easier manipu-
lation of the wound, saw a bloodstain on the top
of the artist's white canvas shoe, the right shoe.
This, more than anything else he had noted, sug-
gested Marcello's probable guilt.
But why and how Miss Newman's present po-
sition? He had seen that the right-hand curtain
was torn from two of the rod rings. Had Mar-
cello done that in his first, blind impulse to try to
hide what he thought was a dead body? Or had
she, on the point of losing consciousness, reached
out and grasped it in an attempt to keep from
falling?
Her posture was not altogether indicative of a
fall. It was possible that she had reeled and
plunged through the curtains where they over-
lapped each other, and that they had swung to-
gether again, hiding everything but one of her
feet.
On the other hand, if Marcello had not stabbed
her and carried her across the reception room,
how could he have had the bloodspot on the top
of his shoe? If it had not dropped from her
wound, what was the explanation of its being
there? If it had dropped from the wound, he
had moved her while she was unconscious, or he
had been with her when she received the wound
or immediately afterwards — at a time certainly


MISS NEWMAN'S THREE CALLERS 23
when she was capable of sitting or standing up-
right.
Harry came down the hall, followed by a
woman from the next-door apartment.
"Harry!" ordered Riley, not lifting his head,
more uneasy now for his patient's life. "Call
the police!"
"Boss, I done call dat ambulance onct!"
"I know," the doctor said sharply. "And
what I want now is the police."
He heard Marcello leaving the chair.
"You're not going out, are you?" His words
were advice.
"Yes — yes." The artist was hesitant, hazy
mentally.
"I wouldn't. Harder to explain all this to-
morrow than it is tonight."
"I hadn't —ah —that's kind of you. Not
running away — I wasn't running away, you
know, doctor. Guess you're right."
He returned to the wicker chair.


Ill

MR. FELIX CONRAD had acquainted
himself with all the details of the Mel-
wood tragedy — that is to say, all the
details published in four morning newspapers.
Leaning far back in his desk chair now, he stared
at the dark-paneled ceiling of his study. He de-
voted himself, with some difficulty, to calm and
analytical thought.
How would this affair across the street affect
him, Mr. Conrad, a gentleman wealthy from the
manufacture of soap and a "figure" in the na-
tional capital's Society?
That he considered the crime as interesting
only in so far as it might annoy him or provide
him with an opportunity for self-exploitation,
was in perfect accord with his mental habits.
It was the Conrad method of dealing with life.
He wasted no time contemplating the two out-
standing results of the crime: that Zimony New-
man, still unconscious, was in the Emergency
Hospital, close to death; and that Frederick Mar-
cello, a frequenter of his house, had been ar-
rested, charged with the assault. Circumstances
24


"THEY WILL ACCUSE ME" 25
such as those were not his special concern.
What could Felix Conrad get out of the
tragedy? He gave it further thought, and, dis-
covering numerous answers, discarded each one
the moment it was formulated.
His face showed a dissatisfaction bordering
on wrath. That, of itself, was worthy of note.
The Conrad face had never been the unedited
story of the Conrad thoughts.
His daughter's voice in the hall outside brought
his soliloquy to an end. She, like himself, was
up early this morning, still somewhat shaken
by last night's discovery of the attempted murder.
Although his house opened on I Street, the Eight-
eenth Street windows looked out on the Mel-
wood front entrance directly opposite. Conse-
quently, they had heard the alarm and seen the
crowd assemble.
He opened the study door and called her, his
voice low and matter-of-fact:
"Rosalie."
She came down the hall and stood in the door-
way, dressed in white, with a white hat, ready
for the street.
"Going out — so early?"
He looked at his watch. It was not yet nine
o'clock.
"I was waiting for John."
His features, unlike his voice, did not entirely


26 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
conceal his anxiety. This surprised her. The
thin lips, compressed more than usual, the con-
tracted pupils of his eyes and the frown wrin-
kling his strikingly convex forehead, announced
his irritability. She had never, in all her mem-
ory of him, seen him so disturbed.
From childhood she had regarded him — he
had taught her to regard him — as emotionally
inscrutable. He had lived up to his tenet that
demonstrativeness was vulgar, a lack of balance
peculiar to weak, unimportant people. Affection
and its ceremonial had had no place in his house.
She wondered what had struck him so heavily.
"Oh!" he said, resuming his seat at the
desk. "Thayer coming here?"
"Yes; just for a moment. Then, I'm going to
Mary Fontaine's."
She came further into the room and closed the
door.
"Mary Fontaine's!"
"Why, yes."
He sat up very straight, his head held high
and a little flung back, so that he achieved an
air of distinction.
"I'm going to ask you," he said, his utterance
still calm, the words deliberate, as if he discussed
something neutral, "not to go to Mrs. Fon-
taine's."
"Why not?"


"THEY WILL ACCUSE ME" 27
She tried not to show her astonishment.
Standing across the desk from him, she watched
him intently. His long, thin face, bordered at
the forehead by sparse light hair, looked at that
moment all of its sixty years.
"Mrs. Fontaine's advertised in every news-
paper in the country this morning — have you
seen the morning papers?"
"Yes."
"Then, you saw it. She's advertised as the
bosom friend of the Newman woman."
"But I don't see —"
"And," he interrupted. "The Newman
woman's a German spy." /
"But Mary's 'phoned me. She's in terrific
distress, frantic."
"Probably," he said, grimly.
She felt the unreasonableness of his demand.
"Why do you say Zimony Newman is a spy?"
she asked, impatient.
"Who is she — this beautiful, charming Zi-
mony Newman? " he retorted.
"What do you mean, father?"
"What's her history? Who is she?" he re-
peated, his manner an accusation.
For an instant, Rosalie had the impression that
he could have answered the question better than
she, or that he thought he could.
"She's from Chicago, has lived there ever


28 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
since she was a year old; and she was born in
Hungary — she's always known clever, delight-
ful people. Is that what you mean?"
"And that's all you know — all she's made
known!"
His excitement impressed her anew as child-
ish. She could arrive at no explanation of it.
His thinly chiselled nostrils expanded. His eyes
were all at once as blue and hard as blue china.
When he answered her, his jaw moved so little
that he had the appearance of speaking through
gritted teeth; but the words fell, cool and exact,
their precision reflecting his life-long habit of
self-control.
"Of course, she's a spy. When the Depart-
ment of Justice makes such a charge through
the newspapers, you're safe in believing it! And
you know my constant criticism of the Division
of Investigation for failure to run down these
German agents. Do you think it's pleasing to
me to have you written up as the comforting
friend of the friend of this Newman woman?
Why, the thing's ridiculous!"
"You mean you want me to desert a friend
in trou —"
"If you've so much sympathy to give, give it
to me," he broke in. "Don't forget I'm a Ger-
man-American."


"THEY WILL ACCUSE ME" 29
"You're always saying that!" she objected.
"And it's silly. Why say it now?"
"Because I never forget it! I've spent money,
worked day and night, to call attention to these
traitors. And yet, a little thing, an attack on a
woman who knows my daughter, may be enough
to make people doubt my sincerity!"
"Why, father!" she gasped, comprehending
at last. "You're afraid of ridicule, because I
know Zimony!"
"Listen to me," he demanded. "Consider
these facts: the Newman woman will probably
die; Marcello, a friend of mine, is under arrest
for the assault, although innocent —*the plan to
liberate him on bail this morning proves him in-
nocent; John Thayer, your reputed fiauc6, was
in Miss Newman's apartment a few minutes be-
fore the crime was discovered; Dr. Thayer, your
future brother-in-law, is infatuated with her; and
now, this morning, you talk of rushing out to
console Mrs. Fontaine, the closest friend the
woman has! You want to do that when Thayer,
about to marry into my family, will be charged
with the crime unless it's fixed on another man,
so far unknown!"
His breathing was audible, whistling through
distended nostrils, a puzzling contradiction of
the smooth current of his speech.
"Laugh at me! Why, I'm the joke of Wash-


30 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
ington. Imagine what they'll Bay at the Ware-
ham today!' Spies,' they'll say, 'perch on his
doorstep waiting, like sparrows in winter, to be
fed!'"
His distress overcame her.
"Very well," she yielded. "I won't go. I'll
send her a message."
Even that, she saw, did not mollify him. Be-
fore he could put his opposition into words, the
butler came in, bringing her a card — Senator
Thayer's.
"Very well, Whipple," she said, glad of the
interruption. "Where is the senator?"
"The small drawing-room, Miss Conrad."
"That Thayer?" her father asked.
"Yes."
"I'd like to see him before he leaves — and
you."
Thayer was at one of the Eighteenth Street
windows, looking at the group of newspaper re-
porters and photographers in front of the Mel-
wood. She stood on the threshold, a moment
hesitant, conscious of some vague, new pride in
him as she caught sight of his silhouette, the
strong, masterful, white-clad figure, against the
glare of outside light.
"Oh, John!" she said, scarcely above a whis-
per, and went toward him, her hands open, reach-
ing out to him. He met her in the middle of the


"THEY WILL ACCUSE ME" 31
room, and stood a long moment, his hands hold-
ing hers.
He found it impossible to speak.
"What is it?" she asked.
He looked tired, exhausted.
"Nothing. I — I felt I must come — first to
you — and —"
His voice shook. The lack of self-control sur-
prised and irritated him.
She saw at once his self-impatience, and, drop-
ping her hands from his with a final, reassuring
pressure, led the way out of the room, past the
enigmatic Whipple, across the hall and into the
"blue drawing-room."
He followed her down the long room to the
deep, silk-cushioned chairs by the low window.
Outside, the grass of the gardeu, not yet touched
by the sun, was wet and cool. Dew, like thou-
sands of sparkling beads, clung to the white
roses.
"I want you to know, first from me," he said,
when they had sat down facing each other, so
close that their knees almost touched, "they'll
accuse me of this — this murder, it may be."
"Yes?" She was careful not to seem sorry for
him. "If they do?"
"It will be hard on you. Nothing but notori-
ety, and pursuit by the newspapers for days, per-
haps months!"


32 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
She startled him by laughing — a musical, pro-
longed laugh, with no pretence in it.
"Who cares about newspapers? Anyway, our
engagement's to be announced tomorrow."
He made a swift gesture of negation.
"Yes, now — more than ever, I'm determined."
"People wouldn't understand," he objected.
"They'd say you'd done it to encourage me, in
my difficulty."
"If they knew you'd talked like this," she flung
back, laughter bubbling in her voice again,
"they'd doubt your chivalry!"
At that, he surrendered, forced to it by the
trouble with his throat, or his tongue, he did not
know which. He looked at her and tried to
smile. Finally, he attained utterance:
"I might have known — I did know — you'd
say that"
His voice, coloured by anxiety, thrilled her. It
gave her a new insight, a clearer comprehension
of how he worshipped her loveliness.
But she was still laughing as she said,
"Stupid!" and added: "You've so much to tell
me
l w
Her heart sang. Her refusal to be sorry for
him or to permit him to be sorry for her had
restored his balance.
"Yes," he answered her; " a great deal to tell.


"THEY WILL ACCUSE ME" 33
I've been sitting here, wasting time wondering
what words to use. Now it seems very easy."
His eyes were still solemn. He had not lost
sight of the seriousness of his position.
"It's this: I'm going to work on this case
myself — as a detective."
"But I don't understand why you need do it,
John.—Why?"
"Because, sooner or later, if the thing remains
a mystery, I'll be accused of it; and I prefer to
save my reputation myself."
She was puzzled by his unqualified assumption
that he would be accused.
"Think a moment," he explained. "I, accord-
ing to the facts so far known, am the man who
last saw her alive, or at least had the last oppor-
tunity to see her alive. Her first caller, whoever
he was — nobody knows yet — is innocent. She
started the phonograph while he was getting ice
cream for her; and she talked to him about his
train time as he was leaving. Stabbed and dy-
ing women don't do those things.
"Marcello is innocent; but — and this is more
important — he didn't see her alive last night.
You see what that means. I'm the man, the only
person, who could have seen her alive after the
first caller's departure and before Marcello's ar-
rival.—And there's the note."


34 THE MELWOOD.MYSTERY
"What note?"
"She had sent me a note, making the appoint-
ment for last evening."
She waited for him to continue.
"I've given Major Ross a copy of it. Here's
the original."
She read it.
"My dear Senator Thayer: Nothing but ur-
gent necessity could induce me to write this note.
Your brother has information he got from you
or from associating with you. You, no doubt,
realize the gravity of the situation when I tell
you that I — only I — can save him from terrific
consequences. Even that requires your co-opera-
tion. Won't you come to my apartmeut, the Mel-
wood, at a quarter to ten tomorrow evening?—
Yours sincerely, Zimony Newman.
"P. S. There must be no reference to the
evening at Mrs. Beale Jackson's."
Rosalie Conrad gave it back to him.
"I can't see that it changes anything, one way
or the other."
"No; except for bringing Larry into it. The
next charge will be that she encouraged Larry's
attentions to get from him anything he might
have got from me; and, failing there, she turned
her attention to me."
"But she isn't a spy! I know her!"


"THEY WILL ACCUSE ME" 35
"That's what I said —at first. It's what
Larry says, of course. He's very much in love
with her. He and I talked for hours — until
daylight."
"But you think she is a spy?"
"Yes," he said, finding it hard to admit, even
to her.
"Why?"
"The reference in her note to Mrs. Beale Jack-
son's," he answered, more reluctant still. "She
tried — I suppose you'd say she tried," he
struggled with the statement, feeling ridiculous,
"— tried to fascinate me."
"Don't look so disgusted!" Rosalie was
laughing. "It wasn't a crime!"
"Oh!" he said, contemptuous. "The way she
went about it!"
He was suddenly aware of the tribute of her
look. He had said to her once that, when she
wanted to express profound emotion, her eyes
spoke more clearly, more persuasively, than her
lips. And, seeing in them now the reflection of
her trust, he remembered how, when he had first
seen her, their beauty had charmed him.
Thinking of that, he recalled also his absurd
happiness in the discovery that her mother had
been a Frenchwoman. That explained why she
was suggestive of flowers and laughter, why she
had no heavy, sombre philosophy of life.


36 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Rosalie thought a moment.
"Oh!" she said, enlightened. "She wanted to
captivate you for — because of what you knew
about the President's ideas on after-war com-
merce!"
"There!" he said. "You see it! And the
public, the papers, will see it, and ask: Why
should this senator, so close to the White House,
be mixed up with a spy; why should he and his
brother call on her?"
"Nobody will say that — nobody who knows
you!"
She took his right hand in both of her hands
and clasped it tight.
"For ever and ever, John," she said, her eyes
moist and yet like amethysts, violet-purple; "for-
ever, you are, to me and for me, the white soul
of truth."
He exclaimed, only half-articulate, and, bend-
ing forward, swept her into his arms.
"You see," he warned her at last, "how un-
fortunately for me all this is timed: my primary
two weeks off. It strikes at my love, honour, po-
litical life —"
They were aware of Whipple, discreetly audi-
ble at the other end of the room. Senator Thayer
was wanted on the telephone.
"Who is it?" she asked, provoked by her in-
tuitive uneasiness.


"THEY WILL ACCUSE ME" 37
"Mr. Jefferson Hastings."
"In a moment, Whipple," Thayer said. He
turned to Rosalie: "Hastings, the Department
of Justice."
When he took up the telephone receiver, she
was at his side.
"This is Senator Thayer," he said.
"Good morning, Senator," the voice on the
wire answered. "I'd like to see you. I think
we'd better get together right away.— My name's
Hastings, Division of Investigation."'
"What is it?"
"A little matter bearing on last night's — ah
— trouble."
"Where are you?"
"Apartment thirty-five, the Melwood."
"I'll be over at once."
He hung up the receiver, and turned to Rosalie.
"Hastings," he announced, with the look of
competent strength she knew. "I'll go at once."
"John," she said, standing very straight, look-
ing up to meet his glance, " there's one thing you
must face, the only weak spot in all this."
"What?"
"Why did you go to the Melwood last night?"
She had brought this up so that he would be
prepared to answer anybody who might ask it.
There was no intimation that she doubted — but
a desire that no one should have ground for doubt.


38 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
He hesitated.
"You see?" she impressed it upon him.
"Why should a senator have complied with the
terms of that note?"
"People will say," he replied, "I went be-
cause I was afraid my brother had revealed —
had talked unwisely. But it wasn't that, Rosa-
lie. I preferred to silence her, to have done with
her angling for me and for Larry."
She was thinking that he had always had the
burden of looking after his brother — that Larry
had come to Washington only two years ago and
enjoyed a fair medical practice now simply be-
cause of John Thayer's brilliant reputation.
"I'm so glad." She dismissed the subject
They walked slowly to the door.
"Tell me," she said, when he had his hand on
the knob; "where will you start? Who do you
think stabbed her?"
He looked at her a long time, thinking.
"Your father's secretary," he said at last.
"That man!"
"Yes; David Gower."
"Why — but it's impossible!" she breathed.
"I don't know." He was arguing with him-
self. "I shall see. We shall see.— And my sus-
picion is my secret, yours and mine."
"Of course."
He bent quickly and kissed her forehead.


"THEY WILL ACCUSE ME" 39
In a moment he was gone. She stood alone in
the hall.
David Gower, her father's secretary — could
it be possible? She recalled her father's un-
precedented excitement and anger. Did he, too,
suspect Gower and foresee that the crime would
be brought closer to him than the newspapers
had hinted — his secretary dealing with, and at
last trying to murder, a German spy!
She went to the study. Conrad was not there.
On his desk pad he had scribbled three lines:
"Rosalie: am out for few minutes with Gower.
By no means, leave house before hearing from me.
Vital."
She guessed at once that he and his secretary
were in Zimony Newman's apartment, waiting
for John Thayer. And her father disliked
Thayer, was jealous of him because of her.
"If you only knew — only knew, my dear!"
She breathed the words like a prayer. "If only
you could know, John, how I shall try to help
you!"


IV
THE ACCUSATION
MR. JEFFERSON HASTINGS, of the
bureau of investigation, Department
of Justice, stood at Miss Zimony New-
man's bedroom window and examined with criti-
cal eye the exterior of Felix Conrad's residence
across the street. Completing that scrutiny, he
went into the reception room and seated himself
in a morris chair.
He was fifty-two years old and round-shoul-
dered ; and, since he wore " store clothes," the cor-
ners of his coat in front hung half-way to his
knees, while the back of this garment "kicked
up," too short to hide the bagginess of his
trousers in, and at, every particular. This was
a peculiarity of all of Mr. Hastings' clothes:
they bagged and hung loosely and flapped and
overlapped all over him.
It was, also, a peculiarity of his person. His
cheeks even had the same tendency. They
sagged, reaching a little below the lower jaw-
bone.
In other words, Jefferson Hastings was a
leisurely, fleshy, even-tempered gentleman, a

40


THE ACCUSATION 41
philosopher of parts, one who wore steel-rimmed
spectacles and took the world as it came.
From a capacious pocket in his coat he drew a
piece of wood, soft white pine, ten inches long
and four inches in diameter. Another large re-
ceptacle furnished forth a pocket knife, a hefty,
horn-handled, barlow-esque weapon, its one long
blade ground to "split a hair."
Pulling a waste-basket toward him, he held it
between his knees, so that, when he began to
whittle, it caught the "whittlings." Hastings
was himself at last, thinking deeply.
He whittled, even after Major Ross, chief of
the police force of the District of Columbia, had
entered the apartment, spruce in the uniform of
the regular army, brisk, dynamic in his gestures,
a disciple of " efficiency," and — twenty minutes
late for his appointment with the representative
of the federal government.
"A book detective," Hastings had character-
ized him in their conference the night before.
"There ain't any feud on between him and
himself," he reaffirmed now his previous judg-
ment, whittling deep and grimacing furiously.
"Bet he'll begin to talk about clues in less than
a minute."
"Anything new, Mr. Hastings?" Ross in-
quired, obviously expecting nothing.
Hastings did not disappoint him.


42 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Nothing."
"Suppose, then, I run over the clues we can
give the reporters when I leave here?"
"All right."
The major counted them off on his fingers,
squeezing each finger-tip for emphasis:
"We've found in this apartment the following
interesting facts: one revolver, Smith and Wes-
son Forty-four Special, equipped with silencer,
apparently not used recently, all chambers
loaded; bloodstains on bed and on the floor of
bedroom; distinct trail of bloodstains on rugs and
floor from the bed to the alcove in this room; a
bloodspot on right-hand curtain of alcove, and
this curtain torn loose from two of its rings; and
— ahem! — ah —"
The chief's tongue had outrun his brain.
"That contraption over there," the old man
volunteered, pointing with his knife to the floor
near the phonograph. "Looks like a sling, made
out of ribbon and lace."
"Nothing to that," the chief said, unimpressed.
"Maybe not. I took a look at it a while ago;
heavy at the bottom — an emory bag: women
sharpen needles with it, and keep it hanging
near a 'sewing chair'— make it do, too, for a
wall ornament."
Ross, ignoring this windy interest in an emory
bag, elaborated:


THE ACCUSATION 43
"And the bloody paper-knife and the blood-
stained portfolio, the artist's portfolio in the
alcove where —"
"Ain't there now," the old man said, giving
the major a hawk-like look.
"How do you know?"
"Been looking around a little."
Ross flung back the alcove curtains and veri-
fied the disappearance of the portfolio.
"Nobody but you and myself had keys to this
apartment!"
"We thought so."
"Do you know where the portfolio is?"
"No, sir!"
"By Ned!" exclaimed the major. "Some-
body's been in —"
Ringing of the telephone stopped the deduc-
tion. He answered the call.
"This is Mr. Conrad, Felix Conrad, trying to
get in touch with Major Ross," the smooth, de-
liberate enunciation came on the wire.
"This is Major Ross."
"Good morning, Major. I was told you were
at the Melwood. I've important news for you —
the Newman case. Shall I give it to you or to
Hastings, the Department of Justice man?"
"Why, both. We're here now. Can you come
right over?"
"I thought — well, yes."


44 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Ross announced Conrad's coming.
"Able fellow, Conrad," he added. "I've seen
a good deal of him lately. He's done good work
waking us up to the spy menace."
"Humph!" grunted Hastings, loyal to his
branch of the government. "Never saw him,
but I don't like him."
"Why?"
"Nothing but a press agent for himself — big-
gest self-booster ever lived, except Julius Caesar.
Always crossing Rubicons after they've run dry.
— But say! — how's Miss Newman this morn-
ing?"
"No change — still unconscious."
"Why? — Why unconscious?"
-" Loss of blood. Riley says she almost bled
to death."
Ross, supposed to co-operate with the federal
agent in handling a crime punishable under fed-
eral law, had made up his mind to co-operate as
little as possible. He would do all the work and
get all the credit.
"While we wait," he shifted the conversation,
"suppose you give me the facts your bureau's
got about this woman. I understand she's been
watched for some time."
Mr. Hastings ran a forefinger over the cut-
ting he had just done, balanced the wood in his


46 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Knowles! That's a real clue! I got a wire
a minute before I left the office. Here!"
He extended a telegram. Mr. Hastings, trans-
ferring his knife to the hand holding the wood,
took the message, peered down the line of his nose
under the edges of his spectacles, and read:
"Richmond, Va., August 16, 1918.— I am the
unidentified man mentioned in this morning's
newspapers as having called on Miss Newman,
Mel wood apartments, last night. I left her alive
and well at nine-thirty-five. I am taking next
train for Washington. Arrive two P. M.—
(signed.) Robert F. Knowles."
He returned the telegram, observing:
"Robert F. Knowles, inventor; designer of the
so-called torpedo-proof vessels."
He went back to the whittling — small chips.
"Know anything more about him?" queried
Ross.
"Had some trouble about his ship plans. Set
of blue-prints disappeared lately."
The doorbell rang. Ross, dynamic once more,
sprang up, every move electric, and went to the
door.
He admitted Felix Conrad and David Gower.
Hastings, rising slowly to acknowledge the in-
troductions, retained his knee-hold on the basket.
His first glance at the two men registered them


THE ACCUSATION 47
in his brain for all time. No matter how long
he would be thrown with them or how intimately
he would know them, that first judgment would
remain unchanged. He had had that gift all his
life, and relied on it.
He checked the new arrivals:
"Hard-boiled brother: selfish, a crook if neces-
sary. Pale guy: a dope-fiend, no insides to him."
He resumed the whittling — long, slender
shavings.
"My secretary, Mr. Gower," Conrad began,
"has important information. As soon as he told
me about it, I suggested the necessity of his giv-
ing it to the auth — to you, Major."
Hastings made a mental note:
"Rehearsed stuff!"
Felix was in good form. The lack of control
Rosalie had seen was gone. He regarded Ross
— and, like Ross, ignored Hastings — with amia-
bility. He had now a nicely adjusted smile that
began with his upper lip and went no higher than
his nostrils. An urbane, elegant man of the
world, he consented to inconvenience himself in
behalf of law and order. His manner declared
that fact.
His announcement made, he threw Gower a
quick look. It reminded the old "hick" in the
morris chair of a ring-master he had seen in a
circus.


48 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"We need all the help we can get," said the
major. "Won't you have a seat, and you, Mr.
Gower?"
Conrad sat down, producing a cigarette case
and matches. His bearing was a polite and un-
protesting boredom, a delicate intimation of
weariness. Hobnobbing with policemen, listen-
ing to the tiresome details of a sordid crime —
that, it seemed, was vastly different from his seri-
ous work, the awakening of a country's conscious-
ness to the menace of the spy evil. Here he con-
descended, and, recognizing the condescension as
a duty, did it gracefully.
"Thanks; I think I'll stand," Gower declined
the invitation. "I can talk better."
He took one of Conrad's cigarettes and inhaled
big clouds of the smoke. His hands trembled.
"Needs a 'shot,'" thought Hastings, appar-
ently oblivious of everything but his carving.
"I'm a little shaken up," Gower said. Like
his employer, he addressed himself exclusively to
Boss.
His statement was superfluous. Immaculately
dressed in dark-blue serge, black low-quarter
shoes and light-grey socks, he still needed more
"snap" than his tailor had been able to hang
upon him. He was thin to the point of emaciation.
His clothing did not nullify the weird sugges-
tion that solid flesh had fallen from his bones


THE ACCUSATION 49
inside the flabby envelope of his skin. The con-
trast of black moustache with the unbroken
pasty-white of his face marked him even more
plainly as " done for."
"I saw the business of last night, the stabbing,
all of it."
He said that jerkily, with effort, and stood
staring at Ross, hands thrust into his trousers
pockets. He had a habit of twitching his shoul-
ders, moving the upper half of his torso, like a
man who feels that his coat is too big for him.
"Saw it!"
The exclamation from Boss combined incre-
dulity with irritation. He could not understand
the fellow's staring silence. With a glance, he
interrogated Conrad.
Felix, languid and comfortable, left off tapping
the cigarette case with his fingernails. He had
the air of congratulating himself on his own as-
tounding patience. And now, about to assume
the uncongenial role of prompter in a repugnant
performance, he permitted himself the luxury of
a sigh, the very thistledown of mild regret.
Thus self-indulged, he came to the major's
relief.
"Suppose, David, you show us exactly how it
happened, in detail."
"Yes; saw it; from my bedroom window across
the street, yes;" the secretary responded to the


50 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
suggestion, his voice shrill on the last word.
"Come here; you'll see."
He went into the bedroom, followed by Boss
and Conrad.
"Wouldn't Mr.— er —" Felix began, to Ross.
"Hastings," the federal agent refreshed the
exquisite's memory. "No, thanks. Stay here.
I can. get everything he says."
He was more intent than ever on his carving.
"My window," Gower, breathing heavily, told
Ross, " the window of my bedroom is there on the
third floor, the third window counting back from
I Street. See? It's not quite as high as this
window, by between two and three feet. But
you see the straight, uninterrupted line of vision
from there to this window, through the opening
in the foliage of the trees?"
"Sure!" Ross jogged him to quick speech.
"Goon."
"My window was open last night. So was
this one.— Another cigarette, Mr. Conrad?"
The twitching of his fingers was pronounced
enough to make him drop the match. Conrad
held one for him.
"I had just come in last night and happened
to glance in this direction, and —"
"Excuse me, Mr. Gower!" Hastings' drawl
had in it a quality which made the apology an
imperative.


THE ACCUSATION 51
While they watched him, he set the basket to
one side and leisurely transferred the knife to
his left hand. Then, grunting audibly, he rose
to his feet. _
"Got to telephone," he enlightened them.
"What's the number of your residence?" he in-
quired, for the first time giving Felix a lingering,
appraising look.
Conrad, exhibiting no surprise, not even curi-
osity, told him.
While they waited, the major impatiently
snapping his fingers and looking at his wrist
watch every few seconds, Hastings got Whipple
on the wire and had his talk with Thayer. He
returned to the morris chair.
Conrad, lifting his brows a thirty-second of an
inch, looked at Ross and smiled slightly.
"What you laughing at, Mr. Conrad?" Hast-
ings made the query slow, indifferent.
"Laughing? " Felix retorted, blandly incredu-
lous. "I wasn't aware of it, certainly not aware
of mirth."
"I thought you were," the detective explained,
peering under his spectacles at the knife blade.
Then, testing the edge with prudent forefinger,
he asked: "Why the silence? Let's have the
story."
"Thayer anything to do with it?" Ross in-
quired, petulant.


52 TIIE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Thayer?"
"Yes; Thayer! You asked him to come here."
"No. I had to see him. That's all."
"All right, Mr. Gower!" Ross demanded.
"You looked over here?"
"Yes, Major. I think I said the shade of this
window was not down? Yes. Just as I glanced
over here, I saw Miss Newman standing a little
back from the window, here —" he took his stand
within a yard of the side of the bed —" near the
bed. In fact, I saw her flash into sight from the
direction of the reception room. She had the air
of great haste, running. That was what held
my interest."
He stopped, trying to moisten his lips with his
dry tongue.
"Any water? " he requested the major. "My
mouth's dry as a chip."
Ross brought him water.
"Right here, where I'm standing, she turned
and threw up her hands, this way, above her
head, a gesture of defiance, or anger. It didn't
look like fear. Then, she lowered them, held
them out straight in' front of her, as if to resist
a pursuer.
"As she did so, the pursuer — all this hap-
pened in the twinkling of an eye, you under-
stand— he ran into her; he threw himself
against her; he had his hand up, the knife, or the


THE ACCUSATION 53
blade, whatever it was, shining. And, as he ran
against her, he struck; he brought down his hand
with all his strength: he stabbed her."
Gower's voice snapped on the last three words,
went into tenor. He stopped, his eyes with un-
naturally small pupils glittering, the pasty-
white of his face uncoloured by the agitation that
shook him.
Boss, his whole attitude urging him to con-
tinue, stared at him. Hastings, knife still for
the fraction of a second, looked through the door-
way at Conrad and found that gentleman's mask
of urbanity unimpaired. Felix was blowing
little spirals of smoke toward the ceiling, and
rocking gently to and fro on the balls of his feet.
"Who was it? Who was the man?" The
tension had been too much for Ross. He caught
Gower by the arm. "Who was the man?"
"He was a tall man, a large man, dressed in
light clothes, white," Gower said, shaking off the
major's hand.
"But who? His name, man!"
Gower, feet spread wide apart, hands clasped
behind him and writhing one against the other,
smiled vacantly. He was not thinking of the
scene he had described. He was fighting for con-
trol of the physical nervousness that had hold
of him.
Boss repeated the question.


54 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Gower, intent upon his own suffering, deliber-
ately walked into the reception room. Boss fol-
lowed, Felix strolling after, still patient, still
blowing spirals to the ceiling.
"What's the matter?" urged the astonished
Ross. "Mr. Conrad, what's the trouble? Why
doesn't your —"
"No trouble, really," Gower, leaning his shoul-
ders against the low mantel, faced him. "Nerv-
ousness. You'd be nervous if you'd seen it!"
"Probably," Ross agreed, "but his name!"
"I can't say what it was.— A cigarette, Mr.
Conrad?"
Conrad gave it to him and struck the match,
advising gently, as one might coax a child:
"Oh, tell him the trouble, Gower. You'll have
to, sooner or later, anyway.'"
Ross, bewildered by this, appealed to Conrad:
"What is the trouble?"
"Dope!" Hastings made that announce-
ment.
He had put away his sculpture, restored wood
and knife to his pockets.
"That's it," Gower agreed, apparently relieved
by not having to explain.
In fact, the call of his tortured nerves for the
drug was so insistent that his apologetic smile
was slight. Shame of the weakness was mini-


THE ACCUSATION 55
mized by his craving for relief. He said as
mock.
"I need some of it now, this minute."
The doorbell rang, startling him visibly; his
nerves were jumping.
This time Hastings went to the door, admitting
John Thayer.
"This Mr. Hastings?"
The inquiry floated back, pleasantly toned, to
those in the reception room.
"Yes, Senator Thayer. Come right in."
The senator, preceding Hastings and striding
quickly down the short passage, appeared with
dramatic suddenness in the doorway opening
into the reception room. Clad in white, his
great physique stood out sharply defined against
the dimness behind him. His authoritative bear-
ing, his bigness emphasized by an easy grace of
attitude, impressed vividly the three men he
faced.
But it was upon Gower that his appearance
had a sensational effect. The man's eyes wid-
ened as they fixed on Thayer. His jaw dropped.
When he closed his mouth, he accomplished it so
spasmodically that his teeth went together with a
click.
He put out both hands, the movement a repe-
tition of the gesture he had used in illustrating
Miss Newman's defiance of her assailant.


56 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"There's the man," he said in a voice neither
hoarse nor deep bass, but a mixture of both, far
back in his throat. "God! He stabbed her."
His hands fell to his sides; he sagged in at the
waist. His eyes closed slowly, the eyelids
twitching. Then, very slowly, with the care and
deliberation essential for the performance of a
difficult physical feat, he sank into the chair be-
hind him. It was not so much that he, of his
own volition, did this. The idea conveyed was
that of a helpless, senile person being placed in
an easy chair by two strong men, one on each side
of him.
His horror — a sincere emotion back of his
words — left no question of his earnestness. It
was this that gave to the accusation its effect.
Stupefaction held them all.
Thayer, uninformed of what had occurred be-
fore his arrival, was the first to assert himself.
"What foolery is this? '" he demanded angrily,
glancing from Gower to Conrad.
Felix, suave and reassuring, discounting by
tone and word the importance of the incident,
sketched in a few sentences the story Gower had
told.
"As for this," he indicated his secretary, " it's
nothing — a seizure, such as he has sometimes.
They last only a minute or two."
Thayer was not placated.


THE ACCUSATION 57
He came further into the room, to confront
Gower.
"What are you talk —"
Gower, a crumpled■ figure, shuddered and sat
upright, fingers feeling clumsily for the arms of
the chair. He turned his head to the right, chin
resting on his collarbone.
"Conrad — Conrad and myself," he said with
a sigh, an unaffected sorrow in the words.
To that Felix replied, his voice free from indig-
nation but sharp enough to forbid a silly man's
wild talking.
"Speak for yourself, David! You're alone in
this."
Jefferson Hastings, his chin elevated, had been
peering under his spectacles at Gower. He was
thoroughly absorbed, apparently, in the examina-
tion. This idea, however, was misleading. He
had also been watching Conrad, and had caught,
when Gower spoke, the signs of a crack in the
Conrad mask.
They had been slight, so trivial, so briefly ex-
istent and so nicely retrieved, that many men
might have doubted their own vision. Not so
with Mr. Hastings. He saw what he saw. And
he knew the secretary's words had displeased the
employer.
> "Unrehearsed stuff, that!" he thought.
"What are these two hiding? What's one hid-


58 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
ing from the other? Where's the end of their co-
operation — and the start of their distrust of one
another?"
Gower, roused by Conrad's voice, opened his
eyes, shut and closed them quickly several times,
and turned to face Ross.
"I'm afraid," he began, forcing a deprecatory
laugh, " I startled you. For an instant just then,
I wasn't myself. I beg—"
He was again aware of the figure in white
towering over him.
"For God's sake, Thayer!" he protested.
"You stabbed her!"
At this, the tension which had begun to relax
caught them anew, all except the senator.
"See here!" he demanded sternly. "Listen
to me, Gower! Are you yourself — now?"
"Yes," Gower answered, looking up to him.
"Responsible for what you say? Know what
you say?"
Hastings stepped forward and put a hand on
Thayer's arm.
"Yes."
"And you accuse me of the attack upon Miss
Newman?"
"Why, yes; I do."
The reply was direct, devoid of any particular
feeling. The man pronounced it as if giving
utterance to one of the simplest facts imaginable.


THE ACCUSATION 59
Thayer, sure that Gower was himself guilty,
certain that the whole scene was a carefully pre-
pared trap, narrowly escaped the folly of han-
dling him roughly.
He overcame the impulse, and raised his left
arm, intending a careless, sweeping gesture to
show the futility of arguing the question under
such conditions.
Gower cut it short.
"You see!" This time he shouted. "His
left hand! He held the knife in his left
hand."
Thayer, convinced now of the menace of the
scene, denounced him:
"Why, the whole thing's a lie! Wild talk of
a dope-fiend! You gentlemen, what does it
mean, this entire lay-out?"
He looked them all, one at a time, in the eye,
his gaze concluding with Hastings.
"Major Ross," the old man answered by ques-
tioning the chief of police, "what do you pro-
pose?"
"Mr. Gower," Ross queried, struggling for his
best police manner, "do you mean this accusa-
tion to stand, that you saw Senator Thayer stab
Miss Newman?"
"I do."
"Then, Senator," Ross declared, "I've no al-
ternative."


60 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"No alternative!" Thayer repeated, unbeliev-
ing.
"None whatever, Senator. It's the accusation
of an eye-witness. You understand my position.
— You're under arrest."


"N
v
CONSPIRING FOB THE DEFENCE
ATURALLY," Thayer accepted the ma-
jor's decision; "it's your duty — if you
take this man seriously."
He had to struggle with his impulse to strike,
to administer bodily punishment. He experi-
enced an actual craving for the relief of brutal
action. Something like that, he felt, would
break the tension of his nerves.
He thought, too, of Rosalie — not how the ar-
rest might affect her, but a warm sympathy for
her because of the stifling, repressive influence
she had been obliged to fight in her association
with her father, this exact machine whose life
was ordered on the principle that coldness was
the only stepping stone to happiness.
Ross was explaining that Gower must be taken
seriously, that the accusation was unqualified.
"I see," Thayer retorted. "Very well.—I
don't suppose there'll be any trouble arranging
bail."
"Everything possible will be done, Senator,"
Ross hastened to say. "The only thing to pre-
61


62 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
vent would be Miss Newman's death, or the cer-
tainty of her death."
"Yes." He looked at his watch. "I'd like to
telephone Senator Brandon. He—"
Hastings presented a suggestion.
"Major, we're dealing with a senator; big
game; no ' gun man ' or porch-climber. A delay
of a few —"
"This is Washington!" snapped the major.
"Senators are not as big here as they are down
in Kentucky. If I don't arrest him, you know
what the papers will say?"
"You're right, Major," Thayer intervened.
"An eye-wituess charges me with the crime. I
can't disprove the accusation this morning, per
haps not tomorrow morning."
"Thanks, Senator." Ross was immediately
mollified. "I'm glad to see it that way."
"Just a moment more, Senator — and you,
too, Major."
The request from Hastings this time came with
unexpected force. Baggy, disheveled, his old
felt hat at a crazy angle on the back of his head,
he struck them now as vastly more entitled to
consideration than any of them had thought.
For this impression on their part, no special rea-
son was visible or audible.
He stood before them as he had been standing,
his hands buried in his coat pockets, his shoul-


CONSPIRING FOR THE DEFENCE 63
ders stooped, his head flung back, his glance
creeping under his spectacles and down the line
of his nose toward Gower. Nothing about him
had changed; nevertheless, they recognized, with-
out question, his title to command.
Gower, a little calmer since his attack, still
occupied the chair into which he had fallen. He
moved his lips continuously, occasionally catch-
ing the lower between his teeth; and he crossed
and uncrossed his knees, calling attention to the
extraordinary thinness of his legs.
"Mr. Gower, what time was it when you saw
the stabbing of Miss Newman?" the old man
opened his inquiry.
"Twenty minutes to ten," Gower answered
without hesitation.
"How do you know that? Did you look at
your watch?"
"Not then. I fell down — had a fall as soon
as I had seen the attack. The fall broke the
crystal of my watch and stopped the hands,
stopped then: at nine-forty."
"When did you find that out?"
"This morning."
Hastings stopped the rapid-^.c- questions and
peered at Gower for what seemeu an eternity to
his listeners.
"Mr. Gower," he resumed, "isn't it possible
that the hands of your watch might have kept


U THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
going for some time after the — er — fall, and
been stopped finally by a fragment of glass being
jammed under one of the hands?"
"Why, no — well, probably —"
"If you'll excuse me: the mainspring was
bro —" Conrad, bored, a martyr to the cause of
justice, began.
"1 asked Mr. Gower that question, Mr. Con-
rad," the detective interrupted drily. "He'll
have to rely on his own mentality when he's on
the stand. Better let him have the benefit of this
practice."
"Of course. Certainly, if you prefer—''
Felix, the image of indifference, smilingly agreed.
"Yes," Hastings left him in no doubt. "I do
prefer.— Now, Mr. Gower, was the mainspring
broken?"
"It was."
"Humph!" Hastings grunted. "Bad! —
Bad! It may interest you to recall that at nine-
forty last nighty according to the elevator boy's
story, there was no visitor in this apartment.
Miss Newman's first caller, a man named
Knowles, left the Melwood at nine-thirty-five.
Senator Thayer came in at nine-forty-five."
- He stepped forward, silent again, and stood
within two feet of Gower, as if he meditated.
"Let's have the watch!" The unexpected de-
mand came curt and crisp.


CONSPIRING FOR THE DEFENCE 65
Gower, releasing the chain from the button-
hole in his coat lapel, handed him a gold watch,
open-faced.
Hastings passed it to Ross.
"Keep that, Major; will you? If that main-
spring was broken, let us say curiously, with an
instrument, by means of pressure from a knife-
blade, it can be seen by any watch-maker."
The implication of trickery left Gower and
Conrad unmoved.
Thayer, seeing no special point, certainly no
point of benefit to him, in the old man's work,
tried to end it.
"Mr. Hastings, if Major Ross is ready, I'm
afraid I —"
"Just a moment longer, Senator," Hastings
requested, with a glance over the rims of his
glasses. "Mr. Gower," the examination con-
tinued, "why did you wait twelve hours to give
the authorities this information?" ,
Gower's nervousness was upon him again.
Hastings saw that physical discomfort had
precedence over everything in the man's
thoughts.
"Morphine," the sufferer said, his fingers use-
lessly busy with the arms of the chair. "I was
full of it last night."
"You mean morphine put you to sleep after
you'd seen this assault?"


66 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Understand me. It often subjects me to —
well, dreams, I suppose you'd call it. At first,
I thought what I had seen might have been
merely imagination. I found out differently this
morning. But I went to sleep last night after
I'd —" he put his dry tongue to dry lips "— after
I'd had that fall."
Conrad, lounging at the window, dropped into
the pool of temporary silence a few words musi-
cal with the sweetness of his mood. Resentment,
his manner still attested, had no place in his
heart.
"Interesting as this is," he said, flipping a
spent match toward the gas-logs. "I regret, sin-
cerely, that I have other affairs to—"
"So have I!" chimed Hastings, making the ex-
clamation surprisingly vigorous and clearing his
throat with tremendous noise.
"So have I!" he repeated. "Major, as I un-
derstand it, the senator's under arrest?"
"Yes."
"I take it this will answer: I assume charge of
the senator, charge and responsibility for his ap-
pearance at headquarters — let's see; " he looked
at his watch. "It's eighteen minutes past ten
— at police headquarters at or before eleven-
thirty. My chief wanted to ask him a few ques-
tions, at the department. That answer?"
It was a request that could hardly be refused,


CONSPIRING FOB THE DEFENCE 67
even in the absence of an invitation that the chief
of police accompany them.
"Fine!" the old man thanked the major.
"That's really accommodating.— Senator, will
you come with me? You can do your 'phoning
from the department.— Gentlemen, good morn-
ing!"
Without the semblance of haste, he managed
the getaway in a few seconds, leaving the major
ruminating on what he should say to the news-
papers.
Pushing the elevator button, Hastings thrust
his chin against his chest, looked over the steel
rims of his spectacles, and smilingly regarded his
prisoner?"
"Get me? " he inquired, eyes beaming.
"I get this much," Thayer said roughly, not
yielding fully to his instinctive liking of the old
man; "you realize the folly of my arrest!"
"My name's Hastings, Jeff Hastings," he in-
formed, reverting to slow speech and short sen-
tences. "Bureau of Investigation. Friend of
Senator Brandon. Brandon 'phoned me; told
me to■look out for you. That's my job.—What
comes first?"
"What first?"
"Yes. Being arrested is being arrested.
Thought you might use an hour — extra — stolen
hour."


68 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"But what about the Department of Justice,
your chief?"
The old man peered down the elevator shaft.
"Strategic retreat, Senator. Chief would like
to see you, but — well, later. Brandon asked
me to give you all I could. Here's the hour, all
yours.—What now?"
Hastings's matter-of-factness, his evident de-
sire to help, had its effect on the younger man.
Thayer regained his balance. He began to think
coherently.
They stepped into the elevator before he could
answer his ally's question.
"To the basement," Hastings directed the op-
erator, and added to Thayer: "Get away from
the reporters out front. We'll take the back
way, down the alley."
Thayer stopped him before they left the base-
ment.
"I can't thank you, Mr. Hastings, for —" he
began.
"No; you can't," the old man broke in, his
eyes twinkling. "Nothing to thank for. Now
what?"
"But I can devote all my time to this thing,"
the senator continued. "I'm going to work on
it myself. I'll tell the Senate so, today, from
the floor. And I can bring you any facts I dig
up, if it will help you."
X


CONSPIRING FOR THE DEFENCE 69
"That's the talk, son — I mean 'Senator.'
I'm with you — the whole crow, feathers, beak
and claw. Ross and I supposedly are working
together, but, so far, I know mighty near all he
and I together know about this case. And he's
having a lot of fun laughing at me! — What
now?"
"I want to examine David Gower's bedroom."
"Right there you scratched the itch in my
brain, son! You think —"
"If he isn't, he knows somebody who is,"
Thayer answered quickly, anxious to start.
"Where do you get that?"
The detective refused to hurry before being
answered.
"Larry — my brother — told me about this
man's attentions to Miss Newman immediately
after her arrival in Washington. I should say,
perhaps, his attempted attentions."
"What happened?"
"She got rid of him, of course. You know his
kind. It left him vindictive — threatening, I
believe."
"What? Threatening what?"
The old man still hung back.
"Nothing special. Yo\i know the stuff those
fellows throw into women's faces —wild talk."
"Yes.— Let's go down this alley," Hastings
moved at last; "and around the other block —


70 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
we'll get into the Conrad house, run into nobody
on the way."
Thayer, driven by suspense, covered the dis-
tance in long, quick strides; the old man, his
clothing bagging and flapping tremendously,
kept pace with him. The senator's thoughts
were busy with his belief that Gower, if not actu-
ally guilty of the crime, had been its moving
agent and that Conrad would go to any lengths
to save him. It was an idea he could not shake
off.
They waited in the " small drawing-room " for
Rosalie. She came in, smiling, a little breath-
less. One glance at Thayer showed her that al-
ready he faced difficulty.
"Things have begun to happen, Rosalie.
Gower's accused me of the attack."
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she breathed.
« j »
"Time is everything just now," he hurried.
"Mr. Hastings — here, please." The old man,
turning from a window across the room, joined
them. "Miss Conrad, let me present Mr. Hast-
ings.— He and I want to have a look at Gower's
room. May we?"
"Of course, John! Anything you wish."
The two men started toward the door.
"May I come?"
Thayer looked at Hastings.


CONSPIRING FOE THE DEFENCE 71
"I've the authority, Miss Conrad," the old man
answered her, fashing the badge under his coat
lapel. "But you — would it be disagreeable if
he came back and interrupted us?"
"As if I cared!" she spoke her scorn.
In the very moment of defying conventional-
ity, she recalled a contemptuous pronouncement
of her father: "A woman in love blinds herself
to any crime the man may commit, except the
crime of infidelity to herself; and justifies any
offence of her own, so long as it is done in his
defence.''
The memory had no effect upon her. She real-
ized that, under the stress of the situation, her
rational self ceased to function. Her feeling
self was the governor she welcomed.
"Then," Hastings warned, "we'll begin; no
time to lose."


VI
THE HOLE IN THE SCREEN
THAYER'S certainty of incriminating
Gower was absolute. As soon as they
were in the room, he selected the desk as
the first point of attack. It was soon evident
that Gower did not let letters accumulate.
Thayer, undiscouraged, pulled open pigeon-holes,
dragged out drawers, worked feverishly.
"John, ought you? Is it right?" Rosalie
asked, from the doorway.
"Anything's right, dealing with a thing like
him."
Hastings was at the window, bending, stoop-
ing, his face toward the Melwood. Once he got
down on his hands and knees. From that, he
stepped back to a rocking chair and sat in it.
The remainder of the room had no interest for
him.
Thayer looked up, the desk thoroughly ran-
sacked, his hands empty.
"What I expected," commented Hastings.
"Too sharp to leave anything."
Thayer, unconvinced, continued the hunt. On
the top shelf in the closet he found a revolver,
72


THE HOLE IN THE SCREEN 73
all the chambers loaded. Hastings saw that it
was a duplicate of the one found in Miss New-
man's apartment.
He examined it minutely. Screwing a jewel-
er's magnifying glass over his left eye, he gave it
a second examination.
"Perfectly clean," he told them. "Nine out
of ten men would say it hadn't been discharged
lately, but—" He held it to his nose and
sniffed, first the end of the barrel, then the cham-
bers. "Look in the bathroom, Senator. Any
ammonia, aromatic, there? — Good!" He un-
corked the bottle and held it to his nose, breath-
ing deeply, drawing the fumes through his nos-
trils until tears stood in his eyes. "Makes your
smelling apparatus more sensitive," he explained,
going back to the revolver, sniffing at it many
times.
"Discharged lately," he gave his opinion.
"Hard to kill that smokeless powder odour —■
acrid; dies hard." He turned to the senator:
"I'd put it back on the shelf."
"If it's been discharged recently?"
"Yes. You and I are on a stabbing case."
They went into the hall, with nothing to dis-
credit Gower, nothing to discredit anybody.
"How about this next room — here, the front
room?" asked Hastings.
"Vacant,'' Rosalie said.


74 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
He turned the knob and stepped in. It was va-
cant, literally, with the exception of a heavy,
dark-green carpet which covered every inch of
the floor. The two windows on the Eighteenth
Street side and the one on I Street were fitted
with wire screens. The lower glass sash of each
was raised, and the outside wooden blinds were
closed.
Rosalie and Thayer saw no possibilities there.
They stood near the mantel talking while Hast-
ings raised the screen and opened the wooden
shutters of the I Street window. He turned and
surveyed the room again. He scrutinized the
floor, the walls, the ceiling. The carpet finally
took his attention.
He produced the magnifying glass and ad-
justed it to his eye. On hands and knees he be-
gan a swift hunt, remarkably thorough for the
brief time he gave it. Crawling around, lower-
ing his head until it was within a few inches of
the floor, his baggy clothes hanging down and
brushing the carpet, he looked like a clumsy ani-
mal hunting aimlessly and half-hopelessly for
buried food.
From that, he turned to the two Eighteenth
Street windows. One of them, he found by look-
ing through a crack in the wooden shutter, com-
manded a good view of Miss Newman's reception
room, as good, in fact, as the view of her bed-


THE HOLE IN THE SCREEN 75
room from Gower's window. The breaks in the
foliage outside were so formed that Gower's win-
dow afforded no sight of the Newman reception
room and the window at which he was now stand-
ing gave no view of the Newman bedroom. His
examination of this window was minute.
Thayer told Rosalie what had occurred in the
Mel wood.
"But father," she said, "he couldn't have be-
lieved such a story — surely! — Didn't he say
anything?"
"There was nothing for him to say — particu-
larly. He had his secretary's interests to look
after."
She understood then: her father had failed her
lover. Humiliation, hot and sickening, rushed
upon her.
"Perhaps," she heard herself saying, from a
great distance, "he saw the folly of taking it
seriously."
"Yes," he corroborated; "elaborate denial
would only have given it a false dignity."
He perceived that her eyes were now bluish-
green, like beryls, and hard as beryl.
Hastings claimed their attention. He was
moving his hand along the mantel, a few feet
from them, with the motion one uses for scraping
up small particles of material, jealous of losing
any speck of it.


THE HOLE IN THE SCREEN 77
piisiring athletic feats. Exploring the jumble of
cast-off articles, he stepped over chairs, lay on
his stomach, slid across tables and rolled his way
over three barrels. He penetrated everywhere,
sent dust in every direction, missed nothing.
When he stopped, he had under his right arm
a sheet of steel about three feet long and two and
one-half wide, and under his left arm a shallow
box of sand of the same measurements as the
steel. His right hand dragged along the floor
a piece of wire-screen the size of the lower half
of the third-floor windows.
His face and hands were grimy; his clothes,
waving and flapping to his least movement, threw
off puffs of dust that formed an aura around
him.
They would have laughed but for his solemnity
and that feeling of his mental strength. He
touched them with the intensity of his thought.
"Look, both of you, will you? — This sheet of
steel, thickness an eighth of an inch, heavy,
nearly forty pounds." He let it fall on edge,
keeping it upright. Its weight bit into the floor.
"And this box of sand. Here, son; hold this
torch."
He took from his pocket the treasured envelope
of sand he had scraped from the upstairs mantel.
This sand he compared with that in the shallow
box. They were identical.


78 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"And this wire screening. There's a hole in
it, right there, about the centre. This side was
the outside, turned toward the weather. Was
the hole made irom the outside or from the room
inside?'
"From the outside," Rosalie answered first.
Thayer thought so, too.
"Correct," the detective said, pleased.
"Funny kind of a hole, too. Couldn't have been
done by woodpeckers, for instance.—Watch me,
please."
He placed his three finds, one by one, at the
bottom of a hogshead, each time bending over
and thrusting so much of himself into the well
of darkness that he seemed to escape, only by a
miracle, losing his balance and falling completely
out of sight.
"I put these three boards over the hogshead
— see?" He scraped dust off a table. "With
this dust on them, nobody can get at the contents
of the hogshead without leaving evidence of the
visit."
He stood up and peered under his spectacles at
the hogshead.
"I may want those things later, Miss Conrad
— but give 'em to nobody but me. If you're
handed a note from me asking you to deliver them
to somebody, don't do it. The note from me
won't be from me."


THE HOLE IN THE SCREEN 79
When they reached the firer■ floor, the Jeffer-
son Hastings who had been working with them
was once more a stranger, merely an old " hick,"
almost fatuous in his beaming kindliness, mov-
ing lazily in his ill-fitting clothes. Steely keen-
ness of eye no longer distinguished him. Con-
servation of energy was no riddle to him.
Whipple showed him to a bathroom.
"Cripes!" he said, surveying with twinkling
eye the expanse of shining porcelain. "Fine
enough for a pet racehorse!"
Looking over the bundled towel with which he
rubbed his face, he spoke suddenly, to win Whip-
ple's good-will.
"You've an unusually active brain, I can see.
You read the papers, don't you, with apprecia-
tion and thoughtfulness?"
"I hope I can say that, sir."
"Exactly. Consequently, you've been among
the first to realize that large and interesting
events are taking place in this — neighbour-
hood?"
"I should rather say, sir!"
From that moment, the butler was one of the
detective's most ardent admirers.
Hastings made his point:
"And, if Miss Conrad authorized me to ques-
tion you at any time about anything, past or fu-
ture, you'd be agreeable? "■


80 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"I shouldn't hesitate, sir — not a moment,
sir."
"I knew it! — Here, Whipple! Don't brush
that hat; it might tear."
Rosalie and Thayer were waiting for him in
the small drawingroom.
The senator, captive, like Whipple, to the old
man's elusive, indefinable charm, put a hand af-
fectionately on his shoulder.
"You find us in terrific dispute," he announced
with mock terror. "Miss Conrad complains
that I undervalue her as a feminine Sherlock and
refuse her co-operation!"
"It's so hard, really, Mr. Hastings," Rosalie
said, harmonizing her tone with Thayer's; " hard
to wait, with nothing to do!"
"I proceed to —" began Thayer.
"Our time's up in ten minutes," Hastings
warned.
He knew that Thayer's present buoyancy was
the compensating reaction from the suspense
and shock of the night and morning. It was
natural enough; but there was ahead of him a
full day's work. The emotional pendulum must
not swing too far in any direction.
"The car's waiting for us," the senator re-
fused to be diverted. "Now, Miss Conrad, you
want work. Here it is: let's keep our luncheon
engagement with Mrs. Beale Jackson."


THE HOLE IN THE SCREEN 81
"Today!"
"Today, yes — and at the Wareham," he
laughed the challenge.
Rosalie shuddered, dismayed by a prophetic
glimpse of the Wareham diningroom — the whis-
pered asides, the curious eyes.
"The Wareham, of all places!" Her exclama-
tion now was a play for time — to see how much
in earnest he was.
"At a quarter to two," he persisted, eagerness
sounding clear under the surface levity of his
urging. "Besides, Mrs. Jackson expects us."
She put off all hesitance at once.
"Miss Sherlock," she said, laughter in her
eyes, on her lips, "accepts — and is delighted."
"Nothing could mean more to me," he said, the
levity gone. "I'm no longer, to many people,
the person I was yesterday. And nothing could
prove my innocence half as conclusively as my
appearance with you — you, of all people! — at
the Wareham."
The idea, the recklessness of it, appealed to
her sense of the dramatic as it had to his.
"I'll bring you down from the Senate in my
runabout, after your speech," she said.
The two men were at the front door.
Hastings went back to her and bent over her
hand. His bow, in spite of his flapping gar-
ments, reminded her of treasured, bygone things:


VII
MB. HASTINGS STUDIES "SOCIETY"
SENATOR THAYER, pacing the floor, and
Hastings, whittling a piece of pine, were in
the office of the chief of police. They
awaited the arrival of Robert F. Knowles, de-
signer of ships immune from torpedo attack.
Ross, having called the meeting for three o'clock,
was already ten minutes late.
"These book policemen!" growled the govern-
ment's detective. "Always late; their boots
never can keep up with their brains."
"I can't wait much longer," protested Thayer.
"I want to catch that elevator boy, at his room-
ing house. He knows more than he's told so
far."
"About — what — who?"
"Gower."
"I hope. Might be a good thing to put this
Gower behind the bars, get him away from his
dope."
"Why away from his dope?"
"Loosen his tongue — make him-fly all to
pieces."
The senator was silent, troubled by a story in
83


84 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
an early afternoon newspaper, under the head-
line:
"BOTH THAYERS IN NEWMAN CASE!"
The story itself had set forth that Senator
Thayer's brother had known yesterday that the
senator was to have an important conference
last night with " the German agent, Zimony New-
man." The police had found in her apartment
early this morning a note written to her by Dr.
Larry Thayer.
It read:
"As he is to be there tonight, I of course shall
stay away. Considering what the visit means
for you as welf as for myself, I am more than
happy. So glad it could be arranged."
It was signed "Larry." To remove any pos-
sible doubt of genuineness, the paper printed a
photograph of the note. It was in Larry's hand-
writing.
And Larry, asked about it over the telephone,
had pleaded forgetfulness as his only reason for
not having mentioned it!—" Forgetfulness"
when he and Larry had discussed the tragedy
from one in the morning until daylight!—Fur-
thermore, Larry had told him, just now, that
the published note was an answer to one from
Zimony Newman explaining that she had made


MR. HASTINGS STUDIES " SOCIETY" 85
an engagement with Knowles, primarily for the
purpose of breaking off all relations with him.
For the first time, doubt assailed him—rather,
a shadow of doubt. He refused to dwell on it,
but he felt it—plainly.
The thing troubled him tremendously.
Neither the triumph of his speech in the Senate,
asserting his innocence of all knowledge of the
crime, nor the cordial greetings given him at
luncheon at the Wareham could dull the edge of
this annoyance.
His reflection was halted by the entrance of
a large, tall man, who wore dark-brown serge
and carried in his right hand a broad-brimmed
panama hat.
They introduced themselves.
"The major," Hastings said, "is a quarter of
an hour late, and I've a lot to do, Mr. Knowles.
Wonder if you'd answer a few questions — for
me — and talk to the chief later."
He peered under the rims of his spectacles,
sighting down the line of his nose at the inventor.
"With pleasure."
Knowles seated himself a few feet from the old
man, facing him squarely. Thayer took a chair
beside Hastings.
"Much obliged," said the detective, continu-
ing his whittling. "Just go ahead, Mr.


MR. HASTINGS STUDIES " SOCIETY" 87
"You asked me why I went to the Melwood.
I'll tell you frankly. I thought Miss Newman
had stolen a set of ship plans from my office in
Norfolk. I had —"
"Just a moment," Hastings interrupted.
"What did you wear last night?"
"Wear last night!"
"Yes; what?"
"Well — a suit of light-grey mohair."
"All right. Don't mind my interrupting now
and then. I suffer from absent-mindedness."
Knowles made his left knee the hatrack.
Hastings, digging into the wood with short,
savage jabs, was thinking: "Light-grey mohair.
Under electric light fifty yards away it would
look as white as linen or white flannel — particu-
larly, he would have looked white all over if he'd
been in shirt-sleeves — as white as the senator."
Thayer put a question:
"Had you made an appointment — with Miss
Newman?"
"No; no appointment," Knowles replied, his
candour perfect.
The senator asked nothing further. Larry
had said Knowles had the appointment. It was
Larry's word against that of Knowles.
Hastings, reading the senator's mind, came to
the rescue:
"It's of no importance, the appointment idea.


88 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
You were saying, Mr. Knowles, you thought she
had stolen — plans?"
"Yes."
The detective made another mental note:
"He's a liar. He had an appointment. His
eyes are too clear. Nobody's that honest."
"She was my private secretary," the inventor
continued, "for two months. I fell — I pre-
sume we're talking confidentially; this won't be
published?"
"No," Hastings declared, not looking up.
"Thanks. I want to do all I can to straighten
this thing out. I fell in love with her while she
was working for me."
He said that without embarrassment.
"She resigned the position, said she wouldn't
work in the office of a man who had declared
himself as I had. A few days ago, two weeks
ago, to be exact, I discovered the loss of the
plans. At first, I didn't suspect her. In fact,
the idea of her guilt never entered my mind until
the Department of Justice said all the other
trails had led to nothing."
"When did the department tell you that?"
"Three days ago."
"And it was then that you suspected her?"
"At first, I didn't. Later, however, I had to
agree that her opportunity to commit the theft


MR. HASTINGS STUDIES " SOCIETY" 89
had been great. It was then I made up my
mind to have a talk with her about it."
"Your relations with her in the meantime,
during the more than three months after her
leaving your office: what were they?"
"I was in love with — perhaps, fascinated by
her."
"Ah!" the old man exclaimed, stabbing the
wood as if to murder. "You're not in love with
her now." He made that a flat statement.
"No; not after what occurred last night."
Hastings balanced the wood in his right hand
and peered at it, shaking his head, not altogether
satisfied with his sculpture.
"What did occur? " he inquired.
"Well, in a few words," Knowles said, "she
ridiculed the idea of the theft, particularly when
I demanded that she give the plans back to me."
"You could hardly blame her for that, could
you? She wouldn't have kept the plans three
months — would she?"
"No. But the plans in question were blue-
prints, a foot and a half by three. It was my
idea that, if she had taken them, she would have
made small photographs of them, for purposes
of easy transmission. Neither she nor a con-
federate would have run the risk of shipping
such bulk as the originals."


90 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"But why should she have kept these originals
three months? It would have subjected her to
unnecessary danger."
"You don't understand," Knowles qualified.
"It isn't a certainty the theft was committed
three months ago. It might have been just a
little more than two weeks ago."
"How?"
"She, Miss Newman, was in my office a little
less than three weeks ago."
"In Norfolk?"
"Yes. She had come down by boat."
"Alone?"
"Yes.— I can't say, don't know.— And she
came to my office while I was at lunch. The
office boy, remembering she had worked for me
as my secretary, showed her into my private
office — an unusual thing for him to do."
Hastings deliberated.
"So the theft's more than three months old or
less than three weeks old?"
"Yes."
"Now, Mr. Knowles, how was it possible for
you not to have discovered the theft until three
months, or even two weeks, after its commis-
sion?"
"The plans in question were a 'guide' set:
not plans of any particular ship, but an illustra-
tion of the principles and methods used."


MR. HASTINGS STUDIES " SOCIETY" 91
"Not in daily use in your office?"
"No. I hadn't referred to them in the last
four months. I didn't have to."
"Good. I'm clear on that. Let's go back to
last night. She—"
"She ridiculed the theft idea at first, think-
ing I was joking. Then, she got mad, furiously
angry. When she did — I told her — this is a
hard thing to say, to admit, gentlemen. I hope
it will be divulged no further."
Hastings reassured him once more.
"Well, then, I told her it was a joke, merely
an idea of mine to see whether she was as cold
and statuesque as she always seemed — as free
from anger as she was from softer emotions."
"And that satisfied her, put her into good
humour?"
"Yes; to all appearances."
Hastings chuckled.
"Excuse me. What happened then?"
"The thing you'd guess, of course. I made
love to her — said I wanted to marry her."
Hastings began to pack away his wood and
knife.
"And meant it?" he asked, brushing chips
off his trousers, flapping the ends of his coat,
for all the world like a clumsy old bird pre-
paring for flight.
"At the time, yes." Knowles answered with


MR. HASTINGS STUDIES " SOCIETY" 93
don't remember — oh, I see. When I went into
the reception room and found she wasn't there,
I shut off the machine so as to hear what she was
calling out to me, from the bedroom."
"An unimportant detail," the old man said
carelessly. "The question popped into my head,
and I popped it out again.— Your cigarette's
burning your hat brim, Mr. Knowles!"
He followed Thayer out.
"I'm afraid of missing that boy," the senator
said again as they halted on the marble steps of
the building. "I've a machine here if —"
"You go ahead, Senator," Hastings declined
the offer. "I've a machine of my own — looks
like a million dollars! I'm going out amongst
them this afternoon. I'm going to spend a few
hours studying 'Society.'— Oh, I forgot some-
thing. It's this, son."
He put his hand on Thayer's arm; and his
voice was a consolation.
"Knowles is a crook — liar. He still thinks
the Newman girl got his plans, but he won't say
so. Why not? Because he doesn't want any-
body to think he had a motive for hating her or
stabbing her."
"Is that why you cut short your talk with
him?" v
Thayer was deeply touched by the old man's
affectionate concern — too deeply, he realized.


94 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
He was fagged. He must keep himself in hand.
"Yes. What's the use of talking to a man you
know is lying? That's Knowles — a slick actor.
If he didn't stab the girl, I'm crazy!"
Thayer delayed him:
"Larry's note. Did you know about it? Did
Ross tell you about it?"
"No. I'm sorry to say he didn't."
"Ross isn't playing square with you," Thayer
said indignantly. "Isn't there any professional
etiquette among you men?"
Hastings smiled, belittling Ross' deception.
"Professional etiquette," he said, "is like the
proverbial honour among thieves: it works when
it works." He looked over his spectacles at
Thayer and smiled again. "But there are more
ways than one to skin a cat, son."
He climbed into his hired car and, with grunts
and tuggings at his coat-tails, adjusted himself
comfortably to a corner of the back seat. He
gave the chauffeur Frederick Marcello's number.
He returned to his problem. The senator was
in an unenviable position. That note of Larry
Thayer's — very bad! Its wording was a ca-
lamity. Everybody read it as a statement that
his brother, the senator, had consented to confer
with the girl — had consented through fear, as
the result of a threat!
Why hadn't Larry Thayer told his brother


MR. HASTINGS STUDIES " SOCIETY" 95
about it? There was the weak spot in the whole
case: Larry was a weakling, a member of the
"he-meant-well" brigade.
And John's speech in the Senate: it was a
great effort, and yet stupid. Why had John
assumed the burden of Larry's conduct? Why
had he promised to get the criminal? It looked
"bad —bad!"
But this Knowles! He was capable of the
stabbing, of murder in a fit of rage.
What sort of reptile was Knowles anyway?
Sitting there in a bare, common room, turning
himself inside out with his talk about "love"
and " fascinated," and " asked her to marry me,"
and all that gush! — and at the same time sus-
pecting her of stealing from him! — leaving her
"in high good humour "— this "irresistible"
woman!
A gentleman! He wasn't even a normal
human being — just a frightened crook, trying to
side-step any possible connection with the crime
by assuming honesty and frankness — a simula-
tion so obvious that it was funny.
But, if the story Knowles had told was not
broken down, things would turn out badly for
Thayer. So far, Thayer was the only man who
could have had a motive for putting the girl out
of the way — and, far worse, the only one ac-
cused by the only eye-witness.


96 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
She was alive when Knowles left her. She
was dead when Marcello found her. In between
those two events had been the senator's visit and
his over-wrought care to have Harry repeat the
message he left for her.
"Your number, sir," the chauffeur roused him.
Hastings climl>ed the three flights of stairs to
Marcello's studio and found the artist in.
"Wanted to have a little talk with you, Mr.
Marcello,'" he said, introducing himself.
Marcello was glad to see him. "Anything I
can do, Mr. Hastings," he assured warmly, "or
say, to help find the man who committed that
crime!"
Hie voice broke. He turned away, to hide his
agitation. He had suffered intensely. His eyes
looked sunken.
Hastings decided to get at what he wanted
most while the artist was governed by emotion
rather than logic. He made the interview brief.
"Did Miss Newman go to Norfolk two or
three weeks ago? Do you know?"
"Yes — and she went to Knowles' office."
"What for?"
"To — in the language of fiction — denounce
him. She had heard — I don't know how — he
had confided to somebody his fear that she was
in the pay of German interests."
"And she did denounce him?"


98 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Hornswoggle me!"
He explained what Larry had said, and
Knowles' denial of the pre-arranged conference.
"That's right," Marcello said: "the man's a
foolish liar. Why, I had written her day before
yesterday, asking if I might call last night: and
she 'phoned me late yesterday afternoon that she
had the appointment for last night—with
Knowles."
Hastings looked around at the easels, the can-
vases leaning against walls and table legs and
piled on half a dozen chairs.
"What's that, over there? " he demanded sud-
denly.
"That? An artist's portfolio — to carry
sketches or drawing paper."
"Artist's portfolio? About two feet by three,
wouldn't you say?"
He was thinking of the steel plate he had
found in Felix Conrad's basement — two feet by
three — and the portfolio no longer in Miss New-
man's apartment.
His simplicity of manner, his kindliness, say-
ing only the necessary things, and omitting those
which might hurt, had won Marcello.
"Twenty-six inches by thirty-six," he cor-
rected.
Hastings got up laboriously and examined it,


MR. HASTINGS STUDIES " SOCIETY" 99■
lifted it, testing its weight. He returned to his
chair.
"Felix Conrad/' he turned to another topic.
"Like him?"
"Oh, well enough."
"I understand he knows a great deal about
art, painting — poses as an authority on it.
That true?"
"He knows something about it, has a smat-
tering of the lingo you usually hear at afternoon
teas. But he really knows nothing, feels noth-
ing about it. He's at his best on the money side
of the thing: that a dozen Turners brought about
sixty thousand dollars at a sale ten years ago,
or that two Vandyck portraits sold for over a
hundred and twenty-two thousand in nineteen-
hundred."
"I thought so."
Hastings stood up and said good-bye abruptly,
shook hands, thanked Marcello.
He went out, striking his heels heavily against
each uncarpeted step as he descended. He was
thinking about Gower. How could Gower have
had access to the girl's apartment without the
knowledge of Harry Fields? And why did Felix
Conrad' want to assist Gower in his clash with
the police?
Marcello, at the head of the stairs, thought of
JOftSbA


100 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
other things: his having called on Zimony New-
man last night after her message that she had an
engagement with Knowles — why had he done
that? And why hadn't the detective asked for
more light on it?
He went to his cellarette and poured himself
a drink.
Oh, well, there was plenty of time to tell that
story! It was a very simple matter, it seemed —
negligible, quite!



VIII
"the supremely veracious"
ME. Jefferson Hastings, continuing his
study of " Society," rang the door-bell
of No. 803 on the top floor of the Lai-
ton. He wanted a conference with his old friend,
Mrs. Harmon Lockridge, "the supremely ve-
racious medium."
Here was a feature of Washington life that al-
ways amused him: the surprisingly large number
of people who seriously patronized "mediums."
He had heard of members of Congress applying
to Mrs. Lockridge for information on how they
should vote on pending legislation, or for "ad-
vance news" on the rise and fall of stocks. No
wonder human life puzzled the student! —
people were always doing things you thought
nobody ever could do!
The negro maid who had taken his card re-
turned: Mrs. Lockridge would see him.
He was shown into an enormous room. The
walls were covered with pale-yellow silk, against
which were hung brilliant things painted on silk.
Over the long windows were curtains of some
rich Oriental stuff, admitting the light dimly.
101


102 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
The glistening floor was crowded with Persian
rugs. Incense curled slowly upward from a
squat vase in the far corner. There were many
divans piled high with cushions and pillows of
every conceivable colour.
Mrs. Lockridge liked "atmosphere."
This afternoon Hastings found her leaning
back lazily on a divan draped with black velvet,
a background which set off admirably her ex-
cellent figure. She wore light-blue, and had
pale-blue eyes.
Still handsome, her face presented habitually
to the world, as it did now to Mr. Hastings, an
expression eminently good-natured. The secrets
of others had not saddened her.
He dropped into a big chair, and, thoroughly
at home, sighed luxuriously. Without the for-
mality of asking permission, he brought forth his
knife and wood. As he whittled, he explained
his haste and need of information.
"People talk to you, Florence, as much as they
used to, I reckon?"
"Oh, yes," she said, indifferently, and began
to smoke; "particularly the women, Jeff. They
think I tell them so much; and they turn around
and tell me everything. That's really why they
come here: I let 'em talk."
"That's good. I'm on a big case, and I want
to help a mighty sweet girl.— What do you know


"THE SUPREMELY VERACIOUS" 103
about a man named Conrad, Felix Conrad?"
"Felix Conrad," she said, reflectively, "born
in Germany, came to America when he was ten
years old, made his money in St. Louis, manufac-
turing soap; bitten by the Society bug; couldn't
accomplish anything there; came to Washington
for his winters, beginning in nineteen-six: and
he's spent practically all his time here since
nineteen-eleven. He 'got in' here.
"Let's see — I don't know much about him.
I don't hear much about him. Repression and
restraint — that's Conrad. His life's a nicely
appointed carriage: and he's on the box, driving
his emotions four-in-hand. Everything goes
well. He bowls along the pleasant thorough-
fares of culture, learning, the arts, social im-
portance."
Mrs. Lockridge paused and watched the pale-
grey smoke from her cigarette.
"A pretty picture, Jeff — but what kind of a
life? No out-breaks, no ' flings,' no scandal, no
—let me see: no red-blooded rages, no wild de-
votions. It's unnatural. Where's the outlet for
his energy? Something's hidden — somewhere."
"Gower," he prompted. "What about him?"
"Gower?" she echoed. "David — He served
a term in the penitentiary — at Leavenworth.
It was forgery."
"Before Conrad got hold of him?"


104 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Yes."
"Then, there's a Mrs. Fontaine," Hastings
changed the subject again; "Mary Fontaine,
wife of Captain Gilbert Fontaine, U. S. A.— just
a sketch, Florence — a moment or two, if you've
got time."
"Rich in her own right," Mrs. Lockridge did
the sketch in quick words; "originally Marya
Malczewski, only child of a rich Pole. She mar-
ried Captain Fontaine six years ago. He's in
France now. She's twenty-seven, superficially
clever, but no balance, no depth. Rubens would
have painted her — or Burne-Jones."
Hastings stood up.
"I want to make her talk," he said.
Mrs. Lockridge gave him a long look.
"When, Jeff?"
"Immediately."
She took from a drawer of a little black table
beside her paper and a fountain pen, wrote three
lines and thrust the note into an envelope which
she held out, unaddressed.
"She'll talk," she said, "when you give her
that."
"I don't have to read it, do I?"
"No." His question pleased her. "You're
a good old boy, Jeff."
He moistened the flap of the envelope and
sealed it.


"THE SUPREMELY VERACIOUS" 105
"And you're a fine girl, Florence," he said
in great earnest. "You've helped me a lot —
in a good cause."
He climbed again into his hired automobile,
giving the chauffeur Mary Fontaine's address.
He reviewed his facts and ideas, checking
them off one by one, relabelling them for future
use:
"Gower once a convict; and, according to
Florence, Conrad a crook, immoral and unmoral:
I knew it as soon as I saw them. And Knowles
is lying about his part in the matter — afraid
of what? Afraid of being more closely associ-
ated with the Newman girl in the public's
thought. A designer of ships for the govern-
ment could not afford to be hooked up with any-
body classified as a German spy. Neither could
Gower or Conrad.
"Is that Conrad's reason for standing by
Gower? Gower's ' fit' this morning, his repug-
nant pronouncement of a union between himself
and Conrad — why that? —
"Gower, forger, ex-convict, dope-fiend, pur-
suer of a woman who despised him — a fine com-
bination of qualities assembled under one skin.
By tonight, I'll arrest him! Everything sup-
ports it. I'll get him tonight!"
HiB jubilant mood left him when he thought
of Knowles again.


106 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Why is Knowles lying his head off if Gower's
the only one responsible for the crime?
"I reckon I'd better get my hands on that steel
plate, and that sand. They'll come in handy yet,
mighty handy. Now, if I could find that artist's
portfolio, the one that disappeared from the
girl's apartment—"
He called suddenly to the chauffeur to stop.
He had caught sight of Whipple on the sidewalk,
sauntering slowly through the heat.
Hastings, displaying surprising agility, got
out of the car, told the chauffeur to wait. He
trotted back and met Whipple.
"I'm in a big hurry," he began. "But I'm
anxious to have your help."
The butler was equally anxious to give it.
"Whipple, who put the new wire screen on
the upper Eighteenth street window, third floor
front?"
"I had it done, sir."
"I wonder — Any special reason for it?"
"Why, yes, sir. Mr. Gower complained of the
flies up there, sir — a large number of them.
He thought they came in through a hole in the
screening of that window. Mr. Conrad spoke to
me, sir; he directed me to repair it."
"Had you noticed the fly pest, Whipple?
They annoy you?"


"THE SUPREMELY VERACIOUS" 107
"No, sir; although my room's on the same
floor — back. But Mr. Gower's nervous —"
"Ah! that explains it — fully. I'm much
obliged to you, very much. It aroused my
curiosity. In fact, Whipple, that whole room
did that."
"I'm not surprised, sir."
"You're not?"
"No, sir. You see, sir, Mr. Conrad had it
cleared, to be made into a gymnasium. Before
it could be equipped, his doctors told him he
couldn't stand the strain of violent exertion."
"When was that — approximately?"
"The first of last June; thereabouts."
"Could it have been the middle of May?"
"Very possibly, sir."
Something in the butler's expression, a wari-
ness, as if to resist an impulse to talk more
frankly, caught the detective's attention. He
acted on it without delay.
"What is it, Whipple? When are you going
to tell me?"
The man looked up and down the street. It
was practically deserted, quiet, a long line of
reeking asphalt under arching trees with leaves
baking in the sunshine.
"Well, sir, it's this: the people in our house
keep quite funny hours sometimes. As I said,


108 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
my room's at the back of the third floor. Last
night I didn't sleep well, sir; what with the ex-
citement about the matter across the street, and
the heat, and all."
He stopped, to look over his shoulder.
"Mr. Gower, sir," he got it out at last, "was
awake and about, early this morning, between
one and two o'clock, I think it was."
"How do you know that? " the old man asked
sharply.
"I heard him, sir; heard him go downstairs
and leave the house, and I heard him come back.
He was gone about twenty minutes or half an
hour."
"Do you know where he went?"
"No, sir."
The detective weighed that. Could Gower
have stolen the artist's portfolio from the girl's
apartment? How could he? He had no key.
ilarry Fields would have seen him coming in or
«oing out. Another thing: were Knowles' blue-
prints hidden in the portfolio?
He went back to his car and repeated to the
chauffeur Mrs. Fontaine's number.
"She's got to talk!" he thought. "Got to
talk! She's got to tell me everything she knows
about Zimony Newman's relations with Knowles,
Larry and Marcello!


"THE SUPREMELY VERACIOUS" 109
"It's Gower or Knowles — or both of them —
or is Knowles just a plain fool liar?"
He felt again for the note Mrs. Lockridge had
given him. Its value to him was increasing
every second.


IX
WITH THE PATIENCE OF JOB
ROSALIE, summoned to her father's
study in the afternoon, found him
smooth and inscrutable. She could
hardly realize that the man she saw now had
been so lashed by emotion a few hours ago.
"I've heard about your luncheon, at the Ware-
ham," he began, approving her. "Quite an ex-
perience, wasn't it?"
"At first; but it wasn't embarrassing after
we'd reached our table."
She felt his insincerity. Why should he en-
dorse her appearance at the Wareham with her
fiance, now accused of the attack upon Zimony
Newman? It was too completely at variance
with the mood in which he had practically for-
bidden her to go to Mary Fontaine.
Smoke from his cigarette floated between them,
like a veil — symbolic of his usual attitude
toward her. Since she could remember, she had
been obliged to guess at what lay behind his cold,
blue eyes, to speculate as to his motives and
designs.
She wished that he would come into the open
11!)


WITH THE PATIENCE OF JOB 111
and establish a human relationship between
them.
She had never loved him; he had never al-
lowed her to love him. He had made their lives
so impersonal that his terms of endearment, on
the rare occasions of his using them, had the ring
of hypocrisy. She had not forgotten that. But
the happiness she had found in John Thayer's
love had produced the wish that her father also
might be enriched by affection.
"Did you see anybody — anybody of special
interest?" he pursued, pleasantly curious.
"Yes. The Assistant Secretary of State,
Cameron Hough, came to our table."
"That simpleton!"
"He interested me intensely. He joined us
because he wanted to say he was certain he had
encountered Zimony under peculiar circum-
stances— in a way which, if he could recall
them, would be of great service to John in —
this affair."
"What did he mean by that?"
"I think it's clear enough," she said coolly,■
disliking his ridicule. "He felt sure that the
whole scene, the words of it even, would come
back to him; and that, when this happened, it
would help us — John."
"Another case of hazy dreams, isn't it?"
"It's more than that, I'm sure. I urged him


112 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
to try to remember. Somehow, I feel it's vital.
— I wish you wouldn't laugh at it."
"Strange," Conrad said, still faintly ridicul-
ing; but, observing her resentment, he added:
"Nevertheless, it was a brave thing for you to
do — going there today."
"Oh, I don't think it deserves encomium, fa-
ther. One doesn't have to be very brave to be-
lieve in the man one loves."
"Perhaps, not — sometimes.— Mrs. Beale
Jackson, she enjoyed it thoroughly, didn't she?"
"She seemed to."
"She would — a woman like her."
Rosalie, watching him, wondered what would
come next: the real reason for his pseudo-affa-
bility.
"As I was saying, I'm glad you did it: glad
you went there. It will make your next step,
the obvious step, much easier, save it from
criticism."
She was genuinely puzzled.
"My next step?"
"Why, yes," he replied amiably: "postpone
the announcement of your engagement to marry
Thayer."
That was why he .had sent for her! She had
no more time now to wish for his love. She must
defend herself!


WITH THE PATIENCE OF JOB 113
"Why?" she asked, eyes level with his across
the desk.
"You'd hardly want the engagement an-
nounced in a newspaper column next to another
column outlining evidence against him — would
you?"
"I shouldn't mind one bit," she said, leaning
toward him, her lips a little parted after she
had spoken.
"I expected you to say that."
The admission had the sound of affectionate
concern, and under that the ring of admiration.
One unfamiliar with the man would have said
that courage and unselfish love were the two
qualities he worshipped in woman. He was
smiling.
"That's why I sent for you, Rosalie. It's my
duty, of course, to warn you against anything
which might make you unhappy. You admit
that, of course?"
"Of course."
"That, then, is my advice — don't let the an-
nouncement be published tomorrow."
He dropped both hands to the blotter and
moved in his chair; he regarded the matter as
settled.
She temporized.
"But the papers have it, the society editors."


WITH THE PATIENCE OF JOB 115
"You have a regard for your father, for your
name. It would be folly for you to advertise
tomorrow your intention to marry a man sus-
pected of that crime, a man who may be con-
victed. He —"
She stopped him with a gesture, and rose, her
knees trembling so that she grasped the edge of
the desk for support.
"You mean you think he stabbed her?"
Her eyes searched the non-committal face.
"I don't mean any such thing."
A graceful wave of his hand disavowed the
cruelty she imputed.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
He passed a hand over his well-groomed fea-
tures, and sighed, obviously lamenting a uni-
verse knocked askew!
"I mean," he said, like one genuinely dis-
tressed, "there is the chance that threatens any-
body accused and arrested, the chance — let me
impress that upon you, the chance — of being
convicted — wrongfully convicted."
He looked at her, awaiting her reply. In that
moment, benignant as he seemed, Rosalie was
closer to understanding him than she had ever
been. Her impression was that his jealousy of
John Thayer amounted to active hate.
As a matter of fact, she had touched the truth.
Felix Conrad was unbelievably proud of her.


116 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
She furnished the vindication of his career. He
had produced the best thing possible in flesh and
blood, exactly as he had squeezed out of his
soap-and-perfume business the most money and
the most power possible.
Even while she tried to penetrate his reserve,
he was considering her colouring, the lines of her
figure, her grace of posture.
She was like .rambler roses, pink and fragrant,
hiding a stone wall; and yet, she was strangely
like the stone wall itself, strong, fixed. Al-
though she was motionless for the moment, little
tendrils of her hair, like corn-silk, above her
ears and at her neck were vibrant, tremulous
with the restrained strength of her body.
She was the only thing in his life that defied
his analysis and escaped his control. That,
probably, explained some of his pride in her, a
pride which led him even to exaggerate her
charm and her beauty.
Some of all this she grasped now, for the first
time. It shocked her to think that he would
destroy her happiness for his selfish, impersonal
pride in having her as exhibit A among the orna-
ments of his house! She began to persuade her-
self that he could not be so monstrous.
But, in the midst of the effort, she made the
astonishing discovery that she could be like her
father: all she had to do was to repress her


WITH THE PATIENCE OF JOB 117,
emotions and call on her mental resources. She
did it now, immediately and to the full, marvel-
ling that it was so easy to feel cool, to think
effectively and to prevent mere feeling from
touching her.
She could hate!
For one indecisive moment she feared this ca-
pacity, recoiled from entering this heritage from
him, but she conquered the repugnance. She
could meet him on his own ground, fight him
with the means he had spent nearly a lifetime
to perfect. She felt for him no consideration
whatever, she thought.
She sat down again, feeling that she looked at
him across limitless fields of ice.
"I haven't the slightest idea that he'll ever be
convicted, or indicted," she contested his warn-
ing.
He caught the change of her voice. Her sud-
den assumption of a smiling indifference equal
to his own hastened his ultimatum:
"But we must understand each other, Rosalie.
Even if you care to run the risk of marrying a
possible criminal, I don't care to incur the
ridicule and disgrace that would result from the
announcement of your engagement. I don't care
to — and I won't."
She flipped a bit of dust from her sleeve, was
absorbed in watching its slow, jerky fall toward


118 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
the floor, and finally regarded him, her lips
framed to a smile, her eyes as hard as his.
"And you were going to say? " she suggested
at last, her meaningless smile an irritation.
He lifted both hands, a gesture of regret.
"If my name appears in the announcements, I
shall say to the newspapers that you drew too
strongly on my forbearance and patience." He
stopped and sighed again. Her steady, neutral
gaze was hard to understand. "I shall explain
that I could never consent to your marrying a
man whose patriotism, as well as his — er —
morals, had been so powerfully attacked."
She in her turn sighed: evidently, she de-
spaired of his humanity and his intelligence.
"Father, you're so — Ring for Whipple, will
you, please?"
He touched the button, his martyrdom excel-
lent.
"You're so violent," she concluded her cold
protest, "so unrestrained."
Her pretended sympathy stung him.
Brookes answered Mr. Conrad's ring, saying it
was Whipple's afternoon off. U
"Brookes," she directed, "call the morning
newspapers on the telephone, and ask for the so-
ciety editor of each. When she answers, tell her,
please, that Miss Conrad will call her at eight


WITH THE PATIENCE OF JOB 119
this evening, to give her a correction in the an-
nouncement of her engagement."
She made him repeat what she had said.
When he had left the room, she rose to her
feet, composed, dignified, grave.
Thunderstruck as he was, Felix still seemed
incurious, dispassionate, watching her out of
eyes hard and unwinking.
"You're too much a slave to your love of me,"
she said in mock distress. "Your emotions run
away with you." The sarcasm was merciless.
"It's so hard for you to think wisely when you
feel warmly."
A wave of his hand expressed in return his
mock gratitude for her sympathy. But he held
his tongue. The silence grew, became insup-
portable.
"If," she said, "at eight o'clock tonight you
refuse to sponsor the announcement, I shall no-
tify the papers to omit, in their articles, any
reference whatever to you. No matter how you
ignore it, the fact remains that, in this, your
agreement is unnecessary."
I Je indulged himself to the extent of a
query.
"You've made up your mind, Bosalie?"
She was languid, almost apathetic.
"If John wished it and had the time/' she let


120 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
the words fall, one by one, heavy with finality,
"had the time this afternoon, I'd marry him at
six o'clock." She went slowly toward the door.
"Is that all, father?"
He had never felt such anger. It sanded his
throat. Outwardly, however, he was unaffected,
master of himself. His hands lay relaxed upon
the blotter; his eyes followed her progress to
the door.
He realized that he was beaten; but he could
still think. Like any bully in defeat, he was
willing to temporize, to " save his face."
"Yes," he replied, clinging to his role, grief
and disappointment finely blended in his voice;
"that's all, I think — except that, if Thayer is
guilty, if facts brought out this afternoon and
this evening show him culpable — in that event,
you would acknowledge the wisdom of my posi-
tion?"
"Why, yes," she assented to that, her hand
on the door-knob. Suddenly, she wanted to pun-
ish him fully, to prolong his suspense. "And,
instead of eight, it will be eleven before I talk to
the society reporters. The change can be made
then — if necessary."
"Thanks," he acknowledged the compromise.
"We shall be in accord yet." He was gracious,
applauding her. "At eleven, then."
He turned slightly from her, his face imper-


WITH THE PATIENCE OF JOB 121
turbable still, his hand steady as he drew open
a drawer of the desk.
She left the room, languor in her movements.
She went upstairs, her face flaming. In her
room, she locked the door and threw herself upon
the bed, weeping, condemning herself.
She would never be that sort of woman again,
she told herself, never, no matter what happened!
How easy it was to be cool, and contemptuous,
and to hate! Cruelty was nothing but a low
trick, a slipping out of one's ordinary moods and
throttling one's best and finest feeling.
But the regression was too easy; and the temp-
tation to hurt others and see them writhe under
the punishment was terrible! Worse than that:
■she would grow into the habit of that behaviour
if she did not watch herself.
She sprang up and examined her face in the
mirror. In her over-wrought state of mind she
had feared that the ugliness of the scene had
imprinted on it some trace of hardness. She felt
relieved when she saw that this had not hap-
pened.
Memory of what she had planned — a help to
John — rushed upon her. She had made an ap-
pointment with Mary Fontaine, and forgotten it!
That was an example of how an evil mood might
affect one. She looked at her watch: she had
plenty of time. She unlocked her door and rang


122 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
for Aline. Absorption in what she hoped to ac-
complish prevented her thinking of how she had
increased her father's hatred of John.
Thayer himself was to discover that.


X
GOWEE GOES TO HEADQUARTERS
SENATOR THAYER, calling at the De-
partment of Justice, was informed that
Mr. Hastings was out. He declined to
wait. More successful than the police, he had
obtained from Harry Fields important informa-
tion, on which he proposed to act at once. The
Attorney General could do w hat he wanted.
After interviewing the Cabinet official, he at-
tended to one more legal matter, securing a war-
rant and arranging to have it used.
Would Hastings disapprove? Hardly. He
was accomplishing one of the things the detective
had described as advisable.
When he rang the Conrad bell and asked for
his future father-in-law, Brookes showed him
into the study.
Felix was at his desk, an elbow on the blotter,
a hand on a drawer pulled half-open. Rosalie
had left him barely three minutes ago; and his
rage had not diminished. Still the actor, how-
ever, he was suave and affable.
"I hope," Thayer said, "you haven't been too
much annoyed by this wretched affair."
123


124 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Applying the word 'wretched' to — what,
or whom?" Felix countered.
"Miss Newman, first of all, and then the reac-
tion upon Rosalie, yourself, me."
Thayer, watching the hard, set face, perceived
the active hostility behind the smile with which
Conrad answered:
"It's something that's liable to come to
anybody, Thayer. The only thing that mat-
ters is how we meet it — and dispose of
it."
"Just now, I'm afraid," Thayer went to the
point, "it's bound to be more or less trouble-
some."
"How?"
"Before I go further, Mr. Conrad"—
Against his will, he spoke formally —" I shall
ask you to remember that my greatest concern
is for your daughter."
"Yes?" The monosyllable refused co-opera-
tion.
Thayer hesitated no longer.
"I'd like to ask your secretary, Gower, a few
questions."
"That," said Felix, " must be between you and
him."
"You mean, you refuse to help me in getting
at a few facts, facts vitally important to me,
and to others?"


OOWER GOES TO HEADQUARTERS 125
Conrad exerted himself sufficiently to regret,
even to reprove.
"Thayer, you're so hasty!" he lamented with
a sigh. "I've intended several times to speak
of it to you. That is, if I might do so without
presumption?"
"Certainly, Mr. Conrad," Thayer agreed, al-
though he was sure that valuable time was being
lost in this mock interest.
"Then, if I may say so," Felix tempered his
suggestion with a smile, " you waste your mental
strength. I suggest that you and my secretary
must deal with the matters — er — of interest
to you both; and you at once jump, I may say
leap, to the conclusion that I refuse to be of help
to you. Why?"
"Because I've had the impression that you
were devoted to your secretary — an impression
that's strengthened by your refusal to help me
now."
"You mean — is it possible that Gower knows
anything further about this case than his pos-
itive assertion that you stabbed the woman?"
Thayer's patience was exhausted. He refused
to submit any longer to this masked ridicule.
"We're only losing time, Mr. Conrad," he said.
"I mean I've already accused Gower of bur-
glary. His arrest is a matter of a few minutes."
"Burglary?"


126 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Burglary, forcible entry of apartment
Number Thirty-five in the Melwood early this
morning, and the removal of property. It had
occurred to me that you, as well as I, might be
interested in hearing the fellow's denial."
"Excuse me," Conrad said, suddenly decisive,
going toward the door, " for just a minute."
Thayer thought that this leaving the room
might be for the purpose of warning Gower, on
the house telephone. Felix returned almost im-
mediately, and was in his chair again before he
spoke.
"Of course, you've evidence supporting such a
charge?"
"The man who saw it."
Felix leaned back, resting his chin on the fin-
ger-ends of both hands. He kept his staring eyes
fastened on those of his guest.
"There seems to be," he complained, "a con-
spiracy to bring me and my household into this
Newman affair. And I resent it. Frankly, the
absurdity of trying -to connect anybody in my
house with anything touching a German spy is
so pronounced that it ceases to amuse me. I par-
ticularly resent this — in another man I would
call it nonsense — this pose of yours as a de-
tective. It keeps you running in here to confer
with Rosalie, to question Gower, and so on. It
occurs to me that you might let matters take


GOWER GOES TO HEADQUARTERS 127
their course. Why this hot-headed plunge into
the limelight? If—"
Thayer rose abruptly.
"Since you don't care to co-operate, I —"
Felix held up a protesting hand.
"Don't misunderstand me, my dear fellow:
my indignation, however intense it may be,
doesn't destroy my faculty of thought. I'll have
Gower in—"
As he put out his hand to touch the desk buz-
zer, the door opened, disclosing Gower.
It was not an accident. The senator was sure
of that. The secretary had been there, awaiting
a signal from Conrad ever since Conrad's brief
absence from the room.
"Ah, Gower! — I was about to ring for you.
Our — my friend, the senator, wanted a word
with you."
"Merely to tell you," Thayer said pointedly,
"what you probably know now: I've charged
you with burglary."
Gower had come into the room far enough to
push the door shut behind him. He seemed in
normal condition now, free of nervousness, wary
and alert.
"What!" he said loudly.
"Burglary: you entered Miss Newman's apart-
ment early this morning and took from there
some of her property."


128 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Burglary! I!" The secretary turned to
his employer. "Mr. Conrad! Is this man in-
sane?"
Mr. Conrad's tolerant smile deprecated the
idea.
"Do you deny that you did what I've just
said?"
Gower produced his cigarette case.
"Most certainly." His lip curled. "When
I made my statement this morning to Major
Ross, I finished with the matter."
He lit a cigarette.
"You did?" Thayer pricked him. "You're
mistaken, Mr. Gower, grievously misled. You
removed from that apartment a drawing port-
folio, the one on which Miss Newman's head was
resting when Dr. Riley found her. You entered
the Melwood basement and crawled up the stairs
to the apartment, thinking you were not seen.
"You picked the lock, you went into Number
Thirty-five, and you came out with what you
went after! Furthermore, you left as you had
come, tiptoeing down the three flights of stairs
and out through the basement door! Now, deny
that, any part of it, if you can!"
The violent anger Thayer had expected did not
materialize.
"Oh," Gower said, shrugging, "why deny it
to you, Senator?" He laughed a little, pretend-


GOWER GOES TO HEADQUARTERS 129
ing amusement. "Honestly, when you come to
think of it, it is funny, isn't it — my accusing
you of the stabbing this morning, and here this
afternoon you accuse me of burgling the woman's
home?"
Thayer, ignoring Conrad, went to the door,
"That's all you've got to say?"
Gower blew the ashes from his cigarette
tip.
"Why, yes — except that the man who gave
you such a cock-and-bull story as this is the
most arrant liar I ever heard of."
Thayer turned at last to Felix.
"You were right, Mr. Conrad. It's a waste
of time for me to try even to talk to Mr■ Gower.
I'm sorry I disturbed you."
Felix, apparently oblivious of the apology,
wanted information: "Who will make the ar-
rest?"
"A policeman. He's outside now."
"Ah-h. So you had it all arranged before-
hand?"
"I told you so, sir."
"Suppose," Conrad began, but broke off,
glancing at his secretary. "What about it,
David?"
"I'll go to police headquarters if — if this man
intends to push the thing through," Gower
answered the glance.


GOWER GOES TO HEADQUARTERS 131
dering, his queer, rumbling voice keyed more to
horror than distress.
For a moment Felix was off his guard: his
expression was savage, malevolent. He looked
up, the flame of anger leaving his eyes the mo-
ment he focused them on Thayer.
But the revelation had been there. Conrad
was under Gower's control, in some way, to some
degree. That was patent.
"Mixed up with that —" Gower, his head
turning slowly from side to side, spoke again,
with a sorrow that was sincere.
"David!" Felix interrupted sharply, fortify-
ing the word with physical pressure on his
shoulder.
Gower opened his eyes, looking first at Con-
rad, then at Thayer. Felix helped him to his
feet. Nobody referred to the seizure.
"You were saying," Thayer broke the silence,
"you'd go to headquarters."
"Yes," Gower retorted weakly. "I prefer to
have the thing straightened out — bail and so
forth."
"In that event, we'll make the trip together."
Conrad said nothing as they went out. The
senator's bow to him brought only a wave of his
hand, indicating neither warmth nor coldness.
Thayer, leaving the house, thought again of
Rosalie. Tragedy was ahead of her — perhaps,


132 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
humiliation. He had said in his speech in the
Senate that he wanted the truth, no matter who
might be hurt by it. And already, within this
brief space, one person threatened was the woman
he was to marry.
No man could be under Gower's dominion and
escape punishment; and Felix Conrad was in
fear of Gower, had showed it plainly, had proved
it by voice and look.
It was monstrous if Gower, implicated in the
crime, could count on, or compel, his employer's
help because at some time in the past — possibly
in something reprehensible — he, Gower, had
helped, or saved, the employer. But was that
true?
If true, it explained why Conrad had resented,
from the very outset, anything that might prove
a connection of his household with Zimony New-
man. That was why he had taken Gower's part!
He dreaded the mere idea of Gower's being im-
plicated in it, or arrested, because he knew that
he would have to champion Gower, try to save
Gower, and, in doing so, would run the risk of
hurting himself.
"So," decided Thayer, "he's against us, and
for himself. And I don't know why it surprised
me. It's characteristic of him: Felix Conradian
through and through."


XI
FELIX JOINS THE HUNT
IT required no special powers of divination to
see that Mary Fontaine was surprised by
Mr. Conrad's call. Felix saw it the mo-
ment he entered the room. He perceived also,
back of the surprise, a very palpable uneasiness.
To dispel that uneasiness was the first task to
which he addressed himself. Determined to se-s
cure fair play for his secretary, he would not only
succeed; he would succeed brilliantly.
He danced on the cobwebs of finesse. Anxiety
was no more audible in his voice than the slow
fall of a rose petal in a far garden. Contradic-
tion and dispute were no louder in Mrs. Fon-
taine's drawingroom than the contact of a sub-
marine with the dorsal fin of a deep-sea fish. For
him, impatience had ceased to exist.
His eyes, watching hers, were as sensitive to
line and colour as an artist's, awaiting the after-
noon moment when shadows change from mauve
to purple. Betraying none of his own thought,
he mentally disarmed her, took from her all her
equipment of concealment and deception.
They conversed at first lightly, cleverly, in
133


134 THE HELWOOD MYSTERY
the charming manner of people whose business
it is to see to it that the world and its vagaries
shall yield them daily entertainment.
Mr. Conrad evinced, finally, a slight curiosity
about Miss Newman, the well-bred man's desire
to keep abreast of anything interesting.—What,
for instance? — Her personality, perhaps; or her
tastes.— Mrs. Fontaine was silent, her dark eyes
reflective.
Felix presented a suggestion; he became, as it
were, a pebble, to stir gently the pool of her
meditation.
"The newspapers' assumption that she's a
spy —"
"Oh, ridiculous!" Mary brushed aside the
idea. "I never knew a woman more intensely
American."
"Indeed?"
"Why, yes! Her Magyar extraction means
nothing to her. She was pro-ally before we de-
clared war."
Only a man of Conrad's highly developed sen-
sitiveness to sound could have caught the slight
overtone of Mrs. Fontaine's denial.
He went further, sure of safety:
"The longer I live in Washington, the more
thunder-struck I am at the readiness of officials
to believe the worst."
Of whom? He replied to that with reluctance:


136 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
me of the good work you've done for your cause,
for the independence of Poland. I've been re-
miss in waiting so long to congratulate you."
He put into that assertion a new quality, a
tang his other remarks had not had. He knew
what he was talking about.
What he had learned and guessed of Zimony's
plans and peculiarities made the sureness doubly
sure. She had not told Mary of her German
interest, even if she had any: she had played
safe, had secured Mary's co-operation with the
subterfuge that she worked for Poland and for
Poland only.
"You do me too much honour, Mr. Conrad,"
Mrs. Fontaine demurred. "The few public ad-
dresses I've delivered, the raising of a fund —
Do you smoke?"
He took a cigarette, and held the lighter to
hers. He was deliberate — a sedative to her
anxiety.
"I had forgotten that," he reproached himself.
"I was thinking of bigger work —" He paused,
to return the lighter to its place. "— and more
dangerous."
Her apprehension grew. As plainly as if she
had written it on paper and handed the writing
to him, he knew she was debating, "What does
he know?"
He continued, saying the things he was certain


FELIX JOINS THE HUNT 137
would please her, deliberately prolonging her
inner debate. Flattery hung on the air; ad-
miration punctured his discourse; he was a van-
dal breeze, stealing away the fragrance of her
thought, and at the same time bending the flower
of her indecision in the direction of his own
design.
"More dangerous?" she finally returned to
his characterization of her work. "I'm afraid
I'm obtuse."
He did not break the pause that followed.
"What did you mean by that, Mr. Conrad?"
The question was flat and direct, but he caught
its real meaning. It was a capitulation.
"A tribute to your method — and results," he
said blandly.
He wanted to make her come still further.
His manner told her that, and at the same time
assured her that she would find in him a helper,
a glove for the hand of her high endeavour.
"So," she said slowly, "you know — what?"
Hedid not exult. Nevertheless, his position
was improving.
"I merely wanted to ask you," he said, " about
a note, or a message — shall I say? — left with
you by Miss Newman."
"A note?" she repeated, her perplexity a
burden.
He had not made a study of deceit for nothing.


138 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
He had the situation in his hand! Her query
was confession of having a note.
She had it and knew nothing of its contents —
except that it was about Poland. The world
assumed a rosier aspect. That he also had not
the slightest idea of what the note contained,
was a minor matter just then. He had made this
call as a necessary part of his scheme to find out
anything and everything relating to the Newman
woman. And success was his at the first venture
— surprising success, because he had expected
to unearth a note from her no more than from
a man in Mars.
He had guessed it, caught up the idea from
what she had said! Luck was still with him:
and he had done away with another chance of
having Gower advertised as interested in a spy.
Mrs. Fontaine spoke rapidly, denying again
any close association with Zimony's " work." He
watched her. He was kind, patient even.
"But," he insisted still, " there was a note —
something of that kind."
"For you?"
"For me or —." He smiled. "Why fence
like this, you and I? " he inquired. "Miss New-
man's accused of being a German agent, and —
well, you and I run risks, hiding notes."
She rose quickly and went to the window.
Outside, the newsboys were crying afternoon


140 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
prised and questioning. At the same moment
Rosalie, glancing over his s*houlder, saw Mrs.
Fontaine come in from the library, an envelope
in her hand.
There was a brief space of time in which no-
body spoke.
Rosalie's "Why, father!" started the flow of
words.
Mrs. Fontaine, crossing the room to her, pro-
tested that her exclamation sounded like a re-
buke for his being there.— Not at all! She had
thought he was occupied elsewhere.
"We were on the ever-green subject of war,"
Felix enlightened her.
Rosalie was not so composed as her father.
Rearranging errant ends of her veil, she glanced
into a mirror on her right. Without intention
on her part, she had in the glass a picture of
what was done behind her.
While Felix talked, she saw Mary go to the
centre of the room and, directing him with a
look, put the envelope on the table. Conrad saw
and understood the move — and informed Mary
that he understood it.
The facial trick with which he accomplished
that was so slight and yet so legible that Rosalie
recoiled physically, hating this proof of his skill
in deception. Moreover, she fouud in it final
evidence of a secret relationship betAveen him


FELIX JOINS THE HUNT 141
and Mary Fontaine, a connection she had never
suspected.
Turning from the mirror, she was struck by
their blankness of expression. It was too well
done, and proclaimed a determination to keep
from her the reason of their being together.
Contributing only monosyllables to the con-
versation, she came swiftly to the conclusion
that Mary Fontaine might help her father in his
campaign to exonerate Gower. And that might
mean injury to John Thayer! There had been
rumours about Mary Fontaine's "work." Was
it possible that Mary and Zimony both had de-
ceived her?
What could this surreptitious communication,
this secret note, indicate if it was not a menace
to somebody? And her father hated John! If
she were in possession of the note, she might be
put in a position to save her fianc6 from sus-
picion, or something worse.
She did not stop to consider her own excite-
ment, the effects of a day calculated to throw the
most lethargic of women off her balance. She
was thinking with all her accustomed clearness,
she was sure.
Her mind was made up: she would get that
envelope; if possible, get it without their knowl-
edge.
They were still standing, each nursing a spe-


142 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
cial design, each moving restlessly toward this
or that chair, when John Thayer, fresh from
his Gower-Conrad-headquarters work, was an-
nounced.
It was Rosalie's moment. As the others
turned toward Thayer, she stepped quickly to the
table and picked up the note. Matter-of-fact
and without hesitating, as if she had not stopped
at the table at all, she went the remaining dis-
tance to the window. With her back to the
others, it was the work of an instant to hide the
envelope in her corsage.
Facing them again, she saw that neither her
father nor Mary suspected what she had done.
John Thayer's face alone baffled her. She could
not tell whether he had seen her get possession
of the note or whether he wondered why she had
turned away at his arrival.
An instant later Conrad, during his graceful
withdrawal from the room, told Mary Foutaine
with a look that the letter had disappeared. His
smooth exterior was unruffled, his urbanity un-
touched. As usual, he paid no tribute to dis-
appointment.
Almost, Rosalie admired his amazing poise.


XII
HASTINGS DELIVERS HIS LETTER
ROSALIE, realizing that Thayer's search
for helpful evidence had brought him to
Mrs. Fontaine, did not linger.
She stopped only long enough to say she had
just come from the hospital: Zimony was still
unconscious: an operation might be necessary
within a few hours: her case puzzled the phy-
sicians: she had a good chance to live.
The senator, alone with Mrs. Fontaine, dealt
exclusively in blunt, direct questioning. Com-
ing so soon after her battle of wits with Felix
Conrad, he was a downright amusement for her.
He was so obvious in all things!
But she was eager to help the senator, she said.
She would do anything, tell anything! But
what?—Unfortunately, she knew nothing.—
She and Zimony were friends, but of what avail
was that? — She lit a cigarette.—
She rose, unable to restrain her concern for
the vanished note. She had been searching with
her eyes the table, the floor, chairs. She now
handled the various objects on the table, picking
them up and setting them down again, frankly
143


HASTINGS DELIVERS HIS LETTER 145
that happened at the Melwood — yesterday and
last night."
She began to treat him as she had treated the
senator, effusive with her sham desire to tell
everything. But in a few moments, with a dis-
may that bordered the comical, she realized the
futility of these tactics here.
While she rattled on, indulging in all that
little feminine byplay which she did so well, his
scrutiny bothered her. She finished at last her
enumeration of a great many facts, none of them
enlightening.
He mentioned an incident which, strangely
enough, he said, seemed to have escaped her
memory:
"You were in Miss Newman's apartment yes-
terday afternoon, I think."
"Yes, I was; but that wasn't —"
"For a long time?"
He interrupted her disclaimer as if he wished
to save her from the consequence of too positive
a denial. She recognized that; and the fact that
he could afford to be generous with her increased
her confusion.
"Oh, no," she said; "not a long time."
"Perhaps, we have different ideas of what a
long time is."
"Perhaps," she repeated, wary.
"Two hours?"


14G THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"No; not that long, I think."
She was careful now. He no longer appeared
grotesque.
"It was half-past three when you and she came
in from the street; went up to Number Thirty-
five?"
She considered.
"Now that I think of it, yes."
"And it was a quarter past five when Mr.
Knowles telephoned her?"
She appraised his attitude: it was that of a
man thoroughly sure of himself. Frankness,
partial frankness, she concluded, would be ad-
visable for her.
"I think it was," she said, deliberative, a
thread of smoke curling from the corner of her
lips. "It must have been. I left the Melwood
at half-past five."
"That straightens us out," he congratulated
himself as much as he did her; " I mean about the
long time. You were there two hours."
"Why, yes! I had no idea!"
She was thinking: he got his information from
the day telephone operator, Miss Fanning; he
knew nothing vital.
He was silent, looking at her steadily over the
steel rims, leaning toward her.
"Well?" she finally exclaimed, irritated by
his waiting pose.


148 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
talking to himself, gazing through the window.
■" Too bad! It really is." His glance returned
to her. "How did you know she was talking to
Mr. Knowles?"
"She told me.— After she'd talked to him."
"And you can't tell me anything more about
it?"
"My dear sir," she said, exasperated beyond
her patience, "what does all this repetition
mean? Do you doubt my word?"
The expression of his eyes had shocked her:
he was sorry for her!
"You women!" His exclamation was like
sympathy. He paused again, and looked at her
a little sadly. "I'm an old man, Mrs. Fontaine;
and I know something of the world — and the
people in it. Good people, they are — and kind.
I try to be kind myself. Take my advice — tell
me what Miss Newman and Mr. Knowles talked
about."
He put his hand into his pocket and fingered
the envelope Mrs. Harmon Lockridge had given
him.
Mrs. Fontaine resented his tone. Her eyes
grew wider, blazing with the unnatural light
which a violent woman can produce at will. She
gave way to rage, worked herself into a mood of
recklessness that defied him.
"Really!" she said, body quivering, teeth


HASTINGS DELIVERS HIS LETTER 149
clenched. "I never imagined such insolence,
such impudence! Leave this room —" She rose
and pointed to the door. "— and the house!"
He rose also, regarding her out of eyes she
thought less friendly.
"I'm sorry I can't, Mrs. Fontaine."
He was invested now with a dignity she had
not observed until that moment.
Before she could reach the library door, he
was in front of her. She realized now, clearly,
the quality of his strength. Irresolute, making
no further effort to leave the room, she waited
for anything he might do.
He surprised her by drawing forward a chair.
The bow with which he forced her to take it was
graceful, illustrative of the deference in which
he held women. Convinced that her rage meant
nothing to him, she abandoned it as suddenly as
she had developed it.
He surprised her again.
"That's very good of you," he said, compli-
menting her surrender as if she had willed it
without compulsion from him. "I was wonder-
ing if you —" He stopped and smiled.
"You're a musician, aren't you? " he inquired,
making clear his knowledge of her reputation as
a pianist.
"In a way."
"I was wondering if you wouldn't tell me,


150 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
quite frankly, and of course confidentially, what
you think of Mr. Felix Conrad's musical taste.
It's information I must get, and I'd rather have
it from you."
As if an alliance with the detective were the
most natural thing in the world, entirely forget-
ful of his "impudence," she complied:
"He has a fair amount of the jargon; he can
talk it very well. But music, the soul of music,
is Sanscrit to him."
"Exactly what I expected," the old man
thanked her. "Marcello said it about his art,
pictures."
He put his hands behind him and paced the
floor, coat flapping, trousers bagging to unthink-
able shapes and wrinkles. He reached a deci-
sion, stopped in front of her.
"Now, about Knowles?"
She imagined that he had played with her,
tried to win her confidence with the talk about
Conrad. He saw her new indignation. Realiz-
ing the futility of friendly persuasion, he took
Mrs. Lockridge's note from his pocket and, with-
out a word of explanation, handed it to her.
While she tore open the envelope, he went to
the window. He stood there a long time, hear-
ing nothing from her after the crackle of the
heavy note paper as she unfolded it.
When he did go back to her, his heart sank.


HASTINGS DELIVERS HIS LETTER 151
His one emotion was pity. Florence had written
well.
Mrs. Fontaine was still. Colour was gone
f rom her cheeks and lips. If she was breathing,
it was so slowly as not to move the lace at her
breast. Her arms and hands, one on an arm of
the chair, the other at her side, were limp.
Before he spoke, her right foot, which had
been crossed over her left, slipped to the floor,
and the change in her attitude dislodged the
note. It slid to the carpet. That heightened
the inanimate element of the picture. The move-
ment of her foot and the fall of the paper were
so evidently independent of her volition.
She had no volition.
When she looked up, he found himself gazing
into eyes that were blank. They expressed no
thought, no feeling.
"Look," he said gently.
He picked up the note, and, igniting it at the
blue flame of the cigarette lighter, held it between
forefinger and thumb until all but a blank corner
of it was consumed. He was not sure that she
knew what he had done.
She was the first to speak.
"You asked about Zimony and Mr. Knowles.
I'll tell you."
Her voice was metallic, a monotone, sounding
like neither fear nor interest, the words coming


152 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
unemphasized. They were lifeless, the ghosts of
language.
"Zimony and I were in her reception room
when her telephone bell rang. She went into the
bedroom and answered it. The door -wasn't
closed between us. I heard everything she said.
The man who'd called her — she told me after-
wards his name was Knowles — evidently asked
her to let him call last night. She refused. Her
voice was insulting."
Mrs. Fontaine stopped and passed her right
hand across her forehead.
"Then," she proceeded, unaware of having
paused, " he said something that made her change
her mind. It must have been a threat. She
said, 'You wouldn't dare! You couldn't be so
insane!'"
"But he was that insane, it seemed. Zimony
didn't argue with him at any length. She made
the appointment with him for last night at a
quarter past eight. When she came back from
the bedroom, she was angry; and I asked her no
questions.
"She went to her desk and wrote. She put
what she had written into an unaddressed en-
velope, and gave it to me."
The monotonous stream of words stopped
again. This time Hastings felt that his ears
needed rest. The effect of her metallic utter-


HASTINGS DELIVERS HIS LETTER 153
ance was like that of tiny hammers beating on
his eardrums.
Looking past him, into space, she frowned.
"I'll tell you all of it." She voiced the an-
nouncement at last with the lifelessness that had
puzzled him since she had begun. "' Don't be
surprised, Mary,' she said, 'and don't ask ques-
tions you know I won't answer. If anything
happens to me, give this note to the person who
asks for it — after any accident to me, or my sud-
den disappearance.'
"She was so matter-of-fact then that what she
said didn't strike me at the time as particularly
alarming. Later, though, I said,' Why, Zimony,
there's no address on this envelope!' And she
said, 'That doesn't matter. The person who
asks you for it will be the one it's meant for.
Give it without anybody else knowing about it.'
"I told her I'd follow her instructions. 'Re-
member, Mary,' she warned me again, 'he — or
she — is to have it after I'm out of the city —
or out of the world. Not that I expect anything
to happen, really. It's just a precaution. A
man like Knowles is capable of making trouble.'"
The narrative halted. Hastings thought it had
come to its end.
"That note: where is it?"
She closed her eyes, the lids falling gradually,
like the "slow curtain" of the theatre.


154 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Mr. Conrad, Felix Conrad, called on me this
afternoon. He was beating around with his
devil-taught cleverness. He suspected that I had
information he could use — in his anti-spy cam-
paign, I think. I see now he knew nothing. But
it's too late now. He got the best of me, and I
gave him the note."
Her eyes were still closed, her head against
the back of the chair.
"I mean I tried to give it to him. I got it
from the little safe in the library there but, when
I got back here, Rosalie Conrad had come in. I
remembered Ziinony's caution that the letter was
to be delivered secretly; and I put it on the table.
He knew I intended him to pick it up without
being seen. Before he could do so, Senator
Thayer came in.
"The next thing I knew, the note had disap-
peared, and Felix Conrad was telling me with
his glance that he had failed to get it."
"Who did get it?"
She opened her eyes and looked at him without
interest.
"I don't know," she answered him.
She was telling the truth, he was sure. And
her long story had led him into a blind alley —
unless he could find the new possessor of the note.
Rosalie, Felix Conrad or John Thayer — any


HASTINGS DELIVERS HIS LETTER 155
of them might have taken it from the table. Con-
rad, for some unknown purpose, might have de-
ceived her in denying possession of it.
She sat up straight, and, holding her hands
in front of her, inspected them minutely. She
was like a baby discovering its own anatomy. It
was the weirdest thing she had done.
"Just a moment," he said, " and you won't be
bothered any more."
Her lips curled — lifted, showing her teeth.
The change reminded him of a woman throwing
off the effects of anesthesia.
"You," she spoke harshly; "you're consider-
ate, aren't you?"
Her sarcasm did not touch him, his sympathies
were so strongly with her. He reviewed matters
swiftly. There was nothing more she could tell
him. She sat, hands limp in her lap, her head
lowered. He again doubted her full conscious-
ness.
"The note I gave you," he said finally; "you
saw me burn it?"
She made no response. He was distressed by
the inescapable fear that he had changed her
personality for life. She looked so different, so
destroyed.
"I hadn't read it," he blurted out with a man's
awkwardness in trying to console.


156 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"I guess not!" she said, her sarcasm so bitter
that it made her even more pathetic.
Despairing of winning her belief, he pulled
his hat from his pocket, but made no move to
leave.
"Why don't you go?" she asked him, raising
her eyes to his.
She was no longer dazed, he saw; but his guess
had been correct. The thing she had done, the
thing Florence had described in the note, had not
hurt her so long as she thought she had hidden it;
but the fact that it had gone beyond her control
had struck her with terrible result. He could
see that already there was in her eyes an evil
light.
Without speaking, he went slowly out of her
house.
On the way to his office, he checked up his
results:
"Knowles stabbed Zimony Newman. That's
clear. We've got his motive, belief that she had
stolen his plans, and, perhaps, jealousy; and
we've got his threat, indicated by the girl's fear
after he had telephoned; and we've got his own
consciousness of guilt, shown by his denial of
having had an appointment with her.
"Conrad and Gower, their concern's indirect,"
he satisfied himself. "They're afraid of some-


HASTINGS DELIVERS HIS LETTER 157
thing that may be brought out by the prosecu-
tion of Knowles. I'll get that, too."
He gave the chauffeur new direction: "The
Melwood first."
He wanted to see Dr. Riley.


THE PHONOGRAPH TRICtf 159
Harry. Also, Harry says, he handled his hat
that night with his left hand altogether. 'Mos'
men,' the boy told me, 'does dat wif thar right
han's — all de time in de elevatuh.'"
"Then," commented the detective, "if Dr.
Riley says Miss Newman's wound came from a
left-handed stab, Knowles is as good as con-
victed."
He sketched the facts already established
against the inventor.
"Briefly," the senator supplemented, "Miss
Newman feared injury from his hands, and got
it."
"Only two more items are needed to round out
the case: first, the fact that Gower, loaded with
morphine, mistook Knowles for you in the stab-
bing scene; and, second, an answer to this: how,
after being wounded, did Miss Newman start that
phonograph ?J'
"The second's the one I'm worrying about.
Nobody will accept his identification of me."
Hastings quit talking, his mind on the phono-
graph puzzle.
"Fine of the Attorney General, wasn't it?"
Thayer said gratefully; "arranging things as I
asked: keeping Gower locked up until tomorrow
— or later if we say so?"
"No joke about that!" Hastings threw off
his absent-mindedness. "Let that dope die down


160 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
in him, son, and he'll tell us all we want — in
words of one syllable!"
Thayer had made no reference to Rosalie's
present possession of the note, preferring to leave
it to her judgment. The detective, in his turn,
kept away from Mrs. Fontaine's story. For one
thing, he was not sure of the truth of all its state-
ments. He reserved the right to investigate them
elsewhere.
The senator having left —" for a word with
Miss Conrad," he explained — Hastings attacked
the problem of why Gower and Conrad displayed
frank concern in a crime of which Knowles was
patently guilty. What was the issue that
dragged them into it?
Were they afraid of Knowles? Or were they
afraid of each other?
He began to whittle.— Half an hour later his
telephone rang.
Rosalie Conrad was on the wire, asking him to
come to her at once, assuring him.:
"You won't regret it. It's evidence — you'll
see — about the Knowles personage!"
He hung up the receiver, thinking: "More
facts — or more muddle-fuddle? If she's got
something new on Knowles, things are brighten-
ing for his family undertaker — popsure!"
Rosalie and Thayer were in the "small draw-
ingroom," waiting for him.
"N


THE PHONOGRAPH TRICK 161
"And then, as soon as he comes, the revela-
tion!" she had made jubilant announcement to
the senator.
Thayer, his whole body aching with weariness,
tried to respond to her lightness of mood. He
thought he had never seen her so beautiful.
There was new splendour in her eyes.
For the second time that day, the maternal
part of her love was ascendant. She had been
of help to him: she would soon prove that her
love could serve him in the practical, material
things of life. The thought transfigured her.
All day long telegrams from his constituents,
individuals and organizations, had poured into
his offices, declaring unshaken confidence in him,
prophesying that the attempt to discredit him
would result only in his polling a bigger primary
vote than they had hitherto thought possible.
"So wonderful!" she breathed, stirred to an
ecstasy of admiration. "Such a tribute! Oh,
my dear, my dear! No one can hurt you — no
one!"
After all, however, she knew as well as he that
the end of the affair depended on the facts ad-
duced. They kept that before them all the time.
Washington was, to them, by no means a sealed
book.
The city, made by politicians, thought and
acted like politicians. Deafening in its applause


162 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
of greatness and victory, it was likewise swift
to desert men under attack. John Thayer's
career hung in the balance.
Hastings knew it better even than they did.
His work had made him an expert on losing
causes and damaged reputations — in Washing-
ton. And, shaking hands with this young couple
and seeing the quality of their courage, he was
drawn to them more than ever.
Rosalie began her " revelation ":
"I couldn't sleep last night. The crime itself,
the gathering of the crowd, the carrying of Zim-
ony to the hospital, all of it excited me. When
daybreak came, I got up. My idea was to go for
a long walk.
"But I changed my mind. I heard Zimony
mention the serf-like devotion of the night ele-
vator-boy to her. I thought I'd drop in at the
Melwood and see what had developed. The boy,
Harry, knowing I was a friend of Zimony's,
talked frankly enough, but he had no news.
After a while, in a way that struck me as curious,
he said he wished somebody who was her friend
would look at the apartment before it had been
worse upset by the police.
"He had a key which Zimony had given him,
so that he could accept and put away her parcels.
I found things practically as the newspapers


THE PHONOGRAPH TRICK 16S
have described them, except for a few additional
details which—"
"Let me interrupt a moment, please, Miss
Conrad," Hastings put in, " just to show I'm not
stone-blind. You found Miss Newman's emery-
bag on the floor near the phonograph, the emery
sewed into a ribbon sling. Isn't that true?"
"Yes; she had arranged the emery as an orna-
ment as well as a necessity."
"I deserve a medal," he approved himself,
beaming, his eyes all admiration as he squinted
at her, over the spectacle rims. "But," he
prompted, " you found something else, something
that enabled you to do what I couldn't do, ex-
plain the use made of the emery and its ribbon
sling."
"I did, Mr. Hastings.—The minute hand of
the grandfather clock in the passage had been
marked very recently, showed a tiny scratch. I
couldn't have seen it without the boy's pocket
torch. Even then, any connection between the
emery sling and the clock never occurred to me.
In fact, I didn't see anything worth while — at
the time.
"When I left, I asked Harry to save for me
anything the charwoman might sweep up in her
work on the third floor.
"On his way home at half-past seven, he left


164 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
an envelope in our letter-box at the door. In the
envelope was some green thread, embroidery floss
— silk, you'd describe it — five or six yards. It
had been swept up with other trash.
"I'd seen a little bit of this silk attached to
the emery sling. Here's the thread the char-
woman found."
She spread out the fingers of her left hand.
On her palm lay a small, flat bunch of green silk
thread.
"Come with me!" she said, her eyes glow-
ing.
They followed her into Felix Conrad's study,
Thayer observing at once that a phonograph like
Miss Newman's had been brought in since his
visit a few hours ago.
"Gentlemen, be seated!" Rosalie, in a riot
of high spirits, mimicked the minstrel "Mr.
Bones."
"It is now," she said, looking at the grand-
father clock, "five-fifty-eight. Watch closely.
Here's another piece of green thread, six yards
of it, exactly like that the charwoman found, and
again exactly like the fragment I found attached
to the emery sling. Do you see?"
"Yes, but not with understanding," confessed
the detective.
"In a moment you will. This phonograph,
this make of machine, is started by pressure, a


THE PHONOGRAPH TRICK 165
light touch on this lever; and it's stopped by
similar pressure on this second lever."
She had the top up, pointing to the two brass
levers just inside the casing of the instrument
and an inch from the disc. Next she took from a
chair a ribbon sling, weighted at the bottom by
an emery bag, the whole thing a duplicate of the
sling found in Miss Newman's apartment.
Hooking the unweighted top of the sling over
the starting lever, she set the weighted bottom
loop on the casing of the machine, balancing it
so that a slight pull in any direction would dis-
lodge it. To this end she fastened the green
thread. The other end of the thread she carried
across the room to the grandfather clock, tying
it to the minute hand.
"Now," she said, illustrating with action each
explanatory phrase, "it's six o'clock. Suppose
I move the minute hand forward, this way, watch-
ing the effect.
"It's easy to see, from the tightening of the
thread at every advance of the minute hand, that
at eight minutes past six one of two things is
sure to happen: either the minute hand will be
retarded and the whole machinery of the clock
stopped by the ' pull' of the thread; or the ' pull'
of the minute hand will so tighten the thread that
the thread will unbalance the heavy loop of the
emery sling and make it fall.—That clear?"


166 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Great! Fine!" The old man's endorse-
ment was unqualified. "Finer than frog-hair!"
"I'll have mercy on you," she promised, colour
heightened. "I won't make you sit there eight
minutes, waiting to see what happens. Two min-
utes will be enough. It's now one minute past
six. There!" She stepped back from the clock.
"See what you will see at three minutes past
six."
The two minutes dragged. At regular, short
intervals the silk thread grew perceptibly tighter.
The clock's ticking grew louder, rose above the
street noises that came through the open win-
dows. Thayer had a sense of being far from the
rest of the world. The tick-tock, tick-tock, was
an exasperation — infernally so —
On the three minute mark the long, creeping
hand quivered: the thread, drawn tight by the
progress of the hand, vibrated visibly: to the
listening ear, it seemed that the clock had missed
a tick, stopped. Thayer shot Rosalie a quick
glance. She was smiling, assured.
He caught the sound of another tick; the clock
had not stopped. Before he realized this fact
fully, the heavy emery end of the sling toppled
from its balanced position and fell, swinging
slowly backward and forward in space half-way
to the floor.
It did not reach the floor because the other


168 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
body, as he thought — from the bedroom to the
alcove; presumably for the purpose of postpon-
ing discovery of the crime. This actually hap-
pened. Two other men called on her before the
tragedy was brought to light. Luck was with
him every minute.
"His getting the ice cream — for he would
have gone after it, even if Harry Fields had
offered to do so — and his 'talking' through
the bedroom door: those were items of the alibi,
things to be seen and substantiated by Harry.
"Don't you think that's a fair story of his ac-
tions, Mr. Hastings?"
"Wonderful!" he said. "Correct — as pretty
a piece of work as I ever heard of!"
"And the alibi's gone!" Thayer exulted.
"Gone," agreed the old man. "Great trout!
He nearly got away with it — missed it by a
whisker!"
Rosalie was laughing through tears. The sus-
pense of this scene, the strain of the whole day.
its disappointments and surprises, were exacting
the price of a passing weakness. She laughed
happily while the big tears formed in her wide,
shining eyes and stole their way, one by one, past
her lashes.
The old man dragged his hat from its accus-
tomed pocket.



THE PHONOGRAPH TRICK 169
"Robert F. Knowles," he told her, making
each of his words new homage, "is about to be
arrested, thanks to your brain —" he bowed over
her hand —" and your high-hearted courage."


XIV
A SUEPEISING DEFENCE
HASTINGS had been dealing with
Knowles on a "psychological level;"
and Knowles had weakened.
"Inventors, like this fellow," the old man had
reflected, " show more temperament than insides.
Harass 'em, rasp their nerves, flick 'em on the
raw, and you've got 'em! They've developed
such imaginations that danger looks like a moun-
tain to 'em, first glance.
"I'm going to scare this guy — turn him inside
out."
He had gone, unannounced, to the inventor's
room at the Wareham, and for nearly an hour,
beaming and benignant, he had played merci-
lessly on the man's high-strung nervous system.
Felix Conrad could not have surpassed him in
his use of innuendo, hints and indirection.
Apparently credulous of Knowles' every state-
ment, he had discussed the evidence against Mar-
cello, Gower and Thayer, with curious asides
and meaningless references at various times to
green silk, a phonograph and clocks.
At first Knowles laughed; the "old country-
no


A SURPRISING DEFENCE 171
man " amused him. But, after the second intro-
duction of silk into a conversation that had noth-
ing whatever to do with silk, the younger man
knew that to some extent he was threatened.
He was "rasped" and "harassed " as thor-
oughly as Hastings could have desired. With
his coat off and nursing his left knee between
locked hands, he sat on the side of the bed, his
eyes furtive as he watched the detective, half-
recumbent in the big arm-chair.
In the bathroom water dripped from a faucet
and "got on his nerves.'' He thought he would
get up and turn it off, but he made no move. He
looked out of the window at the Washington
monument bathed in the white silk of light from
a dozen searchlights — but why look at that now?
What was this blundering old ass driving at,
anyway? — He let fall the knee he had been
nursing. As he did so, he pulled up his trousers
leg, to see whether the perspiration of his palms
had marked it. Satisfied on that, he mopped
his hands with a handkerchief, and felt the edge
of his collar: it was softening.
Something, nervousness or the heat, was hit-
ting him noticeably. He estimated his inquisi-
tor's physical strength, and followed that with
the mental admonition that he must keep him-
self in hand. Besides, the "rube" knew noth-
ing — nothing whatever!


172 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Hastings, seeing how disorganized he was, be-
came more direct. The old man put away his
knife and wood, brushed splinters from his cloth-
ing.
"Inventors — a queer gang," he mused aloud,
as if declaring the result of long and patient
research: "a queer tribe. No heart, Mr.
Knowles, no heart in 'em at all."
"You mean me" Knowles asked, curiously
like a boy inviting a fight.
"Why, yes; in a way. If it would bring you
the money to 'put over' one of your brilliant
ideas, you'd starve a child, or even stab a woman,
wouldn't you?"
The detective, saying that, got himself together
with remarkable agility, slid to the edge of his
chair. The inventor, mouth open for further
argument, stood up and stared at him.
"I said, 'stab a woman,'" Hastings pricked
him.
"Well, suppose you did — what of it?"
Knowles responded.
Hastings' chuckle stung him.
■ " Sit down, Mr. Knowles. Sit down, and let's
talk it over."
"Talk what over?"
"Your guilt — stabbing Miss Newman."
Knowles did not sit down. His face flamed;
his neck was suddenly too large for his collar


A SURPRISING DEFENCE 173
and, bulged over it. He went nearer to the de-
tective, looked at him out of blazing eyes.
"Listen!" he threatened. "If you charge me
with that, if you stick to what you've just said,
111 throw you out of this room!"
Hastings smiled, looking up to him over the
steel rims of his spectacles. He knew he faced
trouble, although he doubted the other's willing-
ness to make it serious. But he repeated, his
attitude on the edge of the chair unchanged:
"Your guilt — stabbing Miss —"
He was interrupted by the unexpected.
Knowles, with1 a little outcry like the squeak of
a cornered rat, sprang on him, got both hands
on his throat, pressing him backward in the big
chair, trying to force him to a reclining posture.
The inventor's sheer weight was a tremendous
advantage, irresistible when reinforced by weak-
ening the old man's strength every second by the
choking.
The odds told quickly. The detective was bent
backward, was nearly prone against the slanted
chair-back. He could see, too, that, as he yielded,
his assailant's anger increased. It was impossi-
ble to cry for help. His utterance was choked
off. Giving way, inch by inch, he knew that
here was a matter of life and death.
Not anger, but rage gone berserker, a mania
beyond control, had him in its grasp.


174 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Thought of an alarm, drawing the attention
of persons in the hall or other rooms, was ridic-
ulous. There was no noise in this room, no
sound save the hissing intake of the inventors
breathing and the low drone of the electric fan.
The fellow's strength increased with every inch
he gained.
Whatever might have been his motive when he
sprang, his desire now was to kill.
The detective saw that clearly, and realized
again how close he was to actually losing his
life. His amusing little excursion into criminal
psychology, his study of the effects of continuous
goading and irritating, had brought him to this
imminence of death.
Blackness, in battering waves, engulfed him
momentarily. His left shoulder gave to the
pressure, touched the back of the chair. Flames
spurted across his vision. His head felt as if
red-hot nails were being hammered into it.
Paiu like that was not to be endured. At least,
he would not endure it. There was a trick to
meet this attack — what was it? His brother
used to play it on him when they were boys to-
gether, wrestling. It started with the shoulder,
and —
His right shoulder was still a good three inches
from the chair-back. He relaxed it, took all ex-
ertion out of it, so that Knowles thrust it back
>


A SURPRISING DEFENCE 175
with surprising ease and, in the unexpected for-
ward movement, lost the controlled poise of his
own body. For that fraction of time the assail-
ant, trying to restore and readjust his own
balance, was necessarily without effectiveness
against his victim.
It was the detective's chance. With the in-
ventor's weight thrown all to the right, and too
far to the right, he wriggled to the left and up-
ward, his motion accelerated by the desperate
brevity of the time that was favourable to him.
Knowles, busy for the instant in re-bracing
his legs, loosened involuntarily the clutch of his
hands. Hastings wriggled again to the left and
upward. The strength that comes from clean
living met his present urgent need. His body
was now on a level with that of Knowles.
Both of them rested much of their weight on
one side. The inventor leaned on his left elbow,
which was thrust against the seat cushion of the
chair while he retained the grasp of both hands
on the detective's throat. Hastings supported
himself on his right elbow, likewise braced
against the seat cushion.
Hastings became almost sinuous. Another
convulsive twitch of his muscles lifted him a
little higher than Knowles.
In that moment he put both his hands on the
inventor's fingers. If he could pull them away,


176 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
bend back even one of the fingers! But he could
not do it. They were driven so deeply into the
loose flesh of his neck that he could get no lev-
erage under their ends. Stars and sparks swept
before his eyes.
Knowles tightened his grip. The old man's
spine felt as if it, in its turn, had caught fire.
That burning of his bones and his flesh — his
whole body was one vast conflagration.
But there was a trick against this "choke
hold." He reviewed in crazy rapidity many
things his brother had taught him: the " curving
serve" in tennis and the "jabbing with your
elbow" in wrestling — Was that it? No; not
that exactly —
He let go of Knowles' fingers. What did they
matter, anyway? He put both hands on the fel-
low's right forearm. His brother's instruction
came back. That was it! He knew now! He
gave the forearm a snap downward and then up-
ward and backward, driving the bone, some bone
of the arm, against the elbow joint. It might
break the elbow: anyway it would break the
killing hold on his throat.
Why didn't it work? A wave of darkness en-
gulfed him a second time, and the bursting stars
whirled through it.— That trick should do the
business. No man's elbow could stand that
punishment. If it —


A SURPRISING DEFENCE 177
It worked! He had a chance to live! He was
getting air into his lungs. He moved instinc-
tively, had a grasp now on each of the fellow's
forearms. He broke the hold of the left hand.
They were lying side by side, chest to chest,
jammed down into the chair, Knowles trying to
free his wrists. Hastings drew great, long
breaths. At first, the breathing had hurt him,
and there had been something tremendous going
on in his neck, pounding and thumping, blood
racing to places that needed it. But he saw no
more stars and sparks.
The inventor stiffened himself, preparatory to
springing up and away from him. Hastings did
not resist that; he could do as much with an
upright position as the other man could. They
struggled up together, got on their feet, con-
fronted each other, Knowles squirming and
twisting to free his wrists.
Hastings held them with an ease that made
the other's fury flame higher.
"Why don't you quit?" the detective asked
him finally. "I can tell you —"
"You'll quit before I'm through with you!""
Knowles told him. "I haven't started yet."'
On the end of that, Knowles, balancing him-
self on his toes, threw all his weight against
Hastings, to press him backward to the wall or
mash him down if he persisted in keeping the


178 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
wrist-hold. The detective gave a step or two
backward, enough to wear out the weight of the
impact, and kept the hold.
Knowles was the recipient of another arm
twist. He thought a bone was broken; but he
did not give in. Hastings increased the pres-
sure. Knowles drew in his lower lip, biting it.
When he tried to wrench away, the detective re-
peated the trick of thrusting the forearm back
against the elbow joint.
The effect was agony: the inventor felt as if
liquid fire trickled down from his shoulder to
his finger-tips. It made his whole arm power-
less. Resistance was impossible.
His forehead dripped cold sweat. He could
do nothing but suffer. It was no longer a con-
test. Hastings gave him further attention in
both arms — and laughed.
Knowles, feeling in advance what was com-
ing, gave in.
"That's enough," he said in a low tone.
Released instantly, his first impulse was to
brush from his lower lip the flecks of blood that
showed how he had bitten it; but he could not
do it. He could not raise his arms. They were
numb.
He stood near the bed, his breathing fast and
shallow, his arms dangling at his sides, like
ropes.
"X


A SURPRISING DEFENCE 179
Hastings was matter-of-fact.
"Sit down, there on the bed," he directed.
"You'll be all right as soon as the blood gets
back to your hands."
The inventor obeyed.
"You're too impulsive, Knowles," continued
the old man, surveying him from the centre of
the room. "That's what I say: no stamina, you
inventors. Something strains you, aud you fly
into a thousand pieces! If you'd beaten me to
a pulp, it wouldn't have done you any good.
You didn't give me time to say I was your friend.
I'm going to help you right now."
Hastings went nearer to him.
"I know how you framed your alibi: the green
silk thread tied to the emery bag and the minute
hand of the grandfather clock; and the phono —"
He stopped as Knowles rose, mouth open,
arms swinging to each move of his body.
"My God!" the accused man whispered.
"Did you — did you — see it?"
His fear was unqualified: there was in all his
make-up nothing, mental or physical, strong
enough to gloss it. His head was pushed for-
ward, his neck elongated like a duck's as he
stared at the detective.
Hastings went back to the chair that had been
the scene of their struggle.
"Sit down," he said, and when the other


180 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
was seated, added: "So you did it, Knowles."
"Yes."
The detective was analysing a plan he had
formed beforehand, renewing now his confidence
in it.
Knowles broke the pause again.
"What are you going to do — to me?"
The question out, he gulped, his Adam's-apple
moving like a piston.
"Arrest me? " he persisted.
For the first time Hastings saw craftiness in
the fellow's glance.
"What else is there to do?"
"But it was self-defence. She tried to shoot
me. She said she could kill me and never be
touched for it.— and somebody, a man higher
up, would fix things for her."
Hastings visualized the woman, reliant upon
herself only and courageous, taunting this cow-
ard. He believed Knowles was telling the truth.
He could see the yellowness of the scene: the big
lump striking out at the woman.
If it could be proved that she was a spy, and
if he stuck to the self-defence story, he might es-
cape punishment after all! The situation struck
the old man as exceedingly funny.
"If you do as I tell you," he said drily, "I
won't arrest you tonight — maybe, not for a long
while."


182 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
been made by a right-handed thrust, ninety-nine
times out of a hundred."
It was a point no longer valuable.
But they talked on, rapidly, avoiding the su-
perfluous, each recognizing the value of the oth-
er's time. The detective's queries became faster
and faster. The doctor was rich with informa-
tion — imparted an astounding fact.
Hastings, amazed as he was, compared the in-
formation Riley gave him with what he had
learned from Knowles and Rosalie Conrad.
Quick action was essential.
Using the doctor's telephone, he called the
Conrad house and got Rosalie on the wire.
Was the senator there? Fine! — Leaving? —
She must keep him a while longer. Both of them
must hear what he had learned — it was im-
perative— he would be with them in a few
minutes.
■



184 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"After all, then," Thayer reminded him of
their conversation earlier in the day, "they are
clues?"
"Or hints," he smiled; "at least, hints."
Thayer asked about Knowles: "Did you ar-
rest him?"
"No. But I found him — get him later."
Seeing their astonishment, he transferred his
interest to Rosalie.
"Will you trust me, about Knowles, a little
while — just a very little while?"
"For months, Mr. Hastings," she said warmly.
"That's good! Just now, unarrested, he can
help me in another matter."
He was silent a long moment.
"I tell you, Miss Conrad," he said finally, " I
want to ask you about a few things. Later, if
you didn't know me as your friend, and son's —
the senator's — friend here, you might be
tempted to think I'd treated yon unfairly. But
that isn't true. You'll remember that, won't
you?"
"Why, of course!"
He faced her across the desk, his clasped hands
behind him, moving the tail of his coat up and
down like the flapping of a bird's wing.
"First of all, I've been wondering where your
father is."


CONCERNING A SECOND ATTACK 185
"He went to the police station, to see Mr.
Gower.
"At this time of night?"
"He went some time ago; wouldn't wait for
dinner. He said he could get a permit to see
Gower."
The old man looked puzzled.
"Ought to be back by this time, oughtn't he?"
"No; he's down for a speech this evening —
meeting of some patriotic club, I think."
"I see.— Now, then," he spoke as if he forced
himself with difficulty to the words: "anybody
in this house interested in firearms?"
"Yes. At one time Mr. Gower was a crack
revolver shot. Three or four years ago, he won
a medal in a big contest."
"And now?"
"He's given up shooting; morphine injured
his sight."
"Anybody else?"
"Father, of course," she replied. "Revolver
shooting was one of his fads — like art, or music;
or spies, now. But he also lost interest in it."
"Was he a good shot?"
"Unusually so, I believe."
Hastings resumed his pacing. It was a long
time before he spoke again.
Thayer turned to Rosalie. The detective's


186 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
warning before questioning her had impressed
him as deeply as it had her. He wanted to
avoid even the appearance of secretiveness.
"You've forgotten one thing, Rosalie. The
air-rifle you —"
"Why, yes," she accepted the prompting.
"Only a short time ago, Mr. Hastings, two or
three months, I should say, I saw father examin-
ing a queer-looking gun, in his study. I re-
member I asked him if he'd gone back to his old
toys."
"What did he say?"
"He said no: Gower had brought it to him
for examination: an inventor wanted father to
finance the manufacture and sale of it."
"Did he say he would do that?"
"I don't think so. I think I got the idea he
wouldn't."
Hastings was far from satisfaction. He clung
to detail.
"And Gower — you say he does no more shoot-
ing?"
"No more."
The detective turned that over in his mind.
"Yes; I see. I've something to tell you, but
I want you to get it at the right angle."
He was facing her across the desk again, hands
deep in his pockets, chin against his chest.
"Wonder," he speculated, "wonder if you


188 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
ever, as shown by careful examination, the blood-
stains are a figure eight, two loops.
"Miss Newman, wounded, was all over the
living room, blindly reeling and stumbling, or
consciously going from the bedroom to the man-
tel in the living room, thence to the bedroom
door again, and from there to the mantel once
more. Knowles would never have carried her
in such directions!
"Now, what does all that mean? She was
supposed to have stolen Knowles' blue-prints.
He thought she had them there. As a matter
of fact, wasn't that true? — and didn't she put
up a fight to keep her hands on them? Didn't
she, hurt and bleeding as she was, have this
struggle with him until he gave her the second
wound?"
"You still talk about a 'second wound',"
Thayer said. "How do you know there was a
second?"
"Dr. Riley," Hastings replied, giving them
time to consider the new story. "I've just seen
him. He told me."
"That there was a second attack?"
"Yes."
"But I can't understand. You mean she re-
ceived other wounds?"
"That's it — the stab wound, the wound just
above her heart, amounts to very little com-


CONCERNING A SECOND ATTACK 189
paratively — isn't dangerous. The thing that
threatens her life is a bullet."
"You mean she was shot!"
The cry came from Rosalie.
The senator voiced its sequel: "What with?"
"So far as they can tell at present, with a re-
volver. They've X-rayed that part of her head,
the brain."
"The brain?" Rosalie echoed his last two
words in a whisper.
To her, they meant Zimony Newman's death,
the impossibility of recovery.
"Yes," the old man said gently: "the bullet's
imbedded in the skull, hemorrhage threaten-
ing."
"But the surgeons!" Thayer interposed.
"They can do something! They can't mean
they'll sit at her bedside, wondering when she'll
die, making no attempt to save her!"
"Probing for the bullet," Hastings explained,
"is the only thing that can save her life. And
to probe now, they say, would be fatal. To-
morrow, or later — any time within the next
four or five days — they will operate."
Thayer put his hand on Rosalie's shoulder.
The old man leaned on the desk, looking over and
beyond them into space.
He was glad that the thought now in his mind
was not one he felt compelled to give them: that


190 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Felix Conrad, determined to help Gower out of
trouble, had suggested to the flattered Ross the
advantage of keeping as many details as pos-
sible to himself — making it sure that the chief
of police, not an operative of the Department of
Justice, would have the prestige of solving the
problem. That was a point to be investigated
later.
"Knowles stabbed her," he said musingly,
"and later shot her — or he stabbed her, and
later somebody else shot her."
Comment came first from Thayer:
"Gower."
"You mean Gower shot her?" queried Has-
tings.
"Yes."
"It may be. I wish I knew — Knowles or
Gower, or who?"
"How about the range?" pursued Thayer.
"Shot fired inside the apartment, or from a
window outside?"
"Nobody can tell now — depends on distance,
calibre of revolver — and so on."
"I'd like to know that," Thayer went further:
"possibility of — from a window over here?"
Rosalie leaned forward, nearer the desk light,
her features thrown into strong relief. They
saw, all at once, how drawn her face was. Un-


CONCEBNING A SECOND ATTACK 191
der her eyes there were small, blue shadows,
and in the eyes themselves a frank melan-
choly.
Her brain was a riot of terror. Ever since
Hastings had told them of the bullet wound,
fear for Zimony's life and scorn for Ross' lie
had confused her. Now, even, she was not think-
ing with clarity. Her self-control was mobbed
by the thoughts which rose against her.
She had wished all day to disregard the prob-
ability that Gower was involved in the tragedy
and relying upon her father to save him. But
she gave up now.
Her father, Felix Conrad, suspected, or knew,
that he had within his home a criminal, and tried
to conceal the fact so as to keep his own repu-
tation beyond question!
For the sake of his vanity, he degraded him-
self!
But that was not the whole of her perplexity.
She had in her possession — certainly without
the knowledge of anybody but John Thayer — a
piece of evidence which might end all her doubts,
and all the doubts of others. What must she do
about that — the note she had taken from Mary
Fontaine's table?
Her father had played his last card in the
game to prevent announcement of her engage-


192 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
ment. If he produced facts to injure the sen-
ator's name or defence, she was to withhold the
announcement. She knew her father better now
than ever.
Only in the hope of hurting her fiance' would
he have spent a minute calling on Mary and
getting from her a communication — and she,
his daughter, had seen how bitter was his dis-
appointment on discovering that the letter had
been snatched from him when he had it almost
in his hand.
She could no longer deceive herself! She was
not afraid that the letter would hurt her father.
If there had been a possibility of such a thing, he
would have trusted to no chance whatever: his
eyes would never have lost sight of it for an
instant until he had appropriated it and burned
it.
Truth was pounding against her. She feared,
but the fear was for her lover!
She felt, as the revelation came to her, that
she could stand nothing more.
She put her arms on the blotter, resting her
forehead upon them. A little outcry came from
her, the only expression she vouchsafed of a suf-
fering so strange and so poignant that it shrieked
within her to be heard.
Thayer tightened his hold upon her shoulder,
reminding her of his longing to help her.


CONCERNING A SECOND ATTACK 193
Hastings crossed the room to his bundles,
slowly assembling and picking them up.
Rosalie lifted her head as he took a step to-
ward the door.
"If a note—"
She checked herself, putting a hand to her
mouth. They waited, motionless, keeping the
attitudes in which the three words had found
them. They, too, had worried about a note.
"I wish I knew —" she began again, and
stopped. *
Something was the matter with her head!
Why should she tell them, anyway? It was a
thing she had to dispose of for herself. If their
advice could help her, the affair was of no im-
portance. If she said more, no advice on earth
could put a stop to the events that might ensue.
Her mood changed. She wanted an opportun-
ity to think. Her father was trying to destroy
the man she loved. She must think — and
clearly.
"You'd better go," she said. "Oh, I wish you
would — both of you! I must have time to see
things as they are. I must, really."
"You're quite right, Miss Conrad," Hastings
endorsed her words; " excellently right. There's
only one sthing I must say now, if you don't
mind."
"What is it?"


CONCERNING A SECOND ATTACK 195
"You must go," she said. "You're late."
Her white face, in spite of the brave eyes,
held him. But she fought his reluctance to
leave; laughed lightly at the idea of her needing
his sympathy; caught him by the sleeve and led
him to the door.
There, for a moment, she wavered, remember-
ing that at eleven o'clock her father was to en-
dorse or protest the announcement of her en-
gagement. The folly of his purpose amazed her
more than ever. She would have the announce-
ment made, no matter what happened!
Nevertheless, she would see her father at
eleven: if for no other reason, to discover what
he would say in an attempt to discredit John
Thayer.
"Don't think I'm unreasonable, John," she
said, "but can you come back here from the
conference?"
"Why, yes — but it will be late."
"If you could be here at eleven, for just a
moment —"
He thought.
"These conferences last for ever and ever," he
said. "I'd have less than an hour there.— Im-
portant that I be here at eleven?"
"It would mean, to you and to me, great
things, perhaps."
"I'll do this, then: I'll excuse myself for a


196 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
little while. I'll get here at eleven, and hurry
back to the conference."
When he had gone, she climbed the stairs
slowly, as if her resolution controlled her body
with difficulty. Her desire was to escape, to flee
the work ahead of her. She went into her
"den," a room into which nobody ever came un-
invited. «
The note, sealed in its envelope, lay on the
desk before her. She sprang up and locked the
door. That done, she caught her breath. Why
had she locked herself in with the note?
She answered that: it was because she feared
the consequences if the information in that
envelope were made public. So far, she was in
control of such possibilities: she and the note
were locked in, hidden from everybody.
The idea came to her that she might burn it.
But the temptation was not irresistible. She
must read it — and at once.


MR. CONRAD BY MOONLIGHT 199
Tolerance sweetened his flow of thought; gra-
ciousness softened his heart. Even the prospect
of a conversation with this clumsy old man was
not altogether distasteful. He was enjoying, in
advance, the satisfaction that comes to the man
of intellect while reducing an opponent's logic
to asininity.
"Fact is," Hastings went at once to the point,
"I'd like to have a talk with you right away."
Mr. Conrad inclined his head in polite agree-
ment. But, looking toward his own door, he
recoiled from the hospitable idea that had oc-
curred to him. The detective saw the point:
Mr. Conrad preferred that his home be polluted
no further by another visit from the old
man.
"Ah, yes; to be sure," Felix said urbanely.
"I was on the point of extending my walk. Sup-
pose we walk?"
"Suits me," Hastings said. "To La Fayette
Park?"
"You read my mind, positively!" Conrad was
the apotheosis of cordiality. "The great out-
doors, the pleasant breath of flowers, the canopy
of stars — what better surroundings could a
thinking man desire?"
"All right. But I can't walk and talk simul-
taneously — an old failing of mine."
They crossed Eighteenth Street and started


200 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
eastward on I Street, disappearing in the black
pools of shadows made by the trees, reappearing
on the white fields made by the moon.
They were silent, Hastings determined to talk
only when they had reached a park bench. Oc-
casionally, Felix swung his cane slowly, the
metal ferule hanging upon the air a wide and
gleaming circle.
Serenity sat upon his brow. Placidity and
complacence were at his side.
Secretly derisive, however, he watched Hast-
ings covertly, and saw something that empha-
sized the advisability of being on his guard. He
remembered the detective's monosyllabic bear-
ing that morning in the Newman apartment, fol-
lowed by quick domination of the scene.— Well,
it was one's duty to be always on one's guard—
even against an ass! *
They went down Connecticut Avenue and into
the park. Hastings pointed to a bench in the
full glare of the moon. As they took their seats,
he put down his bundles, leaning them against
the bench on the side further from his companion.
In spite of his handling them without effort,
Conrad saw that they were heavy. He wanted
to ask what they were, where he had got them.
But he kept his curiosity within bounds.
"I thought, Mr. Conrad," Hastings began,
"or, more frankly, I hoped you and I could go


MR. CONRAD BY MOONLIGHT 201
over certain matters in a way to benefit you as
well as myself."
"You read me, Mr. Hastings, as if I were
monosyllables to your scrutiny: a parchment
done in large type for your perusal!:'
Felix was exuberant. Undoubtedly, he con-
gratulated himself on his ability to chime har-
monious response to the other's views!
The detective was not so enraptured.
"It's about Gower,'' he said.
He paused at that, sighting down the line of
his nose and under his glasses, determined to get
all he could from a countenance equally deter-
mined that he should get nothing.
"Gower?" Felix used the name slowly.
"Yes; Gower."
"I'm afraid you'll have to explain, Mr. Has-
tings — I honestly am."
By voice and facial expression, Mr. Conrad
reprehended himself, confessing the paucity of
his brain's resources. He sighed, and thrust his
cane into the gravel walk.
"I mean," said the detective, " I'd like to know
why you persist in acting as Gower's protector."
"Protector? — Protecting him from what?"
Again Felix regretted his denseness. This
was quite clear — his regret. He became a com-
mission of sanity, investigating sadly the rem-
nants of his own intelligence.


204 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Why, yes." This time Conrad's bewilder-
ment was unassumed.
"The stabbing," Hastings announced, "isn't
now in the reckoning. It is, I'm safe in saying,
a minor matter."
Mr. Conrad left off playing with gravel and
walking stick.
"What," he countered, his voice flat, "has di-
minished it so?"
"A bullet."
"A bullet!"
He echoed the old man's words in an astonish-
ment he did not try to hide. He leaned for-
ward again and studied his informant's face.
But the detective gave him no time for mental
readjustment. The Conrad countenance was
thrust forward, unshadowed by his hat-brim, its
smallest peculiarity standing out boldly in the
moonlight, its every detail exposed to studious
eyes.
Here was the ideal moment for Hastings' state-
ment:
"She was shot."
"Shot!"
It was evident how Felix groped for clarity.
"Shot!" He repeated his first echo, and sat
erect — forgetting himself only so far that he
pushed his hat further to the back of his head
and remained, as to his face, lighted up and


MR. CONRAD BY MOONLIGHT 205
self-revealing to the old man's gaze. "Shot —
and who's the surgeon?"
"Riley."
"And how's she lasting?"
He realized then that he was too curious. His
face went back to its immobility.
"She's lasting all right," the detective an-
swered him. "She may get well. It's an even
chance."
"But the police, you, nobody mentioned this!
Gower didn't mention it — nobody."
"That's true."
"Queer, isn't it? Things may come up, facts
to change one's mind."
He was himself again, inscrutable; his body
a cabinet of mystery, hiding all the things that
went on inside of it, the little ideas, the big
thoughts.
"That was what I thought," Hastings said;
"you might change your mind."
"So?" He deliberated. "No; not about
Gower. He's innocent."
"If you know that, and can prove it," the de-
tective said grimly, "you'll do your faithful em-
ploye a great service — probably save his life."
"Oh," Felix ignored the prophesied danger;
"by the way, the bullet — did it show any-
thing?"
"Show what?"


206 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Show anything: the calibre of the revolver
or—"
"What," Hastings cut in, "makes you say it
was a revolver?"
"It could hardly have been done with a ma-
chine gun — or a trench mortar."
The irony was excellent.
"No, it hasn't shown much of anything," Hast-
ings answered him.
"Ah-h!"
The exclamation was the voice of boredom.
But the old man caught its significance, knew
that, in asking about the bullet, Conrad had
voiced his chief concern, and that this concern
had been great.
"Who," Felix put another inquiry, "did you
say was the surgeon in charge?"
"Riley, of course. It's his case."
"Quite so — quite. I thought, a mere specu-
lation on my part, he might have called in an
older man, one more expert in — er — probing."
The detective bent over and picked up the
sand box in its wrapping of newspaper.
"Mr. Conrad," he said, balancing the box on
his knees, "in my accusation tomorrow I'm go-
ing to say that Zimony Newman lies at death's
door as a result of having been shot by a man
who, when he fired the bullet that struck her


MR. CONRAD BY MOONLIGHT 207
I
down, stood at a window of the third-floor front
room of your residence."
"Yes?"
Pronunciation of the monosyllable wearied
Mr. Conrad. He yawned a little.
"And that the man who tried to murder her
is David Gower."
"Yes. I think you told me that, or some-
thing like that, a few minutes ago."
Mr. Conrad's weariness increased. Boredom
oppressed him.
"And that bullet contained extraordinary evi-
dence."
There was a rift in the boredom.
"Evidence — extraordinary?"
"Exactly."
"Ah-h, I see. That's interesting. And the
bullet, Mr. Hastings: who probed for it?"
"Nobody. It's still in her head — or her
brain: mixed up some way in what Riley says is
the dura mater or pia mater — you know, of
course — glands protecting the brain."
Felix looked at him steadily, a long time.
Hastings met the look.
The time had come for decision: the employer
could still champion the employe and have him-
self smirched in doing it, or desert the faithful
secretary and advantage himself by producing


208 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
facts to make the secretary's conviction sure.
Hastings saw how earnestly Conrad pondered
the thing.
"Of course, too," the detective prodded with
repetition, "there's another thing: what will the
bullet show when we have it in our hands?"
The effect of that pronouncement was surpris-
ing. Conrad, looking into space, giving voice to
soliloquy instead of addressing him, said:
"Shot! — Nine twenty-six to nine thirty-
four."
Except that the figures described the time
Knowles consumed in getting the ice-cream for
Miss Newman, Hastings could make nothing of
the half-muttered phrases. He made no special
effort to translate them just then. He was busy
watching the Conrad countenance.
The face, trained to impassivity in time of ag-
itation, was in revolt at last. An emotion,
stronger than all the others Felix had taught
himself to hide, was in command.
The mask was disappearing, piece by piece, as
if an unseen agent worked on it with hammer
and chisel, chipping off, chipping off, with heavy
blows. But, with that, was a worse, a noisome,
impression: something like dissolution and rot-
tenness, as a sheet of wet blotting-paper, soppy,
is picked up in small bits from the smooth table
to which it clings.


MR. CONRAD BY MOONLIGHT 209
For once, the Conrad countenance was not a
flippant advertisement of fallacies. In that mo-
ment any man who looked at him could see what
was in his heart. He was afraid.
"Shot! — Nine twenty-six —- to nine thirty-
four."
Repeating the meaningless words, he looked
away from the detective.
"Well!" Hastings sought to jog him into
argument. "What about this devoted employ^,
this Gower?"
"You're sure he shot the woman?"
"Absolutely."
Felix turned to him again. Hastings per-
ceived that already the mask had been recovered,
was now almost readjusted. The mouth, a few
seconds ago a pair of loose, tremulous lips, was
now a thin, straight line; the eyes, which had
been wide and staring without purpose, were
hard, direct in their gaze.
"If Gower did that!" he said, not like a man
hotly and thoughtlessly enraged, but with a cold,
intense venom. "If he hurt that woman, if he
fired at her, he'll suffer the tortures —"
He checked himself, laughing in an imper-
sonal, mirthless tone.
"I'm tempted to be theatric," he apolo-
gized.
"Let's be practical, Mr. Conrad," Hastings


MR. CONRAD BY MOONLIGHT 211
the third floor room of your house. Previous to
that, Gower had up there a steel plate an eighth
of an inch thick, two feet wide and three feet
long, weighing thirty-eight pounds. I've got it
right here. You, of course, in your acquaintance
with fire-arms and their use, know —"
"Certainly," Felix obviated a long statement;
"the sand box and the steel plate are 'bullet
catchers'; used in shooting galleries to prevent
bullets going through the rear wall."
He gave undivided attention to the case
against Gower. He wanted all of it.
Hastings pursued:
"Gower's used these bullet-catchers in daily
practice. He had a good range, the depth of
the front room and the length of the hall ex-
tending to the back of the house — your house."
"How do you know that, Mr. Hastings?"
Felix, in putting the question, sounded queru-
lous.
"If you'll excuse me — I proceed: his oppor-
tunity for practice was fine: nobody but himself
and Whipple on that floor; a silencer on his
gun. The whole thing was easy.
"But he took no chances of failure in the
shooting he intended to do. Wire screens are
always a puzzle when it comes to a question of
ballistics. Sometimes they deflect a bullet;
sometimes they stop its course altogether; some-


212 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
times the bullet gets through and falls to the
floor, spent, three or four inches from the screen
it has penetrated.
"Your secretary knew all that, and exper-
imented with a screen — shot into it, and
through it — a screen which he took from the
window on the Eighteenth Street side of your
third-floor front room — here it is, in this other
bundle.
"So much powder needed to carry a bullet
this many yards and through a window screen
and into the body of a human being: the calcula-
tions are simple: so much powder for thirty
yards; therefore, just so much more powder for
fifty, or ninety, or a hundred yards. He knew
what he was about.
"There you have it: the one-time champion
revolver shot again at top form by daily practice;
everybody thinking he can't see a flock of geese;
and he certain, through precise experiments, ex-
actly how much powder and what bullet will do
his work."
The detective paused and squinted down his
nose, inviting comment. Felix made none.
"Well, what do you think of it?" Hastings de-
manded.
Conrad smiled, brilliantly.
"Tremendously interesting, absorbing; but a
little overrated, I'm afraid. Expecting the facts


ME. CONRAD BY MOONLIGHT 213
you've just given me to substantiate a charge of
deadly assault — it's — why, it's like converting
a silk-worm into a ball gown."
"Still," Hastings continued slowly, "we
might as well consider the fellow's motive.
Back of his criminal plan, there may have been
the jealous man's blind rage, desire to kill what
he could not conquer."
"A motive I should never have imputed to
Gower," Conrad said lightly.
"Or," Hastings approached the end of his
story, "being a German agent under the pro-
tection of your reputation and your roof, a spy
safe in the employ of a man who, above all others,
hated the breed, he did his work cautiously.—
Ever hear of communication bullets, Mr. Con-
rad?"
"Oh, yes."
"I mean bullets hollowed a little, carrying
written stuff, fired from a safe place to another
safe place for collection by a confederate — ever
hear of that sort of thing?"
"Of course.— But you were going to say?"
"I was going to say that I expect to charge
Gower with treason as well as with the shoot-
ing."
"Treason!"
"Yes."
"Allow me," Felix argued smoothly. "Your


214 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
I
logic fails there. If he had agreed at some
previous time to operate with communicating
bullets, necessarily he would have been an expert
shot then, and ever since; and would have needed
no such practice.— And there's his vision; he
can't see — eyes gone to pot.— Your theory's
wild."
"Take it or leave it," Hastings said doggedly;
"it's the case I'll try to prove. If this bullet
turns out to be a communication bullet, your
secretary will soon have his last dealings with
lead."
"But consider," Felix interposed again: "a
bullet, piercing objects you've described, will
probably be nothing but a shapeless lump when
extracted. How could you identify it as one for
communication?"
"If we can't, Gower's act remains simply a
cold-blooded attempt to murder.
"That, sir," the old man concluded, stern and
menacing, "is the case against this precious per-
sonage, your secretary, thief and forger; and, I'm
ready to make oath, a German spy. That's it —
and you can fight me, fight the authorities — to
help him, if you choose! But, in choosing, re-
member the reputation you prize so highly —
and what will become of it."
The detective got to his feet, reached for his


MR. CONRAD BY MOONLIGHT 215
bundles. He was willing to wait until the next
day for developments. They came, however, at
once, with a rush.
For the second time during the interview
Felix was angry, now more intensely than be-
fore. He, too, stood up. He was suddenly like
a rope drawn taut and quivering in multiple
tremors under a blow.
His nostrils thickened; his upper lip was
drawn away from the lower, exposing long teeth.
Profanity poured from his mouth, and abuse
of Gower. His wrath, unrestrained and ram-
pant, caught him up and shook him to and fro.
He broke his cane and threw the pieces away.
He revelled in rage: his facial contortions, his
spasmodic movements, the tremor of his body,
the insensate phrases thati foamed past his
clenched teeth, all his speech and motion leaped
the barriers of common sense, changed him into
something repulsive, a man stripped of all the
social reticences.
He achieved unbelievable depths, degrees of
looseness-and blasphemy that were terrible.
"A spy! And under my protection — with
access to my correspondence, all my papers! —
And I've befriended him while he put the finish-
ing and decorative touches on the asininity to
which he'd reduced me!


216 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Drug-fiend, ingrate!" He interlarded the
epithets with oaths. "I called on him in his
cell.— He's betrayed me!"
He emitted an unintelligible sound.
"Laugh at me!" he stormed to the unrespon-
sive Hastings. "Help him? Stand by him!
I'll see him in — What do you want to know?
Let me help get him — turn him inside out!"
He moved away, unsteady on his feet, maledic-
tions crowding his mouth. Once he looked back,
calling to Hastings:
"See me tomorrow! I'll fill you up with
Gower."
He left the park, walking fast, his ungoverned
steps making little detours and arcs off the
straight line of the path.
Hastings, watching his departure, showed no
elation at having him as ally.
"If I'm not right — if Knowles did shoot
her," he muttered, sincerely reverent, "God for-
give me for what I've put into that man's head
tonight."


XVII
EOSALIB PEOPOSES A TEST
CONEAD and Thayer were in the study
when Rosalie entered. She stopped in
the doorway, looking at Thayer.
"Father's told you?"
"About his hesitating to announce our en-
gagement? Yes."
Heavy shadows were under her eyes. He
knew at once that she had been through unusual
trial.
"We came in together," Conrad said, "and I
thought my telling him would save — be easier."
Felix was ingratiating. As she crossed the
room, her bearing was plainly that of a woman
resolved to do a painful thing; but he missed it
entirely, absorbed in observing that the beauty
of her dress became, as she moved, gorgeous.
The whiteness of her stood out brilliantly,
filling his gaze.
"That was good of you," she acknowledged his
information, without warmth.
Thayer took a chair at her left. She turned,
to face him directly.
"First, John, what I have to say concerns my
217


218 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
father. Afterwards, you and I, alone, will
say —"
Without finishing that sentence, she con-
fronted Conrad again:
"I've cancelled the announcements of my en-
gagement to John, father."
Aware that Thayer had sprung to his feet,
she put out her left hand, a gesture begging him
for quiet.' But she kept her eyes on her father.
His face indicated merely a polite curiosity.
a yes?"
He smiled. Something — a new idea, an un-
expected development — had destroyed the
anger Hastings had seen in La Fayette Park fif-
teen minutes ago.
"Yes," she said. "I did that because my love
for John, even in its most selfish moments, could
not put upon him the burden of being connected
in any way with Felix Conrad's daughter."
As her beauty had filled the room at first, her
agony pervaded now all their thoughts, her fa-
ther's even.
"What do you mean, Rosalie?"
Conrad watched her, his smile gone.
"I mean," she said, looking always at Felix,
and lifting her chin a little, as if through pride
she could endure anything without tears; "I
mean I release John from our engagement."


220 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
hour, when, unable to secure the consent of her
conscience to the reading of a stolen note, she
had analysed all the facts at her disposal and,
from them, had framed the heavy verdict against
her father.
He lit a cigarette — and thought. He did not
believe her. Of course, she had read it. That
was what he would have done. And, since she
had read it, she knew it would hit him!
"No," he said firmly. "It isn't my letter.
And I don't propose to have you, or Mrs. Fon-
taine, or anybody else, create the impression that
it's mine."
"Oh, father!" she breathed, leaning toward
him, trying in vain to find in his face some sign
of his desire to have fair, open dealing with her.
"You see! I knew — I knew you wouldn't."
She rose slowly, superb in disdain.
« We've come at last, this evening, father, to
the end of our ways. All my life you've posed
and postured as an inscrutable being with the
magic recipe for success and happiness in life.
And I believed you! —
"But I know you, now.— At heart you're
drawn to evil. You're fascinated by cruelty —
"Oh, I shan't prolong this! Only a word or
two more. In every way that fathers and daugh-
ters love each other, in all the sweet relation-


ROSALIE PROPOSES A TEST 221
ships by which they beautify life — in those
things, there never has been any sympathy be-
tween you and me: indeed, there could never
be. And — it seems — it is a shame to pretend
them."
He tried to interrupt; but she stopped him
with a motion of her hand.
"I think that's all," she said; " I suppose the
word 'disown' is what I mean, although in a
way it's worse and more than 'disown.'—Yes;
in the sense of ever, so long as I live, expecting
from you anything that has to do with affection.
and love, and warm, dear happiness, I disown
you. And my saying so pains you less than
my mere thinking about it pained me!"
She went a step or two toward the door, so
that her shoulder was presented to him. She
did not see the pattern of his countenance before
he said:
"I assume that you apply this fiddle-faddle
with equal contempt and scorn to your use of
my bank account?"
Looking over her shoulder, she said slowly:
"I had thought you, even you, would have left
that unsaid."
He misunderstood her.
"Yes? — I'm to submit to abuse and slander,
but smile while I honour your checks?"


222 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
She was able to answer even that:
"No. For months I've been earning more
than enough for my support."
She put her hand lightly on Thayer's arm.
"Come with me, John."
She stopped long enough to say to Conrad:
"I would leave your house tonight but for
the injury it might do to others — innocent oth-
ers — while the Newman case is unsettled. But
I shall go — quite soon."
Thayer followed her toward the small drawing-
room. He felt that, if he lost now the conso-
lation of her love, he would lose, too, all heart
for the fight he had to make.
"I'm not interested in that letter!" he tried
to persuade her. "I'm not interested in what
your father may, or may not, do or say!"
She did not go to the drawing-room. Fearing
his insistence, she stopped at the foot of the
stairs.
"Don't withdraw that announcement," he
begged, sensing her softened mood. "It will get
out, news of it — and hurt us."
She stood on the second step of the stairway,
looking down to him, the balustrade between
them.
"My father," she said, "is such a man as may
ruin you tomorrow; and Mary Fontaine — she's
wrong — somehow!"


ROSALIE PROPOSES A TEST 223
"But that, all of that — everything! What
does it matter?"
"I can't have you vulnerable through me,
through Felix Conrad's daughter." .
"Felix Conrad's daughter," he said fiercely,
"is my salvation!"
She put both her hands, icy cold, on his rest-
ing on the balustrade.
"You will say," she continued, "I'm breaking
your heart. My dear, you are about to say it
now. But it isn't true. Hearts don't break, my
love." She looked at him a long moment. "If
they did, mine would have broken in this last
hour."
He protested again, pointed out that she was
over-wrought, magnifying everything.
"Don't make it too hard for me, John," she
implored him, "so hard that I shall fear you
distrust my love.
"We must wait until neither I nor my fa-
ther can hurt you — with the world. We must
wait until you are free of worry — until it's
proved that my father isn't shielding a mur-
derer. I won't have your career hurt by the
hlot of what your fiancee's father does, or doesn't
do."
She saw in his eyes something that almost
forced her tears. She sobbed once — a signal to
him that, despite her will, she had come to the


XVIII
ANOTHER WEAPON DISCOVERED
ROSALIE realized now that she had
heard something unusual. A noise, un-
expected and threatening, had given the
alarm. What was it? Before she could meet it
or deal with it effectively, she must remember —
She lay still, the silk nightgown her only cover-
ing.
The door on her left, leading into the den,
was open. On her right another door, leading
into her dressing room, was closed. This dress-
ing room she seldom used. It was, for the most
part, a storage room for her hats, parasols and
some of her handsomer gowns.
The disturbing noise had come from the den.
She had waked up with that idea beating against
the edges of her consciousness. In fact, she
thought now she had heard it twice. She lay for
several minutes without moving, hoping for a
repetition of the sound.
She held her eyes open, staring straight to-
ward the ceiling. There were moments when
she saw nothing but the blackness; in other mo-
ments freak flashes of whiteness and zigzags of
bright colours were before her.
226


ANOTHER WEAPON DISCOVERED 227
No sound came to her. Her ears rumbled and
were atrophied by turns, in reality catching
nothing.
At last, she did hear something, the ticking of
the little clock on her desk in the den. That re-
minded her. She had left the note on the blot-
ter-pad of her desk — the desk open!
That was it, the note! Somebody wanted it,
by this time probably had it and was gone.
She sat up. As she did so, a thread of light
was flung across the room, vivid, a finger of flame
that split the darkness. It was gone before she
could reason about it; but she thought it had
come from the keyhole on her right: the dress-
ing-room lights had been turned on and off inside
of a second.
Or she might have imagined the light. She
Was bewildered.
In another moment she knew, was informed
by a noise in the dressing room. It was not a
loud sound. It would never have penetrated to
her brain if, in hoping for it, her sense of hearing
had not been strained.
Somebody had moved a light chair, one of its
legs scraping the strip of bare flooring near the
door that gave on the hall. That movement, too,
had been for only a fraction of a second —
checked as soon as started.
She swung her feet to the rug at her bedside,


228 THE MELWOOD MYSTERV
thrust them into loose slippers, withdrew them,
and felt for a pair of moccasins. She would go
into the dressing room, herself moving like a
ghost, giving the intruder no warning until she
switched on the lights, revealing the identity of
her, or him — whoever it was.
Drawing tight the ribbons of the moccasins,
she slid slowly from the bed and stood upright.
As she lifted a kimono, a light, filmy affair, to
her shoulders, the fabric of it dragged against
the silk nightgown with a scraping that sounded,
in the black silence, loud enough to wake every
sleeper in the house.
She laid the kimono aside, and considered:
The occupant of the dressing room had entered
through the hall door, and naturally had left it
open, for noiseless departure. If she were to
open the door of her room, she would discover
nothing: the intruder, hearing her, would slip
through the hall door and away, unidentified.
She started toward the den. At every step the
moccasins, soft as they were, met the rugs with
audible friction. She learned after three steps
how to avoid that: she did it by putting down
and lifting each foot with infinite slowness.
Her progress across the den was reassuring:
her careful slowness resulted in perfect quiet.
The door from the den into the hall was open,
proving the accuracy of her first waking idea


230 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
breathing. It was quick, shallow breathing, like
that of a corsetted woman in unusual exertion,
or like that of a person suffering sharp emotional
disturbance.
In an agony of caution, she began the work of
gathering up her gown in handfuls and drawing
it above her knees. She had intended at first to
enter the room undiscovered and to turn on the
lights with the push-button a few inches to the
left of the door-frame.
But she gave that up. She planned, before
facing the intruder, to find out exactly what was
this person's real and foremost object.
She stepped forward, this time silently. The
slowness, the tensing and relaxing of her legs
and body with this creeping carefulness, this at-
tention to each individual and separate muscle,
and the strained listening for a noise proclaim-
ing the other's whereabouts — all this was a stu-
pendous physical ordeal.
The breathing she had heard was now inaudi-
ble. She went further into the room, not daring
to put out her foot with anything like quickness.
She was in a crouching position, holding the
gown above her knees with one hand while with
the other she described in front of her wide, slow
circles, seeking obstacles.
Her hair, done in two long, heavy braids, hung
in front of her because of the stooped attitude


232 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
for eyes to adjust themselves to the change.
She was the first to see.
The intruder was Felix Conrad. She drew
back, cowering against the wall, stifling an im-
pulse to switch off the lights — to shut out the
picture.
He recognized her in another fraction of a sec-
ond. When the lights flashed on, he was bending
forward, into the closet. The rasping of finger-
nails against satin had been accidental as he
put out his hand in the dark. Springing
erect, he faced her, holding in his left hand a
gun.
Rosalie recognized it immediately. It was the
air-gun she had seen in his study three months
ago.
She did not remember how scantily clad she
was.
"Father! " she said, a little above her breath,
hands to her cheeks, while she cowered against
the wall.
"Ah-h!»
As the exclamation passed his lips, he turned
and, with sure fingers, using only his right hand,
took from its hanger a long opera cloak of crim-
son satin.
She noticed that he was dressed as she had left
him in the study, except that he wore moccasins
like hers.


ANOTHER WEAPON DISCOVERED 233
"Allow me," he said, in a tone enriched by
solicitude.
Before she could grasp his intention, he was
at her side, draping the crimson cloak about
her, one deft touch drawing it snugly across her
shoulders, covering her entirely, from neck to
foot. He stepped back and stood leaning on the
gun, using it as a cane.
"Why, Rosalie," he regretted, seeing how she
trembled, "You're frightened! — I don't see
why."
"Don't see why? " she echoed, looking at him
out of wide eyes.
"Why, no — really. Startled, yes; I can un-
derstand that — but frightened? — No."
She was erect, back to the wall, her left hand
a tremulous clasp for her cloak.
"You did it!" she accused.
He comprehended all her meaning, but he put
the obvious question, lifted eye-brows pointing
his surprise:
"Did what?"
"Shot her."
"All of which shows how astute Gower was."
He jerked the gun upward, balancing it in tho
hollow of his left arm while he produced cigar-
ette case and matches.
"I mean, in advising me to hide this gun — in
fact, to destroy it."


234 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Her eyes remained an accusation.
His glance met hers continuously. When he
had lit his cigarette, the smoke hung in front of
him, scarcely moving in the still, oppressive air;
but the haze of it did not temper the hard keen-
ness of his eyes.
"I see you don't understand," he said. "And
an explanation's due Gower, if you're not tired."
She nodded, telling him to proceed.
"Gower's a brilliant thinker, analytical.
Hastings told me late tonight the Newman
woman had been shot. Naturally, I saw what
that opened up; the possibility of accusation be-
ing brought against Gower, if those already ac-
cused chose to stoop so—"
He checked himself, seeing that she resented
the last words.
"I mean," he continued, "it might have been
said that Gower, or I, or Whipple, anybody in
this house, had shot her.— Do I tire you?"
She moved her head in negation.
"I wanted Gower to know of it. Evidently,
this shooting information had been withheld.for
a purpose. To trap Gower — unfairly? Possi-
bly. He was entitled to sufficient time to con-
sider the matter.
"Just a moment more. I sent the informa-
tion to him, in his cell. The police were kind
about it — very.


236 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
seeing that she was about to leave the room.
"What?"
"What we've said, what has just happened
here.''
"I warned you a minute ago. If it's neces-
sary, I will."
She was uncomfortable, tired.
"That's all, isn't it — all you care to say?"
"Why, no," he objected.
She had reached the hall door, but something
in his voice stopped her; it was like pleading.
"If I were you," she gave him cold counsel,
"I'd not talk any more."
"I have to. It concerns others."
"I can't stand this heat," she protested fur-
ther.
He followed her down the hall and into the
"den." She took the chair at her desk and
switched on the reading lamp, her left elbow on
the blotter as she turned to face him.
Under his sharp scrutiny she gave no sign of
having seen at once that the note had disap-
peared. In his turn, he said nothing indicating
his possession of it.
She regarded him without interest.
"I appreciate," he said, "your willingness to
hear this — now."
"And you remember I advised you not to say
it?"


ANOTHER WEAPON DISCOVERED 237
"Yes."
He had taken an arm-chair, his attitude easy
and restful, his knees crossed.
"But," he explained, "I have to. Gower's
innocent of any part of the attack upon Zimony
Newman. And I'm under great obligation to
him. Conditions being as they are, there's noth-
ing I wouldn't do for him. In fact, he could
make of me no request that I would refuse to
comply with — that is, so long as it wasn't crim-
inal. My friendship for him is exactly that deep
and sincere."
She moved impatiently.
"You've chosen a strange hour and place," she
said scornfully, "for this oration on friendship."
"Still," he persisted, "you can never say I
didn't present you with the key to this so-called
mystery of why I befriended Gower and shall
continue to befriend him."
"And you," she said with a pathos that sur-
prised him, "because you are as you are, will
never know how earnestly—" in her despair of
choosing words to express her feeling, she struck
the blotter with her clenched hand —" how ter-
ribly I wish I could believe you!"
"Ah-h?"
With the slow expletive, he exhaled a great
cloud of smoke, and through it looked at her, his
lips framed to a smile of cynicism.


240 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
— or was it John Thayer? — or old Hastings?
<— somebody with strong, cold hands turned her
about so that her arms fell on the blotter-pad,
her forehead resting on her arms.
She heard her father's laugh, like the ripping
of canvas, as he went out of the room.
Raising her head a little from her arms, she
looked through the open window and saw the
grey, slow dawn creeping upward, over the sleep-
ing thousands and thousands of people. It was
another day!
Her head hurt so; burned! No matter, now —
She went into the next room and stood a mo-
ment beside her bed. The cloak slipped from
her shoulders and bundled itself, a pile of crim-
son cloth, on the floor at her feet. »
She clasped her hands on the back of her neck,
and fell across the bed. Consciousness fled, left
her with such swiftness that her ears never heard
the little moan which forced apart her lips —
lips that had imprisoned so long the voices of her
agony.


XIX
CONBAD IS HIMSELF AGAIN
HASTINGS, reaching his office early,
ran through the stack of newspapers
chronicling the developments of yes-
terday. He saw at once that Ross, by crafty
use of the reporters, had created a press opinion
close to actual distrust of John Thayer.
Gower and Conrad were the chief's prompters j
hut that was behind the scenes.
Thayer was in real danger. A reformer, an
acknowledged adviser of the White House, the
young senator had come to the biggest hour of
his career. His future, brilliant and inevitable
two days ago, was hair-hung now, tremulous in
the wind of rumour.
Hastings lay back in his chair, feet on top of
the desk, chin resting on his chest. Using one
of the newspapers as a reminder, he checked up
the few new facts, condensing and criticizing
them in a low-voiced monologue:
"Here's something: Larry Thayer can't ac-
count for his whereabouts from nine-fifteen to
eleven o'clock the night of the attack on Miss
Newman.— Humph ! —' Questions put to Dr.
241


CONRAD IS HIMSELF AGAIN 243
a big trick up his sleeve. I'll hear from him —
soon!"
Throwing aside his paper, the old man stared
through the window at the morning sky, begin-
ning already to look like polished steel. He tried
to think what could have changed so promptly
the mind of the raging, profane old dandy he
had last seen in the moonlight.
Conscious of somebody standing near him, he
turned his chair and looked into the blue, uncom-
municative eyes of Mr. Felix Conrad.
"I've come —" his visitor began.
"I was just thinking about you — and your
unexpected change of attitude toward Gower,"
the detective took command of the conversa-
tion.
"That's what brings me here — that, and a
desire to co-operate with you."
Hastings looked him over. He was debonair
even; dressed to the acme of elegance; a man en-
joying life hugely; his controlled features indi-
cating a wholesome interest in the old man's
reply.
Hastings led the way to a small consultation
room, its walls hung with photographs of famous
detectives.
He motioned Conrad to a chair and perched
himself on a corner of the desk. Felix lit a ciga-
rette. His ambiguous smile meant nothing.


244 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Hastings, looking down at him, inquired
blandly:
"Interested in your watch?"
"My watch?"
Mr. Conrad slipped three fingers into his watch
pocket, glanced at the watch, restored it to his
pocket.
"Not that: the one you lent your secretary in
his cell last evening — had a hunting case."
"Ah, to be sure!"
"We let him keep the watch and the dope —
the pellets you'd put into the case after remov-
ing the works."
The exquisite applauded that:
"A real kindness — to an unfortunate man!"
"Not so fast!" Hastings checked him. "You
guessed our game: to get him away from dope,
and, when he went to pieces for lack of it, put
him through a third degree of the nerves —
squeeze him for everything he ever knew."
"Yes; I thought that."
"But it wasn't necessary. I've filled my hand
without drawing him."
"I'm sorry.— No; not that," Felix Conrad
qualified, adjusting his smile to a broader design.
"I mean my visit here seems superfluous. Let
me explain: I'm thoroughly reassured now as to
his innocence of German leanings. Your elo-
quence last night ran away with me. But the


CONRAD IS HIMSELF AGAIN 247
the tragedy of her face had haunted him. She
must learn — and from his lips — that the secret
he had carried from Florence Lockridge to her
was unknown to him, was not a part of the city's
rumour. He wanted to make amends.
Scofield, one of his assistants, came in hur-
riedly, announcing:
"A present for you — from the chief."
He put a revolver on Hastings' desk.
Hastings picked it up and "broke" it.
"Brand new," he said. "Smith and Wesson,
forty-four; fired once; empty shell missing.— All
right, Sco: what's the story?"
"Chief said he thought you'd be interested.
One of our fellows picked that gun up yesterday
morning, and reported it, number and all. This
morning a report from Norfolk came in. That's
what I say: the chief's system of cataloguing
every man buying stuff of this kind throughout
the country is fine!"
"Prove it, then."
"Norfolk reported this gun bought there four
days ago. You know; report identifies each gun
— make, calibre, everything. Our man found it
in Potomac Park, right on the bank. Owner
must have thought he'd thrown it into the water.
He—"
Hastings was standing up. Scofield's story
had dragged him out of the chair.


248 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Knowles!" he said, putting a heavy hand on
Scofield's shoulder. "Man who bought that gun
in Norfolk was Robert F. Knowles."
"Right!" Scofield agreed.
Hastings plopped back into his chair.
"I didn't think Knowles was in on the shoot-
ing,'' he said. "That's what! — I thought it was
Gower. By golly, it was Gower! — Get Ross on
the wire!"
Ross answered promptly. Hastings asked
him, without preface:
"Seen Knowles this morning?"
"Yes." The chief of police was far from
cordial.
"Anything about a gun?"
"Yes. You're welcome to it. He admitted
ownership; said he threw it away soon after he
got to Washington; afraid he might use it if he
got into a temper with anybody."
"How about the one shot, the empty shell?"
"Oh, that? Said he fired it once, in the air
— it had a silencer."
"Thanks," Hastings snapped. "Goo'bye!"
He confided to Scofield:
"Another chance at the truth ruined. Ross —
dunder-headed ass! His questioning merely pre-
pares a suspect against sensible examination.—
Sco, I'd give everything I haven't got if I'd had
first crack at Knowles on this!"


CONRAD IS HIMSELF AGAIN 249
"You may squeeze it out of him yet."
The old man rejected the consolation. The fat
was in the fire! Who would swear now that
Gower's revolver sent the bullet into the girl's
head — or that Knowles' gun did it? Who could
swear to it, either way ? — Nobody!
His appointment with Mrs. Fontaine was for
two o'clock. She came into the drawing-room
and was standing near the table before he was
aware of her presence.
He sprang to his feet and bowed.
"You are kind, generous —"
"Never mind that," she cut short his thanks
for being allowed to see her. "Say what you
came to say — and don't waste time — please."
Her voice now was the voice in which she had
related to him the story of herself and Felix
Conrad. He had gone forward to meet her:
there was only the width of the table between
them.
In one of his swift, photographic glances, he
noticed that the ash-like paleness of her face
was not diminished, and that her whole body
had retained its curious stiffness and lack of
ease.
"I came," he said gently, " to ask your forgive-
ness of —"
"Please!" She interrupted him again.
"Please, don't keep me longer than is necessary.


250 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
I know what you want. I've been expecting you
ever since I read the morning papers."
She lowered her eyes, and stood still as a
statue.
"You saw the statement that Larry Thayer
couldn't explain his whereabouts that night; be-
cause it might involve a woman's reputation. I
knew you'd think of me."
She seemed enormously proud of the unim-
portant prevision.
"I've known for hours exactly what I should
say to you. I don't blame you, the agent in this.
I don't — really. But the principal — I shall
punish him. You'll see.
"However, his guess was good, or his informa-
tion — Larry Thayer, during the time for which
he can't account satisfactorily, was — he is a
physician —"
Her neck was suddenly larger, visibly so. She
paused.
"He's a physician," she Was able to say before
he could choose the words he wanted, "and he
was in consultation — or at work — what does
it matter? — to save a woman's reputation, a—"
She looked at the detective out of eyes that
were old.
"— my reputation," she finished the grim dec-
laration.
On that, she left the table, turned from him.


254 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
your reticence as to the air-gun, I shall duplicate
it in regard to the note and its contents, the open
declaration of John Thayer's indiscretions — and
Dr. Thayer's."
"I can't do that," she refused instantly.
He sighed lightly, lit a cigarette, tapped his
finger-nails against the silver case.
He recognized the futility of argument.
"Very well," he concealed the greater part of
his uneasiness. "We'll leave it, so: as long as
the air-gun incident is kept quiet, nothing will
be said about the Newman woman's note — of
accusation."
He blew smoke spirals toward the ceiling.
She spoke first.
"Oh," she said in a new access of impatience,
"why don't you break the grip this wretched
man has on you?"
"Meaning —?"
"David Gower — of course."
"He hasn't any. I told you last night. I owe
him much in kindness: an obligation I intend to
honour."
"But you can't save him. Nothing can!"
He got up and walked to the mantel, looking
for an ash tray. When he came back, he did not
sit down, but stood rocking himself slowly on
the balls of his feet.
"I request advice now — about Riley, if I may


KOSALIE EEVEALS A SECRET 255
— you know him pretty well, don't you? — He'd
consider a request, coming from you?"
She stiffened. Less than a year ago Dr. Riley
had asked her to marry him.
"I remember, of course." Felix divined her
thought. "I was wondering — man of good
principles?"
"Really!" She was frankly indignant. "It's
something new — in you: this penchant for of-
fending good taste."
He refused to be provoked.
"If you and I," he said calmly, "could see,
ahead of everybody else, the bullet which
wounded Zimony Newman, we'd be in the com-
manding position.— The bullet, when extracted,
will show at what range the shot was fired, or
from whose revolver — all those details."
He paused, his glance meeting hers.
"You say," he continued, forced by her silence
to clearer statement, "Thayer is innocent — or,
more exactly, both Thayers are innocent. I say
Gower is. Let Riley get that bullet to us before
others have seen it, and we shall prove our
'clients' innocent. And more, we'll be in a po-
sition to punish the guilty.— Now, if your mak-
ing the request is not — er — possible, is it prob-
able that he would act on established business
lines, if he saw in it a personal advantage —
financially, for instance?"


256 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"You mean — bribery?"
"Bribery — if we like ugly names for things."
She looked down, rearranging the old-rose rib-
bon at her elbow. He smiled, thinking of Mary
Fontaine. Like her, Rosalie would be "sensi-
ble."
When she raised her eyes again to his, he
stepped back. It was not that he feared the
scorn of her look. He had been confronted by
scorn before. But this woman — his daughter
— burned into him now with a glance the morti-
fying knowledge that he had made a fool of him-
self.
"Haven't you done a low thing? " she asked.
"In trying to save a friend?"
Suddenly he let loose his anger. She could
see it surge upward and put its marks upon him.
"Let me tell you something,'* he burst forth;
"you'd better wake up to the fact that this whole
city is stewing in the worst mess of suspicion,
scandal and rotten gossip that ever hit a
woman!"
He snatched away the cigarette which, in this
uncontrolled storm of language, danced to the
wider movement of his lips.
"Look to your own name, and quit this joke-
business of helping this burlesque Lochinvar!"
She turned from him, picked up a letter,
seemed to read. Without looking around, she


ROSALIE REVEALS A SECRET 257
knew he had gone to the door. She heard his
words over her shoulder:
"They tell you they've got the goods on Gower!
Bosh! Gower will be a free man tonight.— And
you'd better step from under!
"I refuse, refuse utterly, to stand idly by
while accused men lie about him and about me,
using us as a smoke-screen behind which they
can work safely for their own salvation. That's
final."
Clicking of the latch as the door swung shut
announced his departure. She put down the
letter she had pretended to read.
Her father's last defiance had shaken her.
Back of its uncompromising hatred, she had
heard a note of assurance that sounded more
dangerous than empty threat.
How strong was he, anyway? He always had
unsuspected resources.
Aline knocked; Mr. Hastings was asking for
her.
"Here, Aline — and at once."
Her relief at the prospect of seeing the old man
was great. She realized how much she craved
kindly counsel.
He came in, beaming and benignant. She
went with him to the two chairs by the open
window.
"So fresh, so rested," he smiled, over his spec-


258 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
tacles; "and — forgive an old man's directness
— so beautiful."
She coloured — and felt that she had known
him all her life, this old man who had come
into her life only yesterday!
"But I won't keep you in suspense," he added.
"Everything's as good as we could expect; bet-
ter, perhaps, than we had a right to expect. The
case against Gower stands, complete and whole,
on two charges: treason and shooting Miss New-
man."
Yielding to the soft comfort of the chair, he
relaxed, hands clasped across his chest.
She, too, was resting, her head against the
chair-back at an angle which gave him a three-
quarter view of her face. Her lips were a little
parted. She was profoundly moved.
"It's so big," she breathed, "this certainty,
this end of all our fears. Tell me — everything,"
she urged softly, sitting erect, her young form
like the graceful slenderness of flowers.
"I was sure of it this morning, I think: that
Gower, in spite of all other evidence, was the
man we wanted. We needed only two things to
make certain: first, something to show that he
was identified with others in this German work;
second, that the bullet which struck down the
Newman girl corresponded to the bullets he used.
"Senator Thayer gave us the first fact, the


260 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
hold of an X-ray specialist. He's done a lot of
this work; claims he's perfected a machine that
gives immense visibility. He reports that the
bullet's hollow — like a communication bullet."
"Could he — did he pretend to say whether it
contained a communication paper?"
"Oh, no. The paper couldn't be seen in his
pictures. The existence of the hollow was all
they showed — but that was all we needed."
Her eyes were at that moment so expressive of
relief that her face was transfigured.
"But —" She paused. "Let me think —"
But it was Hastings who spoke first:
"I want to ask you this: what is your father's
idea in helping Gower and hurting Thayer?"
She replied directly to that..
"Jealousy, Mr. Hastings."
He did not understand.
"My father's always been like that," she en-
larged; "jealous of any man who was fond of
me. He's not an affectionate man. I think he
doesn't know what real love is. But he would
do anything, pay anything, to keep me in his
house all his life — as an ornament. I wonder if
you understand it."
"Yes," Hastings told her; "I do now — per-
fectly."
They were silent again. Inside the room it


ROSALIE REVEALS A SECRET 261
was almost dark. In the streets, the lights in
the deepening twilight had turned from white
to yellow.
"I've made up my mind," she said after a long
"while.
"Tell me — if you have to tell anybody."
An arc-light across the street threw its rays
upon her face. She looked grieved, and tired.
"Oh!" she cried, " if I don't tell you all of it,
if I'm not outspoken and detailed, make me!
Don't let me be a coward!"
At first, she was uncertain of words; but she
became coherent, and told him the story of dis-
covering her father trying to hide Gower's air-
gun.
She told him, also, what her father had said
of his debt to Gower, and how he had showed
her Zimony Newman's note. Finishing that,
Bhe described Conrad's proposals of an hour ago.
Hastings was no longer recumbent. The re-
cital had straightened him up. His first thought
was of her:
"Since your father's been so active, so much
more active than I thought, we shan't be able to
keep him off the witness stand."
"I don't think he should be kept off," she said
simply.
He felt the need of some visible act, to express


264 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Knowles."
Mr. Hastings' hot retort struck Mr. Scofield
as irrelevant:
"Felix Conrad! Damn him!"
Later that night David Gower, as Conrad had
predicted, was given his freedom — on heavy
bail.
Later than that, two women, sitting at an open
window overlooking Eighteenth Street, talked,
low-toned and uneasy, for more than an hour.
One actuated by love, the other by a bitter hatred,
they dealt with facts vital to a solution of the
Mel wood mystery.
Rosalie Conrad had appealed to Mary Fon-
taine.


266 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"Zimony Newman?"
"Zimony Newman.— And I remember now
that what my luncheon companion said to me
was a statement of what Berlin wanted to find
out, through spies, concerning the Wilson atti-
tude toward Germany after the war.
"Most important of all," concluded Hough,
"his statement, don't you see, was also his in-
structions to Miss Newman: what she must dis-
cover, and where."
Thayer welcomed that. It gave him the facts
to lift the waiter Bayardair's statement above
question.
"Great stuff: this story!" He repeated his
approval. "Very fine of you — very! — to take
the trouble."
"Delighted to do it, Senator."
"This man Gower, now: know anything more
about him?"
"Gower?" repeated Hough. "I haven't said
anything about Gower."
"Not about David Gower?"
"Why, no! It was Conrad — Felix Conrad."
Thayer stared, leaning forward, his eyes dull
from the confusion against which he struggled.
"Felix Conrad," Hough elaborated, "did the
instructing, gave the Newman woman her
orders."


268 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
had never touched him. Hastings, familiar with
this, was the more astonished now by the sena-
tor's appearance.
Here was not only mental exhaustion, he de-
cided; physical collapse also was imminent.
He reached for his knife and wood, and spoke
hurriedly:
"I've got something to tell you, Senator.
It's—"
"I've got something to say, myself." Thayer
broke in harshly. "And it's interesting — even
if it's disagreeable."
His lips were twisted by a forced smile. His
fevered eyes were like a queer challenge.
"I know now," he continued, a little hoarse.
"I know now who shot Zimony Newman — who
killed her — for she'll die, soon."
Hastings tried to joke: "I know, son. We've
all had that inspiration a dozen times — and each
time wrong. Better do as I do, plod along, hear
this and that, finally arrive — somewhere.
"For instance: I found the chauffeur who
drove Knowles to the station Monday night. He
says his passenger told him to go through Po-
tomac Park. Glancing at the mirror on his
wind-shield, he saw Knowles stand up in the cab
and throw something toward the river: the re-
volver— see? If, by any chance, Gower isn't
guilty, Knowles is."


272 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
addict when Conrad employed him. And yet,
he has in his turn, some hold on Conrad!
— There's your Gower: Conrad's confidential
man!"
Thayer drove himself to further speech, his
body every minute in swift, aimless motion.
"For more than four days now, an uncon-
scious woman has withheld from the world the
only available absolute proof of her assailant's
identity. For the proof is the bullet that's im-
bedded in her brain!
"It will show Conrad's guilt. Doubt of that,
it seems to me, is impossible. I wish I could
doubt it!"
He spread out his hands and let them drop
sharply to his sides, a gesture singularly illus-
trative of his wretchedness.
"I know these things!" he declared.
"You'll know them if you'll listen to me. But
>•
The door to the outer room opened.
"Excuse me, Senator," Thayer's secretary
said; "but it's an urgent message for Mr. Has-
tings. Dr. Riley will operate on Miss Newman,
probe for the bullet, at half-past one."
"Great trout!" Hastings burst forth, reach-
ing with one hand for his watch, and with the
other for his hat. "It's one-twenty now!"
He trotted to the corridor door.


278 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
"It says —" he began with his clear, precise
enunciation. "Let me read it to you."
He had the air of a man gossiping in his club.
"' L. Thayer manageable but uninformed. J.
gave me bits; more, all you need, tonight. Ap-
pointment.'
"That's all. There's no signature. Suppose
you read it — pass it on."
He gave it to Hastings.
Attention had gone now from Conrad to the
senator. Thayer, although he was still nervous
and impatient, kept himself in hand.
"What are you getting at, Mr. Conrad?" he
asked, amazed. "You know that's rank for-
gery!"
Hastings passed the note to the chief of police.
Felix chose another cigarette before he an-
swered Thayer.
"Exactly what I thought —at first."
The detective, slanting a glance under his spec-
tacles, took up the colloquy:
"At first?"
"Yes. Such an unqualified accusation against
two men who nobody could have suspected of
dishonesty — such a charge, I say, struck me as
absolutely incredible."
Hastings saw Thayer's expression change. It
was no longer simply anger. In place of that,
was the queer, disturbed look he had worn dur-


280 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
The softly cadenced flow of his words was
stopped by a peculiar sound. It was like the
attempted out-cry of a man smothering.
It had come from Marcello. The artist, after
reading the note Ross had handed him, had
turned in his chair so that none of them could
see his face.
His shoulders heaved, as if his whole torso
strained to prevent a repetition of the cry grief
had wrung from him: but that first lament had
been intelligible to them — a declaration that
the writing was genuine, Zimony Newman's;
and that the beloved woman was a spy.
"I submitted that note," Conrad resumed, " to
four hand-wriing experts. Their opinions—"
"Mr. Knowles," the detective interrupted,
"let Mr. Jermane have it, will you ? — Take a
look at it, Jerry — and at this," he directed, hold-
ing out another sheet of paper: "a specimen of
her real writing."
Mr. Jermaine, retiring to the window behind
Hastings, worked with a magnifying glass.
"If I may conclude —" Conrad suggested.
"Let's!" The old man was savage.
"I submitted it to four experts, so oppressive
was my sense of responsibility. Two pronounced
it genuine; two declared it forgery, excellently
done.— For my part, I still hope and believe it's
forgery."


282 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
intention of granting to another: that thing is
mercy."
"With pleasure," Gower replied to that.
The two men who had fought each other —
both accused of the attack — each crying the
other's guilt — took matters now out of Conrad's
hands.
To Hastings, the demeanour of Gower was puz-
zling. He had spoken with an indignation equal
to Thayer's. But, seeing the spirit which dom-
inated Thayer, he gave up at once the precedence
his employer had offered him.
And he did it, the detective observed, with an
air that proved him satisfied: more than that,
with a strange look of pleasure.
He smoked voluminously, his head thrown
back, his face that of a boy, day-dreaming.
"I speak from a sense of duty," Thayer be-
gan. "Facts which I am about to disclose can
neither give me present satisfaction nor afford
me future consolation. If I could reconcile it to
my conscience, I should be silent on this subject
to the end of my days.
"Realizing this, you may be patient with me."
The abnormal tension at which he laboured,
the unnatural vibrance of his hoarse voice, the
grief they saw in his eyes, held every man in the
room to the straight thread of his logic.
For the time being, they forgot the box which


THE CRIME IN DETAIL 287
around her. But another effort, one more call
on her energy, was necessary. She was no
coward. She could lift the thirty-odd pounds of
Bteel — had done it every evening for months —
and put it in place on the mantel.
"The window was open, the wire screen raised.
The ' bullet catcher ' in place, she could lie down,
rest. The man who had stabbed her was gone,
she thought. She had more than a quarter of
an hour to get herself together, invent explana-
tion of her wound, send for a physician and deny
herself to her next caller — myself.
"But she must hurry. Why run the risk of
having a bullet hole in the wall — and of losing
time in getting the message if the bullet pene-
trated far into the plaster? She might be ex-
pected to return an answer at once! Besides,
the room spun more slowly now.
"She stood erect, steadying herself with a
hand on the mantel. She hadn't turned on the
lights in the living room; but that didn't matter.
There was light enough from the bedroom. The
messages had come in no more light than that.
"Her right foot left the floor, was poised, be-
ginning the first step toward the alcove. The
business of walking was an intricate act! She
could —
"Quicker than thought, louder than big guns
— something had overwhelmed her! Dust and


288 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
dirt like a millioii walls pulverized and crowding
into her nostrils, steel and stone heavier than
the wreckage of a city's homes, blue-blazing
lights of a thousand electrocutions — and the
dark.
"Miss Newman, unconscious, with a bullet em-
bedded in her skull, swung half-around at the
bullet's impact, lurched forward and down,
plunged through the alcove hangings.
"The hangings fell together again. Quiet was
in the hot, dimly lighted room.
"Knowles, elaborating his alibi, came back,
removed the silk from the clock, kept his glance
away from the bedroom, talked through the bed-
room door in the hall, played out his little
comedy.
"Another caller — myself — came in, sat ten
minutes beside the unconscious form, and went
away, unsuspecting.
"Marcello arrived; waited; made his awful
discovery; summoned aid.
"Across the street, on the third floor of the
Conrad home, was a morphine addict, David
Gower, who says he saw me do the stabbing
which in reality was done by Knowles.
"A man with a hard, polished face slipped
past Gower's door; made his way downstairs;
hid in his study the gHn with which he had sent


290 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Gower, instructed him to get into the Melwood
unseen and bring back the steel 'bullet
catcher.'
"This was done. They hid the sheet of steel
and the box of sand in the lumber room. Inci-
dentally, Gower had discovered the stolen blue-
prints, ship plans, which they afterwards
'planted' in Marcello's studio.
"Everything was arranged. The woman ob-
viously had read the ' master's ' message and got
rid of his bullet prior to being stabbed.
"Placid, amiable, conscious of ability to deal
wisely with any unexpected thing, the 'master
spy' went to bed — slept soundly. Felix Con-
rad, after all, had a pleasant night!"


292 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
sumption of indifference so thorough, that no-
body spoke while he lighted a fresh cigarette and,
with a hand steady as an athlete's, flipped the
match to the hearth.
"What I mean," he resumed, "is this: if that
note's a forgery, then the bul —"
The interruption was from Hastings.
"How about it, Jerry? Forgery, or the wo-
man's writing?"
Mr. Jermane, having pushed his cigar to the
extreme right corner of his mouth, replied with
one word through the extreme left:
"Genuine."
A bomb exploded at Hastings' feet could not
have shocked him to such consternation as that
answer. Surprise was the emotion of every
member of the group.
The old man's confidence in the Jermane abil-
ity to pass unerring judgment on trickeries of
the pen had influenced everybody. His voice,
appealing to the little man for the final verdict,
had been practically a declaration to this effect:
"Never mind the four experts consulted by
Felix Conrad. Those fellows, for a price, say
what they think you want them to say. But
here's the real judgment. Take it from Jer-
mane."
And now they had "it from Jermane."
Having decided that he would pronounce the


THROUGH THE SLIDING DOORS 293
note a forgery, they required time to recover from
the surprise of the directly opposite opinion.
And, having accomplished that readjustment,
they needed still more time to realize that this
verdict, if correct, made Thayer's guilt an in-
escapable fact.
The hand-writing expert had added tremendous
weight to the Gower story that the senator had
stabbed the woman. For the moment, they dis-
regarded the Knowles confession which Thayer
had mentioned.
The senator guilty — this man who a few min-
utes ago had cried down another with an inten-
sity scarcely credible? He was again the object
of their interest, an interest not highly coloured
with sympathy. They saw that he was about to
spring to his feet.
First to hear a noise at the sliding doors, he
hesitated. The "catch," moved by an unfa-
miliar hand, clicked open and shut, again opened.
The doors rolled slowly apart.
Thayer, thinking instantly of Rosalie, opened
his mouth to shout a warning, to tell her to turn
back. But he saw his mistake. The intruder
was Mary Fontaine.
She came one step into the room. The doors
rolled together, a dark background emphasizing
the peculiar stiffness of her figure.
Her first move was a gesture with her right


THROUGH THE SLIDING DOORS 295
lids. They had the feeling of listening to a
woman who talked from behind a screen.
"This/' she said, in a lifeless voice, "is a
forgery.— Its resemblance to Zimony's writing
is very great. But it isn't — in whole or in
part — her writing.
"One peculiarity of hers is that she writes
the letter e in two shapes: one is practically a
fac-simile of the capital E used in printing: the
other the e of the old Spencerian copy-books, a
simple loop, shaped like an egg. And it's her
unvarying custom to alternate them: first, the
capital E shape, then the loop shape; third, the
capital, fourth, the loop; and so on, without
fail.
"In this short note, there are nine e's, and all
of them the capital; not one of them a loop shape.
There are other peculiarities which your expert
will find upon a closer examination.
"Another thing: Zimony never uses this style
of note paper. You can't find a scrap of it in her
desk. She never had it in her desk." *
Mrs. Fontaine became more and more like a
machine. If she thought her presence there
strange, she still gave no sign. The men were
motionless.
"I'd better explain that this note, according
to Mr. Conrad's story, was given by Miss New-


296 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
man to me, and by me to Mr. Conrad. He ap-
pears to regard as unimportant the manner in
which he got a note from me.— On that phase of
the affair he and I do not agree.
"He got, from me, by the employment of meth-
ods doubtless satisfactory to himself, the note
Zimony had given me. Fortunately, however, I
provided for my self-preservation. Before the
note went into his keeping, I steamed open the
envelope and copied its contents."
That announcement, reminding Hastings of
how she had denied the knowledge she now pro-
fessed to have, brought from him an exclamation
too sharp to go unheard. He recovered himself
immediately.
"A questionable procedure?" Mrs. Fontaine
was saying. "Perhaps.— But justified. One
protects oneself — in dealing with Mr. Conrad."
With a quick jerk of her wrist, she flipped
open the folded paper in her left hand.
"Here is the copy I made of the note Zimony
wrote and asked me to deliver. I am by no
means certain that she intended it to go to Mr.
Conrad. One may guess. She does not use his
name. I read:
"' If anything serious happens to me, the re-
sult— the only result that makes the least dif-
ference to me — will be suffering, indescribable
sorrow, for you and for your'— the next word is


THROUGH THE SLIDING DOORS 297
scratched, but I read the first part of it as ' bro.'
You will see it later. She continues —' That is
why, my dear one, I weep as I leave the truth for
you. I break my heart — and yours.
"' Everything people will say about me may
not be true. Most of it will be true.
"' You will never forgive. A man like you
could never forgive the enormity of my decep-
tion.
"' Sent here to steal the secrets confided by
the President to a brilliant statesman, I have
succeeded only in the awful theft of'— here
something's marked out, made illegible; the note
goes on —' devotion, a fearless man's adoration,
even — yours.
"' Oh, the fools who sent me here! And I —■
the fool to come! They said, "Lead him on;
seduce him to careless speech." They know
nothing of souls like yours and his.
"' You will be happy again. Into some wo-
man's life you will bring the tenderness, and
thoughtfulness, and mystic wonder of that wor-
ship which you learned — must have learned —
from the gods.
"' I can't — I can't'— the 'can't' is under-
scored —' look into your eyes and tell you I am
a spy, fighting you and yours. I have courage
only to write it.
"' Good-bye, my own Greatheart.'"


298 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Her hand dropped to her side. She stood a
moment, silent.
"If you want these, Mr. Hastings?"
"Good! I do!"
He hurried to her.
She gave him the note Conrad had presented,
accusing the Thayers, and the letter she had read
aloud. As she did so, she looked at Felix. She
addressed him in a voice so low that only he and
Hastings caught the words:
"Mr. Felix Conrad — quits!"
For the first time, the detective saw what she
had meant by saying at the end of his second
visit to her:
"You're only an agent. My business is with
the man who made this possible for you."
She had given Conrad credit for hauling into
light the secret Florence Lockridge's letter Lad
contained!
Felix, without even a guess at what she hinted,
had the presence of mind to pass it by. He rose
from his chair and bowed, as if to thank her for
what she had done.
She put her hands behind her, rolled open the
doors, took a backward step across the threshold,
was gone.


XXIV
THE STORY GOWER TOLD
GOWER, starting to his feet, was stopped
again by Conrad.
"A bizarre incident," Felix said
calmly; " and puzzling. She bears out my state-
ment of the Newman woman's having sent a
letter to Dr. Thayer. We all see, of course, that
the one she read aloud clears both the Thayers
— magnificently. As I had said, I couldn't
believe them guilty.
"But here is still the puzzle: this note which
Mrs. Fontaine most certainly put into my hands.
It asserts the gross guilt of the Thayers — and
Mr.— er — the new expert pronounces it gen-
uine, Miss Newman's writing."
Dignified, deprecating Mrs. Fontaine's thea-
tric interruption, he spoke with authority, lend-
ing to the force of his logic the charm of an enun-
ciation that approached the musical.
He almost dominated them all.
Thayer, revolving in his mind Mrs. Fon-
taine's acquittal of his brother and himself, felt
no desire to speak. He was less intent on bring-
ing to conclusion his case against Conrad.
299


302 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
He passed his hand wearily across his fore-
head.
"There's no future for me. Right living, far
as I'm concerned, is the pluperfect subjunctive.
I'm destroyed. Ruin, irredeemable and eternal,
got me before I ever saw Washington.
"And to the written record of that ruin, my
employer — the wealthy clubman, the art dilet-
tante, the pursuer of spies, the hunter of trait-
ors—"
The words, hot with scorn and coming helter-
skelter past his lips, made the air electric; it
crackled to their impact.
"— my employer, Felix Conrad, is trying now
to add a postscript to that record. But he'll
never do it with my consent!
"The truth is horrible enough. I can, for
that very reason, afford to deny the lies of any
man, and, without fear of the future, deal only
with the truth."
Conrad, smiling a little, addressed himself
to Ross:
"Really, Major, my patience is exhausted. In
my own house, too, this drug-stimulated inso-
lence is—"
"Hear him out!" Hastings said sharply.
"We listened to you." The detective turned to
Ross: "I beg your pardon — but my sugges-
tion's fair?"


THE STORY GOWER TOLD 309
Jermane gave the paper to Hastings. Felix,
under the gaze of every man in the room, re-
mained a victim of ennui.
"Well," the detective asked, "what do you
say, Jerry? Conrad's writing?"
"Conrad's — genuine."
The two words were a final blow to Hastings.
At last he was forced to discard his theory that
Gower had shot Zimony Newman; and that, in
doing so, he had used a bullet containing forged
proof of Conrad's treachery, proof which would
compel the inference that Conrad had done the
shooting.
John Thayer, even in his own pleasure in find-
ing his view correct, saw and partially compre-
hended Hastings' distress.
It was greater than the senator had guessed.
The detective was lamenting that his intuition
had never before so misled him; that his analysis
of evidence had never been so mistaken. He
thought again of his age: his ability was on the
wane! ne had come to the level of Ross; had lost
imaginative power; had worn out his originality!
It was Felix who broke the pause following
Jermane's statement.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, slightly smiling
as he pushed a bell-button, "you'll forgive me,
I know, if —" He looked at his watch. "— I
suggest I've work to do."


310 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
Whipple opened the hall door.
"The servant will see to your hats.— Good
morning."
He put his hand on the " catch " of the study
doors. Hastings, about to demand his arrest,
was forestalled by Gower, who turned upon
Boss:
"Major, I ask Felix Conrad's arrest, here and
now, for the shooting of Miss Newman!
"Look at that bullet, Mr. Hastings! — the ri-
fling on it, the marks of the 'threading' of the
barrel out of which it was fired. No revolver
1 ever had that barrel, that 'screw-threading'
which gives the bullet a spinning motion.
"It was never fired from a revolver. It wasn't
fired at all! It was propelled into the woman's
head by, and from, an air-gun. And Conrad —
alone — knew where that air-gun was the night
of the shooting.''
Felix laughed lightly, bowing to the others,
and pushed the doors apart.
"That's right!" Hastings exclaimed. "This
bullet never came out of a revolver."
Conrad was standing between the doors, a
hand on the edge of each. Gower, like a palsied
man, confronted him.
"Laugh!" he said, his voice shrill. "Laugh!
Your time for it is damned short. You've
thought, you think now, I won't go through with


THE STORY GOWER TOLD 313
What was its meaning? Ah, he had it —
triumph! — the mean elation the crook feels in
putting over a cherished revenge.
Then an unexpected thing happened. Has-
tings once more paid court to instinct. He be-
lieved again in Gower's guilt.
He went closer to Gower, with slow steps, with
a deliberation and calmness that made him seem
the special agent of destiny. He felt within him-
self a new power, an unexpected confidence in
the working of his mental mechanisms.
His scrutiny under the rims of his spectacles
had an extraordinary keenness. Those about
him sensed his transformation from cool, logical
thought to ardent, irresistible emotion. Al-
though his movement was slow, he had the ap-
pearance of swooping toward the man.
Gower's smile changed to nervous laughter.
Others laughed a little, without knowing
why.
Gower's laughter rose above theirs. Even
when Hastings' face was within a yard of his,
he laughed.
Forced and slight at first, the strange gaiety
became a gale of unnatural mirth.
The gale gathered momentum, grew into storm.
Gower was again a mass of garments lashed
by the hurricane of his emotions.
His widely opened mouth, his head thrown


314 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
back — perhaps, in mockery of Hastings — his
tongue lolling behind and over his teeth, his neck
twisted and elongated, showed how his self-con-
trol went down before the detective's searching
gaze.
His hysterical noise bordered now on the hor-
rible. Marcello sprang forward and pummeled
him on the back. Several of the group started
out.
"Wait!" Hastings halted , them, his eyes
holding Gower. "This fellow's got something
else on his mind — something we want."
Whipple closed the hall door. Felix, looking
very old, stood between the study doors.
Gower tried to be quiet, had the appearance
of choking. He gulped enormously, put a hand
to his mouth, at last was nearly still. He sank
into a chair, panting, weak. But for his eyes,
he seemed a normal man exhausted by unusual
exertion.
"All right!" ordered Hastings, towering
above him. "Come on with it!"
"With —what?"
"What you were about to say when this gig-
gling fit hit you.— Come on! I saw it!"
Gower shivered, as if he felt cold; but he did
not answer.
Hastings was inexorable — confident.
"Come on! — I saw it in your eyes."


THE STORY GOWER TOLD 315
There was a long moment of absolute silence
before Gower spoke:
"Yep.— You saw it." He scowled, but those
who watched him saw submission in his face.
His voice was flat, indifferent. "Yep! You
'got' me.— But get this: Conrad wrote the
message to Zimony Newman.
"He'd been leary of revolvers ever since that
Chicago case, the Doppelein woman caught be-
cause the silencer didn't work, left the flame
visible. So he got the air-gun. He'd take no
risks.
"That night he had the message in the bullet;
and he stood at my side as I discharged it. I
always did that for him. My eyes are good.
"The lights were not on in her living room,
but there was the strong reflection from the bed-
room lights, and I saw her, saw Zimony New-
man, as she stood at the mantel, and — and —"
He grated his teeth, pushed himself forward
to the edge of the chair and put out his hands,
the fingers bent, like half-hooks, or claws. His
face, already displayed to them in the pattern of
depravity, mirrored a culminating baseness. It
was as if he libelled himself.
"She'd snapped her fingers in my face,
laughed at me — she's got the worst laugh I ever
heard, blood-curdling — I shot! I shot to kill.
I'd have killed her if I'd known my own death


XXV
SPLENDOURS OF ROMANCE
THE dark grey of a March twilight was
outside. Hastings looked down the
long line of Sixteenth Street, suddenly
hung with a double row of white globes as the
street lights were flashed on. Rosalie, also gaz-
ing into the murky weather, could not break the
silence.
Hastings had come in, more than an hour
ago, " for just five minutes, not an instant longer,
to say good-bye." During the hour, several times
his eyes had brought her close to panic — his
admiration evident, his affection like actual wor-
ship. Afraid of the foolishness of tears, she had
employed gaiety as an emotional defence. But
now —
He was reviewing mentally the past seven
months: particularly how she, refusing any part
of the Conrad fortune, had found work and made
this little apartment her home.
There had been, too, after Zimony Newman's
death, Felix Conrad's end, illness cheating the
rifles or the prison: and Gower's punishment, lib-
317


SPLENDOURS OF ROMANCE 321
free of ' my friend Jones, he's the man!' or ' that
fellow Smith, no good at all!'— If I can't find
the man I need, I'll fall down on the trip!"
He spoke with all his force and fire, making
more explicit the difficulties of his position.
"The secretary on this job isn't confined to
writing letters and accepting invitations. He's
just as important, or unimportant, as I am.
You know who the applicants are? Who tops
the list? Which one's the best man?"
"Who? Let me think. There's Creighton —
he's done fine work. I was thinking of him —"
"Won't do! Creighton values Creighton too
highly."
"Let me think again."
Hastings rose, went to the window, stared into
the murk.
He was proud of Thayer's having appealed to
him. He would have liked to feel that he had
had a part, even so slight a part as this, in the
senator's work. If he made a sound recom-
mendation, this work would be helped im-
mensely.
He considered the list of possibilities.
Thayer went up to the old man; stood, un-
heard, behind him a moment; put one hand on his
shoulder, and with the other spread out the news-
paper.
u Your guessing's too slow, old friend of ours,"


322 THE MELWOOD MYSTERY
he said in a tone of gentle remonstrance, and
thrust the paper between Hastings' face and the
window. "There's my choice — and don't you
knock him! — He goes!"
The old man, without a look at the paper,
caught the senator's hand and pumped it up and
down, "farmer fashion "— congratulating him
in jerky phrases between pumps.
"Always fooling me, son! — But I'm glad
you've picked him. Who is he? — Good man?"
"See for yourself!"
Thayer crowded the paper into his hand.
Hastings, looking down, saw the announce-
ment in big type that stretched across the whole
of the front page, and under the type a photo-
graph spreading the appointee's features over
the width of three columns. The headlines said:
"THAYER'S SECRETARY JEFFERSON
HASTINGS — Man Who Solved Melwood Mys-
tery Will Help Senator in Monumental Task
Assigned by President—"
'■ A smile twitched the corners of the old man's
lips. Looking at Rosalie over the steel rims of
his spectacles, he saw the tears of happiness in
her eyes. His lips moved. He turned away
abruptly.
He stood, close to the window, silent a long


SPLENDOURS OF ROMANCE 323
time, the city's lights blurred and broken into all
the colours of the rainbow as he stared at them
through misty eyes.
He put a fore-arm against the window sash
and pillowed his forehead on it. They thought
he sighed.
Thayer, his mind full of phrases of affection
for the old man, found himself afraid to speak —
knew, he explained afterwards, " I'd blubber like
a fool!"
"Splendours of romance!" Hastings said at
last, his voice low, and shaken. "You children
have achieved the greatest of them all, this: show-
ing that an old man may see that the road ahead
of him is still all gold, and that the sunlight
is on it for ever like wine, and that the flowers
along the way are lovelier even than those he
dreamed of when he was a boy."
As he turned toward them, they saw that his
face was a benediction.
THE END






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