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THE SAME AUTHOR.
1. MOINA
2. A SLENDER CLUE.
3. A DEAD MAN'S STEP.
4. AGAINST ODDS.
5. SHADOWED BY THREE.
6. THE RIVAL DETECTIVES.
7. THE DIAMOND COTK.KIE
8. THE DETECTIVE'S DAUGHTER.
9. OUT OF A LABYRINTH.
10. A MOUNTAIN MYSTERY.
WARD LOCK & BOWDEN, LIMITED.


NO PROOF.


N O P R O O F.
A Detectite Storg.
By
LAWRENCE L. LYNCH
(E. Murdoch van Deventer).
COPYRIGHT,
LONDON :
WAR D, LOCK & Bow DEN, LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBourne.
1895.
(4 ll rights reserved).


* Lenox v.
foilº


CONTENTS.
Page.
Chapter I.—"Come" 1
Chapter II.—"Drugged" 8
Chapter III.—"You Know" 15
Chapter IV.—"Heart Failure" 23
Chapter V.—"A White Coma' 28
Chapter VI.—A Promise 34
Chapter VII.—At Midnight 41
Chapter VIII.—"It Was More Than That" 48
Chapter IX.—"It Will Never Be Recalled—by Me" 57
Chapter X.—A Starting Point 62
Chapter XI.—"My Starting Point Is Eugene Merrick" 70
Chapter XII.—"I Shall Work Now" 81
Chapter XIII.—"Colors Seen by Candle-light" 86
Chapter XIV.—"At Least I Am Forewarned" 94
Chapter XV.—"Attend also to the Possibilities" 103
Chapter XVI.—"I Want Some Information" 112
Chapter XVII.—What the Powder Might Do 119
Chapter XVIII.—"Do You Think She Will Let Me Speak?" 124
Chapter XIX—The Last Scruple 130
Chapter XX.—Lost Keys 135
Chapter XXI—"Getting On" 141
Chapter XXII.—Jennie's Finessing 148
Chapter XXIII.—"I Don't Want to Blunder Now" 157
Chapter XXIV.—"Now I Can Wait in Patience" 105
Chapter XXV.—"Important" 172
Chapter XXVI.—"What Does It Mean?" -. 181
Chapter XXVII.—Wanted—A Photograph 188
Chapter XXVIII.—The Potter's Field 196
Chapter XXIX.—A Trunk and a Trowel 203
Chapter XXX.—"He Does Not Know" 215
Chapter XXXI.—"My Friend Mr. Falk" 226
Chapter XXXII.—Diplomacy 241


CONTENTS.
Page
Chapter XXXIII.-Photographs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Chapter XXXIV.-A Newspaper Hunt................... 260
Chapter XXXV.-The Wrong Prisoner................... 268
Chapter XXXVI.-‘‘An Open Hand”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
Chapter XXXVII.-Doctor Roth in Authority............. 280
Chapter XXXVIII.-Merrick's Removal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288
Chapter XXXIX. —Awaiting the Revelation... . . . . . . . . . . . 298
Chapter XL.-By the Pauper's Grave. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 306
Chapter XLI.-Telling the Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311
Chapter XLII.-‘‘I Will Be Heard”....................... 319
Chapter XLIII.-Glenn Wayland Speaks Out............. 324
Chapter XLIV.-Hewes Takes His “Innings”............. 332
Chapter XLV.-Glenn Capitulates... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339
Chapter XLVI.-Their Last Words.... ................... 347


NO PROOF.
CHAPTER I.
"COME."
"Ow—ugh! How absolutely comfortable! How de-
lightfully serene! To be rid of business; off with an old
love, grown cold; on with a new, fascinating if untried—
and here in Winston on a June morning just ready to par-
take of one of Aunt Jem's tempting breakfasts. What
more can a sane man need to make him happy?" Thus
soliloquized Kenneth Jasper, half aloud, and smiling his
delight in the bright morning and the pleasant fact of his
being once more in his boyhood's home, the place where
his childhood had been spent.
He had arrived in Winston on the previous day, fresh
from the city, where he had been actively a participant in
certain scenes which he had chosen to find exceedingly
disagreeable, although, to most young men, they would
doubtless have been considered thoroughly exciting,
pleasurable in some degree, and, in the end, thrilling with
positive personal triumph.
But it was just this triumph which had sent Ken Jasper
home to Winston and "Aunt Jem," satiated with the
city, dissatisfied with the triumphant result of the "great-
est effort of his life," and bent upon enjoying a dolce far
niente season, which should outlast the weeks of June,
at least.
"I've earned it," he said to himself, meaning the rest
which he saw filling all the June days to come; "and it
will take the remainder of the summer to get the taste


2 NO PROOF.
of these last two weeks out of my mouth! Time enough,
after that, to decide how—"
"Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle." The sudden ring of the tele-
phone bell broke in upon his soliloquy, and he little
guessed, as he turned toward the instrument, wondering
what old friend, or young, had found him out already,
that those three little strokes had sounded a knell to
all his plans for June idleness, and indefinite leisure, and
pleasure, that Fate at that moment was turning for-him
a leaf in her book of the inevitable, and that the days just
before him, so far from being holidays, were to be so
filled with mystery, and misery, efforts, failures, doubts,
and strangeness ar, to make all the labor, vexation, and
final victory of the little past, upon which he had just
turned his back, to pale into nothingness and be forgotten.
In his student days, when to own a "phone," though
only to call up a chum through the central office, looked,
to him, a necessity for the bachelor quarters of a young
fellow who prided himself upon being "up to date," he
had put in his study, as he had chosen to call the room
in the wing of Aunt Jem's cottage where he smoked,
read, lounged, and now and then entertained his friends,
a telephone, which had since given so little trouble to the
central office that Jasper was actually startled when its
summons roused him from so agreeable a revere; and as
he approached it and took down the receiver he had a
mischievous inclination to open his door to let his aunt,
a very practical and skeptical spinster, hear him actually
"rung up" at such an early hour, and so soon after his
return.
But the receiver was almost at his ear, and the door the
width of the room away, so he put his mouth to the "ear"
of the instrument and called:
"Hello—Cen—trail"
"Is that Mr. Jasper? Kenneth Jasper?"
"Yes. Who calls me?"
"Captain Wayland wants you. I'm going to connect
you. How are you, Ken?"
"Upon my soul, it's Jack Woolcot!" exclaimed Jasper;
then, through the telephone, "Jack, is that yourself?"
"v*:s. I didn't know you had come. But we can't


COME. 3
talk; Wayland is just clattering for you. Come and see
us. Ta, ta."
"I will—right after breakfast; see if I don't. Now give
us the captain."
"All right."
A moment later a low voice said:
"Is this Jasper?"
"Yes, Captain, it is I."
"For God's sake, Ken, come up at once. No, stop for
Doctor Roth on your way, and don't say a word to any
one else. Don't stop for anything. I'm in awful
trouble."
"All right, Captain. I'll come at once."
As he spoke the words, and turned from the machine,
the change from an easy-going, care-free young fellow
to another and different one was almost startling. He
had become suddenly erect, alert, serious, with a certain
firm closing of the lip, and an intense light in the eye,
that bespoke his promptness, ability, and will to help a
friend in need.
And friends they surely were, Captain Wayland and
himself, in spite of the disparity of their years. Friends
and more. When Kenneth Jasper, the elder, died, ten
years before, leaving his son with a fortune large enough
to make the question of a business or profession a mere
matter of choice and energy, he made the lad the ward
of Captain Wayland, his own lifelong friend and neigh-
bor. The ten years' guardianship had been a friendship
as well, and surely no call of friendship could have met
with response more ready, more single-minded, or
capable.
While he was hurrying himself into a morning coat
and out of his slippers, Miss Jasper first tapped at his door,
and then opened it at his bidding.
"Come in, Aunt Jem," he said as she appeared. "I'm
sorry I must miss your good breakfast—you don't know
how I have been anticipating it; but—the fact is," stamp-
ing his foot into one walking-shoe and catching up the
other, "I am called away in haste—I don't know what for—
and I must get to Doctor Roth's place as fast as possible.
Lock up my quarters, won't you?"—catching up his hat


4 NO PROOF.
and stick—"and—I'll—I don't know when I will be back.
As soon as possible, you may be sure. Good-by, Auntie."
And he was gone.
"Umph!" muttered Miss Jasper, as she pulled down the
shade at the south window, and locked the door of the
inner room. "Same old sixpence. Catch me wasting
my breath asking him questions when he looks like that!
Don't I know him!" And with these words, and wearing a
smile, half disdainful and half indulgent, she returned to
her cozy dining-room.
"Bring the tea and muffins along," she called, seating
herself at a round table shining in its morning equipment
of silver and glass, its snowy napery gleaming fairer for
a great bowl of roses in its center, and a heaped-up dish
of strawberries close beside it. "You needn't mind about
the broil; Mr. Kenneth won't have his breakfast—yet."
Meanwhile Kenneth Jasper was hastening, with long
strides, down the tree-shaded street of the pretty suburb,
and around a corner, coming to that portion of the town
where the business houses stood apart, and pausing be-
fore a door over which hung the sign, "Doctor Roth,
Physician and Surgeon."
A sleepy-looking boy answered his ring and roused
himself into sudden, half-scared obedience upon being
told to call his master at once, to bid him hasten, and then
to get out his horse.
Following the boy through the little vestibule, across
a small waiting room, and into what was evidently the
doctor's general office and study combined, Jasper paused,
while the boy vanished behind a curtain at the farther side
of the room and opposite the entrance.
The room was well but severely fitted up with the usual
paraphernalia of a physician's domain. The walls were
hung with maps and charts, but over the mantel hung a
pair of dainty water-colors, veritable gems of art, and
upon the broad-leafed and modern desk stood a large
bowl of the same soft-tinted blush roses that Jasper had
seen the evening before on his aunt's table, and that had
bloomed also in the tall vases upon his own low mantel
in his den.
"From Aunt Jem, I'll wager!" he said to himself, half


COME. B
smiling, and then started, as a deep, strong voice from
behind the curtain called his name.
"Jasper, is that you? What is it? Not your aunt,
surely?"
"An imperative call from Wayland," was the prompt
reply. "Listen!" A sound of rapid, high-pitched words,
and simultaneous loud and swift pounding broke the still-
ness without.
"Oh, that's only Dan and Dancer," came the doctor's
voice. "It's the usual thing when Dan's orders are 'im-
perative.' Dancer lives up to his cognomen, and Dan
to his privileges—out of doors. Do you know what is
wrong at Way lands?"
"Something serious I am sure," and Jasper repeated the
substance of the captain's message. "I should not have
taken the liberty of ordering out your horse but for the
evident urgency of the case. I saw by that patent con-
trivance at your outer office door that you were in, and I
knew you would come, of course."
"Of course." The curtain was swept aside, and a tall,
dark-visaged man, with a smooth-shaven face and pierc-
ing gray eye, came forth and began to collect the things he
always carried when called thus without definite instruc-
tions or knowledge of the emergency. His face was
strong and intellectual, rather than handsome, and he car-
ried himself with the slight forward bend of head and
shoulders that so often denotes the student.
Like Jasper, he gave no thought to breakfast or any-
thing save the captain's urgent call, and the two were
soon on their way.
Waylands, the home of Jasper's guardian, for he had
not ceased at his majority to call the captain so, was al-
most two miles from the town proper, being one of sev-
eral handsome modern villas upon the fine tree-shaded
avenue running from suburb to suburb; and they were
leaving the town behind when the doctor broke the silence
that had fallen between them since their setting out.
"Evidently," he said slowly, "there is something more
than, or something besides, sickness at the captain's," and
he cast a keen side glance at his companion.
"Evidently," retorted the other gravely, "else why am


« NO PROOF.
I called? I am sure the captain said they were all well
last night when he looked in for just a moment, except,
of course—"
"Except Mrs. Wayland. True, and she was so much
better, so nearly herself again, that the young people were
talking of setting out, in a day or two, on that postponed
wedding journey."
"To-morrow, the captain said. Merrick, it seems, was
called upon some matter of business to the city yesterday,
or they would have set out to-day. It can't be Mrs.
Merrick?"
"I don't see how she could be ill, since I saw her
yesterday; saw all of them, in fact, except Merrick. And
Doris Grey—I can't get used to her new name somehow
—is one of the most perfect specimens of health I ever
saw. She has no idiosyncracies, inherited or other, and
her nerves are like tempered steel. I wish I could say as
much for Glenn, poor child; she has her mother's finely
strung nerves with all her own radiant health and young
vigor. Come, Dancer," touching up his horse at the
foot of an incline, "I can imagine just how impatiently the
captain is awaiting our coming. His patience is not his
chief virtue; eh, Jasper?"
The younger man smiled. "My good guardian is some-
what given to hurrying things ordinarily, but I have seen
him in an emergency, where much was at stake, hold his
hand and manifest an amazing self-control."
"Oh, yes; in great emergencies our strength, or weak-
ness, is sure to reveal itself as it is. The captain does not
carry all that is in him in that open friendly face of his."
"Does any one?"
The doctor turned and looked into his companion's
face with that quick, keen glance, so brief, yet so discon-
certing to many. "It has often occurred to me," he said,
"that you do not."
"Thank you," replied Jasper composedly. "I'm glad
if you do not discover any hysterical tendencies in me."
And then he leaned suddenly forward.
"Look!" he cried, "there is the captain on the upper
balcony! He sees us! He is beckoning!"
They were almost at the entrance to Waylands now,


COME. 1
and, as the horse dashed on, he shaded his keen young
eyes with his hand and looked again, catching glimpses
through the spaces between the great maples bordering
the road.
"My soul!" he ejaculated, clapping his hands as they
swung around the curve and in at the open gate, "Way-
land looks ghastly! What can have happened? Stop,
Doctor!"
Saunders, the captain's gardener, had risen suddenly
from a half-hidden bench near the shrub-shaded entrance,
unseen by the doctor, and he approached them with his
hand still raised as in signaling them to a halt.
"Captain Wayland wishes you to come in quietly, if
you please, gentlemen, and I'll take your horse to the
stable this way, across the grass. You're to step softly,
and go in by the door of the study, please. You'll find it
open."
"What is it, Saunders?" asked the doctor, springing
from the wagonette, Jasper being already out on the other
side.
"I can't tell you, sir. I don't know. The captain or-
dered me to watch for you here, and stop you, just as I
have. He looks like death, Doctor. Give me his head,
sir. Whoa, sir, quiet, quiet—easy now," and the man
led the spirited creature at once away from the graveled
drive and across the velvet-smooth lawn, keeping as far
from the house as possible, casting anxious glances toward
it, and wary ones at the impatient and curveting Dancer.
Meantime, obeying his instructions, the two men, won-
dering and apprehensive now, had made their way across
the lawn and approached the study directly by way of the
little piazza, at the northeast corner of the house.
The door opening upon the tiny vestibule was ajar, and
so was that of the study opposite, and the doctor drew
back and motioned Jasper to precede him. As the young
man swung the door inward and crossed the threshold,
a door opposite, connecting, as he knew, with the main
hall, opened also, and Captain Wayland stood for a mo-
ment looking dumbly into their faces, then he slowly
closed the door and turned the key in the lock.
The face which he turned toward them as they advanced


8 NO PROOF.
to meet him caused them both to start and turn toward
each other a glance of questioning and nameless dread.
The face they had last seen smiling, rosy, beaming with
good-nature and good-will, had grown old in a night,
old and wretched, pallid, and sunken-eyed, with trembling
hands and quivering lips.
He moved a step toward them, without a word of
greeting.
"Close that door, Ken," he said in a hoarse whisper,
"and move lightly. No one must know you are here—
yet. I—I've an awful thing to show you—come."
CHAPTER II.
"DRUGGED."
He moved toward the door, hesitated, and then turned
to the doctor.
"Roth," he said brokenly, "God knows I want all my
senses about me just now; will it help or hurt me to
drink anything that will steady my nerves?"
Captain Wayland was a temperance advocate of the
most pronounced type, and this sudden and unusual ap-
peal told the doctor, as words could not, how strong and
terrible was the stress and strain of the moment upon this"
strong man.
Without a word he set down the case he carried, opened
it, and took out a small flask and tiny measuring-tube.
Pouring from the one into the other with steady hand
and careful eye, he held the draught to the captain's lips.
"Drink it," he said sharply. "No, not in your hand;
it's too frail a thing; swallow it, and then sit down a
moment, or I won't answer for you. It's brandy—and
something else. There's nothing like good liquor to
carry a drug through the system quickly and safely.
There, now, don't speak for a moment."
The captain obeyed him, and after a brief silence and
stillness, sighed heavily and got to his feet again.


DRUGGED. §
"I am better now," he said. "Let us go before—before
any one sees us."
Jasper stepped to the door and turned the key. "Take
my arm, Captain," he said, "and lean on me. Now, which
way?"
"Upstairs."
As they reached the foot of the stairs the captain paused
and put his hand upon the newel post, as if to steady him-
self, and they could see him trembling again violently;
then he began to mount the stairs with hands clinched
and lips tightly pressed together, the others following
softly and silently.
At the landing, half-way up, he stopped. "You must
not cry out," he whispered. '"My wife—she—she is in the
room below. She—she must not know—yet." And again
he went on, while the others, following, exchanged, be-
hind his back, quick glances of inquiry. Could he be
insane?
There was perfect silence above-stairs. It was yet early
morning, and there seemed only the usual stillness of a
house not yet awakened. Then, as they followed the cap-
tain across the wide hall, a sound from the rear caused him
to halt suddenly, and put out his hand to signal them to
silence, and so, for a moment, they stood awaiting the
approach of a housemaid bearing upon a tray a water-
bottle in which the ice tinkled and a dainty drinking-glass.
Something like a groan, half-stifled, escaped from the
captain's lips as he saw it, and then he said, as she ap-
proached:
"Martha, you—you need not go in—now. Give me—
give the tray to the doctor here, and go back, until he
comes down. And—mind—not a word to disturb your
mistress."
He turned away at the last word, as if to hide his agita-
tion from her, and the doctor, prompt to take the cue,
stepped between them and took the tray from her reluc-
tant hand.
"Doctor," she began, "is—is Miss Doris or any one
sick?"
"There, Martha," the doctor said, as if he had himself
called for *l\s tray and its contents, "I will come down


10 NO PROOF.
soon, and meantime you must see that no one else comes
up. Now go."
When the girl had passed out of sight and hearing,
Captain Wayland fell weakly into a hall chair and dropped
his chin upon his breast. "My God," he murmured, as if
forgetting their presence, "this is awful." Then, mastering
himself again, he got up and approached a door, which
opened, as the doctor and Jasper both knew, into one
of the large guest-chambers of the house.
Here, with averted face and shaking hand, he held out
a key to Roth.
"Go in," he said huskily, "both of you."
The doctor turned the key in the lock, opened the door
quickly and silently, looked in, started back, and then
went swiftly toward the low brass bedstead at the farther
side of the room, and but partially visible from the door-
way, and Jasper, following after an instant of hesitation,
saw him bend above the white pillow, and had a glimpse
of a mass of shimmering white satin and billowy lace.
Then he too was beside the bed, and both were gazing,
with amazement and horror, at the beautiful, awful thing
before them.
It was the outstretched form of a woman, a mere girl,
in fact, dressed as a bride, with the beautiful face set in a
look of horror and woe unutterable, the dark, unseeing
eyes half-open and seemingly fixed on some vision of
dread, and Kenneth Jasper, after one swift glance, lifted
an inquiring gaze to the doctor's face, to see it almost as
pale as that before them, and needed no word to tell him
that death was there—swift, sudden, awful death.
The beautiful, ghastly face was slightly turned away,
and one white, ringed hand lay clinched upon the whiter
bosom. The other, ah, that other! How much, yet how
little, it told! It lay flung out across the farther pillow,
and near it, so near as to seem as if it had just slipped
through the stiff fingers, lay a little silver-mounted six-
shooter, while a small stream of blood stained the pillow,
just below the blackened, bloody right temple, where a
tiny hole told only too plainly the manner of her death.
It was the body of Doris Merrick—Doris Grey only
three short weeks ago—the lovely and well-loved ward


DRUGGED. 11
and orphaned niece of Captain Wayland, a daughter of
the house since her sixth year, and, to all seeming, as
well loved as the real daughter, her cousin, and almost
another self.
"Doris Merrick!"
"Dead!"
The first exclamation bespoke amazement, horror, pity
unutterable—the pain and shock and sorrow of an old,
tried and true friend. The second told in one syllable
of a mortal blow stoically borne.
Reverently, tenderly, Roth took in his the fair dead
hand lying upon the breast, and looked long into the
dead face.
''Dead for hours," he whispered, as he softly replaced
the hand and turned away, for just a moment, a face that
he would not have them see. Then he crossed the room
to the captain, who had entered and stood leaning
against the closed door.
"How did it happen?" he asked, in a voice which
neither recognized.
Captain Wayland shook his head. "I can't even guess,"
he said brokenly. "She seemed as happy as usual last
night. Very happy, I thought. But this morning, when
she did not ring, as usual, you know, for the glass of
water she must always have before rising—you know her
habits, Doctor, always up with the sun and out of doors,
in rain or shine, like myself. Well, this morning I was
early up and out of doors, and seeing nothing of her, out
or in, I thought she had overslept, and it occurred to me
to carry up the ice-water myself, and catch her napping.
Napping! Oh, heavens!" and he choked back a groan.
"1 went to the kitchen and took Martha's tray, telling
her she need not go up until called for, and I went up,
and tapped at her door. Oh, I need not tell you how,
after knocking again and again, I called, and then, know-
ing her a light sleeper, fancied her out-, after all, tried the
door to assure myself, and saw—•" His voice broke again.
"I mastered my horror and grief somehow, I don't
know how, and took the tray downstairs. 'You are not
to go upstairs until you are called,' I said to Martha, and


JS NO PROOF.
then I got into the study and telephoned for you two.
It was my first impulse," he added, as if in explanation.
"And your wife?" questioned the doctor.
"My wife was still sleeping, or at least quiet, and I
thanked heaven then that it was her habit to keep her
room in the morning, by your order. Nobody knows.
I locked the door—and now?"
Doctor Roth turned again to look at the white face
upon the bed.
"Have you any—theory?" he asked, hesitatingly.
"My God! no. I thought she was as happy as—as an
angel! Why should she die by suicide?"
"No!" The word broke from the doctor's lips in-
voluntarily, and he turned again to look at the dead face;
at the same moment, Kenneth Jasper, who had been bend-
ing over the bed at the opposite side, and looking closely
at the revolver, so suggestively near the rigid right hand,
drew back suddenly, and with a quick sidelong glance
at the other two.
"It may have been an accident," he said, turning away
to hide a start, and the look of amazement, almost
consternation, which he could not for the moment
conceal.
"I wish I could think so," sighed the captain, "but,"
pointing to the right hand so near the weapon—"her own
pistol."
"Could it—possibly—be murder?" said the doctor,
slowly, as if questioning himself, rather than another.
"Did you hear nothing, Wayland?"
"Nothing—not a sound."
Kenneth Jasper walked to the window and slowly back
again. "Captain," he said, his face now quite calm, and
very grave, "something must be done, and at once. We
are both here to serve you, and my time, at least, is all
yours. What must be done—now?" He looked to the
doctor for a suggestion, but, a little to his surprise, none
came, and he went on: "Mrs. Wayland must know, and—
Miss Glenn—"
The captain started. "My God! I had not thought of
Glenn. And my wife; can she bear this trouble, Doctor?"
"She is not as strong as I could Wish, but her nerves


DRUGGED. If
are sound, and—for her—strong. She must know at once,
and your daughter also. I wonder—" He stopped short
and made a move toward the medicine-case he had
brought with him into the room of death. "With your
permission," he finished, "I will myself break this to your
wife, Captain."
"Will you? I—I couldn't!"
"And may I suggest," spoke Jasper quietly, "that you,
Captain, tell your daughter at once. We are likely to be
interrupted at any moment now, and—if they can bear
it, something should be decided on between us—unless—"
he cast a glance at the bed—"unless you mean to let this
become—public—in detail."
"Good heavens! Can we prevent it? If we only could!"
"That depends"—Jasper shot a glance at the doctor—
"upon—all of us. If you will arouse Miss Glenn, I will
remain here—on guard."
When the two men were gone, Kenneth Jasper with
sudden alertness turned the key in the lock, and standing
for a moment near the center of the room looked keenly
about him, noting carefully each detail, then stepping to
an inner door, standing slightly ajar, he pushed it open
quickly and without noise, and looked within.
He saw, as he had expected, a small room fitted luxuri-
ously as a dressing-room. About the walls, in orderly
array, on two sides, stood several trunks, and a glance
showed him that three of these, bearing the name of Doris
Grey in tiny brass nails, were locked, but with the key re-
maining in each; the others, unlike the first three, bore
marks of much usage, and had no name upon them.
These, also, were closed, fast locked, and secured firmly by
bolt and hasp, but they were keyless.
Moving quickly, he tried each lid, and then, without
stopping to turn the keys, began a search in boxes,
drawers, and a variety of receptacles, passing by the tiny
ones, and ignoring jewel-boxes, trays, and the numerous
dainty devices women love to turn into depositories for
their many little belongings. From the dressing-room he
went back to the chamber of death, renewing his search
there, and ending it, after an instant of hesitation, by ap-
proaching the bed and slipping his hand gently but firmly


14 NO PROOF.
under the pillow, first the vacant one, and then that where-
on the head of the dead girl lay; lifting it with utmost
gentleness, and letting it down without a sign to show
that it had been moved, but making his search beneath
the pillow a very thorough one for all that.
It was an unsuccessful search, and, as he drew back
after this last effort, he shook his head and sent a look
of regret in the direction of the locked trunks.
"If I only knew which one—if either," he muttered.
"But I can't risk opening them at random now; there's
no time." And then it struck him that the time had been
longer than seemed needful since the captain had gone
to arouse his daughter, sleeping at the extreme end of
the long hall in one of the twin rooms which had been
occupied by the cousins since their childhood. "Strange,"
he thought. "I would have sworn that Glenn Wayland
would have been here in the shortest time possible!" And
then he was conscious of a sound outside the chamber
door as of some one fumbling with the lock. He stepped!
to the door and bent his head to listen. "Kenneth—open,"
came faintly to him from the other side.
Opening the door in haste, he saw the captain outside,
alone and looking like a man distraught.
"Ken—come, for mercy's sake! You must get Roth
away from my wife somehow. Glenn—Glenn—"
"What?" Jasper's hand closed upon his arm like an
iron band.
"She—something ails her; I could not rouse her at
first; and now-—she is ill—she—"
In a flash the young man was beside him, closing and
locking the chamber door. "Stay here," he cried, like
one who has suddenly taken command, and was gone,
down the long hall, and down the stairway. Scarce three
minutes later, he was back, coming up the stairs in long,
noiseless leaps, with the doctor's tall figure close behind.
The captain was hovering at the door of his daughter's
room, and as the doctor brushed past him he turned to
Jasper, who had halted a few steps from the open door.
"Wait," he said beseechingly. "Don't leave me, Ken! I
feel as if my senses were going."
Jasper thrust a hand through his arm, giving it, as he


DRUGGED. 15
'did so, a little friendly pressure. "I'll stand by you,
Guardy," using the old-time name by impulse. "You
need food, and Roth's dose was too strong for your empty
stomach. Have courage."
"Roth's dose has given me the little strength I have,
boy. I am even afraid to go in there. .What is coming
next? I fear it."
"Wayland, Jasper, come here, both of you," called the
doctor from within. He was sitting by the bedside, hold-
ing one of Glenn Wayland's hands in his own, and, as
they approached the bedside, he said, in the abrupt fashion
that, more than anything else he could have tried, gave
them a ray of cheer, "Kenneth, go around and rub that
right hand, hard, mind you, until it glows red. It's your
strength I want, and, Captain, you must call your wife,
and the maids, and order hot water at once. She will come
out all right, but we must work. She has been drugged."
CHAPTER III.
"YOU KNOW."
That Kenneth Jasper should place himself so unre-
servedly at his old-time guardian's service was far from
strange. The bond between them was of triple strength.
First, they were, or had been, guardian and ward, an
honest and faithful guardian, and a ward having only
kindliness, indulgence, and wise counsel to recall and to
be grateful for. Next, they had been partners, laboring
together, for a brief time, in amity, and then severing
this bond with mutual regrets and mutual good wishes;
and, last, and always, they had been friends.
As a ward Kenneth had never made his uncle's house
his home, but had lived close at hand in the pleasant home
of his spinster aunt, the only home he could remember,
for there the two Jaspers, father, and son, had dwelt since;
his mother had passed from earth, when the boy was but


16 NO PROOF.
six years old. Kenneth's father had wisely recognized the
need of another guardian and guide for the boy, as he
grew in years, than good Aunt Jem, who had been
christened Germaine long ago but had never within the
memory of man been called by that harmonious name.
He knew his good and energetic sister to be a most de-
sirable nurse and home mother for the lad, and by his
desire they were not to be separated, save by mutual
agreement; but he saw the daily increasing need of a
stronger hand than even his own, for the elder Jasper was
par excellence a "man of letters," and in this decision, as
in all that her brother did, Aunt Jem heartily concurred.
Upon leaving school young Jasper elected to follow
his guardian's profession, and so, one fine day, the names
"Wayland and Jasper" were seen upon the same sign,
and for a time Kenneth was an active and ready aid to
cne of the most skillful criminal lawyers of his state. But
only ten days before the morning on which our story
opens, Jasper had painted his name off the still new sign,
and turned his back upon the legal profession; and this,
too, upon the very day of his first success, with his first
case, and this is how it came about.
He had entered upon this case full of enthusiasm,
which was fully shared by the captain, who saw in him
the material for a more than common success at the bar,
an eloquent orator and a skillful investigator into things
crooked and queer.
They had taken up together the defense of a man
charged with murder, one of those vulgar, common
crimes in which our newspapers abound, and Kenneth,
at least, began the work with a firm faith in his client's
innocence.
Captain Wayland had worked out an able line of de-
fense, and one which seemed sure to win, when, at almost
the last moment, it fell to the lot of Kenneth Jasper to go
to a distant town in search of a small but essential missing
link. He set out full of youthful enthusiasm, and over-
flowing with sympathy for the unhappy accused, and
then—in seeking this lost link, he had discovered a tiny
break in the chain of necessary evidence, a slight dis-
crepancy; and, being aroused to wonder a little, and


YOU KNOW. 17
almost to doubt, he followed it up, at considerable cost
of time and labor, and in much self-disgust.
When he returned to the city, he laid the case, in a new
aspect, before the captain. Their client was guilty. He
had proved it beyond a doubt, and the captain was loud
in his praise of his partner's skill in carrying through
unaided what he was pleased to term "a masterly piece
of detective work."
But when Jasper expressed his disgust and dissatisfac-
tion with the work yet before them, and begged to be
allowed to drop out of the case, the captain would not
hear of it . It would be called in a few days—Jasper had
taken his retainer—he must stick to his client, "if he never
tried another case;" and Jasper, catching at the words,
declared that he never would. He would see this matter
through, much as he now loathed the thought of his brief,
and then he would drop back into the ranks of "re-
spectable non-professional gentlemen."
But—"man proposes," etc.—the day before that set for
the trial there came a sudden call for Captain Way land;
his wife was very ill, he must come home at once.
The captain was quick to think and to act; he saw the
judge, his client, and the lawyers for the defense. The
first two he assured that the case could not fail, and he
pledged his word that Kenneth Jasper could fill his place
ably and do all that he could have done and more.
He was accustomed to bending people to his will and
way, and somehow, he made them believe in his young
assistant. And so it came about that Jasper stood up
alone, to defend his first and last client and to prove a
man innocent, believing him to be guilty. And as he
followed the prearranged line of argument to the letter,
being pledged to do what Wayland would have done, and
as he possessed a gift of oratory and was "eloquent in
persuasion," he won his case, and, so he afterward told the
captain, in a burst of strong self-disgust, "turned an assas-
sin loose upon the world again."
He was not a profane man, but he loathed what was
called his triumph as if it had been a defeat; and when the
acquitted scoundrel, for he was a scoundrel, came to him,
fawning upon him, thanking and actually and dramatica.1-


IS • NO PROOF.
1 y blessing him, while proffering a check for a goodly sum,
Jasper turned upon him in a lofty rage, cursed him sound-
ly, hurled the truth in his teeth, tore the check in frag-
ments, and warned him against delay if he wished to
leave the country alive.
"A man can't be tried twice for the same crime, unfort-
unately," he said hotly, "but when it is known that you are
guilty, in spite of judge and jury, there will be no need
of anything more than a rope and the branch of a conven-
ient tree, and it shall be known, I promise you. I have
the proof of your guilt and it shall be known everywhere.
I give you until to-morrow—not an hour longer."
All that night he lay awake and thought, and hated the
profession which had, he told himself, played him at the
very outset so scurvy a trick, and in the morning he arose
determined that a business "that he must follow with
reservations or know himself a scoundrel" should no
longer count him among its members. He would turn
back upon the very threshold.
Fortunately, he assured himself, he was not dependent
upon the law for bread.
The next day he followed the captain to Winston, and
learning that Mrs. Wayland, while still quite ill, was grow-
ing daily much better, quite out of danger, in fact, he
gave rein to his impatience and went at once to Way-
lands to make known his resolve to his partner.
Greatly to his surprise, he met with but little opposition
from Captain Wayland.
"Honestly, Ken," he said gravely, "I can't say much
against you. It's my full belief, since you sifted that mur-
der business so neatly, that you're reserved for another
sort of work, not so profitable, perhaps, and more danger-
ous, but the first you won't mind, and the rest is with the
powers above. You've had a most unlucky start with
the law. It's very seldom, really, that we caiqut the wrong
man, but it's done now and then, and if you're set against
that sort of thing—well, I hope I would have felt as you
do about it at your age, and with the same experience.
It's a heart-hardening business, that's a fact, and a lawyer
with a tender conscience, like yours—well, he can't get


TOU KNOW. 19
rich. Besides, you won't starve while you're waiting for
something to turn up. I was a poor devil when 1 began."
And so the question was settled, and Jasper "took down
his shingle" six months after he had put it up.
It took him ten days to "settle his business," which
meant simply the disposal of a somewhat ambitious legal
library, and of the furnishings and fixtures of the "private
office" he had thought it necessary to set up alongside
that of the captain, with a door between them. He had
even given up his rooms.
"When next I set myself up in the city," he said, "it
will be a permanent arrangement, and until that time
comes I shall stay in the suburbs and chew the cud of
reflection, which may, in time, bring me wisdom."
And then he went back to Winston, and Aunt Jem,
where the captain had been for a week or more, his busi-
ness being always in some degree subservient to the fam-
ily interests, and, of late, these interests had been para-
mount.
First had come his wife's severe illness, and then, as
she began to recover, the marriage of his niece, sweet
Doris Grey, to Eugene Merrick, a handsome young fel-
low who, only a year previous, had come to Winston a
stranger and opened there a real estate office, with an
agency and interests in the city as well. He was a clever
and altogether charming young fellow, with refined tastes
and irreproachable habits, and he soon became exceed-
ingly popular. While not eager for society, and actually
indifferent at first to Winston's pretty girls and correct
social functions, society, nevertheless, sought him eagerly,
and after his first meeting with Doris Grey he met half-
way all such social overtures as brought him near the
object of his very frank admiration. They were soon
friends, then lovers, and finally, after twice postponing
their marriage, because of Mrs. Wayland's illness, it was
celebrated at last, by that lady's command, as soon as
she was able to leave her room, and from her easy-chair
in her sitting-room oversee the preparations.
It was a quiet home wedding; for that Doris stood out
stanchly against her aunt, her cousin Glenn, and even
Eugene,


20 NO PROOF.
"A grand wedding," she had declared, "with all Win-
ston and a section of New York invited, would end by
putting Aunt Rachel into the doctor's hands again, and
she is only just out of them. Besides, I don't want it!"
And Doris, sweet Doris, had her will. There was the
pretty home wedding, late in May, and a week of quiet
and utter happiness for the fair bride, spent among her
nearest friends, at home and in almost absolute seclusion.
"I don't see why a rush across the country in a stuffy
railway coach must always be the necessary finale of a wed-
ding ceremony," the bride had insisted. "I never was par-
ticularly fond of railway travel, and Europe is still fresh
in my memory. There's no more delightful summer re-
treat for me than Waylands just now, and we will just
stay here for a week or two, and then go, all together,
to the mountains. It's just what Auntie needs." And
again Doris had her will.
Then, a week after the wedding, Mrs. Wayland was
again taken ill, the captain was called home, and Jasper
was left to struggle with his first case alone. The captain
went and came as he could, and Doris and her husband
thought no more of the mountains until Mrs. Wayland
became once more convalescent, just as young Jasper
shook the dust of the city from his feet and turned his
face homeward.
He had arrived on a late afternoon train, and an hour
afterward the captain had beamed in upon him. With
his usual ready communicativeness he had told at once the
family news. His wife was quite out of danger and fast
gaining strength. The bride and groom were as happy
as could be, and, now that Mrs. Wayland "had put down
her foot" and insisted, the young people had decided, at
last, to go to the mountains by themselves. "We all mean
to follow them in a fortnight," he had declared, "my wife,
Glenn and myself. Doris is getting ready now, with real
enthusiasm. Merrick is called to the city to attend to
something before he sets out. He's going to let his part-
ner run the office here. You'll just have time to congrat-
ulate them once more, Ken; they'll be gone now in a few
days;" and then, catching up his hat, "come out early


YOU KNOW. 21
in the morning and stay for luncheon, wdn't you?" he
said genially, and Jasper promised.
How he kept that promise we know.
And now, an hour after Kenneth Jasper had turned the
key in the door of the room where Doris Merrick lay
dead, and followed the captain to his daughter's door,
the doctor, Captain and Mrs. Wayland, and Jasper sat
in conference in the chamber opposite that of Glenn Way-
land. The latter had rallied from her stupor sufficiently
to be left with safety in the care of the maids, who
had been purposely left together, "to keep them out of
mischief," the doctor had said, and, as yet, none but the
four were aware of the tragedy hidden from sight in that
locked room.
Going below, the doctor had found the servants await-
ing orders in the kitchen, as had been commanded, won-
dering much and in some trepidation.
"Martha," Doctor Roth had said, coming suddenly in
upon them, "I want you and Jennie in Miss Glenn's room
at once. Cook, you are to have hot water and soft
flannels ready at call and to get breakfast for four
as soon as you can. And, mind, no one must go near
Mrs. Merrick's room for the present. There must be
perfect quiet upstairs."
They all knew the brusque doctor, and no one dreamed
of disobeying, and so, as the morning advanced, there
was quiet throughout the big house.
While they were busy about the half-unconscious
Glenn, Mrs. Wayland, looking pallid and shocked, but
quite composed, came down the hall, moving slowly, for
she was not yet strong. She stopped amazed at sight of
her husband at her daughter's door, and then swept past
him and straight to the bedside.
But she neither screamed nor fainted at sight of the
pallid face and shadow-encircled eyes, and when the doc-
tor had explained as best he could, but briefly, and as-
sured her that there was no danger, the worst being over,
she held her daughter's hand for a moment and turned
to her husband.


22 NO PROOF.
"You must leave this to others, Hugh, for my sake,"
she said, putting her hand in his, and somehow her touch
and voice brought a sense of relief and calm to the dis-
traught man. He felt the influence of the strong, calm
spirit in that frail body, and he yielded to her guidance
when, putting her hand through his arm, she said: "Come
into the west room and find me a chair; you must tell me
all about it, Hugh."
And she led him across the hall and into the west room,
where presently they were.joined by the doctor and Ken-
neth. The former closed the door and, drawing a chair
close to the others, said:
"Mrs. Wayland, Captain, we have not a moment to
lose. This awful thing, in some form, must be known;
have you thought—or—"
Then, for the first time, the thought that this was not
a case for the utter relaxation of grief seemed to cross the
captain's mind, and he turned from one to the other.
"My God! Doctor—Kenneth, must this awful thing
be blazoned all over Winston—everywhere? Think for
us—do!"
Before either of the two addressed could open their
lips Mrs. Wayland bent forward and put a hand upon
the doctor's arm. "Doctor Roth," she said, "you must
help us!" And for a moment their eyes met.
"Her husband!" said the doctor; and at the word Jasper
started to his feet.
"We must telegraph," he said. And then they looked
at one another, and Captain Wayland shook his head.
"He—he has no permanent address," he said,
"The agency?" suggested Jasper.
Wayland groaned. "That has been changed within
the week; and, it is strange, but I have not heard or
thought of the new address."
Here again Mrs. Wayland's level voice interposed.
"Eugene will come, in any case, to-morrow, early; he
is more than likely to come to-night. Since nothing can be
changed, nothing done by him, and since he could not
receive a message now and reach home before evening
or late afternoon, why send if we could? And—how
could you word such a message?"


YOU KNOW. 23
"You are right," said Roth and Jasper in the same
breath. And then, as if actuated by some new thought,
Jasper added:
"Still—might there not be some card, some address in
her room? Might it not be best to make sure?"
There was a moment of silence, and then Mrs. Wayland
looked up at him fixedly.
"You are right," she said. "It is best to be sure and
not to seem neglectful. Perhaps we can hasten his com-
ing. Will—will you look—Kenneth?"
•'One moment," said Doctor Roth; "something must be
decided before you go back to that room, Jasper. A
moment ago, Mrs. Wayland, you called upon me to help
you. In what way—tell me?"
"You know," she said firmly.
CHAPTER IV.
"HEART FAILURE."
"Wayland"— the doctor turned sharply to his friend—
"your wife is a brave woman. When I told her that Doris
was dead I feared she would break down, but when I told"
her how she died she forgot herself and thought only of
others, and," he glanced keenly at the captain, "and of
how it would be to have this awful thing known—in its
full horror—to all Winston. And she said at once—"
"I said," broke in the lady, "and I say now, it must not
be known! Doris Grey a suicide! My God!" She
turned again to Roth.
"Doctor, you will help us?"
A momentary glance passed between the doctor and
young Jasper, then—"I am your family physician," he
said, "and still more your friend." He glanced again at
Jasper; "and—I am going to prove it," he added.
"But how?" said the captain. "How?"
"Long ago I heard your wife say that Mr. Grey, the
father of Doris, died of 'some form of heart trouble.'
She must say this again, to the servants, and to others."


24 NO PROOF.
Mrs. Wayland nodded understandingly. "I will," she
murmured.
"And," he went on, "there is a stupid bit of profes-
sional rubbish that is often found convenient called heart
failure.' /shall talk of that."
He looked quickly at his watch and turned to Jasper.
"If you are going to look for that address," he said,
"you would better do it at once. The servants will be
about the house soon."
Without a word Kenneth went out, with the key, silent-
ly received from the captain, in his hand.
Just outside he encountered the girl Martha, carrying
a tray.
"How is Miss Wayland?" he asked.
"Better, sir, but still weak. The doctor ordered her
this." She was carrying a glass bowl of lemonade, with
a bundle of tiny wafers beside it, upon the tray, and he
opened the chamber door and saw her safely within be-
fore, he passed on to the room where death awaited him.
Meantime the doctor had seated himself beside Mrs.
Wayland.
"If you are strong enough," he said, "I think we can
arrange everything now."
"I will be strong enough."
"I believe you will; and next—can you trust either or
any of your servants?"
She thought for a moment in silence, then, "Yes," she
said, "I am sure I can trust Martha. She has been with
me since her childhood."
"And so am I," added her husband.
"Very good. Everything must be done quickly, and—
no one save you two, myself, and, if needful, Jasper, must
enter that room till all is done. You and the captain
must remain, as much as possible, secluded. It will keep
away inquiring and troublesome visitors. I shall be here
as much as possible, but some one should be here con-
stantly."
"Jasper?" said the captain.
"You couldn't do better, and there should be some
one, some woman, who could also be in the house to
stand between you, all of you, and the inquiring public.


HEART FAILURE. 25
If you and Martha will be strong for an hour, you to
command, she to help me, all can be done."
Mrs. Wayland sighed and shuddered.
"Tell me," she said, "just how and what we must do.
Don't fear to speak plainly."
"There's but one thing to do. The poor girl, Heaven
knows for what reason, seems already dressed for her
burial. She must remain so, and must be kept from the
sight of all save ourselves until she has been placed in her
coffin, and that scar upon her face concealed from prying
eyes. The people must think that I was called in the
night; that we have had help up here, and that all has
already been done; this will explain the closed room and
Miss Glenn's illness, our caution and quiet—for the rest
you may leave all to Jasper and myself."
"Doctor," broke in Captain Wayland, "what about poor
Merrick? This blow will be awful for him! Can't we
keep the—the truth from him, too?"
"No," interposed his wife quickly. "We may—I think
we have the right to deceive others to protect her mem-
ory, but we have not the right to deceive him! Besides,
he may be able to explain, at least to guess—" She
stopped and shuddered.
"She is right," said her husband. And the doctor
nodded assent.
Meantime Kenneth Jasper, in the closed and locked
death chamber, had renewed his search, rather than begun
a new one. For, while he did not neglect to look for
anything that might help him to Eugene Merrick's ad-
dress, his search for something else was even more eager
and thorough.
This time, with no risk of momentary interruption, he
began more deliberately, noting each detail and drawing
his own conclusions.
"Everything indicates suicide," he said to himself,
standing over the dead girl and noting the position of
the hands, the natural pose of the body, and the still out-
stretched right arm; for, save to close the half-open eyes,
and relieve the head from its unpleasantly strained po-


26 TNO PROOF.
sition, Doctor Roth had not ventured to touch or change,
wisely waiting for the decision for or against an investi-
gation, which he knew must be made soon.
“But why,” Jasper asked himself, “why had this fair
young bride taken her own life in the very zenith of her
new happiness?” Over and over this question had
repeated itself in his mind, but the only voice which could
have answered, so far as he knew, was stilled forever.
That the deed had been deliberately done was evident.
Everything about the two rooms was in the nice order
Doris so loved and always insisted upon. Whatever the
motive, the deed had been gone about deliberately, with
the utmost calm, it would seem.
The long packing-case from which the creamy bridal
dress had been taken had been closed again and the key
turned in the lock. The fair hair had been as carefully
arranged as on her wedding-day; every bridal detail of
that pitiful last toilet had been carefully arranged; the
tulle veil hung in fleecy mockery over the bedside and
lay over the satin train in a heap upon the floor. The
little white boots peeped from beneath the soft rich folds
and frills of lace. Even the long white gloves lay out
upon the empty pillow.
True to the instincts of his nature, Jasper went on,
noting each detail and formulating it into a whole, a
possible theory.
Her dressing-case, her writing-desk, her trunks, all
were locked, 'tis true, but in each lock was its proper
key; and, as Jasper, in his search, turned one key and
opened one receptacle after another, while he was scrupu-
lously careful to look keenly at all which came under his
hand, he examined closely only such things as might
perhaps contain that for which he sought.
The dainty writing-desk bore signs of recent use, and
he looked it through, refraining from so much as a dis-
turbing touch where it was not needful.
At last, among some loose sheets of note paper, he
found an envelope fully addressed, but disfigured by a
splash of tiny ink-drops. It bore the name of Eugene
Merrick and a city address, both street and number of
which were strange to him,


TIEART FAILURE. 27
Evidently this was the thing for which he sought, but
he put it carefully into the breast pocket of his coat with-
out examination and went on with his search.
There were yet the trunks to examine, and he opened
the first with a light hand, disturbing nothing, and glanced
through the trays and boxes at the top, careful to replace
every smallest item and to displace as little as might be.
“It would be on or near the top, if anywhere, I am
sure,” he said, and closed the lid.
The next trunk, a large and solid one, standing with
the last, its mate in appearance, aloof from the others, was
no doubt the property of Eugene Merrick, and probably
filled with the things a man would most need upon a sum-
mer jaunt among the mountains, but it was locked and
keyless, and from this he turned away with a shake of
the head and a look of disappointment growing stronger
in his face.
Then he turned to the last trunk. It resembled the
others in construction, but when he bent down to inspect
it he started back. Instead of finding the usual fastening
this trunk bore a lock the like of which he had never
seen, a small but strong lock, firmly secured, and with
the keyhole guarded, but with no key.
He looked about, upon the carpet, and then through
the room. There was a ring holding a dozen or more
keys in a conspicuous place upon the mantel-piece, but
the key which would fit that lock could be like none of
them, and when he had assured himself of this he turned
away from the dressing-room with a sigh.
When he re-entered the west room the doctor met him
at the door, and he held out the envelope that all might see.
“It can't hasten his coming much,” Doctor Roth said,
glancing at it and passing it on to Mrs. Wayland, “but,
having found it, we must send a message, if only as a
matter of form. Jasper, will you drive my mare back
to town, send the message, and, if possible, bring back
your aunt?”
“Aunt Jem! The very thing I was about to suggest,”
said Kenneth.
“She is the only woman in all Winston for us just now,”
replied the doctor. “And now, Mrs. Wayland, as soon


28 , NO PROOF.
as you will taste some food we must begin our task. We
will breakfast, and then I will break the news to your peo-
ple, Jasper."
But the young man shook his head. "I will breakfast
in town," he said, and hastened away; and the others,
leaving their fearful secret behind its locked door, went
below. For men and women must eat and drink though
hearts ache and break.
At the door of the dining-room the captain drew back.
"I can't," he said wretchedly. "I can't, Roth."
"YovLmust," replied the doctor sharply. "You must
shake off this thing and think of others. I can't have you
on niy hands now in addition to all the rest. You must
master yourself! Look at your wife, man, and think of
your daughter. There's no time for sorrowing at your
ease—now!"
It was hard common sense, harsh as it seemed, and the
captain knew it. Something in Roth's stern tones,
or a sudden realization of the awful situation, seemed at
last to arouse his benumbed faculties. He took his wife's
arm and led the way into the dining-room.
CHAPTER V.
"A WHITE COFFIN."
Doctor Roth was the man for emergencies. He broke
the news of Mrs. Merrick's death to the servants in the
kitchen and he controlled their wonder and checked their
comments and questions. "It had all been very sudden,"
he said. "Mrs. Merrick, doubtless, after she had finished
packing, at a late hour, had a fancy for dressing again
in her wedding-gown. Perhaps she had overworked at
her self-appointed task; bending over would perhaps
have increased any latent heart trouble. Her father had
died of failure of the heart; she had fallen on her bed,
and he, being called, had found her so. She had not suf-
fered long, and there was so little that could be done.
These cases, when long, needed a skilled nurse. Here


A WHITE COFFIN: 29
there was no time for anything. Besides, there was so
much, too much, really, for the maids to do below-stairs,"
etc., etc., etc.
He made it look quite simple to them all, and then he
quietly withdrew Martha, whose strong face and quiet
manner promised much, and took her, after a few words
of explanation, to the room where Doris Merrick lay,
and when Kenneth Jasper returned, an hour later, bring-
ing his capable aunt with him, the doctor felt that he might
now safely relax his own vigilance, and leave these close-
lipped, capable women in charge.
And he was right. Early afternoon found the sad de-
corum and quiet of a house of mourning everywhere, and
the same simple and pitiful story upon all lips: "Mrs.
Merrick had died suddenly in the night of heart failure, and
the captain was invisible to all. The shock had made
Miss Glenn ill and Mrs. Wayland was in her room," etc.,
etc., etc.
In reality Glenn, not yet aware of the calamity that had
overshadowed Waylands, lay listless, but surely recover-
ing from what she supposed to be "an attack" of some
new and unknown sort with a long Latin name; for
Glenn's short life had not made her intimate with dis-
eases and their symptoms, and she never doubted the
doctor's knowledge or skill.
Mrs. Wayland had indeed risen to the occasion, put-
ting behind her her own weakness, and assuming com-
mand above-stairs, and with only Martha's help those
sad tasks that must be done, though hearts ache and break,
had all been performed, tenderly, tastefully, by loving,
not hireling hands.
And now, in the splendid great room assigned to her in
her new bridal state, and whose walls had witnessed the
mystery and misery of her last hours, as well as the be-
ginning of her wedded bliss, Doris Merrick lay in that
strange, awesome peace which comes so often upon the
faces of the dead when the pain-locked and terrible fixed--
ness of the first hours of death are past.
The look of despair which at first had rested upon the
beautiful pale face was there ho longer, and now, if one
could but forget the small dark spot upon the right temple,


SO NO PROOF.
carefully concealed by the partly turned head and droop-
ing rings of hair, the place where the bullet had entered,
one might imagine her sleeping and lost in the sweet,
solemn calm of dreams not of earth.
Whatever the secret that sent her forth into the un-
known, wherever her soul tarried or sped, the body of
Doris Merrick slept as might sleep the saints, and the
manner of that going hence was shut in the hearts of
those few friends—friends to each other and to her—who
first stood beside her dead body, and of the faithful maid
who had loved her young mistress living, and now
mourned her dead, and who first stood beside that lifeless
body sick with sorrow and half-stunned by the horror of
it all, and then was spurred into self-control and swift ac-
tion by the thought of the awful tale that would soon
spread like wildfire through Winston unless those who
knew the truth put seals upon their lips and stood guard
between her last dark hour and the gaping wonder of a
village all agog, as Winston assuredly would be when
this sudden death was made known.
When the luncheon hour arrived, the house, upstairs
and down, was as quiet and seemingly composed as if no
sad tragedy and grim mystery lay beneath its roof.
In the reception-room and pervading the lower floor
was Aunt Jem, silent, prim, watchful, receiving those first
callers who, since Ken's visit to the town, had made haste
to proffer assistance or make anxious and sympathetic
inquiry.
The good woman was notably chary of speech, and she
proved herself the right person in the right place. No
one looked for details from Miss Jem Jasper; yet no one
was sent away in doubt, or wondering.
"Yes," she told them, "it was very sudden," etc., etc.;
the story, in brief, as told to the servants; and, "Yes, Mrs.
Wayland was bearing up well, but was shut up with Miss
Glenn, who was really quite ill. Nothing serious, only
'the shock;' and the family were seeing no one at present.
Perfect quiet had been the doctor's orders," etc., and so on.
In Glenn's room Mrs. Wayland and Martha stood sen-
tinel by turns lest the girl should catch some hint ot
what was in the air outside her chamber door, and Martha


A WHITE COFFIN. 81
now had possession of the key of the room where the
dead girl lay.
When luncheon time arrived, Mrs. Wayland joined the
others in the breakfast-room. Roth, who had made a
flying trip to town, was there, ostensibly to look after
Glenn's condition; in reality, awaiting the coming of that
gruesome personage, the undertaker. Jasper and his
aunt, and, of course, the captain, grown calmer now and
beginning to reassert his native shrewdness and habit of
control, were also present.
"How is Glenn?" questioned the captain and Jasper,
almost in the same breath, as Mrs. Wayland took her place
at the head of the table.
"Sleeping quite naturally now," she replied. "She
drank some bouillon half an hour ago and has slept
almost ever since. Her pulse is almost normal, and—"
"She will be quite herself then when she wakes," in-
terposed the doctor in his quick fashion, "only a little
weak. You can tell her as safely now as later. The
sooner the better, too, before I leave the house."
Glenn's mother sighed heavily.
"I wish it were over," she said—"the telling of Glenn
and Eugene."
Before they arose from the table a telegraph message
was put into the captain's hand. It was from Eugene
Merrick, and it read thus:
1'Captain; Tell Doris I will come by i a. m. express.
"Eugene."
It was plain, of course, that at the date of sending, 12
m., just an hour earlier, the message wired by Jasper had
not been received.
"How strange," mused the captain, "that he should wire
to me—now—and not knowing!"
"Not at all," said his wife quickly. "It's quite like Eu-
gene, I am sure. Poor fellow! He was considering—
her. Any sight of a telegram, he knew, would startle
her oni'his account, with the thought of some disaster to
him. By addressing you he meant her to get the message


32 NO PROOF.
without the shock. Poor boy, poor boy! He loved her
so dearly. This blow will quite crush him!"
And in this they all agreed. No one who saw the pair
together and for long could doubt Merrick's love for his
beautiful wife.
"A handsomer or more devoted couple," said the sel-
dom-speaking Miss Jasper, "one need never wish to see."
And she spoke truly. If Doris Grey was sweet and
bonnie and charming of face, the husband she had chosen
was her complement in the matter of physical perfections.
Slender and straight and tall, athletic and graceful, with
features "regular to faultlessness," and eyes that would
have made a plain face dangerous to susceptible hearts,
Merrick was good to see, and his full rich voice, and
easy, frank and winning manners, filled out the measure
of a personality of unusual charm.
"He is coming at midnight," said Mrs. Wayland. "Oh,
how very unfortunate, as if the dreariness were not deep
enough without the addition of a midnight arrival to the
horror of it! Hugh, who will have the courage to meet
him—and tell him?"
She glanced from one to another and then fixed her
gaze upon Kenneth Jasper.
"Kenneth—will you?"
"Anything to serve you, Mrs. Wayland," Jasper replied.
It was 2 o'clock when Glenn Wayland opened her eyes,
yawned, threw back the light covering across her graceful
limbs and lifted herself to a sitting posture upon the side
of her low, luxurious couch.
The room was in a soft twilight because of Martha's
clever arrangement of the Venetian screens, and a mild
little breeze coming through them fanned the fair cheeks,
from which the rich yet delicate tints had paled to softest
ivory; for Glenn was that rare creation, not always and
not necessarily all Irish, an "Irish beauty," so-called,
than which no beauty can be more fascinating. There
were the large, soft, deep eyes, the dark hair, fine and
flowing, lending itself to soft waves and little clinging
ringlets; the lips soft and curving, rich and ripe, like the


A tVHITE COFFIN. S3
luscious red heart of a berry, the small, perfect teeth, the
exquisite slender hand, and small, shapely foot so often
sung by poets and lovers. The complexion, so rich, yet
so delicate, with the wild-rose tint just breaking through,
was neither blonde nor yet brunette, while possessing the
best of both types, and the figure, slender and tall, but
without an angularity, daintily shaped and softly rounded,
furnished the fitting stem for her flower-like face.
Mrs. Wayland sat near one of the shaded windows,
her head bent upon her hand, her face thoughtful and full
of trouble; her eyes, which had been closely watchful for
so long, had been, for the moment, turned toward the
door, attracted thither by some slight sound which caused
her to shudder and the trouble in her face to deepen.
She had heard no sound within, and she started when
her daughter's voice broke in upon her reverie.
"Mother dear—" Mrs. Wayland controlled herself and
forced a faint half-smile to her face as she turned toward
her daughter.
"Mother dear, how strange this is! What a singular
illness. I am sure I went to sleep well."
Mrs. Wayland came quickly to her side and sat down
upon the couch.
"How do you feel now, my child?"
"Why, I hardly know," lifting her arms, with a pretty
yawn. "I feel stupid, naturally, sleeping so late, and not
very elastic. A run out of doors will set me all right, or
a drive. Call Martha, please. Since I am playing at
being ill you may wait upon me. And—what time must it
be? Let us have more light, mamma."
"Presently, dear. It is later than you think—2 o'clock."
"What! Have I—have I slept and wakened like this
for half the day? Mamma, what does it mean? I have
no fever; I am not ill, only weak. What does the doctor
call it? He was here was he not, or did I dream that?"
"He was here—yes."
Glenn put her hand to her temple. "I seem to recall,"
she said slowly, "his face, and yours, and—and some one
else; not—not papa's, and yet—a man's face; and Doris
—Doris looked very white and—strange." She turned
and caught her mother's hand. "Were you very fright-


W 'NO PROOF.
ened, mother dear?" she asked tenderly. "You and Doris?
Where is Doris?"
"In—in her room, dear."
"Her room! Why, mamma—"
"Doris—Doris has been—worse than yourself, Glenn,"
her mother said, rousing herself for the revelation which
the doctor had said must not be too suddenly made.
"Worse than I? I'll see! Mother, how strangely you
look at me! What are you keeping back? Tell me."
The girl became more erect and her voice grew strong-
er as her wonder increased. She looked very eager and
earnest, but there was no hint of fear or apprehension in
her face.
Before Mrs. Wayland could reply a light tap sounded
upon the door, and before her mother could interpose,
Glenn, who sat upon the side of the couch nearest it,
sprang up and, with wavering, uncertain movement, but
swiftly, reached the door and opened it wide.
Just outside, with a tray in her hand, stood Jennie, the
younger housemaid, but she made no movement to enter;
she was standing with her head turned away, and, with
a pale face and startled eyes, was looking at something
down the hall toward the front.
It was all done in much less time than it takes to tell
it. Seeing this look, Glenn bent forward and gazed past
the girl. Then without a sound she fell back and was
caught in her mother's arms.
Standing before a door at the extreme end of the long
corridor Glenn Wayland had seen four men supporting
between them a white coffin.
CHAPTER VI.
A PROMISE.
Glenn Wayland lay again upon her couch in her dark-
ened room, with her mother and Martha sitting, silent
and watchful, near. She had only spoken once since,
after manyl moments of alarmed effort, they had raised her
from her swoon.


A PROMISE. 35
"How?" she had faltered, and seemed unable to say
more, her voice dying out in a sharp throaty sound that
was worse than a cry.
It was Doctor Roth who had answered her, in part,
as to the "how." There had been no need to ask "whom?"
She had seen the white casket before the door of Doris
Merrick's room. Besides, that it was a white casket was
enough.
"It was sudden—and painless—almost, Glenn," Roth
answered very gently. "It was—her heart." And then
she had turned away her face and, hiding it from them all,
lay tearless and silent and moveless, save that now and
then a shiver seemed to run from head to foot. Once
only, when in anxious solicitude her mother had knelt
and tried to take her hand, she had whispered, hoarsely
and brokenly:
"You—must leave me—alone—now—mother!"
And the doctor, having directed them in his usual low
tones to leave her in quiet, but not alone, and to give her,
at certain intervals, some drops which he prepared in their
sight, wrote a few words upon a leaf from his note-book
and put them in Mrs. Wayland's hand, with a gesture
which charged her to silence.
"She can bear no more now" the note read. "But she
-will not break down; she is very strong, luckily. I will
give you word as soon as she can safely be told."
While Mrs. Way land was glancing at this behind
Glenn's averted head the doctor turned back from the
door as if upon some second thought and laid a hand upon
Glenn's own, lightly but firmly.
"Glenn," he said, "I depend upon you to stand by your
mother in this crisis. You are very strong, or will be
soon. This little illness should not affect you after the
temporary weakness and dullness has passed. You know
how far from strong your mother has been. She is stand-
ing at the helm now, because she must, and by sheer will-
power. You have a brave mother; show her that she
has a brave daughter also."
The girl made a sudden movement as if to rise, then,
as he put a hand upon her shoulder and pressed her back


.SC NO PROOF.
upon the pillow, she let her head drop weakly and again
averted her face.
"That's right; I see that you understand me," he said.
"Obey me now, and stay here until you feel ready to
stand up and be strong. Then you must take your moth-
er's place." He put a finger upon her wrist and she
turned her palm as he was about to withdraw his hand
and gave him for- answer a soft, slow pressure of the hand.
As he left the room Mrs. Wayland softly followed him,
closing the door behind her.
"Doctor, I thank you for your tact," she whispered.
"How well you know my girl. But, may she not attempt!
too much, thinking to spare me? Is she really so strong,
so fully recovered as you say?"
"She is;stronger than you, Mrs. Wayland; she has your
splendid self-control and one of the soundest bodies I
ever saw in a woman. Give her a little time and her own
way now; she will stand by you and do her part later.
Remember, she had but just recovered from the effects of
a strong and almost fatal dose of poison, and this last
shock coming so—suddenly—"
"I know, I know, Doctor; tell me; I have not yet had
time to ask; this poison—how—"
"Then you have not questioned her?"
"I was about to do so."
"You must not. Leave it to her to tell you. There
is mystery upon mystery here, Mrs. Wayland, and"—
looking at his watch—"we must wait yet a little longer;
go back to her now; she must not be too much alone."
He waited until she had re-entered the chamber and
closed the door behind her, and then went swiftly down
the hall to the room where Doris Merrick lay. At the door
of the chamber they had relieved the undertaker's men
from any further service, and the dead girl was tenderly
placed in her casket by Martha, the doctor, and Kenneth
Jasper—friends all and faithful keepers of the secret that
casket hid. This sad task had been delayed by Glenn's
sudden need of the doctor's aid, and he had left them to
return to her as soon as possible.
When he re-entered the room Martha and Jasper were


A PROMISK. 87
Still there, Martha waiting for further orders, which the
doctor promptly gave.
"You understand," he concluded, "while Miss Glenn
is confined to her room you can make the necessity for
perfect quiet above-stairs your sufficient reason for not
allowing any one up here. Keep the blinds down, the
light softened, as now, and remember, on no account is
the glass to be removed from the casket. We rely upon
you, Martha."
"And you may, sir," replied the capable, strong-nerved
girl.
"I am sure of it." He turned to Jasper, who stood, as
if waiting, near the door. "Now, Kenneth," he said, "we
can wait further news from Glenn in the captain's study.
Poor Wayland, he is terribly broken up."
But Jasper drew back when the other turned toward
the stair-head.
"I have been waiting a chance for a few words with
you," he said with decision; "but not in the presence of
the captain. Let us take possession of the west chamber."
They went down the corridor and into the west room,
and Jasper at once closed and locked the door and drew
up one of the window-blinds.
"We can hear Miss Glenn's door if it opens," he said.
"You see the transom is open. But, if we sit here by the
window and speak low we cannot be heard, even were
there a listener in the hall. I don't wish to be overheard,
I assure you."
"Well," said the doctor, falling back into his ordinary
brusquerie, "what is it?" And he drew an easy-chair
close to that by which Jasper yet stood.
"It is this: Before Merrick comes home, that is to say
in a few hours, you and I have something to decide."
"And why you and I—only?"
"Because you are the only person to whom I would
utter what I am about to say."
The doctor's face became suddenly sympathetic, kindly.
He leaned toward the younger man and laid a friendly
hand upon his knee.
"Kenneth, I have seen since morning that you have
something—some unspoken anxiety or trouble upon your


38 NO PROOF.
mind. I could almost name the half-hour in which it
took hold upon you, suddenly, and seemingly for no
cause."
"Do I then show all my thoughts upon my face?"
"Far from it. Your face can become an admirable
mask, as you very well know. But this morning, as you
stood upon one side of that dead girl and I on the other,
pondering the strange case, I chanced to look straight
at you as you looked down upon her, and then, suddenly,
a change came over your face, or, rather, into your eyes.
Your eyes can speak a whole language, Kenneth, and
they told me you had been suddenly startled. But you
did not stir for some moments. Then you looked again
at the dead girl, bent and looked closer at her hand, her
dress, even the pistol beside her, and turned away, but
the anxiety is still in your eyes, boy."
There was genuine affection in the tone in which he
uttered those last words, and in the caressing movement
of the long, slim hand as he withdrew it from Kenneth's
knee and drew back again in his place.
"Doctor, your eyes are keen. Did you see nothing
there to cause you an additional thrill of surprise?"
"There you are wrong, Kenneth. My eyes are not
keen, for minutiae; for instance, you could read fine print
or script, no doubt, that I could not see."
Kenneth eyed him keenly a moment as if seeking for
some possible hidden meaning, and then suddenly he
seemed to turn away from the subject.
"Do you think," he asked, "that this case could possibly
require a coroner's inquest?"
"An inquest, strictly speaking, is required in cases where
causes of death are unknown and no physician present.
I called upon Coroner White when I went to town and
told him—enough; are you growing—well, squeamish,
Jasper?" smilingly.
"No," grimly; "I am sounding to find how 'squeamish'
or otherwise you might be in an emergency."
"As—for instance?" eying the other straight.
"For instance—if you should take it into your head
that the cause of death was not—heart failure?"
-".Go on. Relieve your mind, boy."


A PROMISE. 39
"Doctor, are you convinced that this has been a case of
suicide?"
"Convinced! No. I have not tried to convince my-
self of anything. I have only tried, in a case where it
could do no wrong to the dead, to shield the pride and
honor of the living."
"But, if you should see reasonable proof that it was
not what it seems?"
"Then—I must know more than the simple fact."
"How much more?"
"The proof—the motive—the person."
"And if the truth would but strike another blow at
our friends?"
Doctor Roth seemed suddenly seized by a fit of agita-
tion; he got up quickly and paced across the room again
and again. Then he paused before the now alert and
keen-eyed young man.
"Kenneth," he said huskily, as if the words hurt him,
"I see your drift, but I do not understand. I know your
ability as an investigator of such affairs as this; it's your
trade, your heaven-born business, just as much as, I be-
lieve, medicine is mine. I don't know what you suspect—
I dare not guess. But, much as I wottld do for Doris
Grey's friends, it would be hard for me to let Doris
Grey's murderer go unpunished, and yet I would almost
promise immunity to the assassin himself if he told me
that she had not gone to her grave by her own hand!"
"I thought so," broke from Kenneth's lips. And then
he checked himself; but Roth never noted or heeded the
exclamation.
"Kenneth," he said, with a sudden return to calmness,
and reseating himself, "you must tell me the truth—now!"
"I will; I want to. But first you must promise, must
swear to me that, without my consent, you will never make
use of your knowledge."
The doctor hesitated. "Knowing all, would you make
a like promise in my place?"
"I would," solemnly.
"Then—so will I. You have my promise. Here is
iny hand."
"One moment. Tell me first, in your opinion, as she


4* NO PROOF.
lay there—taking her position, everything into considera-
tion, and supposing that weapon to have been a strange
one, at least not her own—would you then say it was a
suicide?"
"If all had been as it was, and is, and the weapon not
one I had seen Doris Grey handle and practice with often,
if it were a stranger's weapon, I would never believe, nor
admit, that she died by her own hand!"
"Then, Doctor, you and I are in a strange, unhappy
position. That weapon—remember your promise—was
noPDoris Merrick's!"
"Man—have you lost your senses?"
"I almost wish I had. Do you remember one day at
Crow's Nest Lake, in, May, when I was at home last?"
"Yes."
"On that day, while driving home with Glenn Way-
land in her pony phaeton, I cut her initials into her pistol
with that slender-bladed Calcutta knife you gave me on
my twenty-first birthday. I wish I had cut off my hand
instead! I told her she could never again say she could
not tell her weapon from the other. Whatever possessed
Merrick to give those girls two such presents—a pair of
twin revolvers!"
"Well?" inquiringly.
"Well! Don't I tell you that it was that one! the re-
volver with Glenn Wayland's initials cut upon its handle,
that lay beneath Doris Merrick's hand!"
"My God!" ejaculated Roth. And then, a moment
after, and with his face lighting up strangely, "Thank
God!"
Slowly the two men arose, and for a moment stood
facing each other silently, then Kenneth Jasper put out
his hand and touched the other upon the breast.
"Remember," he said firmly, "I hold you to your
promise."


AT MIDNIGHT. 41
CHAPTER VII.
AT MIDNIGHT.
That night at 11 o'clock Kenneth Jasper sat alone in the
captain's study awaiting the coming of midnight and Eu-
gene Merrick, the widowed bridegroom.
After a day begun in horror and filled with effort and
strain and dread lest the secret guarded so faithfully in
that upper room should in some unlooked-for way be-
come the property of others, the house had sunk into rest
if not sleep—all but Jasper, who sat in the captain's
big reading-chair trying to turn his thoughts from a cer-
tain haunting, harrowing idea growing there in size and
ugliness, and crowding out all else, that he might turn
them upon the question of nearest moment, namely, how
to break to Eugene Merrick the awful news of his wife's
strange death.
But it was useless. Do what he could his mind would
go back to that one insistent question: "Where was the
other revolver—the companion to that little ebony and
silver weapon which had lain that morning at Doris Mer-
rick's dead right hand?''
The question was constantly with him. It was growing
an actual torture, and when the clock struck 11 he shook
himself impatiently and got out of the soft low chair. It
was too soft, too comfortable for his mood. He shook
himself again and went to the window. He wished it were
time for Merrick to come.
Under the waning midnight moon the night lay warm
and still. He pushed the shutters farther open, threw up
the screen and leaned out. The room seemed growing
warmer as he breathed in the outer air; and then, in a mo-
ment, he heard the sound of wheels upon the gravel. It
was the open landau going to the station to meet and
bring back Eugene Merrick.
He turned from the window, and opening the door
leading through the little hall to the tiny side entrance
which connected only with the study, went out, meeting
the carriage as it came around to the front.
"John," he said, as the man drew up at his side, "take


42 NO PROOF.
care to come in as quietly as possible; and don't let
Merrick lead you into talk; be half-asleep, sick, anything
but don't mention what has happened here. That must
be broken by degrees, gently—you understand."
As the groom drove away Jasper smiled bitterly.
"To break such news gently!" he said to himself; "as
well try to stab him to death gently; to burn him at the
stake pleasantly. Gently! bah! we have not yet found
the right names for all our meanings!"
The night seemed very still. He lifted his face in the
moonlight and let his eyes wander idly from window to
window of the silent house. In the northeast wing, just
above him, were the captain's and Mrs. Wayland's rooms,
and he moved instinctively off the gravel path lest his
slipper-clad feet should disturb them, the windows being
opened wide, and loitered listlessly on. Better await Mer-
rick here than within, he thought, and there was at least
the companionship of the stars, and the comfort of mo-
tion, nerve-soothing and time-evading.
He moved slowly along, following the path, but keep-
ing upon the grass. Here, above him, were the windows
of the silent room, all of them opened wide, with the
screens in their places and secure, and the shutters turned,
admitting the outer air and letting the dim light that was
burning within shine through.
He gazed a moment and passed on. He knew that in
the room opposite this one Aunt Jem and the good
Martha alternately waked and slept, close neighbors and
guardians of the dead; and when he came opposite the
windows of their room he saw that there was no light
save that of the moon, which was streaming directly in
through the wide-open shutters. He could see the shad-
ows of the furniture within and he could dimly discern a
figure, half-reclining in a chair, by one of the windows.
Passing on, he gave a "thought commendatory" to the
two courageous women who needed no artificial light to
bolster up a fainting courage, and in whom love for the
dead had cast out fear.
He did not know that the, weary sentinel by the window
had yielded to the "influences of the moon" and to the
silence about her and had fallen asleep.


AT MIDNIGHT. 4J
And now he has reached the windows ot Glenn Way-
land's silent, darkened room, and he stands and gazes
and thinks, with an ache at his. heart. Then, suddenly, he
starts, and the rustle of the shrubbery at his back
almost betrays him; for—some one is moving in Glenn's
room; some one bearing what looks like a taper or a tiny
night-lamp.
He started forward, regardless of his feet upon the
gravel, and looked again. Was Glenn ill once more? and
could it be that she was alone? But no, the light flick-
ered across the room, and then through the open hall
window, where not even a shutter interposed between
the long corridor and the air without, came a stream of
light, showing him, clearly silhouetted against the dusk
beyond, Glenn Wayland's profile. He saw her lift the
small night-lamp and peer down the corridor, and then,
as she moved away, Jasper hurried back to enter the
house. Glenn wore a loose negligee; her long hair was
streaming down her back and falling about her shoulders.
Could it be that they had left her alone and that she was
terrified? And then another thought startled him.
As he passed around the corner toward the front a
long ray of light shot across his path, and looking up
quickly, he saw that it came from that room, Doris Mer-
rick's room, where she lay sleeping in bridal state.
"She is there!" he said under his breath, and he went,
with quick springs, across the lawn and back to the study,
across that room, with the lithe tread of a cat, out into the
hall, and half-way up the stairs. He would watch over
her—she would not see him; and at the first sound to
indicate a movement on the part of Martha or Aunt Jem
he would interfere.
How long she lingered in that death-chamber! How
slowly the moments passed! He could hardly restrain
his anxiety, his alarm for her.
Once he stole up the stairs and stood for a moment
at the door, but a slight sound from within reassured
him somewhat and sent him back again to his station upon
the landing, half-way down the stairs.
At last a faint sound told him that she was doming out,


44 NO PROOF.
and in a moment she went down the hall with a swift
gliding step, and back to her own room.
He had turned down the light in the lower hall in order
to darken the stairway, and when he went up to the door
he had turned up the light just beyond the stair-head
as much as he dared that he might better see her.
Now he turned off the one and on the other and went
back to the study, perplexed anew.
He had seen in her left hand as she passed the stair-well
a small, long object that looked like something wrapped
about with a handkerchief, and he was saying to himself,
"She must have had another key!" Then he curled his
handsome lip in self-scorn, remembering that Wayland.s
was fitted with locks in the days when one bedroom key
was only unlike another by chance, and all were of the
same pattern.
He had just time to settle himself in the big chair again,
and not enough to resume his meditative air, when he
heard the wheels of the landau upon the drive.
"What a woman!" he said to himself as he caught the
roll of the wheels. "She knows Merrick well! Driving
in the dog-cart he would chat with his driver all the way.
In the landau, with Joe four feet in front, and above him at
that, he will make no effort to talk. He will lean back
and rest, and look at the moon-shadows. I should—in
his place."
And he opened the side door and went out, meeting
the carriage when it swept around the curve and past the
entrance to the study.
"Halt, Joe! Good evening, Merrick. I am delighted
to meet you." They shook hands and Jasper turned
toward the steps. "You are to come this way, Merrick.
The fact is, we don't want to be heard at the front."
Merrick followed him, and as they entered the little
hall and the light from the swinging lamp fell over him
Jasper noted that he looked strangely haggard.
"Jasper," he said, as the two paused instinctively just
inside the study door, "how is this? You here to meet me,
and no one—"
"Let me close the door," said the other, "and I will
explain."


AT MIDNIGHT. 45
Merrick dropped into the nearest seat like a man
thoroughly weary. "Ah!" he breathed, "I am wretchedly
tired—thoroughly knocked out; and came awfully near
losing my train. If I hadn't telegraphed—" He stopped
abruptly and sat staring into Jasper's serious face. "Man,
what ails you? Is—is anything wrong here? But there
is, there must be! Mrs. Wayland—is she worse?"
Jasper shook his head. He was finding his task fright-
fully hard. Suddenly Merrick sprang up and caught his
arm, clutching it fiercely.
"What has happened? Why do you look so strangely,
Jasper? And—why are you waiting down here—alone?
Man—you look—"
"Not much worse than yourself," said Jasper, to gain
time, and feeling that, for some reason, Merrick was al-
ready too much agitated. "You have a strange look in
your eyes, Merrick. Have you been ill?"
"Ill, no! But I have some reason for looking done and
strange. I have not slept since I left Winston. A misera-
ble business matter kept me up half the night and robbed
me of sleep the other half. I have been horribly rushed
to-day, too, for I was bent on seeing Doris to-night.
Then I nearly lost my train, and after making it, tired
and nervous, I suppose, I fell asleep and dreamed—my
God, what a dream! What a horror! But pshaw! I
don't believe I am quite awake now. Excuse me, Jasper;
I must go up to my rooms. If you have anything to
say—"
"Stop!" He had spoken so rapidly that Jasper had
found no place wherein to break in upon his speech, but
now he sprang after him, as he moved toward the door,
and laid a hand upon his arm.
"Merrick—you must not! Something has happened!
Something to you—"
"My wife! What—what is it?"
"She has—"
"Gone!" he almost shouted. "God! that awful dream!"
He reeled as if about to fall and sank weakly into the seat
beside the door. "When—when—" Then, as there was
no answer, he asked weakly, "Did she leave no—word?"
"None."


M NO PROOF.
He leaned his elbow upon the table and his head upon
his hands and seemed making a determined effort to
control himself. After a little he said, more quietly:
"Now—tell me the—worst."
It was useless to delay the blow that must fall at last.
Jasper put a hand upon his shoulder.
"Prepare for an awful shock, Merrick," he said. "Your
wife was found in her room this morning—dead."
It was long before Kenneth Jasper could drive from
his memory the recollection of the awful look upon the
face that, for an instant, was turned toward him. Then
the tortured man leaped up, staggered half-across the
room, and would have fallen had not Jasper caught him
and placed him, limp and shivering, in the big chair be-
side the study table.
Here for a time he sat, his shoulders heaving convul-
sively, his fingers clenching and unclenching themselves,
with Jasper standing over him, horribly conscious of his
own helplessness to aid or comfort.
Whether this painful silence lasted minutes or hours
Jasper could hardly have told. But at last the bent figure
before him grew quieter, and then, without lifting his
head, Merrick said again, hoarsely:
"Tell me—everything."
Drawing a chair close to the table, Kenneth Jasper told
the story of the morning, while his listener sat with bowed
head, as at first, moveless, save when now and then a great
shudder.shook him, while a sound like a strangled sob
broke from his lips. He told of .the captain's morning
visit to the door of his niece's room, and how, at last, he
had tried it and found it unlocked.
"He opened it," Jasper went on slowly, his voice sinking
lower, "and looked in." And here he paused, while Doris
Merrick's face arose before him as he had seen it first
that morning with the bullet wound in the temple. For
the moment his voice failed him.
"Go on," came from the bowed listener.
"She lay upon the bed dressed in her wedding gar-
ments. This the captain noted from the doorway, and it
so surprised him that he entered and spoke to her. Then
he drew nearer; she was ghastly pale, and she lay with


AT MIDNIGHT, 47
one arm thrown out across the pillow, the fingers turned
downward and slightly bent, and partly under the palm,
as if dropped from the hand, was the little ebony and silver
revolver—a mere toy to see, but—she was dead—with
the mark of the bullet upon her temple."
The unhappy listener writhed in his chair and seemed
as if about to rise; then he dropped back weakly, having
given Jasper one glimpse of a pallid and pain-distorted
face. Thinking it best to end his hard task speedily,
now that it had begun, and yet fearing for Merrick's
strength, he hesitated.
"Can you bear the rest now?" he asked.
"The rest! It is nothing to me."
"Pardon me. You must hear it before—before you
see any one."
"Go on," groaned Merrick.
Jasper finished the story, ending by telling how, by the
help of Doctor Roth—he made nothing at all of his own
part—no scandal or breath of suspicion had gone abroad
concerning his wife's death.
"The truth," he added, "is known to only the captain
and Mrs., Wayland, Roth and myself. The captain would
have spared you in the mercy of his kindly heart, but,
of course, that was something we dared «pt do. To know
the sad truth was your right. Besides, we have hoped
that you might understand it—might hold the key."
"I!" Merrick slowly lifted his face and let it rest upon
his open palms while he spoke. "My God! man—she—
I believed she was perfectly happy! I know she was:—
as happy as I myself." And again he was shaken by tear-
less sobs. After a long silence, except for these, 'he spoke
again:
"Was—there any—message?"
"None."
Merrick got up heavily, like- a drunken man, and moved
toward the door, without a glance at his companion.
"I must get to the air!" he said hoarsely. "I must
be alone! Don't follow—don't stop me! I—I shall kill
myself—or you, if I am hindered now!" And he went
reeling out into the waning moonlight.


48 NO PROOi'.
CHAPTER VIII.
"IT WAS MORE THAN THAT."
When Eugene Merrick came back it was early dawn,
and he looked like a man who had risen from an almost
mortal illness. But he was quite calm, though almost
altogether silent, speaking only when directly addressed,
and then in monosyllables. He seemed like a man crushed
and dazed, in whom all feeling has been stunned.
Jasper had suspected his mood, and had only followed,
taking care that he was not discovered by Merrick, until
assured that the unhappy man had no thought save that
he must be alone. But he did not cease his vigil until, as
the dawn spread itself in the east, and the first song-birds
began to peep softly, he saw, as he paced the terrace be-
neath the window, Merrick coming toward him from the
shrubbery beyond the lawn.
As they met, Merrick paused and put out his hand.
"You have been very good to me," he said, almost hum-
bly, "and I cannot even thank you. I will go in now—to
her. But—first—do you fully believe it to have been a
—her own hand?"
"I!" There v«s a sudden tightening of the lines about
Jasper's strong mouth, and the rest came after a long
pause. "It was my first thought. How could one think
else? It was a thing past belief, in the telling, but—the
evidence was all there. My God!" he broke out, as if by
some strong inward compulsion, "and to think that the
mystery still remains! That even you—"
"Man!" Merrick cried, "do you think I would have left
her, the only thing on earth that I loved— the only thing—
knowing, or suspecting, such a horror possible? How
can I, her husband, take in this awful thought of suicide,
when I knew her life to be without a cloud—knew it from
her own lips? Only a short half-hour before I left her she
said—oh, heaven! I can't repeat it! But, her own life—
it can't be!"
Jasper fell back a step and his tone and manner seemed
suddenly grown cold. "We shall all regret," he said,


IT WAS MORE THAN THAT. 49
-
"the step we have taken, believing that to shield her, to
hold the facts in abeyance, would be the kindest thing
and best—for both living and dead. One of two things
was imperative, you see; there was no room for delay."
"I don't—follow you."
"Because you are not in a condition to reason, Merrick.
Doctor Roth was in a delicate position. He was obliged
to pronounce as he did, or—to call in the coroner."
At the mention of the doctor's name Merrick had
started angrily, his eyes flashing; at the mention of the
coroner his head drooped and he turned away with a
despairing gesture.
"You know Doctor Roth; you know your wife had
no truer friend," went on Jasper, almost sternly. "Ask
yourself if he would be likely to declare her death a case
of suicide if he could give it any other name. It rests,
of course, with you whether or no this horrible mystery
shall be given to the public, even yet."
With face still averted Merrick turned away from the
terrace, crossed the bit of sward between it and the house,
and sank limply down upon the steps leading toward the
study. His whole figure seemed to droop and he looked
suddenly feeble and old.
Jasper's heart smote him. Why must he, because him-
self perplexed and troubled, turn with reasonless impa-
tience upon this suffering mortal? He went swiftly to
him and put a hand upon his shoulder. "Merrick," he
said, "you are in no condition to think or talk of this
thing now. You must be faint from hunger and worn
from want of sleep. Besides—"
"Where is—she?" broke in the other, almost in a
whisper.
"In her—your rooms."
"Is she—like—like that?"
"As she was found? No; she is in her coffin."
Merrick looked up, with his lips white and twitching,
"Will you go with me?" he asked. "I—you will think
it great weakness, but I have always had a ho—a dread
and fear of death. I want to see—to know, and yet—
not alone." He got up slowly, weakly.


rBO TSTO PROOF.
"Wait a little," urged Jasper. "Take something first.
You are not fit to go now."
"I must get it over, now—before I see any of the
others. Will you come?"
"If you insist, of course, but I am sure Roth would
say—"
"Don't name him!" flashed Merrick, suddenly straight-
ening himself.
As they went slowly and silently up the stairs Merrick
whispered:
"Is the room locked?"
"Yes," replied Jasper, with a little inward wonder at
the question. "Martha has the care of it, and sleeps in the
one opposite. I will get the key at the door."
Breakfast that day was served late, in the little morning-
room, at the convenience of each individual, and Merrick
and Jasper ate together not long after their visit—which
was a short one—to the locked chamber. It was little
more than a form for Merrick, who, as Jasper perceived,
was holding himself under .with a strong hand. ,
"I will go to my room," he said, rising soon. "You
will pardon me? I must face this thing—somehow—
alone."
And he went, leaving Jasper alone over his unfinished
breakfast and still wrestling with the old question, "Where
is it?"
In spite of the fatigue, the loss of sleep, and all the
attendant horrors of the long day and night just passed,
he was as alert and alive to each phase of this strange case
as if he had but just arisen from that soft, sound, yet not
heavy sleep which always attended his pillow as one of
the results of his care in keeping his body in perfect
physical health and training, for Kenneth Jasper had
grown to manhood in the firm belief that for a perfect
manhood, even from the material point of view, a clean,
healthy, wholesome body is one of the first requisites.
Of medium height and fine proportions, he was yet
almost a giant in strength owing to his athletic training,
wherein nothing had been lacking. Graceful and lithe


IT WAS MORE THAN THAT. 51
of movement, with a fair complexion, made radiant with
sobriety and the glow of perfect health and youth, with
fair, fine hair, having a careless wave when length per-
mitted, and with eyes deep and brown, like soft velvet,
or flecked with golden lights when moved to anger or
scorn, he was saved from being that mistake in nature,
a perfectly, a dangerously handsome man, by the over-
touch of lion strength in his chin, by a breadth of brow,
intellectual certainly, but not quite regular, and, at times,
by the severe setting of his well-cut lips and firm jaws.
They were set rather severely now, as, sitting alone and
completing his breakfast, his mind, confronted by a ne-
cessity close at hand, took a sudden and disagreeable
resolution.
"It will make her hate me," he soliloquized, "and yet,
if I spoke to any one else she would hate me worse—and
justly. I must do it!" And just then, as if to test his reso-
lution, the door opened and Glenn Wayland came slow-
ly in.
He arose swiftly and went forward to meet her, put-
ting out his hand, as she did hers, in silence, and in the
same silence placing a chair for her and resuming his
own place. As he did this a maid came in from the
opposite door, bearing a tray containing a dainty tea-
service. If there had been, upon either side, a shade of
embarrassment, Jennie's entrance at once dispelled it, and
as she came toward them Jasper asked:
"Are-you quite recovered, Miss Wayland?" with just a
shade of hesitation before the name. "I hardly hoped
to see you~so soon, and so strong—that is, strong enough
for this effort."
She had bent her head to look into the little silver tea-
urn, and she lifted it before she spoke.
"I am very strong, you know. I think I have almost
never been ill, since the measles that is; my late illness
is unaccountable to me; and that it should come at such
a time, too! If I had been unable to stand by poor moth-
er now—" She turned toward the girl at her elbow:
"Did mamma order me this tea, Jennie?"
"Yes, Miss Glenn."
"I knew it, of course. It was stupid to ask. You may


62 NO PROOF.
bring me whatever she has ordered, Jennie, and no more.
Dear mamma," turning again to Jasper, "she knows
that I am fond of tea, but deny myself upon principle. I
shall drink it this morning though. I wish it might make
me as strong as a giant. My strength would be none
too much. I am glad you are here, Mr. Jasper. I want
to ask you some questions."
"I hope I may be able to reply satisfactorily," he
ventured.
She glanced over her shoulder as if about to begin
a confidential disclosure. "Did Eugene come?" she asked
in a low tone.
"Yes."
"Has he breakfasted?"
"He has just left me."
"Ah! then I am going to risk an interruption. My
parents, I know, breakfast together. But the doctpr?"
"Doctor Roth drove to town half an hour ago." Jas-
per's face was guardedly calm, but inwardly he was won-
dering at her coolness, and the irregularity of her remarks.
Her face was pale and seemed to him strangely set.
Somehow he felt as if it were a new Glenn Wayland who
sat opposite him.
The servant came back, set down the dainty breakfast,
and was dismissed, and Glenn sat quite silent until the
door of the room had closed behind her; then she pushed
back her plate as if in scorn of the pretense of break-
fasting.
"Mr. Jasper, this home, my home, has suddenly become
a house of horrors. It is full of awful mystery which I
cannot fathom. I see that my questions are an added
misery to my parents, both, and I cannot ask the serv-
ants, but—I saw—I believe that you know as much as
can be told by any one here; and I ask you, as the kind
friend you have always been to me, to tell me why I am
shut out from so much that even the servants seem to
know."
"If you will tell me first how much you already know,
Miss Wayland," he hazarded. "Candidly, I do not know
your position; you were so ill yesterday."
"True," she broke in hastily, "and that, for me, was


IT WAS MORE THAN THAT. 53
the beginning of the mystery. When I began to rally,
and to question, and wonder, my first inquiry naturally,
was for my cousin Doris. At first the question was
evaded, and then I was told that, like myself, she was ill—
in her room. Then, as you of course know, I chanced
to look into the hall and saw—saw yourself, Mr. Jasper,
with Doctor Roth and two strange men, supporting a
white coffin, and at my cousin's very door. Then I fainted
for the first time in my life. When I came to myself
they told me very gently that Doris was dead; that she
died suddenly in the night—of heart trouble."
She paused and looked at him fixedly. "They have not
told me all," she added, with conviction, "nor the worst.
Will you tell it me?"
"Ah!" A new light had suddenly dawned upon young
Jasper. He leaned toward her across the table and met
her eyes straight. "I must ask you a question; more than
one perhaps. Then I will answer yours."
"Very well. Go on."
"Does your mother know that you are here?"
"No. She thinks I am in my room. When she left
me sleeping, as she supposed, not half an hour ago, I
heard her tell Jennie what to bring me when I awoke,
and after they left the room I arose, dressed and came
down.
"Last night they told me that my cousin had died
suddenly of heart trouble, and out of pity for poor mother,
who seemed so anxious that I should not press them for
more details, I submitted. I thought my mother's anx-
iety was, in part, at least, because of my own illness, and,
indeed, I felt very ill. But all this seemed to leave me
before midnight. I felt quite myself, and then I began to
think." She paused, as if expecting some comment, but
Kenneth Jasper, with his eyes still fixed upon hers, and his
look and attitude that of the listener who has no thought
save to listen, neither opened his lips nor withdrew his
eyes, and for a moment they sat face to face, eye to eye,
and in each eye a mute question. Then:
"I thought you would help me if I could see you," she
went on. "And when I found that mother and father
were breakfasting in her room and that you were here,


54 NO PROOF.
Mr. Merrick having left you, I came down at once. You
see how frank I am, Kenneth." She leaned toward him
across the table, and there was a little tremor now in her
hitherto controlled voice. "For some reason it is hard
for my mother to tell me the truth, and I have passed a
long night in torture rather than distress her by my im-
portunities. For some reason she must fear the effect
of the truth—the whole truth—upon me. But why? Do
you think I do not suffer at the thought that Doris, my
sister1 in love, is dead? But I am too strong to be crushed
or killed by even such a sorrow, and can there be any-
thing more?" She paused, but he did not answer. He
had withdrawn his eyes from her face and he was thinking
fast and hard.
She sighed heavily, and a look of weariness and de-
jection crossed her face. "Are you going to refuse me?"
she questioned. And her voice was tremulous, for she
was weaker than she would own. "Are you all combined
to keep me from—" She stopped short. He had put
out his hand, and the sudden look in his face startled her
and stopped her speech.
"Miss Wayland, Glenn, there is nothing that I would
not do for you within the limits of my power. Please to
remember this whatever happens. If you have been kept
in the dark it has been for your own sake and because
of the doctor's orders first and your mother's solicitude
later. Strange things have happened here, and you must
know them. The telling has only been delayed until you
should be able to bear—the worst."
"The worst!"
"Yes; and since you are here, I see no reason why I
may not tell you all I myself know. But first, forgive
me for asking it, and yet grant me a favor, a promise."
"A promise! What promise?"
"One which you can easily make and easily fulfill;
otherwise I should not ask it. Believe me, it will cost
you nothing; it will mean—be, so much to me."
"I do believe you; why should I not? And since you
tell me I may safely do so> I promise. Now—"
"One moment. Don't refuse me, and don't think me
mad. It is a long story I must tell you, and we may be


IT WAS MORE THAN THAT. 55
interrupted here at any moment. May we not go out
upon the terrace or to the little summer-house? It is
early, and—''
She pushed back her chair and arose in feverish haste.
A flush of color was beginning to come and go in her
cheeks, until now so pale, and her eyes were widening
and glowing. "Why not?" she questioned. "Anywhere,
so that we may not be interrupted. Come." And she
turned toward the door. At this moment she was quite
the old Glenn Wayland whom he had known so well, with
whom he had played and quarreled as a child, imperious,
straightforward, indifferent to small formalities, or rather
without a thought of them in the strength of her eagerness
to come face to face with this menacing, veiled terror, and
see it at its worst.
But he put out his hand, and there was a look of actual
pleading in his face, together with an anxiety so strong
that it startled and stopped her in the midst of her own
preoccupation.
"What is it?" she demanded. "Quick! Some one will
come."
"Your promise. You can fulfill it in a moment if only
you will not question me until—until you have learned
all I can tell."
"Very well. What must I do?"
He came close beside her and spoke in a whisper:
"Go to your room, get the little revolver given you by
Merrick and bring it to me quickly. I will restore it to
you at your command and will wait for it and you here.
Go, go now."
It was a strange and almost preposterous thing to ask,
and almost any other girl than Glenn Wayland would
have questioned, wondered, hesitated, called him mad, and
then refused. She stood for a moment looking at him
with wide and wondering eyes, and then, without speak-
ing, turned away and left the room.
She was back again so quickly that Jasper breathed a
sigh of relief. Surely she had not, in that brief moment,
been able to look closely at the thing he felt sure she was
carrying in the hand concealed beneath the light shawl
she had thrown across one arm. . -.


66 NO PROOF.
"Now," she said, as she entered the room, "it is here,
and your aunt is coming to breakfast. Let us go." And
she led the way through a side door, across a piazza,, and
out upon the western terrace, concealed from the front
for the most part by the thickness of the shrubbery and
the many intervening trees.
Along this terrace she led the way until they had reached
a rustic seat at the end, shaded and partly secured from
view. There could be no better place for a tete-a-tete
which, while seen from the garden beyond and from the
upper windows of the house, could not be heard nor in-
terrupted unawares, since the approaches were visible to
both occupants of the vis a vis seat.
"Let us sit here," she said, taking her place at once.
"We can talk freely here, and the presence of Saunders
down there will be no hindrance. I do not care to appear
to be secretive."
"You are right," he said, and sat down, glancing from
the still concealed hand beneath the fleecy wrap to the
gardener bending over the roses beyond them.
"I can not give you the pistol while he is there, but it
is here upon my lap. You know that you have only to
take it; and now—" Again the red flickered and paled in
her face, a proof of the strong restraint she had placed
upon herself. "Now tell me—everything."
"I will, I promise you. But first, and to help me with
my story, tell me yours, as you know it, so that I may
fill it in."
"There is almost nothing to tell. I awoke ill yester-
day morning, they tell me. My own memory seems al-
most a blank, as if it had been all a dream. I remember
faces, voices, the doctor, some vague orders, and some
bitter medicine. Later I awoke languid, dull and puzzled
at my own condition. Mamma looked so pale and sor-
rowful that I fancied I must have been very ill, and won-
dered why Doris was not with me. Then mamma told
me she had also been ill, or her language led me to infer
this. Still confused, I mistook the sound outside just
then for her coming, and—you know how I learned the
truth?"
He nodded.


58 NO PROOF.
"Let me tell you my story," he said, "that we may
understand each other better. At least you know that I
came from the city only two days ago, and that since the
day of your cousin's wedding I had not seen her. On
the evening of my return your father made me a brief
call, during which he told me that all were well except,
of course, your mother, and that she was so much better
in every way that the 'married lovers,' as he called them,
were about to set out on their delayed journey."
"Yes," she sighed.
"The next morning, yesterday—it seems a week ago—
he called me, over the telephone, asking me to come at
once and to bring the doctor." Step by step from the mo-
ment of their arrival at Waylands he traced for her the
doings of the previous day, telling all as it occurred, and
making but two omissions. In describing the position of
the dead girl when they saw her first he did not describe
the weapon lying so near the dead hand. He spoke of it
simply as "a pistol," and, as may be supposed, he did not
mention his search through the two rooms while her
father was seeking to arouse her.
When he had reached this stage in his narrative she
spoke for the first time, shudderingly, and in a half-hesi-
tating, half-eager manner.
"Please—will you tell me just what happened then?"
"My part in it was very little. I ran for Doctor Roth
when your father told me your condition, feeling as if the
whole house were under some cruel spell."
"It is!" she murmured.
"And after a moment your mother came, amazing us
all by her courage and strength. Then—" He hesitated;
how much, he asked himself, did she recall of that hour
at her bedside, when her eyes, now open, now closed,
seemed to see nothing far or near?
"Then?—go on; I want to get the reality and the visions
separate in my mind. What then?"
"Then Doctor Roth called upon Martha and myself
to assist him in restoring circulation, and we were busy
moving your arms up and down and rubbing them al-
ternately, until at last you gave signs of a more normal
condition and looked about with a gleam of consciousness


IT WILL NEVER BE RECALLED—BY ME. 69
in your eyes. Then your mother and I were banished."
She sighed and turned away her face. "I remember a
confusion of faces," she said slowly. And she might
have added, one face clear above the rest and always seem-
ing to draw and support her failing senses. "And I seem
to remember one word which I can not now trace or
connect. When the doctor saw me did he say that I
was—" She stopped as if for him to supply the word.
"Drugged? Is that the word you are testing me with?
He said, after a thorough scrutiny of your case, that he
could only account for your condition in the one way.
In some way, by mistake, or intent, you had taken a
powerful, almost a poisonous, dose."
"Taken!"
"Or been given. He is awaiting the time when he can
safely learn which."
She turned from this without comment or explanation.
"And he, you, all of you, pronounce it suicide?"
"How dare we do aught else?" Again for a moment
their eyes met and challenged each other.
"What does he say?"
"You mean—"
"Eugene—does he believe—this?"
"Miss Wayland, what must any one think? The case
is there, clear and simple, to all appearances; the bridal
dress, the preparations, all. At first we hoped for some
help or hint from Merrick, or—perhaps—you."
"I!" She shook her head.
"It is the motive that is lacking; that makes the case
so baffling."
She was silent again for some moments, then:
"What have the people been told?" she asked.
"Just what you were told and no more." And he told
her briefly how the doctor and her mother had settled
this part, and followed this up with the account of Mer-
rick's return—all there remained to tell, in fact; and she
listened like one who both hears and thinks, following
thus separate trains of ideas.
When he had finished she got up as if inaction as no
longer bearable.
"I can't believe she did it/' she exclaimed, almost fierce-


60 NO PROOF.
ly. "But, be that as it may, behind her death lies another
crime. I know it!" She took a step away, and then
turned back. "Tell me," she demanded, "just how she
looked at first."
"At first she looked woful; despair was written upon
her face, as one might look who has given up hope and
said good-by to life."
"Or," supplemented she, "as one might look who sees in
her destroyer one she has loved—perhaps."
"She looks very different now," he ventured, rising also.
"She looks—if I might suggest, Miss Wayland, you
should see her soon—before—"
"I have seen her!" She sat suddenly down again and
put her hands before her face.
For a second time she had amazed and puzzled him.
For a moment he stood in doubt, then he reseated himself
as at first.
"I must be quite frank with you, Miss Wayland," he
said, very gently, almost humbly. "I was upon the lawn
last night, or early this morning, and I saw you go down'
the hall and to that room. I have only waited for the
opportunity to let you know this." •
For the first time she looked startled and disturbed.
"I had to go," she said, with a little shuddering sigh.
And then she looked at him with a question in her now
troubled eyes.
"It was by an accident this knowledge came to me," he
said. "It will never be recalled—by me."
"Thank you." Her voice sounded suddenly faint and
far off, and he saw with alarm that all the alertness and
eagerness of look, and the shifting color, and brightness
of eye had forsaken her face in an instant almost. He put
out his hand, just touching the one that was still hidden
beneath the snowy shawl, and clasped about the object of
his keenest anxiety.
"You have ventured too much," he said, trying to speak
quite calmly. "Give me the little revolver and let me
take you back to the house; you are growing really
pallid."
She turned her head to glance down the terrace to
where Saunders had been engaged among the shrubbery,


IT WILL NEVER BE RECALLED—BY ME. ti
and seeing that he was gone, withdrew from the folds
of the shawl the hand holding the small box-like leather
case. Then, as he put out his own hand to take it, she
withheld hers.
Was it a too eager look in his eye, or an impulse straight
from her own evil angel? With her eyes upon his face,
she touched the spring, as the case lay in her palm, and as
the lid flew up she bent to look at the gleaming little
messenger of death, lying so harmlessly upon its silken
bed; and, as he would have taken it from her, she drew
back her hand and stifled the cry that rose to her lips.
"Give it to me!" His voice was almost stern, and he
took the case from her now nerveless hand. But it was
too late.
"My God!" she exclaimed, "I never thought! Tell me;
the pistol in her hand—was it—tell me, for I will
know, was it—like this?"
He nodded as he slipped the case in his breast pocket,
where it bulged conspicuously.
"And that other—the one in her hand—it was mine!
with my initials, cut by you, upon its handle!"
"I wish my hand had been paralyzed first," he said
again between his teeth.
Suddenly she turned toward him a face into which a
measure of her earlier strength and spirit had come back.
"Give me that case," she demanded.
"No."
"I insist."
"No."
"Why do you withhold it?"
"Why do you demand it?"
"That at the right time I may produce it—of course."
"No. To-night, if you will, I will give you—not this,
but your own. Trust me, Glenn, I will make the ex-
change."
"You will—do—what?"
"Hush, Glenn. You must trust me! See, I do not
doubt you. I do not even question. Keep your secret
—and hers—if you will. Glenn, when I saw those initials
upon that weapon yesterday I would have given the world
to snatch the thing away and hurl it out of existence.


82 NO PROOF.
When I was left for a moment alone I made a mad searcli
for the other, for this, that I might exchange them. When
I saw you in that room last night I could guess your
errand, and I knew that Roth had locked away the other
weapon and that Martha had the key. But I will have
it now. Trust me, Glenn!"
"Trustyou!" She had drawn slowly away from him
while he spoke, and now, as he put out his hand and
would have taken hers, she dashed it aside with swift
fierceness and swept past him up the terrace.
"Don't speak to me!" she said between set lips, and
went with head erect across the terrace and up to the
piazza, with Jasper, silent and with pale face, following
close behind.
At the piazza, steps Mrs. Wrayland, who had been anx-
iously awaiting her daughter, fearful lest she had ventured
beyond her strength, came down the steps.
"Glenn, my child, how pale you look! Why did—"
She stopped her speech to spring forward with hands
outstretched, but Glenn Wayland's strength had failed her
just a moment too soon, and she had faltered and then
fallen at the foot of the steps, and been caught and held
in the arms of Kenneth Jasper.
"Forgive me, Mrs. Wayland," he said, as he carried his
burden within, "for my share in this. She would hear
the whole story—from me.'' He placed her gently upon
a couch in the morning room, while Mrs. Wayland rang
for a servant. And when, after a moment, Glenn stirred,
he whispered: "Don't make her talk when she revives;
she has been much agitated."
CHAPTER X.
"A STARTING-POINT."
Three days the body of Doris Merrick lay in that closed
and carefully guarded room; and on the fourth it was
borne down the stairs and placed in the long parlor, where,
covered and banked with flowers, it rested through the


A STARTING-POINT, 63
long morning, still guarded by the faithful Martha and
"Aunt Jem," while, until high noon and even later, friends
and acquaintances came and looked sadly, tearfully, and
for the last time upon the beautiful face, beautiful now,
with a strange, new loveliness, that of the chiseled marble,
with her sphinx-like secret safe behind the locked lips,
and pathetic, as death-touched beauty is ever.
Lying there in her bridal robes, with the fair, soft rings
of hair drawn low about her temples and mingling with
the flowers lying thick upon the pillow, and aiding so the
concealment of that small dark mark beneath the sunny
hair, the look of peace rested still upon the delicate flower-
like face.
"So young, and always so happy," murmured Mrs.
Vance, bending her aristocratic white head over the cas-
ket and just touching with a dainty finger-tip the flowers
above the still breast, "and dying so suddenly! No doubt
in a happy dream, going from one happiness to another
and greater. "Dear child," and she turned away, "she
never knew a sorrow, and that was well; she was not made
for sorrow."
"She could never have borne a heavy sorrow," said
Judge Vance, opening the parlor door for his lady wife
to pass out. "She was made for the sunshine, like her
father. I knew Arthur Grey; we were students together.
Ah, good-morning, Jasper. It makes an old fellow with
neither son nor daughter envious almost to see my friend
Wayland with such a strong young support always at his
service in time of need."
"In the time of need, Judge, which I hope will be long in
coming, no man will find more and stronger 'support*
than yourself," replied Jasper. And he grasped the ex-
tended hand and hastened' to open the outer door for their
exit. But when they were gone he stood for a long time
looking out upon the lawn, watching them enter their
carriage, and following them with his eyes as they drove
away.
"I must see him again," he murmured finally. "It may
be—" And then he sighed and turned from the door.
He had not spoken to Glenn Wayland since their inter-
view on the terrace, save to exchange a passing nod as


E4 NO PROOF.
they met in the presence of others, or passed upon stairway
or in hall.
There had been little coming together of the family, of
which Jasper now virtually made one, since Aunt Jem
had declared her intention to remain at her post, thus
relieving Mrs. Wayland of much anxiety and earning her
deepest gratitude, and, save for the early dinner hour
when they all met together, and for the occupation as
well by the men of the house of Captain Wayland's study,
the rooms below-stairs were silent and deserted.
Glenn, who had rallied soon from her last attack upon
the piazza, steps, now went about, tall, pale, and silent,
but with a look of strength and latent force in her fine
face and steady eye, voice and hand. There had been
one outburst of grief when the girl had gone for the first
time with her mother to the room where Doris lay. It
had been sudden and short, convulsive, and almost silent—
an utter breaking up for the moment of the girl's hitherto
strong calm; and it had terrified her mother even more
than her illness had done. It had ended in a great gush
of tears, and then Glenn Wayland had dried her eyes and
turned to comfort and reassure her mother, from that
moment shielding and sparing her in all possible ways,
and standing between her and many unpleasant or painful
duties or demands with a strength and courage that was
the wonder of the household.
She spoke little, and remained, except when some duty
called her elsewhere, in her mother's sitting-room, where
the two spent much of the time in retirement and where
Captain Wayland joined them for some time each day,
and where Miss Jasper and Martha came now and then for
instructions or to present some kindly and sympathetic
message.
The captain, unlike his wife and daughter, seemed to
abhor solitude in the quiet of these days of mourning.
When Dr. Roth or Kenneth Jasper sat and smoked or
conversed in low tones in the semi-deserted study, with its
convenient side exit, he sat with them, talking little, and
very grave and thoughtful. But when he found the place:
deserted he turned his back upon it at once and sought
his wife's room.


A STARTING fOINT. '65
As for Eugene Merrick, he was scarcely seen below-
stairs by any of the family save when he took his place,
silent and self-constrained for the most part, at the dinner-
table. He breakfasted alone and lunched as it might hap-
pen. He sought no one, and, after his interview with
Jasper on the night of his return from the city, he asked
no questions and sought no further information concern-
ing his wife's strange death.
The day following his return he had passed, after that
brief visit to his wife's room, in company with Jasper in
his own rooms, denying himself to the captain and Mrs.
Wayland, and sending to the latter, late in the day, the
following note:
"Dear Mrs. Wayland:
''Pray do not think me ungrateful. I can not bear the
sight of the faces she has loved yet. Presently I may
be strong enough to hear from.you, some of you, much that
I can not bear now. I must endure this and accept it alone,
or be altogether unmanned. You will understand me, I am
sure.
"Eugene."
When Mrs. Wayland had read these lines she went to
Doctor Roth and put the note into his hands. "Doctor,"
she said, "go and see him, then I shall rest satisfied."
Roth went straight to Eugene's room, demanding ad-
mittance, and being admitted, wasted no words.
"I don't want to talk to you, Merrick," he said brusque-
ly. "In your place I should fly at the throat of the man
who came to me with a mouthful of consoling platitudes.
I am sent by Mrs. Wayland. Her mind must be kept
at ease when it can be. Put out your tongue," and he
caught the listless hand nearest him and deliberately felt
the pulse-beats, scanning his face sharply the while.
"That will do," he said in a moment. "You're a strong
man, Merrick. Don't throw away your best gift, and,"
turning back with his hand upon the door, "you must
sleep. If you can't, call for my help; you understand?"
"Quite," was the laconic answer.
Roth went back to Mrs. Wayland. "Let him alone,"


61i NO PROOF.
he said. "He will be best left alone. There are times
when one's best friends can do nothing but stand aloof
and wait."
When the hour for the burial arrived, Merrick came
down and went alone into the room where his wife's body
lay awaiting the start upon her last journey for all time.
He came out soon, looking haggard and woful, but quite
self-controlled.
It was not his first visit alone to that still presence. Not
long after the doctor's brief examination on the day fol-
lowing his home-coming he had asked Martha to admit
him to his wife's room, and had entered alone and with
the air of a man who is forced almost against his own will.
He had bidden Martha wait outside, but in a few moments
he had called her to him. "Stay here, Martha, won't you,"
he said hoarsely, "while I go into the dressing-room. I
want to look for myself; there must have been some sign,
some message." He had dropped the curtains between
the two rooms and had remained some moments in the
dressing-room, coming out at last with a little book in
his hand. "There is nothing," he said dully. "Thank
you, Martha. I have brought away my wife's diary, but
it has told me nothing." And he had gone back to his
solitude.
And now the hour for Doris Merrick's farewell to
earthy friends and her return to the earth-mother's bos-
om had come, and in silence and sadness they who have
loved her well follow her to her flower-filled grave. The
friends who had witnessed her bridal but a few short
weeks ago now saw her burial, and, at the last, as at the
first, they extolled her beauty and her goodness, spoke of
her happy life, and mourned the wedded bliss so suddenly
cut short by death, and no one dreamed that this death
was of her own seeking, and that the belle and beauty
whom they were leaving in so sweet a death-sleep in that
flower-filled grave was—a suicide.
And yet that one word, the saddest and most hopeless
word of our vocabulary, was burning its way into the
brains and hearts of those silent mourners, who turned
away from that new-made grave doubly silent because of
the awful secret which each guarded, and which sealed


A STARTING POINT. 67
their lips, and burned out the fountain of their tears. Cer-
tainly no sadder faces ever yet turned away from a newly
made grave.
Merrick went home with the captain and Mrs. Way-
land and remained there as a thing of course, still silent
and clinging to his solitude, and looking like a man who
has lost his hold upon all things, the handsome face grow-
ing thinner and more pallid as the days went by.
It was a sorrowful household, and the mystery under-
lying the grief was the one last straw which rendered it
almost unbearable, and the one last word from the Way-
lands, whenever they spoke to one another of their loss,
was: "Why? If we could but know why!"
When they came back from the grave Merrick had ap-
proached Mrs. Wayland and asked her to close for the
present the rooms which had been his wife's at the time
of her death, leaving them undisturbed as she had left
them.
"When I have found the courage," he said, "I shall
wish to make a thorough search, for I cannot believe that
she has not left something that will in some manner fur-
nish an explanation. Am I asking too much?"
"You are only asking what is yours by right," replied
M rs. Wayland. "The rooms shall be closed, and the keys
I will keep in my own possession until you call for
them."
During the week that followed the household at Way-
lands seemed less like a family bereaved and left to its
grief than like one stricken by some haunting fear or
horror which none could name and yet which all dreaded.
It was not grief alone that made of it a silent, sad-faced,
isolated household. It was that each member of this
once united family had now a secret thought, or dread,
fear, or suspicion which must not be spoken. Besides the
shadow of death that rested above that roof there was
another shadow, darker and more sinister, and not to be
lifted at the will of any.
It was well in those days of gloom, of mental stress and
strain, that the chatelaine of Waylands was a woman of
strength of character, for she could not yet command
a full measure of physical strength. Of the four now


• 38 NO PROOF.'
remaining in the family she was the strongest in spirit,
the most self-contained. Putting aside her own grief
and anxiety, she made those first days bearable to her hus-
band and to Glenn, while seeing that Merrick was made
comfortable in his solitude.
Captain Wayland, as at first, was filled with the fever
of unrest, and as the days passed the fever grew. As for
his daughter, she had become a riddle even to her parents.
Coming home from the burial she had withdrawn her
hand from her father's arm at the foot of the stairway
and, turning to her mother, who followed with Eugene,
had said:
"Mamma, I am going to my room. Please do not let
me be disturbed. I—I want to rest, and—I think, if you
will excuse me, I will not dine with you." And, waiting
only for her mother's nod, she had passed on and up to
her own room. When she appeared at breakfast there
was a change, visible to her mother, and to at least one
other, upon her lovely face. Face, eyes, lips, all were calm,
controlled, cold. It was as if her face were a mask, and
her person wrapped about in a cloak of impenetrability.
She no longer sought her mother for companionship, and
she spent much of her time in her own rooms, walking
regularly morning and evening upon the terrace, and
denying herself, for the most part, to visitors.
Once, when, directly after the funeral, her mother had
asked a question with a view to inquiring more closely
into the cause of her illness, she had broken out almost
petulantly:
"Mamma, don't ask me about that hateful illness! When
I think of it and try to guess at or trace its cause my
head whirls and I dare not think of it. I don't know
what caused that illness. I can not account for it by any
act of mine."
When Mrs. Wayland had repeated these words to the
doctor, in Kenneth Jasper's presence, the former had said:
"Don't question her; let her take her own course. I
doubt if she is really as calm as she would have us think.
Her will is very strong, but her present condition, to me,
looks like a state of suppressed excitement rather than
of calm." And so Glenn was left to do as she would,


A STARTING POINT. 63
always closely observed by her watchful mother and by
one other.
Eugene Merrick was even more of a recluse during
those first days of gloom than was Glenn. He spent long
hours in his rooms, sitting motionless and unoccupied
by an open window or walking up and down the floor.
Now and then he left the house by the rear stairs, crossing
the garden and going through the orchard to bury him-
self for hours in the woods beyond. He shunned all
encounters with the members of the household in these
goings and comings, and at the table his words were few
and generally uttered in reply to some question or greet-
ing. He grew haggard and his step soon lost its elas-
ticity and became slow and heavy. He denied himself
to all visitors and left his office and its affairs in the
village to his assistant, seeming to have lost all interest in
human affairs.
Every day the doctor came "professionally"—"to see
Mrs. Wayland," he said, and he usually had time for a
chat with the captain, and every morning young Jasper
drove out and spent an hour or more in his guardian's
study, smoking and talking idly. And each evening saw
the captain drop in for a short time to return this visit,
and sit in Jasper's den smoking nervously, and always
seeming to be holding in check some word or words that
were struggling for utterance.
At last, one evening a week after Doris Merrick's fun-
neral, he came into the den so much earlier than usual
that Jasper felt sure he must have rushed away from the
dinner-table and driven to Winston in hot haste.
He was not smoking, as usual, and he came in almost
without greeting, merely nodding and then turning to
glance about the room, and seeing it unoccupied save
by his friend, he closed the door, with a sigh of relief,
turned the key in the lock, and came toward Kenneth,
dragging a chair after him, and seating himself close be-
side his now surprised host.
"Ken Jasper," he began slowly, "I shall never get this
awful weight and horror off my mind until I know the
cause of Doris Grey's death—the primary cause, And


70 NO PROOF.
—I believe you can get to the bottom of the thing if you
will put your mind and will at work."
He paused, but as Jasper made no movement or reply,
he went on.
"When you left me in the lurch in that partnership
business you said you would do anything for me if I
would only release you, fully and in all friendship; and
now—I ask you to keep your word. Will you do it?"
Jasper put out his hand to him. "Captain," he de-
clared, "I have not one idea upon which to base an
inquiry; but I will help you to the last fraction of my
ability and strength in anything you may wish to under-
take. Only—you must give me a starting-point—if you
can." •
"And—if I can't?"
"But you can! I know it!"
"Very good," replied the captain gravely. "My starting-
point is—Eugene Merrick."
CHAPTER XI.
"MY WIFE WAS MURDERED."
"My starting-point is Eugene Merrick!"
Jasper was sitting near the open window and with an
elbow resting upon the sill. But he drew himself sud-
denly erect and pulled down the sash with a hasty jerk.
He was more surprised, more startled than he cared to
show—and he was also relieved. He had half feared,
after hearing the captain's first words, that something
different—something even more painful than this declara-
tion would follow, but he only said, after a moment, dur-
ing which he seemed to ponder,. "Do you mean to say that
you suspect Merrick?"
"I won't say that I suspect him. I won't even say I
believe he is to blame in any way, or even knows him-
self the cause; but he is the cause—in some way. I
am sure of it,"


MY WIFE WAS MURDERED. 71
"Come, Captain," urged Kenneth, growing more and
more surprised, "you must have some idea, some thought
—or—doubt."
"I tell you I have not! And yet I am certain that
but for him Doris would be alive now—alive and happy.
Call me crazy if you like; I can't help it. And—I don't
want to help it."
Kenneth turned his chair squarely toward him, facing
him close. "Captain," he began slowly, "will you try
to forget that I am young enough to be your son, and
answer a few questions without comment?"
"Yes; I am in deadly earnest, and I can see the sense
in just such a beginning. Go on with your questions,
man!"
"First, then, does your wife know of this?"
"Of my proposition to you? Yes; she knows and
approves. She is as eager for light upon this hateful
mystery as I am."
"And your doubts—your suspicions as to Merrick—
does she know of these?"
"No."
"Ah!" Jasper was silent for some moments; then
he resumed his inquiries.
"Do you mean to let Merrick know that you are about
to open an investigation?"
"Umph!" shortly. "My wife thinks that the suspense
of such an inquiry would be a useless trial to his feelings,
and—so do I. But, of course, in point of fact, all this
rests with you. Choose your own ways and means. Only
lay bare the heart of this hateful mystery!"
"I fear you are asking more than I can compass, but—
of that later. Now—do you dislike Merrick?"
"I? No, upon my soul I do not! I did not want to
give Doris to any one—yet; she was too young; but I
knew he loved her, and I know he mourns her sincerely.
No, I don't dislike Merrick."
"And yet—" Kenneth paused significantly.
"Oh, I know what you mean, still I can't help it. Her
heart was all devotion to him. She would never have put
the grave between them if something, some other awful
thing had not interposed between them first, J don't


72 NO PROOF.
know what it is, or was—I can't reason about it—but I
feel that I am right."
Kenneth Jasper's face was growing graver every mo-
ment. "And you really can't help me to the least hint
for my guidance?"
"Really I can not." The captain sighed heavily. "I know
it sounds insane, but not so insane as that deed, without
some hidden reason."
"I see your attitude, I realize your feeling, and share
them in a large measure; and now I want you to tell me
once more, and very carefully, all that happened for
twenty-four hours before the night of her death; all, that
is, that in any way concerns her."
"I see what you want, and I have turned my memory
inside out to recall the events of that day and the result is
this, and my wife, who has discussed the matter fully,
agrees with me entirely: During the day and up to the
hour when Doris left the dining-room after dinner she
was herself in every particular, gay, sunny, happy; that
is how we saw her last. At dinner she was full of plans
for their outing and for our joining them soon. No,
there was no shadow of death hanging over Doris Merrick
when she left us with a laugh on her lips."
"And she did not come down again?"
"She told us at the dining-room door that she had
dismissed Martha for the night because the girl had
complained of a headache, and that she meant to finish
her packing herself and to retire early. 'I shall put Eu-
gene's trunks in order with my own hands,' she said
laughingly, 'and let him see how neatly everything will
come to his hand.'"
"Yes," Kenneth said vaguely, with his eyes upon the
floor, and seeming to be occupied with some engrossing
thought; "and she went to her room then to pack her
trunk, did you say?"
"Eugene's trunks. Martha told us that her own trunks
were packed before dinner, and that only Eugene's re-
mained, and these she would do herself."
"And—who saw her after that?"
"Only Jennie for a moment, and Glenn, who stopped
# her door, but did not enter, I think."


MY WIFE WAS MURDERED. 73
"Of course you questioned Jennier'
"Of course my wife did, very closely. Jennie went at
Martha's request, and in her place, to see if anything was
wanted for the night and to proffer assistance. Doris
was at her desk and did not turn; she only spoke over
her shoulder, saying that she needed no help, but would
like a glass of wine or lemonade. Jennie brought these
and left them upon a table. Doris was still at the desk."
"Writing?"
Jennie seemed to think she was merely putting her desk
in order. She saw her tear up a letter or paper and drop
the pieces in the waste basket."
"And Miss—Glenn?"
"Merely looked in to say good-night. Of course if
there had been anything peculiar in her cousin's speech
or manner then she would have noticed it and mentioned
it at once when she learned of her death."
"Of course," said Kenneth, still with an air of abstrac-
tion. Then he looked up and seemed to pull himself
together with an effort. "And now, Captain, if you
please," he said, "I would rather not discuss this matter
further until I have had time to do some thinking."
Captain Wayland got up at once, like one whose er-
rand is accomplished. "Very well, Ken," he said. "I'm
quite ready to go now, and I shall sleep, I think, as I
have not yet, knowing that you are turning over in your
mind all the possibilities of this case, and that if there is
a solution you will be pretty sure to find it."
"Don't expect too much of me, Captain," replied Ken-
neth gravely. "As yet I hardly see even a beginning."
"Then take mine," said the other as he left the den.
Kenneth Jasper sat at his window in the gloom of his
unlighted room thinking and starting now and then at
his own strange thoughts, for he was more interested in
this singular death than he cared to own, and he had
already invented more than one theory, each more strange
and seemingly more improbable than the other.
It was midnight and past when he threw himself upon
his couch, and slept fitfully, disturbed by dreams in which
he saw Doris Merrick, her husband, and Captain Wayland,
each appearing in turn as victim and assailant, traitor,


74 NO PROOF.
deceiver, and deceived, and all eluding his pursuit and
mocking at his efforts.
As dawn broke in the east he sank into a heavy slum-
ber, and awoke late and not much refreshed, but with a
strange, half-formed plan floating hazily in his mind,
where it had lodged in a most singular dream.
He was more than willing to enter upon this clueless
quest, for it had haunted him from the first with its
strangeness and its possibilities; but as yet he could see
no way clearly open for a beginning, while he saw a
cloud of difficulties, yes, and dangers, in the way of any
and every step.
As he seated himself at the breakfast-table he was
still busy evolving plans and possibilities, only to discard
them as wild and impracticable, and he arose at last baf-
fled and dissatisfied, and went back to his den resolved to
smoke a cigar and to put all thought upon the perplexing
business out of his mind meantime.
"Clearly," he said to himself as he lighted his weed,
"my brain must have time to clarify."
And then some one tapped at his door, and he opened
it to find Eugene Merrick, pale-faced and weary-looking,
standing upon the threshold.
It was the first time he had ventured beyond Way-
lands since his wife's death, and Jasper was more than a
little surprised to see him there and at that hour.
There was a new look of alertness upon Merrick's
pale face, and a nervous haste in his manner, as he entered
the room and glanced inquiringly about him, that was
at once noted by his host, and when, after exchanging
brief greetings, he turned to the door and said, "Mr.
Jasper, pardon me, but may I, or will you, lock your door
for a short time and give me your attention, if nothing
more, for a few moments," Jasper barely repressed a
start. The resemblance to the captain's mode and man-
ner of the night before was really quite remarkable.
However, he removed his just-lighted cigar from be-
tween his lips and nodded his consent, and Merrick
promptly turned the key, whereupon Jasper returned
to his seat beside the window, the same at which he had


MY WIFE WAS MURDERED. . 75
listened to the captain's strange request the night before,
and pushed a chair toward his visitor.
"Have a chair, Merrick," he said composedly, "and try
one of my cigars. I always smoke one after breakfast."
But the other shook his head and, seeming not to have
heard the first half of Jasper's sentence, took a stand di-
rectly before him and began, without a glance toward
either proffered cigar or chair.
"Some time ago Captain Wayland told me of your
wonderful handling of that murder trial, the Sesson case,
you know, and I was much impressed with your aptitude
for this sort of thing—your direct reasoning from cause
to effect. I—I can't rest under this awful double weight
of misery and mystery, Mr. Jasper, and I want you to
clear it up for me—for all of us. God only knows what
fearful thing it may bring to light, but anything is better
than this suspense!"
Jasper took his cigar from his mouth and placed it
carefully beside him upon the window-ledge; then he
turned slowly toward his visitor.
"I quite comprehend your wish to understand this sad
affair," he said, speaking deliberately and without seek-
ing to embarrass the other by a too direct gaze. "In
your place I should do just the same; but—would it not
be best to call upon some of the city professionals—some
man, or men, of experience and—"
"No!" Merrick broke in with an impatient gesture. "I
quite believe in you and in your ability. I can't bear to
think of one of those city sleuths coming in among us with
his unfeeling sharpness. Besides, I can't have my wife's
name bandied about in the newspapers, and these fellows
and the reporters go hand in glove so often. You are
a friend of her family. You were her friend!"
Jasper nodded gravely. One who knew him well,
Doctor Roth, for instance, would have known at once
that he was holding himself in reserve; that he was ob-
serving quite as much as listening. But the other was
full of his subject.
"I must tell you," he said hurriedly, as if anxious to
have done with preliminaries, "that the captain has spoken
to mg of this plan and that at first I raised objections;


76 . NO PROOF.
you will understand why later. This, however, must be
my affair, Mr. Jasper, and I must ask you, just here, not
to mention this visit of mine in any way to the captain."
Again Jasper nodded. And for a moment Merrick sat
silent, then suddenly he broke out:
"I can't bear it! I can't have any one questioning or
seeming to doubt the sweetest saint that ever lived! I
will not permit it!"
"And has this been done?" questioned Jasper.
"It has!" He threw back his head and clinched his
white, nervous hands.
"May I ask by whom?"
Merrick hesitated. "I don't know why you should
not, as well now as at any time. Her uncle is the man."
For the first time since the beginning of their inter-
view Jasper turned upon him a full, direct gaze, but his
voice was quite natural when, after a moment, he asked:
"Is not that a rather strong statement?"
"It is; yes, it is a very strong statement; but I make
it. I make it as an assertion, as a fact, if you like, and I
have my reasons." He drew from his pocket an envelope,
and holding it in his hand, looked inquiringly at his host.
"Tell me," he said, "before I open this; are you going to
help me?"
Jasper turned so as to face his companion more direct-
ly, and as the one seemed to grow more eager and nerv-
ous, the other became more and more collected, with
an air of measuring his words and tabulating his thoughts
as he went.
"I—think so," he answered. "I have thought of this
matter much and—yes, I have quite determined to take
up the inquiry; not alone for your sake, but to satisfy
a growing desire to fathom the mystery of which your
wife's sad death, I feel sure, is but the final act, if it is the
final act; and now go on, pray.
Merrick opened the envelope and took from it two frag-
ments of paper.
"As you know," he began, holding these in his hand
while he spoke, "my wife's rooms have been closed since
her death, by my request. In fact I could not go near
them at first . I am strangely affected at the sight, the


MY WIPE WAS MURDERED. 77
close proximity of death, but one morning, three days
ago, to be precise, I sent for the keys, ostensibly to look
for some of my belongings, and I entered the rooms
alone. Nothing there has been disturbed as yet; even
my own trunks remain as when she arranged them. Did
you enter the dressing-room when the captain sent for
you?" he broke off abruptly.
Jasper shook his head.
"If you had you would have seen that there was a little
heap of ashes in the grate; that is if you had taken the
trouble, as I did, to move the little screen which stands
before it. It was a charred mass, ashes for the most part,
but with enough black bits to tell me that some one had
been burning paper there. I looked around then, but
found the writing-desk locked and the keys removed."
Jasper bit his lip. It was by his own suggestion that
Mrs. Wayland had closed and locked the desk, wherein
he had found the city address of his visitor on the day
after Doris Merrick's death.
"I also found the waste-basket empty," Merrick went
on, "but after a little groping I found, drawn up into the
chimney a little way and just perceptible by stooping and
looking up, a scrap of paper—this one."
This time Jasper really started, and into his eyes came
an additional shade of intent watchfulness, though his face
remained, as at first, politely attentive, and no more, as
Merrick held up before his eyes one of the two bits he
held in his left hand, but he uttered no comment, and
Merrick, hesitating for just an instant, went on:
"A moment later I found, caught in the fringe of the
little screen, sent there very likely by the same draught
that had carried the other into that side of the chimney,
this other fragment. They are both in my wife's hand-
writing. Will you kindly look at them?"
He reached from a table near him a large book having
a smooth leather cover and, placing the jagged scraps upon
it, smoothed them carefully and held the book out to his
companion.
They had already been very carefully pressed, as if be-
tween some heavy weights, and now, as they lay before
young Jasper, it was evident to him that they were pieces


7S
NO PROOF.
of a letter, probably of the same letter. They were jagged
and shapeless, and in appearance and substance much
like this:

The two as they lay fitted neatly together, and evident-
ly belonged as placed. Evidently, too, the whole had
been part of a letter, or journal, from which the margins
and context had been torn, it would seem, by bits.
While Jasper studied these fragments Merrick watched
his face closely, and when he lifted his eyes he asked
eagerly: "What do you think of them?"
"Nothing—as yet," was the prompt reply. "You must
leave them with me if you want me to look into the matter,
which is a very delicate and painful case to take in hand."
Merrick sighed heavily. "Do I not know that to my
sorrow, my utter misery? But—you will take it up?
You—"
"I have already given you my assurance of that."
"True."
"But I must have time to arrange some plan of work."
"Of course." Merrick seemed to be hesitating over
his next words, and finally drew from his pocket a third
scrap of paper, which he slowly and silently placed upon
the book just below the first ones and smoothed it into
place.


MY WIFE WAS MURDERED.
79
"In the bottom of the waste-basket," he said in a low
voice, "I found this third bit of paper. As you see, it is
like the others and doubtless belongs to the same docu-
ment, letter or other. I will confess that these three frag-
ments helped me to a theory, and I have held back the
last hoping that you might confirm this idea of mine by
seeing in the first two what I saw in the whole."
"And what was that?"
"Pardon me; read these first. I have no wish to bias
your opinion."
"Quite right." Jasper pulled the book toward him, for
until now he had only sent a glance toward the bit of
paper where it lay. It was nearly as large as the first two
united and seemed to have been torn from the upper
left-hand corner of a page of note-paper, in shape much
like this:

Over this last find Jasper lingered so long that Mer-
rick, who had grown less nervous since obtaining the
consent of the former to assist in his inquiry, began to
stir uneasily, and at last got upon his feet and stood before
the window, moving his body to and fro restlessly, while
he watched Jasper narrowly. Finally the latter looked up.
"You found this, you say, in the waste-basket?" he
began, transferring his gaze from the paper to Merrick's
face.
"Yes."


80 NO PROOF.
"Will you tell me just how."
"By the merest accident. After finding the first two
in the grate I naturally reasoned that some one had been
destroying letters or papers that night; before"—he
stopped, and there was a movement as of swallowing in
his throat—"the night before my wife's death, and then
I remembered that she never filled her little willow bas-
ket, but used to toss out its contents every few days. I
took up the apparently empty basket and turned it over
without so much as looking within. The scrap fell
from it."
"I see; and the basket stood—-where?"
"Close beside the writing-desk."
"Was that its usual place?"
"Yes, always. It stood at the left of the desk. Evi-
dently the fragments at first had been thrown into it
and emptied in haste by some one later."
"Um!" Jasper arose in his. turn and, putting the three
bits of paper together carefully, crossed the room with
them in his hand, opened a davenport and, after placing
them in a small envelope and writing something across
the back, coolly shut them into a drawer and turned the
key upon them.
"I will give them a close inspection," he said, coming
back to the window. Then, in response to some look in
his client's face, he added: "Of course you meant me
to make use of them?"
"Yes. Only—I must have your word that they will
not go out of your hands, and they must under no cir-
cumstances be destroyed."
"I understand. And now, Merrick, what theory have
you evolved from this discovery of yours? I have never
asked the question until now; I had no authority, no right
so to do. But surely you must have something, some
slight data, to guide you to a conclusion."
Eugene Merrick drew himself up and met the eye of
the other squarely. "As God hears me," he said solemn-
ly, "never at any time, in any manner, did my dear dead
wife do or say aught that I could construe, then or since,
into anything which could throw light upon her strange,
terrible fate. I believed when I left her that night for a


"I SHALL WORK—NOW!" 81
two day's absence that she was a perfectly happy woman.
I believe it now. I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to
aid us; not one word, look, or hint. Mr. Jasper, I believe
that at the time of my going from her she was as uncon-
scious as you or I of the awful fate awaiting her!"
"And so do I!"
"You do? Oh—then you have already—"
"Wait—wait," Jasper interrupted. "Not too fast. I
have not gone farther than this. Your wife was a per-
fectly open, frank, and transparent woman. I do not think
she could dissemble for half an hour, and all her friends
tell the same story. To the last she was her usual sweet
and happy self. Now, tell me, why you have used the
name of her uncle and my one-time guardian in connec-
tion with her—death?"
"Thank you. I am glad you did not say suicide, for,
Mr. Jasper, my wife was murdered!"
CHAPTER XII.
"I SHALL WORK—NOW!"
"Murdered?"
"Yes. I believe it fully. Have you never seen the
possibility of this?"
Since the locking up of the pieces of paper the two had
remained standing, and face to face, near the window,
but now Kenneth Jasper turned and, resuming his own
seat, said, with a gesture toward the chair before placed
for Merrick:
"Sit down man! We must come to the point. Of
what do you accuse Captain Wayland?"
"I do not accuse!" Merrick dropped into his place as
if hardly conscious of his own movements.
"Suspect, then?"
"Jasper, you have read those disjointed words," nod-
ding toward the davenport. "Do you not see what they
seem to imply—broken as they are? I neither accuse nor
suspect. I only theorize—as yet. But, I ask you, why


$2 NO PROOF.
should it be more strange, the more beyond reason or
belief, to accuse that man of Doris Merrick's death than
to accuse Doris Merrick herself of suicide?"
"It is not. It would not be. Both seem almost beyond
belief."
"And yet one or the other must be true."
"What is your theory?"
"Nothing definite, but somewhere there must be a se-
cret, an awful something. Captain Wayland is the one
who was best known to my wife, and who best knew her.
May she not, in some way, suddenly, say at the'last mo-
ment, have discovered some secret of his—something dan-
gerous, something which concerned herself, perhaps?
Look here; I find that before packing she went up to the
attic and rummaged in the trunk-room for some things
a Gladstone bag of mine, some patent shawl-straps, and
so on; may she not have found something—there?"
Jasper, who had once or twice opened his lips as if to
break in upon his speech, and had each time shut them
firmly and kept silence, with eyea half averted, now turned
and faced him.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, with some animation. "What did
she send down from the trunk-room? Do you know—
precisely?"
"Why, perhaps not all. There were her own trunks,
two of mine, a couple of bags, a rug or two, I think. I
really don't know if there was anything more or not."
"No? Now, tell me, how do you imagine—suppose
the captain to have had a secret, as you have suggested,
and your wife to have found it out, how do you account
for her death by her own weapon?"
"Can you prove that it was by her own weapon?"
"Well—no." Jasper turned his eyes away.
"And do you happen to know that Captain Wayland for
two months nearly has carried about with him from 6
o'clock p. m. until bedtime a little bulldog of a pistol
scarcely larger than the other—my wife's—and that would
carry the same-sized bullet?"
"No. Explain yourself." Jasper made no effort to
conceal the surprise he felt at this statement, nor the doubt.
"Perhaps you have heard of the two occasions when
Ik*.


"I SHALL WORK—NOW!" 83
prowlers have so nearly robbed the captain, and, on both
occasions, at an early hour?"
"Yes—something," slowly.
"The first time, as the captain was taking his custom-
ary smoke on the terrace before retiring, he came upon a
man peering in at the pantry window, which was open
and with only the screen for protection, for the house
had not as yet been closed for the night. You know Way-
land's habits?"
"Very well—most of them."
"Well, in pursuing this fellow he started up a second
one, concealed in the grapery. He thought then that
they were after the grapes, and he swore at breakfast that
henceforth he would go for his evening promenade about
the grounds armed for the benefit of such visitors."
Jasper smiled. "And then, of course, his anger cooled
and he did nothing of the sort?"
"Precisely. I see you know him. He did not arm him-
self. But, not long after, while out again, it occurred
to him to go as far as the stables and see if his lame mare,
Nellie, had torn off her leg bandages, as she sometimes did,
and there he surprised two rascals, one outside and one
already in the carriage-house. They were not the same,
or so he declared, as the first, and, of course, being again
unarmed, alone, and short of wind, he did not secure
them. Since that time he has gone armed every evening."
"And you think he went armed to Mrs. Merrick's room,
and—"
"Good God, man, I don't want to think any such thing!
But suppose she had found out something and had sent
for him. Any form of wrong or injustice would arouse
Doris as nothing else could, you know; and you have
said that you know the captain. You know how his anger
bubbles up, how almost uncontrollable it can be for a time.
Such a man might easily do a deed in the heat of rage,
especially if combined with fear, which he could never do
in cold blood."
"And the pistol—your wife's pistol?"
Merrick got up, with a gesture of impatience, and stood
towering over the man who was so difficult to convince.
"If I had committed such a deed," he said bitterly, "and


84 NO PROOF.
knew, as he knew, just where to find that other weapon, I
think the instinct of self-preservation would at once
prompt me to place that weapon where it was placed, and
—I give the captain credit for quite as much astuteness
as I myself possess."
"Yes; and the bridal robe. How do you account for
that?"
"Easily. It is not the first time she has donned it so.
She knew how much I admired her in it, and on two or
three occasions has put it on for my inspection, and played
at a reception. She had so many girlish little ways." His
voice sank to an almost plaintive tone, and for a moment
the image of sweet Doris Grey was clear in the minds of
the two men, and both involuntarily, and together, sighed.
"Merrick," Jasper said, after a short silence, "I wish you
could hold your mind in abeyance for a time and let me
look into this thing. Let me present to you another
theory, quite as plausible as yours. Had your wife much
money in her possession?"
"Yes; several hundred dollars, at least. I left it with
her when I set out for the city."
"And—have you seen it since?"
"Why, no. But doubtless it is locked in her writing-
desk."
"Oh!" There was a sudden tightening of the lines
about Jasper's strong mouth and an alert look in his eye.
He knew well that there was no money in the desk.
"Now, let us suppose that you find no money in that
desk, and none elsewhere in those rooms; will you not
then be ready to admit another possibility?"
"What other?"
"That, for instance, a stranger—you say there have been
such about the house and grounds—suppose this person
has gained access to the house in some way, say by that
open pantry window, and has concealed himself in those
rooms while their occupant is at dinner. She returns,
and, let us say, assumes her bridal robes. Then, as she
moves about from one room to the other, his hiding-place
is discovered. Now, she has been packing for a journey.
What more natural than that she should have laid the
little pistol, your gift to her, somewhere where it is seen


I SHALL, WORK—NOW. 86
and seized by the discovered man—and—used. Mrs.
Wayland, I am told, played the piano for nearly an hour
after dinner. May not the deed have been done and the
villain have escaped under cover of these sounds?"
Merrick was silent, his face was pale, and he was shud-
dering visibly.
"I," went on Jasper, "can see one strong argument in
support of this theory."
"What—what is it?"
"We have thought it strange that if dying by her own
hand she should leave you no word. Would not this
explain or account for that?"
Merrick's face was dropped upon his hands. "You are
right," he groaned, "it would."
"I said I could see one reason in support of this theory.
I can give you another and still stronger one."
"What is it?"
"There is no money in your wife's desk. In order to
telegraph to you I was sent to look for your New York
address. By the way, I omitted to tell you that I sent
you a message, and while I only glanced at such cards
or bits of paper as might contain the address I sought,
still I am certain that no money was there. The desk, in
fact, contained very little. But then, she was preparing
for a journey; she may have burned her letters, or re-
moved them."
Merrick seemed hardly to heed him, and when he spoke
it was to say:
"That telegram—where did you send it?"
"I can't tell; to some street that was unfamiliar to me.
We received yours to the captain soon after and knew
that in all probability you would not get our message."
Merrick got up once more, this time slowly, like one
in doubt or perplexity. "I think I will go now," he said
dispiritedly. "You have given me a great deal to think
of. When—when may I see you again?"
"I will let you hear from or see me. You intend to re-
main here for the present, I suppose?"
"I?" Merrick actually started. "Yes, oh yes. I could
not go now. I can at least be near—" He stopped
weakly, turned toward the door, and then came back.


8« NO PROOF.
"I may depend upon you? You will do what you can?
All you can?"
"I will find the truth about this matter," replied Ken-
neth Jasper firmly. "All of it if it is in my power to do
so. I shall spare no pains—no labor."
"Thank you. And I am glad to see that at least you
agree with me that my wife did not destroy herself."
"Stop! You must not misconstrue my meaning. I
neither agree nor disagree. I simply do not know. And,
Merrick, let me advise you to harbor no hard thoughts.
Don't let doubt or prejudice outweigh your own experi-
ence and knowledge of human nature. And remember
those bits of torn writing can be construed into a variety
of meanings. Don't rely too much upon them."
When Merrick had at last gone Kenneth Jasper lighted
a fresh cigar and began to smoke and think.
"A queer complication this is going to be," he mused
as he stretched himself out luxuriously, "and Merrick?
Jove! but he was getting dangerously close to the thing
he will never know if I can prevent it. Oh! yes, I shall
work now to fathom this mystery, and lose no time, by
the way, lest that excitable, incomprehensible fellow may
bring some one else into the field. Was it suicide or mur-
der? I wish I knew."
He went to his desk after a time and, tossing away his
cigar, sat down before it, spread out the fragments of torn
manuscript and began to scrutinize them carefully with
a strong lens.
CHAPTER XIII.
"COLORS SEEN BY CANDLE-LIGHT," ETC.
Kenneth Jasper spent the entire day in going over the
case which seemed to be taking such strange shape in
the minds of those most interested. He had agreed to
take the matter in hand for both the captain and Merrick,
but, in truth, he would have given all his time to the hard'
task before hirq had there been no call for his services,


COLORS SEEN BY CANDLE-LIGHT, ETC. 87
For, from the moment when he first stood beside Doris
Merrick's death-bed, he had felt the shadow of a strange
mystery, perhaps crime, behind that which they could
see and comprehend; and, while he sat studying and pro-
pounding to himself strange problems, he was giving
very little thought to the theories of his two clients,
opposite as they were, and a great deal to a certain vague
something that was slowly taking shape in his mind and
which had its beginning in that room of death.
But this did not prevent his giving close scrutiny, again
and again, to those fragments of paper, nor from noticing
another plan which began to develop itself promptly, for
Jasper had that first and best quality of an investigator
of mysteries, the ability to think and act promptly upon
occasion, and to know the occasion when it appeared.
Captain Wayland visited him later in the day, in a mood
of despondency. He had been much of the morning
alone, for his wife had roused herself to take up some
neglected household matters, which kept her invisible, and
Glenn had not been seen below-stairs since the breakfast
hour. As for Merrick, he had never been companionable,
after the manner of Jasper, or Doctor Roth, and now he
was seldom below-stairs except for the dinner and
luncheon hour, or to wander out into the grounds or the
woods beyond.
The captain had left the den on the previous night
buoyed up and hopeful in the confidence he then felt in
his young friend's ability to unravel the very hard knot
that to him had looked so impossible, but a wakeful night
and a morning with his own thoughts, which seemed to
progress in a circle and to arrive always at the point of
departure, had weakened his faith and changed his humor
until he found it hard to believe that Jasper had not also
thought better of it, and that all the talk of the previous
night was not somehow to be retracted, or at least much
modified.
But he found his active young host very alert of mind,
though supine of body, and hastened to unburden him-
self of anxieties, doubts, and fears.
"It's the old story, Ken," he finished, with a rueful
tfe, "colors seen by candle-light and all the rest of it,


88 NO PROOF.
It is a case that seems to begin nowhere and to have no
visible or possible end. If you feel that, after all, the
thing to do is to accept the facts as they are I shall be
awfully cut up, but—I shan't feel hard about it."
And then Kenneth had interposed his strong young
optimism.
"Captain, look here; what you need is a tonic. You must
go to see Roth and leave this perplexity to me. It hasn't
knocked me out; not yet. I'm going to begin straight-
way to pull at the threads of this coil, and it will go hard
with me if I do not unravel something. Yes," in answer
to the captain's look of inquiry. "I am really
going to begin. I have a notion that it is a
business that should be looked into at once to save
further complications. And now—" He got up and stood
before his friend; his face was very serious and his voice
firm and full of decision. "Now, Captain, we must agree
upon certain things. To begin, you must promise me,
from first to last, neither to question nor interfere in any
way. If I need help or advice, and you can give either,
be sure I will call upon you. But even in that case, you
must advise, or act, without question. When I have
done my best I will let you know the result, whether it
be success or failure; until then—you understand?"
Captain Wayland did, and was in just the mood to
accept the terms and to feel that, for a time at least, he
need rack his brains no more over the mystery which hung
about Waylands.
Within the same twenty-four hours Jasper had uttered
almost the same words in the hearing of Eugene Mer-
rick, and the latter, after hesitating for a little time, yielded
finally and ended by admitting that it "might even be
best so."
"I feel," he said dejectedly, "that I am not fit to think
or reason. I am like one stunned. To fall from the
heights of happiness to such sudden loss and barrenness
of life as this of mine is too much! And yet—there are
times when I can not realize it; times when I won't be-
lieve it; and then, Mr. Jasper, I trust that you, that all
of mv friends and hers will bear with me in my present
mood. I cannot bring myself to the point of mingling


COLORS SEEN BY CANDLE-LIGHT, ETC. 89
with people, of talking and hearing others talk—of her,
perhaps. I could not trust myself; I should break down
and declare what I believe—that she died by violence!"
He came a step nearer. "Do—do you think the cap-
tain or Mrs. Wayland cares—that is, that my presence
at Waylands now is a—is unpleasant to them?"
"I am sure it is not," quickly. "Have they not asked
you to remain?"
"Yes; oh, yes."
"Then be sure of your welcome. You do not wish to
leave—upon your own account?"
"I can not leave now. I must remain near her. To
go away now would be like—" He turned away with a
pathetic gesture. "All I ask now," he said after a mo-
ment, "is to stay near her—and to be alone with my
thoughts—and memories."
"That is but natural," said Jasper. "And meantime
you may feel sure that I shall be doing—what I can."
Merrick turned toward him with sudden eagerness.
"Those pieces of paper," he questioned, "have—may I
ask if you have decided to use them?"
Jasper was silent a moment. Then, "I think they may
cut a large figure in the case eventually. Yes; I may tell
you that. I shall use them—and soon."
"Ah!" Merrick caught his breath and a look of unmis-
takable relief flashed into his face, and was gone as quick-
ly as it came. "Thank you; I shall ask nothing more
now."
"But I will tell you something. It may be expedient
for me to come in daily contact with certain parties at
Waylands, and if you see an opportunity to help me to a
foothold in the house, as an inmate, say for a week or
two—you comprehend?"
"Quite; and you may depend upon me."
When next he talked with the master of Waylands
Jasper said to him:
"Captain, in order to inform myself more fully, or in
the hope of doing so, I wish to become a member of your
family for a short time, and you must help me to accom-


90 NO PROOF.
plish this in a way that will not arouse suspicion in the
mind of—well, say Merrick, for instance. I want to be
where I can gain access to the rooms that were Mrs. Mer-
rick's, and he must not suspect my intentions. Will you
make a place for me?"
"Willingly, if you will furnish a pretext."
"That I will do and very soon," the young man replied.
And he did.
He was a believer in woman, having known intimately
only the best, the truest, and most cultured, and having
himself dealt truly with these; and where he might have
hesitated long before trusting an important secret to his
stanchest male friend, he would have confided at need,
and without hesitation, in "Aunt Jem," and so, on the
morning after the above talk with the captain, he invited
his aunt into his sanctum and told her his position, going
through with his story to the end without a single com-
ment or interruption from this model of her sex.
When he had finished she neither questioned nor ven-
tured an opinion, although her interest had been intense
from first to last. Instead, she waited a moment for what-
ever else he might wish to say, and then she fixed his eyes
with her own keen orbs and asked:
"Well, and what is it that you want of me?"
Jasper smiled his delight in this characteristic question.
"Aunt Jem, I am almost certain you can guess."
"Must I quarrel with you and turn you out of doors?"
Aunt Jem smiled grimly in her turn. "I'm afraid Winston
would never swallow that," she added.
"I am sure Winston would not. No, you must guess
again."
"Well, I won't then. You don't want me at Waylands,
and I don't suppose you expect me to set fire to the prem-
ises. Perhaps you'd like me to fall down cellar, break
something, and be sent to the hospital? There, I said
I wouldn't and I've.kept right on. Out with it—I'm
needed in the kitchen. There, you needn't grin."
Jasper promptly suppressed a broad smile. To be "in
the kitchen" was Aunt Jem's equivalent for "not at home,"
and he came at once to the point.
"Why should you resort to arson or self-immolation,


COLORS SEEN BY CANDLE-LIGHT, ETC. 91
Aunt, when there is that long-talked-of visit to Chicago
yet to be made?"
"My land!" she exploded.
"It's the very best time of the year for you to go, and
all Winston knows that your sister—"
"My sister-in-law. I do hate calling folks and things
by wrong names, and you know it."
"True; it was a slip of the tongue."
"And I never said I was really going; only that I
meant to go some day, when I could afford it."
Jasper caught back the laugh that almost escaped him.
He knew that his aunt usually gave consent in the crustiest
manner, and refused with utmost amiability, which, never-
theless, was not to be turned.
"That's the very point. Just now you can afford it.
It is so important that I become an inmate of Waylands
that I am going to beg of you to vacate this house and
let it to me, closed and locked, of course, for at least two
weeks—possibly three."
"Umph!"
"It's a business offer, Aunt Jem. I couldn't let you go
on any other terms. And—you have wanted to see your
brother's widow—and Chicago."
"I haven't denied that, have I? Do you want me to
start this evening?"
"Not so bad as that; say in two days from now."
"Well"—Aunt Jem got up with great deliberation—
"I'll think about it. I've got to go to the kitchen now."
"Take your time, Aunt Jem." Kenneth chuckled as the
door closed behind her. He knew that a retreat to the
kitchen meant, always, capitulation—and it did.
When Kenneth took his place opposite her at luncheon
Aunt Jem came at once to the point.
"I'll have a good deal to do to get myself ready for a
two or three weeks' visit," she began, "and I want you
to see about trains and so on. I shall start day after to-
morrow, and as I am really going to accommodate you,
though I'm going to enjoy myself well enough, too, I
don't object to your paying my expenses on the trip, but
that's all. I guess I can afford the extras."
This was quite true. Aunt Jem, while not rich, yet


92 NO PROOF.
possessed enough for all her wants. But if she had a
weakness it lay in the direction of economy, and the
reason and justice of permitting her nephew to defray the
expenses of a journey made at his own suggestion and
in his interest was clear enough to her practical mind.
"And since I'm to go so soon," she went on, "and there
being no business on my hands for this afternoon, I'll
take it kindly if you will just bring round your horse in,
say about an hour, and take me out to see Mrs. Wayland.
I shan't be likely to have another chance to say good-by
to her. Besides, I want to see how Glenn Wayland looks
by now. There's been a queer look in that girl's face
ever since her cousin's death that I don't like." She shot
a keen glance at her nephew, who just at that moment
was looking fixedly out of the window, and who for
a moment seemed not to have heard. Then, turning
from the window and with a glance in her direction, quite
as covert and keen as her own, he answered:
"It's awfully good of you, Aunt Jem, to set out at a
minute's notice on such a long journey, and" — getting
up with great show of alacrity, he turned to go out — "I'll
have the horse at the door at the very moment, and I'll
give the order at once." He put .out his hand for his hat,

"Aunt Jem," he asked, with his shoulder toward her,
"do you think Miss Wayland knows — guesses anything
about her cousin's death?"
Miss Jasper shut her lips suddenly as if she never meant
to open them again. Then she did open them. "I know
she's got something on her mind," she flashed, and was
out of the room before the words had ceased to sound in
his ears.
That afternoon they spent an hour at Waylands, Miss
Jasper sitting with Mrs. Wayland in that lady's own sit-
ting-room and Kenneth smoking a cigar with the captain
in the study.
As they entered the grounds Miss Jasper had said
curtly:
"By the way, you needn't say anything about my going


COLORS SEEN BY CANDLE-LIGHT, ETC. 93
away to any of them. I'll let 'em know it in my own
way. You can do your part later." And of course Ken-
neth had acquiesced.
As they drove away from the door, Miss Jasper, with her
face straight to the front, and quite expressionless, re-
marked:
"Mrs. Wayland thinks it will he a real benefit to the
captain, and maybe to Mr. Merrick, too, if you will come
and stay with them while I am in Chicago."
"Aunt Jem!"
"Well?" drily.
"You're as sly as a fox! as deep as a well! I assure
you, I never thought of this as your motive for coming
to Waylands to-day."
"'Twasn't; not altogether at least. I wouldn't a-gone
away without seeing Mrs. Wayland, and it wouldn't
a-looked very well to go at the very last day in the after-
noon."
"But, tell me, how did you manage?"
"Oh, you needn't be afraid. I didn't bungle matters.
I jest told her the truth."
"The truth!" he gasped.
"Of course. Did you expect me to tell a lie, at my
time of life? I jest came straight out, and says I, 'I've
wanted to go and see my dead brother's wife for a long
time, but somehow the time hasn't just come right till
now. Now everything seems favorable to my going,
and I had set the time and was going right away,' and then
I came out square and asked if it would inconvenience
her much to let you have your old room again till I
got back, for I should feel perfectly easy and could enjoy
every minute of my visit, I told her, if you were at
Waylands, and I couldn't if I thought you were depend-
ent upon those Winston hotels and boardin' houses for
your meals and drink, 'specially your coffee."
"And she said—what?"
"Well, nothing very nattering to me. She said she
could almost feel like thanking me for going away, for
your coming to Waylands just now was the very thing
she could have wished for, for the captain's sake, and—
her own." And the tiniest ghost of a smile nickered across-


96 NO PROOF.
"When papa announced his coming at the table it did not
come to your ears for the first time."
"Well—and what then, my child?"
"Mother—are you three, father, yourself, and Kenneth
Jasper, about to begin an investigation—an inquiry into
the cause of my cousin's strange death? Are you?"
"And if so, what then? Do you not long to under-
stand it?"
"Many times," Glenn went on, ignoring her mother's
question, "I have heard my father say that Kenneth. Jas-
per had a wonderful talent for investigation. He is right,
as I happen to know. Do you know who will be ac-
cused if he enters this house?"
"Accused? No one in this house."
"You are wrong, mother." Glenn withdrew her hands
from her mother's clasp and held herself erect. "You
do not know, I see, what he has already discovered. Ken-
neth Jasper is coming into my home to spy on me."
"Glenn! are you out of your senses?"
"Not yet. But it is true. Mother, shall I tell you what
he has already learned?"
"If you can, do so."
"He has learned that the weapon found under Doris
Merrick's dead hand was mine, instead of hers, as the
others thought—and think."
"Great heavens! Glenn."
"And he has found that, during that first night, when
you thought me sleeping and too ill to leave my bed, I
visited the room where my dead cousin lay, alone, and
by stealth."
"You?" gasped Mrs. Wayland.
"Yes—I!"
"Glenn! What does it mean?"
"I can not tell you, mother; that is, about the visit at
midnight; as to the pistol, I do not know how it came
where it was found."
"But—Glenn, I know you well—you have a suspicion
—an idea?"
Both were very pale now, and both spoke in low tones
of enforced calm; but in one eye there was weariness and
constraint, in the other eagerness and anxiety mingled.

_


AT LEAST I AM FOREWARNED. 97
Glenn was silent for a moment, then she withdrew her
right hand from her mother's clasp, to place it upon the
same hand and clasp it in her turn.
"Mother," she said, "I have thought it over and over
until already it begins to seem an old story, and I am sure
that; it is best for me to say nothing and for you to ignore,
in your words and acts at least, what we have said and
are saying. I can say nothing that will clear up this ter-
rible mystery; not one word; nothing to help or to bet-
ter the present condition. But, oh, I implore you, do not
let Kenneth Jasper come here as a detective to watch and
spy. He suspects me already."
"No—"
"He has told me so."
"Glenn, you are mad!"
"At times I wish I were, mother," said the girl. And
for a moment the beautiful head drooped and a look of
utter misery settled upon the lovely face. Then she looked
up and leaned toward her mother, taking her hand again.
"Mother, let us stand together in this. I am sure my
course is the right one and the best one, and if it were
not I should still be obliged to pursue it. Oh, I beg of
you not to let an inquiry begin in this house, and with
your consent."
As the girl spoke her mother, who had listened intently,
drew her fine shoulders erect and lifted her head in a
gesture Glenn knew well.
"Glenn, you must answer my questions, if it is within
your power. As to this matter of the pistol, I know noth-
ing of it, and I will not speak of your visit to your
cousin's room when I thought you asleep; at least not
now. But, tell me, have you, in your own heart, any
doubt as to the manner of your cousin's death?"
"Doris Merrick died by her own hand. Do you hear?
By her own hand, and we must never listen to any other
thought."
"That is also my belief, but there is—somewhere—
another who is responsible for her act. Glenn, I have
perfect faith in you; remember this. From the first
I have felt that, in some way, you knew, suspected, or
guessed at the motive behind this terrible act, and if you


88 NO PROOF.
persist in your refusal to tell what you know, or guess, I
shall feel assured that, in some way, you are bound, by
promise or otherwise, to keep your lips sealed. Am I
right? You need only say yes—or no."
"You are right and wrong. I do not know the reason,
the motive; neither do I suspect or guess it. And—my
lips are sealed."
"Ah!" Mrs. Wayland arose and stood before her
daughter. "Then, Glenn, I am sure that you know, or
believe that you know, that other who is responsible for
the act."
Glenn sat with eyes averted, moveless, mute.
"You have said that Kenneth Jasper must not come be-
neath this roof as a detective," Mrs. Wayland went on in
low, firm tones. "And here we must understand each
other. Did you think his proposed coming was by my
request, or by your father's?"
"Was—was it not?"
"From the first moment we have both felt, your father
and myself, that we must know the terrible thing behind
this sad death; the cause. We agreed that Kenneth, and
not a strange detective, should undertake the work of
discovery, and he accepted the task."
"When, mother? How long since?"
"Less than forty-eight hours ago."
"And—his coming here—was it—whose thought was
it?"
"His own."
"His?" There was a sudden scorn in her voice and eye.
She got up slowly and stood before her mother, and now
the resemblance between the two was strong indeed;
there was the same look of self-restraint, the same proud
lift of the head, the same look of will and determination
in each face. "Then he must come," she said, and turned
as if to go.
"And you—you will not allow him to doubt you?"
"He does doubt me."
"Then all the more reason why he should learn to know
you better. But I can not but think you misapprehend.
No one else, I am sure, could harbor such a doubt of
you."


AT LEAST I AM FOREWARNED. 99
"You are wrong again, mother. Doctor Roth more
than suspects me."
"Impossible!"
"I say no. Ask him if he thinks Doris killed herself."
"What else can he think?"
"Anything; everything but that. Doctor Roth loved
Doris Merrick. Do you think he will not strive mightily
to vindicate her? He is a man of iron—and fire—and—
what Kenneth Jasper knows he knows."
"So be it. Listen to me, Glenn. I see that you are
burdened with some knowledge which is not yours to tell.
Whether you are bound by a promise, or by your own
sense of right and honor, I will not ask. I will ask you
nothing; I shall simply trust you. But I am more than
ever determined that Kenneth shall have every opportunity
to fathom this mystery. If the clue to Doris Merrick's
death is to be found here at Waylands every door shall
be open to him. Anything will be better than this present
state of doubt and suspense."
"Very well, mother; I will say no more, only I fear you
will regret it. Does—does Eugene know?"
"He does not. The knowledge rests between your
father, yourself now, Kenneth, of course, and myself."
"You forget. There is Doctor Roth.
"Yes, I suppose so." ^
Glenn turned and walked toward the door. "I am
going to my room, mother. Don't detain me, please.
You will find that I shall make no difficulties. I know
what to expect now. I will play my part. Never fear."
She smiled a little frosty smile and went out with erect
head and firm step.
At the foot of the stairway she encountered Eugene
Merrick, and favored him with that same frosty smile.
He paused, as if this were their first meeting for that day,
put out his hand and bent upon her his dark and hand-
some eyes with the look of deprecating appeal she had
found very fascinating long since.
"Glenn," he said, slowly releasing her hand, "I have
wanted to talk with you for—for days. Will you come
out upon the terrace for a few moments?"
There was just a moment of hesitation, and then, with-


100 NO PROOF.
out a word, Glenn turned toward the rear door opening
upon the rose-garden and the terrace beyond, and went
before him until she had reached the portico. Then she
turned, paused a moment, and walked beside him until
they were upon the terrace, when, seeing him turn
toward the rustic seat where she had last talked with
Kenneth Jasper, she said in a tone of decision:
"Not there—let us go to the little summer-house," and
turned at once in the opposite direction.
"As you like," he said. And once more she led the way.
When they were seated side by side in the arbor, which
was open upon all four sides, only the pillars at the cor-
ners and the roof above being wreathed and covered with
vines, she turned and faced' him.
"Now," she said, "what is it, Eugene?"
He bent upon her a long, sorrowful, questioning gaze,
and his face looked pathetically pale in the summer
twilight.
"Glenn," he began, in those slow, mellow tones so
charming to womankind, so expressive always, and just
now so almost hopelessly sad, "you were the one friend
whom Doris trusted and loved beyond all others; the
one in whom she would have been most likely to confide.
You were ill when I came back, and I was too distraught
to think, even had you been able to talk freely. Your
mother assured me that you knew nothing, and the doc-
tor said you must not be disturbed or agitated. But I
want to ask you now to tell me what you can—be it
little or much—concerning your last hour with my wife.
How she appeared to you—you are keen of observation—
and just what she said and did when you saw her last."
His eyes were fixed upon her face as he spoke, and
when he ceased he did not withdraw them, but held her
own with a more and more intent gaze.
For a short time she returned it in kind, then slowly
turning her face as if to see if they were observed or
likely to be interrupted, she said, composedly, and with
no apparent hesitation:
"Your request is certainly reasonable, Eugene, and quite
natural. You should not hesitate to ask for any informa-
tion concerting dear Doris th%t I can give. But I can
.

_
s


AT LEAST I AM FOREWARNED. 101
only repeat. During the day she was busy and appar-
ently happy, preparing for her journey; just the same
Doris you and I have known so well." She sighed and
her voice grew tender and tremulous, but she controlled
it as she went on. "At dinner she was as gay as usual,
and, as you have been told, she went to her room soon;
'to finish her packing,' she said. She was bent upon put-
ting your trunks into perfect order with her own hands.
She liked that sort of thing always."
"I know it," he said mournfully.
"After she left us," Glenn went on, "I became somewhat
interested in a book, and presently mamma went to the
piano and began to play the music my father likes to hear
at evening. I got up after a little and took my book
into the front drawing-room, and then, still carrying it,
went upstairs. It was nearly or quite 9 o'clock I think,
At my cousin's door I tapped, and then, thinking her in
the inner room, opened it and went in. She was sitting
at her desk, with her back toward me, and she uttered a
little exclamation as I stepped in." She paused a moment
as if to recall the scene. "I will try and tell you just what
was said," she resumed. "After her little start she bent
over her desk again and resumed her writing, and then I
said lightly, still standing a moment at the door: 'Am I
intruding, Coz? If so, I will begone. I felt myself de trap
below and thought I might help you pack.' She shook her
head. 'No,' she said, 'you can't help me,' and dipped
her pen in the ink again. 'Dear,' she said, then, with
the pen held above the paper, and slightly turning her
head, 'don't make me talk now; I want to write this letter
while I am in the mood—and I am tired.' I had
brought my book, thinking to read her some amusing
passages, but as she was not in the mood, I, of course,
bade her good-night and carried the book to my own
room, reading there until I became sleepy."
"And is that all?"
"Ah! I wish I could tell you more."
"And her looks? Tell me, was she pale or nervous—
was she different?"
"The room was dimly lighted, there being only the
adjustable lamp above her desk burning, and it was turned


ATTEND ALSO TO THE POSSIBILITIES. 103
CHAPTER XV.
"ATTEND ALSO TO THE POSSIBILITIES."
Life at Waylands in the days following upon Doris
Merrick's death was necessarily as well as naturally quiet,
and the coming of Kenneth Jasper in no way changed the
current of daily events or much enlivened the inmates,
unless, it might be, in the case of Captain Wayland, who,
by nature a social creature, and really dependent in his
leisure hours upon his surroundings for his comfort and
happiness, was much comforted by the presence in his
study, often for long hours, of his one-time ward and
cherished friend.
In truth Kenneth, while by no means shunning the
ladies, passed much time in the study, reading or writing,
talking or listening to his host, but never once forgetting
the reason of his presence under the Wayland roof.
Mrs. Wayland passed much of her time in her own
sitting-room, and Glenn now became her almost constant
companion.
It was Eugene Merrick who was least often seen in
study or drawing-room, and who passed his time, hermit-
like, in his own room, or wandering, always alone, through
the meadows to the south of Waylands or in the dense
grove back of the orchard to the west.
Since his wife's death he had paid no attention to his
business, leaving it altogether to his brisk and apparently
willing partner, and avoiding, as much as possible, visits
of condolence and those perfunctory calls which people
make at such times in the vain belief that they are helping
to make grief less bitter and the world a more cheerful
place to the mourner. He was invariably courteous and
considerate when they met him at the table, saying little,
'tis true, but by his manner indicating his desire not to be
an element of gloom when there was need for solace and
cheer. But his pale face and the look of suffering which
so often sat upon it won for him the sympathy of all, and
caused them to abet his evident desire for seclusion and
to ignore his goings and comings and occasional absence


104 NO PROOF.
from the table, even while they wondered somewhat at his
persistent shunning of all his former haunts and friends.
"Let him alone," said Roth grimly. "You can't do
him a better service. It won't hurt him if it is not carried
too far. Grief sometimes acts much like insanity upon
these intense natures. Above all, don't try to console him
—that is, by words."
At first Merrick had seemed somewhat inclined to make
an exception of Jasper and to seek to make those ad-
vances toward him that one young man naturally makes
to another under the same roof. He made what appeared
to be a polite effort at conversation at table, not saying too
much, but relaxing somewhat his customary silence, and
he lingered a little longer below-stairs than had been his
custom before Jasper's coming.
But this was not in accordance with the plans and ideas
of the latter, and he soon found opportunity to speak a
word of warning.
"I think, Merrick," he said in his most direct manner,
and he could be astonishingly direct at need—"I think we
would better not seem too social, not social at all, in fact.
It will serve my purpose best if you go on in your usual
manner and ignore me somewhat. If you even treat me
with slight coldness, not enough to cause my resentment,
of course, and let the advances come from me; only—
when I make them be sure you meet them half-way, for
there will be a reason for them, be certain."
Doris Merrick lay in the pretty cemetery something
more than a mile from Waylands, and, the doctor having
advised short morning drives for Mrs. Wayland, who
now had reasons of her own for wishing to regain her full
strength and wonted elasticity, she drove there almost
daily, carrying with her the flowers Doris had loved in
life, to place upon her grave.
Sometimes she took with her the gardener, who planted,
under her eye, white lilies and roses, starry daisies and
fragrant mignonette. Now and then Glenn drove with
her, and then they usually extended their drive beyond the
cemetery and came home by another route past what
was known as Swan's Lake, and so through the woods
home.


ATTEND ALSO TO THE POSSIBILITIES. 105
Jasper had been three days in the house when his first
real opportunity came. He was smoking upon the ter-
race that morning when' he saw the pony carriage driven
around and a moment later out through the gates, with
Mrs. Wayland lying back upon the cushions and Glenn
holding the reins. Shortly before he had seen the gar-
dener, carrying a basket of shrubs, set out on foot across
the meadow, over what he knew to be a short cut to the
cross-road near which lay the cemetery.
"Gone for a long outing," he murmured to himself.
"Now if only—" He turned short and walked toward
the house. He had seen the shutters of Merrick's cham-
ber window thrust quietly open by a bare and rounded
arm, and knew that one of the maids had invaded the
room, intent upon her morning task. He knew that the
captain was reading the morning paper upon the vine-
shaded southwest veranda and, as he had expected, he
found Merrick lounging upon the railing, listless and pale,
with his hat dangling from his hand. Nodding to the
latter, he approached the captain.
"It has just occurred to me," he said, "that I would
better drive to the village to look after those books. They
should be at hand I think. Useless to ask you to go, I
suppose, Captain?"
"Perfectly," said Captain Wayland, taking the cigar
from his mouth for a moment. "Take Eugene. It will
do him good."
But Merrick declined hastily. "I was just setting out
for my walk," he said. "If you were not going to town—
perhaps. Thank you, just the same; another time, pos-
sibly." And as Jasper turned to go to the stables he
stepped from his perch upon the veranda railing and fol-
lowed him down the steps and across the lawn, leaving
him, with! a grave nod, at the stable door.
A few moments later Jasper drove out from the car-
riage-house and around the curving drive. As he did
so he glanced across the meadow and saw Merrick going
slowly toward the grove, his head bent, his pace slow and
listless.
When he had driven around the curve and arrived at
the front the house was between the receding figure and


106 NO PROOF.
himself, and he drove out through the front gate and, mak-
ing fast his horse at the rail behind a concealing hedge,
he went back to the house and to Captain Wayland, who
glanced up in surprise as he came around the corner and
toward him.
"Captain," he said, before the other could frame a
question, "don't ask questions; time's precious; just an-
swer me. Who keeps the keys to your niece's rooms?"
"My wife."
"Can you get them?"
"Certainly."
"Well, I want them at once. But first tell me how
much have these rooms been disturbed since—since they
were left vacant?"
"Very little. The women, that is, the servants, were
all for 'cleaning up, ' as they call the overhauling of a room
where death has been—that is usual in well-regulated
houses; but I had in mind just what you no doubt have
now. I spoke to my wife, and she, fully agreeing with
me, ordered the rooms kept closed. The next day Merrick
requested that they be left undisturbed for a time, and so
they remain."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, I think Merrick has entered them once. He
evidently meant to make another visit, but he seems to
shrink from the place. He has not even removed his own
trunks."
Jasper arose quickly. "So much the better," he said.
"You did the right thing. And now, if you will get me the
keys, I will make haste with my investigations while the
coast is clear. I prefer that no one shall know of this
visit. No one, mind. By the way, are all the keys from
that room at my disposal—the trunk keys, those of the
desk, etc.?"
"Yes. My wife locked everything with her own
hand."
"When?"
"On the day—you remember, don't you—when Roth
took that pistol and asked where he should place it?"
"Yes."
"Well, when you locked it in the trunk my wife turned


ATTEND ALSO TO THE -POSSIBILITIES. 107
the keys in all the other things that had been unlocked by
herself or the girl Martha, and so they stayed until Mer-
rick came; then, upon second thought, she went in the
morning and unlocked the desk, feeling that he had the
right to examine it. She also told him that she had
locked all and had the keys."
Jasper's face wore a shade of perplexity. 'Did you
say that Mrs. Wayland unlocked the desk for Merrick?"
"Yes; she unlocked it. I objected a'little."
"Of course, being a lawyer." Jasper smiled. "Now, we
are losing time; the keys, please; I hear that girl coming
downstairs."
When they were placed in his hand he said: "Now,
I think I have a clear hour, which ought to be enough;
but I must ask you to stand guard down here and if by
any chance the ladies or Merrick come back unexpectedly
let me know it in time to get out and downstairs. From
this point you can see them both at a considerable dis-
tance."
"I'll take care of all that."
"And that girl—can't you keep her down here upon
some pretext?"
The captain thought fast. "Wait one moment," he
said, and went to the front entrance. Stepping within,
he rang an inside bell, which was promptly answered by
Martha.
"Martha, did my wife tell you about the work in her
rooms?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Well, you tell that girl Jennie to leave the upper rooms
until Mrs. W. comes back and to attend to her rooms
instead."
While he was giving this order Jasper ran lightly up-
stairs, whistling softly, and with a look of utmost uncon-
cern. But this look left his face when he stood within
the rooms he by this time knew quite well. Locking the
door on the inside, he withdrew the key, a precaution
most would have thought quite needless. But one of
Jasper's mottoes, or rules, by which he was wont to gov-
ern his affairs was, "Never neglect the simplest precaution


108 NO PROOF.
when the stake is worth winning." And he meant to win
this stake.
Looking about him he espied a small table which sup-
ported a little statuette, and, removing this, he lifted the
table from its corner, placed it close beside the door and
laid the key upon the soft plush scarf which covered it.
Then he turned the guard over the keyhole and was
ready for his work.
The rooms were in partial darkness, and he went about,
his feet making no sound, over the thick carpets and rugs,
drawing back the window draperies and opening the slats
of the inner shutters. When he found the light sufficient
he went at once to the writing-desk and minutely inspected
the lock, opening and closing it, examining its mechanism
and closely scrutinizing the key. Finally, without glanc-
ing at the contents, he closed the lid and turned away.
"I would give something," he said to himself, "to know
why Merrick told me that desk was closed, if Mrs. Way-
land really did unlock it. However, a simple question
may solve that little problem."
He took up the dainty beribboned waste-basket and
looked at it intently, turning it about and upside down,
much as Merrick must have done according to his de-
scription of the act.
It was empty and told him nothing.
Then he went to the fireplace, examined it again, as
Merrick might have done, looked at the little fire-screen,
and made his second comment.
"Nothing there now, but it's easy to see how those
scraps of paper might have been lodged here, just as he
says."
Next he turned to the trunks.
When he had again opened the first one he stood up,
looking down into it and shaking his head.
"I can't do it," he muttered. "And besides, there's no
need. These trunks, if my theory is right, were packed
before—before the blow fell. I would take but one thing
from these, and it's not here."
He bent a moment over the tray and then closed the lid.
The three trunks still stood side by side against the
west wall. He passed by the second one and turned the


ATTEND ALSO TO THE POSSIBILITIES, 109
key in the third, glancing over the contents of the tray
and again closing the lid, with a shake of the head.
"After all," he thought, "I believe I must ask Mrs. Way-
land to look through them. It looks improbable, but it
ts possible." For another rule, which he now followed
instinctively, but which in later life he formulated in words
and adopted as one of his tenets, was, "Attend also to the
possibilities."
"And now," thought he, "for the desk." Again he
opened the lid and looked within. "As I live!" he said,
almost aloud, "I believe it has been molested."
When he had first examined the desk in search of Eu-
gene Merrick's city address, and with the sense of the
mystery fresh and strong upon him, he had been sorely
tempted to look, then, for more than the thing he had
come to find, for already his mind was busy with "pos-
sibilities" and theories. But it was only a momentary
temptation. He had not been given the authority, with-
out which such a search would have been a breach of
confidence of which he was incapable. But he could not
help noting the arrangement of the pretty desk, and he
had even allowad himself to leave two or three of those
trifling clues which, seeming as nothing to the uninitiated,
would yet tell him at once whether another hand had
stirred the contents which seemed so carelessly placed,
and a second look now assured him that another hand had
touched the lightly dropped cards and the carelessly
heaped sheets of paper which must have been removed
before the desk could have been well examined.
He went about his work rapidly, and when he had
fully sifted the material before him he had, for his pains,
laid aside upon the top of the desk two items, which, to
judge from his face as he examined them, he considered
of value and interest.
The first was a square sheet of rose-tinted blotting
paper, quite fresh and yet bearing marks of usage. This
he had set aside after examining half a dozen other sheets,
all older and all dotted and lined with a network of ink-
tracing. He had looked at it long and with increasing
gravity, not to say sternness, and had finally put it aside
with a look of satisfaction.


110 NO PROOF.
The second article looked very insignificant. It was
a small bit of brown tissue-paper, possibly four or five
inches square, with the corners gathered up and carefully
twirled and inclosing something small and flat in its
wrinkled folds. Jasper had found it far back in the cor-
ner of a small drawer, from which, before reaching it, he
had removed some blank cards, two packages of envel-
opes, and several tiny tablets of thin note-paper.
He had taken it from the drawer carelessly; it seemed
a mere fragment of twisted paper then, but pressing it
between his thumb and finger his look of indifference
swiftly changed to one of expectancy, of eagerness, and
he hastily unrolled the twisted corners and spread open
the paper. In the center lay two or three small, oblong
folded papers, druggist's powders, in fact, and Jasper made
haste to open one of these and take upon his finger-tip
a grain of the fine white powder within.
Taking from his pocket a small magnifying-glass, he
first scrutinized the powder through this, and then 1 )ok
it upon his tongue, making at once a wry face and nod-
ding his head vigorously.
"I thought so!" he ejaculated. And th^n, looking again
at the tiny white powder, "Yes, I am quite sure. It is
too small to be—anything else."
He opened each of the remaining powders and, finding
them like the first, began at once to look about the desk
and upon the floor on either side of it. It stood out just
a tiny space from the wall, and suddenly he caught at the
sides and pulled it away completely.
"Ah!" He caught his breath as he pounced upon a
tiny white paper, perfectly like those containing the pow-
ders, but open and empty, and this he made haste to put
with the others.
"A very good morning's work, I am inclined to think,"
he assured himself, as he carefully replaced the contents
of the little drawer.
He had found very little in the desk—one or two pack-
ets of school-girl letters, already quite yellow, some photo-
graphs, evidently of the same date, and doubtless con-
signed to the obilivion of the desk because of the "out-
of-date" workmanship and fashion. There was a large


ATTEND ALSO TO THE POSSIBILITIES. Ill
packet of letters from Glenn to her cousin and another
of those written by the captain and Mrs. Wayland. There
were three or four journals, dating back half a dozen
years and more, some copies of poems and a quantity
of clippings of the same sort, and there was abundance
of writing material, fresh and fin de siecle, two or three
dainty blank-books, some autographs, cards, invitations,
programmes, and so on; but of letters, or any sort of doc-
ument bearing recent date, not one.
Jasper looked at his watch, closed the desk, and put the
two "finds" carefully away in a capacious pocketbook,
folding the blotter with care to make it fit, and then he
cast a last glance around the two rooms. Evidently his
search was over.
But there was still something to be done, and before
doing" it he went to the window looking toward the south-
east road and looked out. But there was no pony car-
riage in sight, and he turned back, with a shrug of im-
patience at his own folly.
Taking something from an inner pocket of the loose
coat he wore, he approached the trunk which stood mid-
way between the other two that had belonged to Doris
Merrick and, fitting the key which he seemed to have held
in readiness into the lock, lifted the lid.
Yes, there it lay, in the left-hand corner, just where
Mrs. Wayland, at Doctor Roth's suggestion, had directed
him to place it, and it was only the work of a moment
to substitute for the pistol which had lain beside Doris
Merrick's dead hand, and which bore the initials G. W., the
weapon he had taken, almost by force, from the living
hand of Glenn Wayland—and when it was done, the tell-
tale pistol concealed upon his person, and the trunk closed
and relocked, Jasper drew a long sighing breath of relief.
"At least," he muttered, "that will not turn up inop-
portunely to cause question, suspicion, or, who knows,
accusation perhaps." He crossed the dressing-room and,
standing in the curtained doorway between the two rooms,
looked about him for the last time.
"Curious," he said to himself; "those trunks are almost
alike, and the locks look precisely so, and yet why, with
all the other keys left in evidence, should these two keys


113 NO PROOF.
be missing, or at least absent? Ah!" He suddenly
crossed to the trunk in the corner, between two windows,
both of which, as he knew, were usually kept open in
summer. The trunk was a large and heavy affair, set
upon rollers, which, he found, after a trial or two, did not
work, and after looking down for a moment at the lid,
noting the heavy bands and strong clasps and hinges, he
stooped quickly, caught at one of the handles, and with
a strong tug lifted one end from the floor and left the
trunk standing upon the other. Then, with a smoth-
ered ejaculation, he stooped and picked up from the floor,
where the trunk but now stood, first a key and next a
small scrap of note-paper.
The scrap of paper corresponded exactly with the one
taken up from the floor of the dressing-room. But the
key—it was unlike any of the other keys upon the key-
ring given him by Mrs. Wayland. It was unlike any key
he had ever seen. As he looked at it his lips set them-
selves in firm lines, his face grew hard and stern. "Ah!"
he said to himself, "here is an important possibility!"
And he put the key carefully away between the leaves of
a fat little note-book.

CHAPTER XVI.
"I WANT SOME INFORMATION."
As he stood with the little book still in his hand, there
came a soft tap at the door of the outer room, and Jasper
went hastily to it.
"Well?" he questioned, storing away the new discoveries
with a quick hand.
"Merrick has just come out from the wood. If you
want to get out and around the curve before he comes you
have no time to lose."
Jasper sprang back into the dressing-room, replaced
the trunk in its original position, and was quickly back
and outside the chamber.
.


I WANT SOME INFORMATION. 113
"Lock the door," he said, dropping the key in -his
friend's hand and running downstairs. "I'm off."
Captain Wayland closed and locked the chamber door,
and followed him more leisurely, reaching the entrance
door in time to see Jasper fling the tie-rein into the light
road-wagon and spring in after it. "How quick he is on his
feet," he said, with a spark of admiration in the look
which followed the fast-vanishing wagon and driver, and
which changed to a sigh of regret as he glanced down
at his own robust person; "and I'll wager the fellow has
found something. It was in his face when he first showed
it through the half-open door. I wonder—" And here
he broke off and went back to his shaded corner and
his morning paper. "He's been up there nearly an hour,"
he muttered, as he sat down and listlessly took up the
paper he had dropped when Merrick came out and joined
him, and then he turned to glance across the meadow,
where Merrick was coming slowly toward the house.
"Wonder what brings him back so soon?" he mused.
He could not see the road by which Jasper was now mak-
ing haste villageward, but he no longer heard the roll of
the wheels upon the hard ground, and guessed that he
was already beyond the curve.
The young man's drive into the village was not meant
to be a fruitless one. He went straight to the doctor's
office, and a look of disappointment was plainly visible
upon the face he turned upon his friend, who sat before
the door in his spider buggy, holding the restless horse
in check and evidently awaiting his approach.
"Confound it!" Kenneth exclaimed, "must you go away
just now?"
"On the contrary," smiled the doctor. "I must go in,
if that boy ever makes his appearance to take my horse.
Anything important?"
He jumped from the buggy as he spoke, and Kenneth
at once followed his example, saying:
"That's as you may think. I suppose you can give me
a few minutes?"
Roth nodded, and as the boy came at that moment
around the corner, the two turned to go within.
"Don't take the mare out," Jasper said over his shoul-


114 NO PROOF.
der. "Make her fast where she stands, and look out for
her heels." And he followed his friend, who was already
across the threshold.
It was their first meeting, save in the presence of
others, since Jasper had taken up his seemingly hopeless
task, for the doctor was a busy man, and had given his
time to the affairs at Wayland at the expense of other
claims and interests, yet gave it willingly, and Jasper was
eager to hear his comments upon the present situation,
for he meant to be quite frank with the doctor, knowing
that his knowledge of the case, as well as his loyalty to the
family at Wayland, entitled him to the same. More than
this, Jasper knew that in all probability he should need,
more than once, such aid as Roth, and only Roth, could
render. In fact he meant to come at once to as complete
an understanding with his friend as that friend would
allow. And he lost no time in making a beginning.
"Shut that door, won't you, Roth?" he said, as he paused
beneath the portiere the doctor held back to admit him
to the inner room. "I'm thankful to find you in, for I
want to have this matter out with you at a sitting."
"Very good," said the doctor briefly, and favoring his
visitor with one of those keen, swift glances which read
so much in a moment and were so discomfiting to some
of his patients. "Make yourself comfortable." And he
passed on to an inner room, coming back in a moment
divested of his out-of-door gear and with a box of cigars
in his hand. These he opened without a word, and then,
drawing a straight-backed chair toward the window at
which Jasper had seated himself, he held out the box of
cigars, and when his guest had selected one, seated him-
self and proceeded to light his own.
"Now," he said, "if you don't mean to light your weed,
begin."
"I'll light mine later; just now I want to talk—and to
hear you talk; and, first, what is this?"
He took from his pocket the little twist of tissue-paper,
opened it with a twirl of his agile fingers, and held one
of the white powder-papers out before him upon the palm
of his hand.
The doctor put the tip of a forefinger to his lips and

•


I WANT SOME INFORMATION. 115
then to the contents of the paper, glanced at it, touched
it with his tongue, and spat viciously.
"Bah! It's a very good quality of sulphate of morphia
—morphine."
"I thought so."
"Where, may I ask, did you get that?"
"This, and the other," indicating the remaining pow-
ders, "I found while searching Doris Merrick's writing
desk. The little parcel was tucked back in the far corner
of a small drawer, which was partly filled with stationery,
cards, etc."
"When?"
"Less than an hour ago."
"So," said the doctor, after a moment of silence; "I was
sure you would go into it. Do you, perhaps, fancy those
things some of my prescribing?"
"Upon my word," declared Kenneth, "I never thought
of that." And then the two men smiled -into each other's
eyes in perfect mutual confidence. "Perhaps," Kenneth
went on, "you won't mind telling me how strong a dose
one of these contains?"
Roth glanced again at the powder still in Jasper's hand.
"Enough to put you to sleep and keep you so twelve
hours at least," said the doctor."
"Good!"
"I'm glad you think so. What else did you discover?"
"I'll tell you later. Just now I want your opinion of
present conditions. Precisely, what do you think of my
undertaking?"
"You were bound to do it—of course. One could see
that from the first."
"Well—grant that; and you, what is your opinion? Do
you approve?"
The doctor's face became grave and stern. He was
silent a long moment; then, "Yes," he said deliberately,
"I do—now. It had to come to this. No one could rest
with such a mystery fairly eating up the mind and clamor-
ing for a solution. It's to be a private investigation, I
take it?"
"Of course. As you say, we couldn't let the thing rest.


116 NO PROOF.
I want to tell you just how we stand, Doctor; and—I want
you, at need, to help me."
The doctor nodded soberly, then, as Kenneth was about
to speak, he threw up his hand.
"One moment. Captain Wayland—does he know what
you are about to do?"
"Captain Wayland has given me carte blanche. He
is not even to know what I am doing until I choose to
enlighten him. Do you think I would take up such a
delicate job on any other terms? And—is that sat-
isfactory?"
"Yes. You have taken the right course."
"I have taken the only course. There is no other.
Now—"
"Now, tell me your story."
"That means—"
"Look here, Jasper! That you can trust me you have
my assurance—if you need it. That we shall agree at
all points I am not so sure."
"I won't ask impossibilities, Doc; and now I'll tell you
how I stand."
He rapidly reviewed his interviews with Merrick and
the captain and the promise he had given to each, and he
finished with an account of his search in Doris Merrick's
rooms.
But he did not at all points indulge in details with
even this chosen friend.
"I can see," commented the doctor, when all was told,
"how it might seem best to you to keep your dealings with
Merrick from Wayland, and vice versa, but I must say
I do not see where either of them could have found the
motive for doubting the other, unless, indeed, each, in his
eagerness to fix the blame somewhere, if only to afford
his mind and imagination some relief, has settled upon the
scape-goat nearest at hand. Can you see an atom of
reason in either charge?"
"Well—" Jasper hesitated a moment. "I suppose
that many a case has been worked to a solution with no
more foundation in the way of circumstantial evidence
than that tale of the burglars about the place, and the
pistol habitually carried by the captain in his walks after


118 NO PROOF.
eyes gleaming strangely, his face pale. "Jasper," he said
hoarsely, "as a physician I can see how such a nature
as Doris Merrick's, suddenly confronted with some terri-
ble shock, sorrow, or loss, might, in the despair of the mo-
ment, and with the weapon close to hand, take her own
life, but it was never because of sin or shame of hers.
Whether she died by her own hand or by the hand of
another, she died a martyr! And the man or woman who
casts one shadow upon her fair name before the world is
my enemy henceforth!"
"Roth, I understand you, I respect the feeling behind
your words, and this effort of mine is made because Doris
Merrick's friends can not rest content until they know
the truth, which they believe will be her vindication.
There is no judge, jury, court or gaping public behind
this attempt at clearing up a mystery, and should I suc-
ceed, and in the end hold in my hand the key to the
strange affair, it will be my secret and yours, and after
that the property of those who in love or justice have
the right to possess it; and we who are her friends will
decide then how much farther our knowledge should be
allowed to go. It is to vindicate Doris Merrick and one
other that I have attempted this work."
"And one other?" The doctor came a step nearer. "I
think we understand each other, Jasper," he said in a
milder tone. "You may count on me, of course."
"Then I must ask of you what I have already demanded
of Wayland and Merrick. You are to expect no con-
fidences and ask no questions. I am to call upon you for
aid at need, and I will say frankly that you will be likely
to hear much more of my doings than will either of the
others, for reasons which must be obvious to you."
"Yes?"
Jasper drew a chair close to the one lately occupied
by the other and placed himself in it.
"Sit down," he said. "I am going to take you at your
word at once. I want some information."



WHAT THE POWDER MIGHT DO. 119
CHAPTER XVII.
WHAT THE POWDER MIGHT DO.
The doctor seated himself once more and bent upon the
younger man a grave and expectant look. At the mo-
ment Jasper was the more controlled and composed of
the two. He reached out his hand and took up one of
the powders from the little table where he had placed
them after the doctor had examined them.
"I want to know the effect of one of these upon a person
not accustomed to the drug," he said.
Doctor Roth took the tiny paper, looked at it again
and carefully smoothed out the particles, spreading them
loosely upon the paper.
"Is it a fatal dose?" asked Jasper.
"For a child, a young child, yes. For an adult, only a
strong soporific."
"Taken by a person who was about to retire, how long
would it hold him asleep?"
"You must be more definite. It would hardly affect
two persons in just the same manner. A strong, nervous
temperament, say of a robust man, would not sleep so
long as one less strong. A weary person, or one taking
the drug at the end of a fatiguing day, would sleep all
night if the drug were taken early, and perhaps would
need to be awakened in the morning."
"I see. Now tell me—how would this powder affect,
say Miss Wayland, if taken at g or 10 o'clock p. m.?"
The doctor looked at him in silence for a moment. "I
see your meaning," he said slowly, "and—yes, her late
sleep and subsequent illness might have been the result
of one of these very powders. Mind, I do not say it was."
"May I ask you how you diagnosed the case that
morning?"
"I suspected morphine, I admit, and it surprised me,
for I knew that Miss Wayland was sure to be affected,
after the dose had reached its secondary stage, just as she
was affected that day; and she knew it."
"Ah!" There was a sudden gleam in the young man's


120 NO PROOF.
eyes and he leaned toward the other. "I see. And know-
ing this, you at once seized upon the idea that there must
have been a strong motive, an urgent need for a sedative
to induce her to submit to what she knew must follow
the desired sleep, or oblivion?"
Roth was silent.
"And this," went on Jasper, "coupled with my discovery
of that pistol with the initials upon it, seemed to you to bo
at least—"
"Stop!" the doctor said sternly. "Jasper, if these two
facts had appeared to you as they did to me, almost simul-
taneously, and in the case of any other than Glenn Way-
land, you would have been the first man to couple the two
and make them the foundation of a rigid inquiry. Many
an arrest has been made with less foundation for suspicion
than this. For myself, I have tried not to think of these
two facts in connection. I am a friend to Captain and
Mrs. Wayland. I have known Glenn Wayland since her
childhood." His low, deep voice grew more intense and
his face was set in hard, strong lines as he went on. "But
Doris Grey—-you know it, Jasper—was the one fair
woman in all the world to me, and if I should be forced
to believe that Glenn Wayland was in any way responsible
for her death I would denounce her if she were my own
sister!"
With the first words of this outburst, Kenneth Jasper's
face had grown now hot and angry, and then deadly pale,
haughtily set. But before the climax had been reached he
had himself under complete control and was smiling
somewhat bitterly when Roth, with clenched hands and
sternly set.lips, threw himself back in his chair and turned
his face to the window.
"If I needed an incentive to work, as no man ever
worked before, what you have just said would supply me
with it. Not that the idea is a new one. It was the
possibility of this that weighed the heaviest in the scale
of my decision when I promised to take up the case, all
inexperienced as I am. I knew where a practical, un-
imaginative city sleuth would bring up if called into the
case. Fortunately in these cases a motive is needed to
complete the chain of evidence."


WHAT THE POWDER MIGHT DO. 121
"A motive!" ejaculated Roth, and then suddenly he
checked himself, and his next words were in quite another
tone. "Kenneth, if you should, after all, find Glenn Way-
land guilty what would you do?"
"Pshaw! Impossible."
"But if you should? Suppose the case."
"If I should I would come to you and tell you the
truth. It would be your due. Then I would destroy
every fragment of evidence, if I held such, and Winston
would see me no more."
Once more the doctor got up and strode up and down
the room, biting his underlip and clenching and unclench-
ing his hands. His face, at first expressive of anxiety,
uncertainty, strong and painful stress of mind, changed
finally to stern decision, and, wearing this look, he went
back to the surprised Jasper, and standing before him,
said:
"It's of no use, Ken; I must have it out with myself
and let you see me as I am in all my weakness. I have
brooded over this thing until sometimes I fear to trust
myself. Perhaps the case will look less strong, less ter-
rible, when I no longer feel that I alone am withholding
the hateful doubt and fear, the awful possibility, from those
who have the first right to know, yet who would die of
the knowledge. I have fought against it, have tried to
drive it out, but the outline, the shape of an awful possi-
bility has taken hold of me and tortured me until it will
be a relief to tell it. Will you listen and not interrupt?
It is what that other, that city sleuth, might discover if he
ever comes into the case."
"Go on," said Jasper, with no sign of his amazement
and anxiety in his face or voice; "I will hold my peace."
"I have not told you all of the possibilities, all of the
facts, as they strung themselves together in my reluctant
mind and forced me to listen, to entertain them. Have
you thought of Mrs. Craig's will?"
"Of Mrs. Craig's will?"
"Have you forgotten that eccentric old lady? Oh! I
remember; you were working for your diploma when she
made her last appearance at Winston. But did not the
captain tell or write you of her visit?"


122 NO PROOF.

"I do not recall it. I think not."
"Strange—and yet—"
"Of course," broke in Kenneth, "I knew the captain
had a sister older than himself, who married against the
wishes of her family, lived a hard life for a few years, and
then lost her husband through some railway disaster."
"Say whisky disaster. The man was run down by a fast
train while too drunk to get off the rails." _,
"Yes, yes. Did not she sue the railway company and
actually get a number of thousands of dollars for him?"
"She did, and with it went west, cut a dash, and captured
a mining magnate, who shortly after their marriage died
of miners' fever, whatever that may be, and left her a rich
widow. Well, she came here a year ago, when you were
bidding farewell to alma mater, and after a short acquaint-
ance with the two girls declared her intention to leave her
fortune to Doris, because she fancied that Doris looked
like what she had been in her youth—which could not
have been, I am sure—and to Doris alone, because the
only promise exacted of her by her dying husband was
that she would never divide his fortune, but pass it on,
as he had left it, intact to her heir. You must have been
told of this?"
"Possibly," with a touch of impatience in his voice. "If
so, I never thought of it again. And so you have added
to your other points against Glenn Wayland the proba-
bility, to you, that she coveted her cousin's prospective
fortune?" smiling in secure skepticism.
But the doctor was still intent upon what he had to tell,
and he took no heed of the other's lighter tone.
"You can't weigh the case fairly, Kenneth, without
taking into consideration the possibility which has forced
itself upon me, and would have been equally patent to
you but for your utter blindness where Glenn is con-
cerned. Shall I go on?"
With a strong effort Jasper forced the reluctance, the
skepticism, out of his face and voice.
"You are right, Roth," he said frankly. "I have no
right to be biased by my prejudices for or against; and it
is my duty to hear anything that you, a man of keen judg-
ment, and a friend of the family, may have to say. Go on."


WHAT THE POWDER MIGHT DO. 123
"I may as well confess to you that my first suspicion
of Glenn Wayland was aroused when we were called to
her bedside and found her in that unaccountable stupor,
and from that moment my mind worked almost without
my will. Glenn Wayland, a strong, active girl, in perfect
health, and always an early riser, on this morning, of all
others, the morning of her cousin's sudden death, is found
so fast asleep that she can hardly be aroused, long after
her usual waking hour. I at once connected the two, and
I will confess that when I followed her father to her room
I expected to find her sleep a sham, but her appearance
told me another story. I am taxing your patience, Ken.
Let me put the cold facts into briefer, colder words. I
could not soften them if I would. Here are two lovely
girls who have grown up together like sisters, devoted
to each other, and with nothing to mar their friendship.
But a little more than a year ago they are made to feel
that they have been weighed, contrasted, and one is chosen
to inherit a fortune which but for her would have been
the other's. Yes, I know what you would say; Glenn
will have her mother's money, but it will not be half the
sum that Mrs. Craig would have left to Doris. That
was a year ago, and if there was any disappointment on the
part of the one, the other never knew it, I am sure. And
then came another trial of their friendship. Eugene Mer-
rick came to Winston, and if you had not been on that tour
of yours and so much of your time in the city later, you
would have known that all Winston had picked him out
for Glenn; that he sought her first, and that many be-
lieved, and still believe, that she cared for him."
"Do you?" shot in Jasper.
"I did, and do; pardon me for saying it. If you had
been here you would have seen it as I and others did.
Merrick was and is a fascinating fellow; few heart-free
girls would be able to resist his blandishments, and at
first it was Glenn whom he sought. Doris was visiting
some school friends when Merrick first appeared in Win-
ston society. He was already on the footing of a friend
of the family at Waylands when she returned and they
met. I must admit that Glenn—"
"Pardon me, Roth!" Jasper sprang to his feet, with


124 NO PROOF.
flushed cheeks and eyes that were hard and unwavering.
"You have made out your case; spare me the rest and let
me go. It is quite clear to me. Doris Grey first came
between her cousin and her fortune and then deprived her
of a lover, and for this she was shot by that cousin, who,
leaving her pistol, goes to her room and takes a dose of
morphine to ward off a night of remorse and induce sleep
until the discovery should have been made. It's an in-
genious theory, and it would no doubt be adopted at
once by the average professional. It is doubtless because
I am such a mere novice that I am able to see certain dis-"
crepancies in the evidence. You will excuse me if I drop
this discussion for the present. I—I am expected at Way-
lands."
He made a quick stride toward the door, but the tall,
wiry figure of the doctor interposed between it and him.
"Kenneth!" The tone was reproachful, gentle, almost
humble. It brought the younger man first to a stop and
then to a realization of his own folly and weakness, but
he could bear no more, and he faced the elder man with a
look of boyish pleading.
"Pardon me, old man, but I must go. Don't detain me."
"I won't. Only—think it over, Ken, and ask yourself
is all this easy to bear for me?"
"Lord forgive me, Roth. I'm a selfish brute. Good-
by for now. I don't want to be a bigger fool than I have
been," and he sought his friend's hand, wrung it fiercely,
and darted away.
CHAPTER XVIII.
"DO YOU THINK SHE WILL LET ME SPEAK?"
In the days to come, when Kenneth Jasper was known
to a large and select circle of chiefs of police, heads of
bureaus, lawyers, judges, and business men, he was ac-
counted one of the most methodical, the most rational
workers in his line, as well as the most successful, and
these traits, inherent in his nature, stood him in good
stead now as he drove away from the doctor's office, at


DO YOU THINK SHE WILL LET ME SPEAK? 125
once troubled, indignant, apprehensive, and stubbornly
loyal.
He knew far better than could his informant the serious-
ness of the charges which might be brought against Glenn
Wayland, and he shuddered at the thought of the girl's
midnight visit to her cousin's room, and of her words to
him as they sat upon the terrace. But never for one in-
stant would he permit himself to doubt her. That she
knew something which she was holding back he felt as-
sured, and he could not imagine what this something
might be, but it was no guilty knowledge, he declared
to himself again and again as he drove from the doctor's
office to the door of his aunt's cottage, tied his horse, and
let himself in with a latch-key.
He had little fear of surveillance at Waylands, and he
did not doubt a single inmate; still he would run no risks,
and the scraps of paper obtained from Merrick, together
with certain notes and comments, jotted down for his fu-
ture use and to relieve his memory from an unnecessary
burden, had been left in the cottage, snugly tucked away
in a certain little hiding-place contrived by himself in his
roomy davenport.
His first intention in coming to the cottage this morn-
ing had been to place the powder and the sheet of pink
blotting paper alongside the other "documents in the
case," and he wanted, too, or thought he did, an oppor-
tunity to face and put down the tumult of anger, amaze-
ment, and anxiety which the doctor's deductions had
aroused in him. But, somehow, when he found himself
alone in his den, his mood changed, and instead of finding
himself disturbed and anxious to argue the case out with
himself, he found himself eager to begin aggressively, and
push every point, instead of waiting the turn of events
and studying his case from all possible points of view.
A few days since he had said, "We must not lose a
possible advantage by too much haste; we must let this
matter work out slowly; let our ideas clarify," and he said
it with no indefinite idea of how he proposed, in due time,
to begin the work.
But all this was changed. He might have worked
slowly, yet none the less faithfully, to unravel the secret


126 NO PROOF.
.
of Doris Merrick's death for Doris Merrick's sake; but he
must vindicate Glenn Wayland's honor at once—at once!
It might greatly hasten the result; it might even compli-
cate and add to the difficulties of the case, but he could not
be idle now, and so, putting behind him with a strong
will the remembrance of Roth and his hateful suggestions,
he opened wide his desk and spread out upon it a handful
of long, slim blue slips, upon which, in his own fashion,
he had tabulated his case.
The items were fragmentary, and, for the most part,
jotted down in shorthand, while for the names of the
persons concerned he had substituted initials, not of the
names, but of the letters standing next the proper initial
in the alphabet. Thus, for Doris Merrick, or D. M., he
had written E. N. for W. X., and for G. H.
Drawing his chair to the desk, he took up the first slip.
It contained an account of the discovery of the dead girl
and of the part he had taken in it. It was tersely written,
yet with strict attention to the small details which might
easily have been forgotten when recalling the affair after
a lapse of days, or- even hours, full of action.
With lips set in firm lines, he bent his brow upon the
work before him, with a look of sternness and resolution
that would have been a revelation of character to many
who knew him well, as the world and society knows its
own, but who had never seen behind the conventional
mask, never "scratched the Russian," and so reached the
"Tartar" in most of us so close to the surface. He read on,
slowly, carefully, with here and there a pause, as if bent
upon finding some new meaning in the phrases before him,
which must already have become as familiar as "an old
wife's tale," seeing how constantly he had dwelt upon
it by night and by day. When he had reached the end of
the first slip, he put it carefully down at his left, securing it
in its place with a paper-weight, took from a tiny compart-
ment in the desk a morocco-covered note-book, and
opened it at a page numbered to accord with certain fig-
ures at the head of the long blue slip.
This page was headed "Theories," and beneath was
written:


DO YOU THINK SHE WILL LET ME SPEAK? 127
The Captain's Theory.—Suicide perhaps, or else that D. M.,
while trying on her bridal dress, had discovered an attempt at
burglary, at her window, perhaps, and in a frantic attempt at
self-defense had somehow shot herself. Or, possibly, while
standing near the bed, and about to place the weapon beneath
the pillow, it had discharged itself, perhaps through careless
handling, and the victim may have fallen back upon the bed,
dying, as found.
On the opposite page was written:
Theory First.—Impossible. No one could reach windows
without a ladder from the ground, or a rope let down from
roof. No ladder had been used, as condition of ground plainly
shows.
Theory Second.—Ditto. No entrance has been made through
window, as proved by dust upon ledges, and by condition of
screens and fastenings.
Going back to the first page, the next entry read:
Mrs. W.'s Theory. Suicide. Cause unknown.
Then came:
Miss W.'s Theory.—Suicide.
Doctor R.'s Theory.—Murder or suicide. If suicide, caused
by sudden shock and loss of reason.
E. M.'s Theory.—Murder.
There were no comments opposite these last "theories,"
and a grim smile relaxed the face bent over the entries.
Then he put the book aside and began to scan the other
strips of blue paper. Each paper bore at its top a name,
and then followed a minute account of the doings of the
individual in question during the day previous to and the
night following the death of Doris Merrick. There were
eight of these strips, and they contained the names of all
who had been in the house or of the family at Waylands
at the date of said death.
When Jasper had scanned these strips, as carefully as if
it were for the first time, he drew toward him a blank let-
ter-pad and took up his pen.
"A pretty state of affairs," he said to himself. "Here
am I assured by the husband that the uncle and guardian
is a reasonable object of suspicion; assured by the uncle
and guardian that the husband is the one who could throw
light upon the mystery if he would; and here is Doctor
Roth, pointing out in the most cold-blooded and plausible


128 NO PROOF.
fashion that I dare not and can not ignore the facts that
point to a fair young girl as a possible murderess. Pos-
sible to him, that is! Not to me."
He tilted back his revolving chair and clasped his hands
behind his head.
"There's nothing more to be gotten from the captain or
Mrs. Wayland," he soliloquized. "Of that I am con-
vinced. If I am right, they know nothing more. If Mer-
rick is right, they will know how to hold their tongues.
But Merrick, in my opinion, is wrong. Let me see; there
arc three people who can tell me something yet, possibly.
If I only knew where to begin," he ejaculated testily; and
then for a good half-hour he sat and thought, scarcely
moving, and with his eyes fixed upon vacancy. Then
suddenly he let his feet down to the floor, unclasped his
hands, and brought his chair to a level.
"It is no use," he muttered, getting up. "I must begin
and probe this matter as much as I dare, and can. And
I must take the risk of making a wrong start. It looks
as if I had a good fortnight's work right there at Way-
lands." And he gathered up his slips of paper and care-
fully arranged and locked his desk.
When he drove through the gate at Waylands, and
around the curving drive, he saw that the captain's favorite
seat upon the piazza was vacant, and as he passed the
house he saw, at the farthest end, Mrs. Wayland and her
daughter, both standing, and seemingly in conversation
with the gardener, who held in the hollow of one bent
arm a large potted rose-tree. Evidently they were choos-
ing yet more flowers for that new-made grave.
He came back from the stables a moment later by a
short cut across the grass, not wishing to pass too near
the ladies, and intent upon reaching his room unchal-
lenged. And then, with his foot poised to step from the
grass to the gravel, at the first of the piazza steps, he
paused for just a perceptible moment.
Sitting in the shaded corner of the piazza, and entirely
screened from those upon the terrace, or indeed from any,
save as they might stand, as did Jasper, at the very piazza
steps, was Eugene Merrick. He had half-lifted himself
from a reclining chair and was looking up into the face



DO YOU THINK SHE WILL LET ME SPEAK? 129
of the second housemaid, who seemed just in the act of
depositing at his elbow a pitcher of something in which
the ice tinkled musically.
He caught the sound, but not the meaning, of the few
low-spoken words which fell from Merrick's lips as he
turned his gaze from the girl's face to the tray with its re-
freshing contents; neither did he hear her half-whispered
reply, but the look upon her face and the quick color
which flew into it caused him a. momentary start, and then,
suppressing a grim smile, he put his foot down with a
sharp crunching sound upon the ground and mounted the
steps.
At the first sound the girl moved quickly away, but
Merrick, with one hand upon the pitcher, turned languidly
toward the newcomer.
"Oh!" he said, without stirring, "you are back from your
drive, Jasper. Have a sip of lemon-water? There's no
sugar in it. I could hardly convince that girl that sugar-
less lemon is a proper drink," and he poured out and
proffered a glass to Jasper, who had seated himself upon
the rail of the piazza, where he sat and talked indifferently
for some moments. Then, seeing Mrs. Wayland coming
from the terrace alone, he stepped from his perch and went
to meet her, pausing beside her upon the path, some paces
removed from the place where Merrick sat behind the
vines, and quite out of earshot.
"Mrs. Wayland," he said in a low tone, "I want to ask
you to oblige me by losing the keys of Mrs. Merrick's
rooms for, say a couple of days; that is, if they should be
called for in the meantime." Their eyes met, and he knew
at once that she understood.
"I think it can be managed," she replied, and then her
eyes followed his, which had turned toward that part of
the terrace where Glenn was now pacing slowly and
with bent head.
"Do you think," he said, meeting her eyes again, "that
she will let me speak to her?"
"I wish you would try," said the mother, and, holding
his eyes with her own, "I wish you would give me an
opportunity to talk with you a little—privately."
"Gladly, and at your own pleasure,"


130 NO PROOF.
"It must seem a chance interview. Could you not drive
with me to the cemetery to-morrow?"
"Why not this afternoon?" He looked away across the
terrace to where the gardener was still busy with his roses.
"Was not that tall bush I saw in Saunders' hands meant
for the cemetery?"
"Yes."
"Then I am sure I have heard my aunt say that roses
should be replanted, or transplanted, after sunset. Can't
we arrange it at luncheon?"
"As you like," she sighed, and turned toward the house.
And after a moment of hesitation and a glance toward
the corner where Merrick still lounged, Jasper walked
resolutely toward the terrace, where Glenn Wayland was
standing beside a rose-bush.
CHAPTER XIX.
"THE LAST SCRUPLE."
She stood with her back toward him, her hand straying
idly among the buds and blossoms. She had been wait-
ing there until he should go in and leave her path free,
for she had now begun to avoid him quite openly.
He had walked purposely from the veranda to the ter-
race upon the grass, and it was only when he set his foot
quickly and firmly upon the gravel close behind her that
she heard him, and turned swiftly, but not as one startled.
She did not speak when he paused before her, and her
countenance hardly changed by so much as a shade. In-
deed, Jasper was now the more discomposed of the two.
His pulses were beating fast, a flush came upon his cheek,
and over and over something- seemed repeating to his
inner consciousness, in spite of his own will and without
his volition, "Now comes the test—the test—the test."
She saw the flush, and, being a woman, felt a momentary
sensation of triumph at his weakness. But he gave her
no further vantage, saying, after just an instant of hesi-



THE LAST SCRUPLE. 131
tation, during which he seemed waiting to give her the
first word:
"It will simplify matters if you will let me speak with
you, Miss Wayland, not in my own interest, or yours, so
much as for the sake of others. I will not detain you
long."
She threw back her head and made a movement as if
to pass him, but he shifted his position, putting out his
hand as he did so. It hovered just above a cluster of rose-
buds, and to an observer upon the lawn or veranda he
seemed to be plucking the flowers, and nothing more.
In reality it was a barrier, and with the movement he said,
very calmly:
"Merrick sits at the end of the veranda, behind the
vines. Be good enough to endure me for a moment at
least. I must have a hearing, Miss Wayland. Will your
mother's wish influence you?"
Without an instant of further hesitation she turned
toward the seat near the southern end of the terrace.
"Come," she said coldly; "my mother's wish has weight,"
and she walked slowly beside him down the gravel, hold-
ing the roses she had idly plucked before his coming,
and now and then, as they walked on, and while they
sat upon the bench beneath the tree, lifting them with
careless seeming to her face as if to enjoy their fragrance.
They looked like a careless and friendly enough pair,
but no word passed their lips until they had placed them-
selves upon the rustic seat. Then she turned her face
toward him. They were no longer within full sight of
the house, and it was a haughty face that now looked upon
him, and a haughty voice which said:
"Pray be as brief as you can. I wish to return to the
house."
"Very well." His voice was grave and he spoke in
guarded tones. "But before I say more allow me to re-
turn to you your property." He moved nearer to her
upon the seat and quickly placed in her lap something
loosely wrapped in a white silk handkerchief, something
which he had drawn from an inner pocket, with one of
those sudden, deft movements with which, upon occasion,
he could surprise both his friends and foes.


132 NO PROOF.
She frowned slightly, bit her lip, looked for a moment
at the thing before her, and lifted a corner of the silken
folds. Then she started so violently that but for another
swift movement upon Jasper's part the silk-enwrapped
something would have been flung from her knees to the
gravel at her feet, and her eyes blazed upon him from a
face deadly pale from brow to lip as she half arose, and
then sank back again, mindful, through all her anger,
of the possible observer here or there.
"How dare you!" she ejaculated between clenched teeth,
and then she closed her lips and let her eyes look the
scorn and wrath blazing within her.
"Ah!" It was the merest breath of a sound that es-
caped from his lips, as he sat looking into her stormy
face, the object of dissension loosely caught in his still
outstretched hand, and the warm blood once more dyeing
his cheek and brow, while his eyes—afterward, when she
was calmer and alone with her thoughts, she remembered
that which at first seemed not to have pierced her anger
nor left upon it the least impression, and then she recalled
the fact that it was neither a look of surprise, anger, or
disappointment. Could it be that it was a look of grati-
fication, of relief, almost? Whatever it may have been,
it vanished almost instantly behind drooped lids, and
again his hand held out to her the rejected parcel.
"It is yours," he said, looking down at the clenched
hands. "Surely you see that it should be in your own pos-
session now." Again he extended the parcel, and again
the hand was thrust back with a scornful gesture.
"Miss Wayland, do you not see, do you not realize the
unwisdom—"
She checked his speech with a splendid gesture, im-
perative, queenly.
"Stop! Do not dare to offer me that thing again."
She arose and stood before him, tall and straight and
splendid in her wrath. "By what right do you dare to
offer me that accursed weapon? How do you dare so
to insult me?"
"But it must not be left where it may do you hurt; and
no one knows—"
"Stop! I know, and so do you. The hurt it may do


THE LAST SCRUPLE. 134
must come as it may happen. It shall never touch my
hand again. And now listen. I know why you are here.
I know how I shall be watched, spied upon, followed;
but let me tell you this, you will learn nothing from me.
I do not fear you, and I warn you after to-day never to
accost me save in the presence of one or both my parents.
They hope for something through you. They believe in
you, and for their sakes I will tolerate you in their pres-
ence. And now go; believe me a murderess if you will,
and when you have found the proof of my guilt take it
to my father and to Eugene Merrick and claim your
reward."
"Stop!" He moved swiftly across her path as she
would have turned away. "You must hear me now. You
are right. I am here to find out the cause of Doris Mer-
rick's death. That you possess some knowledge con-
nected with that death I know. God only knows where
my search will lead me, but I have learned from you, now,
this moment, that which nerves me for my work and re-
moves the last scruple from my mind. I shall search
for the secret of your cousin's death now without fear or
favor, and when I have solved the mystery I will come
first of all to you and ask you to pronounce sentence, first
upon the guilty, and then upon—myself." He looked
straight into her still angry eyes for a moment, bowed
low before her, and passing behind her, walked across
the lower lawn, thrusting the little pistol in its silken
wrapping into his pocket as he went, and changing his
careless pace to a long swinging stride, as, having leaped
the low fence at the edge of the lawn, he went through
the orchard and toward the woods.
An hour later, as he came back from his tramp by way
of the paddock and through the stable-yard to the west
veranda once more, he found the captain pacing firmly up
and down the gravel path, smoking fiercely, and looking
like a man forlorn.
"Gad, Ken, but I'm glad you're back," he broke out
as the young man approached. "I can't bear my own
society when I'm worried."
Jasper stopped short. "Has anything happened, Cap-
tain?"


IM NO PROOF.
"Happened—yes. I don't know as it is actually se-
rious, but Glenn is ill, and it gives me a turn, she's al-
ways been such a perfectly healthy creature."
"I11!" Ken felt the blood leaving his face. "How ill?
Tel! me!"
"Why, it seems she was out on the lawn somewhere,
and had been for an hour nearly, and, coming in, she
became suddenly dizzy and fell."
"Fainted?"
"N—no, not that; Glenn never faints. But she just
broke down like. Fact is, she has not been well really
since Doris' death. She wouldn't hear of the doctor at
first, but when I came in from the lower pasture, where
I had been to look at her horse for her, I coaxed her to
let me send for Roth."
"And he—"
"Has not come. I was looking for him, and fidget-
ing, when you came up."
"I'm sorry." It was all Jasper found to say, but he
clenched his fists and shut his teeth hard, and the two men
walked silently to and fro until the doctor came, and re-
sumed their silent promenade when they heard him mount-
ing the stairs.
It seemed an hour to the two men before Doctor Roth
reappeared at the west door and came out to them upon
the lawn.
He was smiling as he came, and began to fumble in his
pocket for a cigar before he was within hailing distance.
"How is she?" broke from the captain.
"Better." The doctor bit off the end of his cigar and
held out his hand to the captain for a light before he
resumed. "It's an attack of nerves. I used to think Miss
Glenn would never succumb to nervousness, but she has
not been quite up to the mark since her cousin's death.
She needs rest, that's all, and quiet. Excitement is bad for
her now." He turned his gaze from the captain to Jasper.
"I'm going to stop for lunch," he added, "to see how my
stuff works."
"Luncheon!" The captain caught at his watch. "Upon
my soul," he cried, "I never once thought of luncheon.
But it's time, this minute."



LOST KEYS. 135
The next instant almost Mrs. Wayland appeared at the
top of the veranda steps, a look of relief upon her fine
face.
"She is quite calm already," she said in answer to the
general look of inquiry, "and she would have me leave
her with Martha and come down to luncheon, which, by
the way, has waited some moments."
CHAPTER XX.
LOST KEYS.
"I think," said Mrs. Wayland, coming out upon the
piazza where the captain dozed and Jasper essayed to read
the papers in the drowsy afternoon warmth, "I think I
must defer our drive to the cemetery this evening," and
she gave Jasper a meaning glance, which he returned in
kind, as he replied:
"As you will, of course. Is Miss Wayland still im-
proving?"
"I think so; she is quiet and seems free from nervous-
ness, but weak still. Doctor Roth thinks she will be quite
herself again in a day or two."
She walked slowly past him toward the farther end of
the piazza, where, after a few moments, having first as-
sured himself that the captain was now quite beyond the
border line of sleep, Kenneth followed her.
She had seated herself in a hammock, low swung, and
half filled with soft cushions, and she held in her lap an
uncut magazine and an ivory paper-knife. It was their
first moment together, and beyond the reach of listeners,
since he had left her upon the lawn to join her daughter
upon the rose-bordered terrace, and, as he perched himself
upon the piazza, rail, with his eyes turned toward the doors
and windows near them, as well as to the drowsy cap-
tain beyond, and in full view, his face, which had been full
of anxiety and uneasiness, cleared somewhat, and she cast
upon him a grateful, smiling glance.


13« NO PROOF.
"How good of you," she began at once, and then she
stopped short and looked at him with questioning eyes.
He met her gaze fully, frankly, but he did not speak.
He was not quite sure of himself, or rather, of his ground.
He was saying to himself:
"How much does she know? Is she in her daughter's
confidence?"
Suddenly Mrs. Wayland leaned toward him.
"I am very anxious about my girl," she said. "Can you
tell me anything about her illness?"
He slid along the rail and sat close to the end of the
hammock, laying a hand upon the knotted ropes.
"Without intending it, I was so unfortunate as to offend
Miss Glenn," he said gravely. "No," in answer to a quick,
anxious upward glance, "it was not a quarrel; at least
not upon my part; and I am afraid I must not tell you
about it, unless, indeed, she should make you her con-
fidant." He looked at her almost wistfully. "I wish
she would confide in you, but she has my assurance of
fidelity. I may tell you that I failed in my undertaking.
I proffered my services at need; rather, I tried to do so,
but I began wrong. I offended her seriously."
His last words were despondently uttered, and his eyes
dropped from her face to the floor. For a moment
neither spoke, then she leaned toward him across the
cushions heaped at her side.
"I won't ask you for details, for further explanations,
only—tell me one thing—was what you said to her suf-
ficiently startling or unpleasant to have caused this sud-
den breaking down of her nerves? Was it what you said?"
She stopped short.
Suddenly Jasper lifted his head and something that was
almost a smile flashed into his face. He looked at her
again, this time with kindling eyes, as if stirred and con-
fronted by some new thought, and he did not answer her
for some moments. Then—
"I had not thought—I mean I do not think so. It has
all been so—so unexpected. I had not reasoned about
it; but I think now that she quite misapprehended my
meaning." There was a sound from the farther end of the
piazza as if the captain was stirring in his sleep, or perhaps


138 NO PROOF.
smiling broadly, and casting upon the little housemaid
a look of open admiration.
"Ah, Jennie!" His tones were very winning. "What
is it?"
"Excuse me, sir; I want to speak to Mrs. Wayland."
"Mrs. Wayland—Jennie?" The words were drawled
out slowly, and his look of open admiration should have
won for him a well-merited slap. "Mrs. Wayland is just
around that corner."
It was the work of a moment, but it sent Jennie Price
across the piazza with a red flush in her cheeks, and with
lips set in a simper of gratified vanity. It was not the first
time the little farce had been enacted, and it had brought
foolish, pretty, vain Jennie to the belief that the good-
looking friend of her master was losing his heart and his
peace of mind because of her pretty, simpering face.
With a coquettish toss of her-head and a smiling back-
ward glance, Jennie went her way, and the smile changed
instantly to a frown upon the face that watched her as she
turned the corner of the piazza.
"Little simpleton," he muttered, "I fancy you need
watching."
He raised himself as if about to leave the hammock,
and then dropped back again, his head turned as if listen-
ing. In a moment he heard a sound as of a chair hastily
put back, and then light footsteps across the hardwood
floor. He waited a little, and then, rising, sauntered
slowly toward the farther end of the piazza. As he had
anticipated, Mrs. Wayland had gone.
The captain, having finished his nap, was now absorbed
in his paper, and Jasper, taking again the place vacated
by the lady of the house, sat idly glancing out over the
lawn and watching the fleecy cloudlets that were floating
up from the south. He looked the picture of indolence.
In reality he was thinking hard, and was waiting the
reappearance of Mrs. Wayland, for that she would come
back he felt very certain.
At the end of half an hour she came, and dropped with
a weary air into the seat which Jasper promptly vacated
for her use.


LOST KEYS. 139
"Somehow," she said, letting her hands fall idly into
her lap, "I have mislaid the keys of some of the rooms
upstairs." She glanced across to where Jasper stood, and
their eyes met.
The captain lowered his paper. "Do you need them—
the keys?"
"Not for myself. Jennie thought the closed-up rooms
might need to be aired and dusted. Doris' rooms, you
know."
"Oh!" The captain disappeared at once behind his
paper. He was an astute person, and he knew his wife,
which can not be said of all husbands. He did not glance
again at her or at Jasper. He had given his word not to
inquire into the young man's work, and he was a man
of his word. He went on for a short time with his pre-
tense of reading, and then he let his paper fall, got up,
walked once or twice across the piazza, and then went
slowly, and as if engrossed by his own thoughts, down
the steps and across the lawn stableward.
Mrs. Wayland and Jasper exchanged smiles.
"That's just like him," she said as she looked after his
retreating form.
"Just. He understood, of course."
"Of course," absently.
Jasper came a little nearer.
"Tell me," he said, speaking quickly and in an under-
tone, "how that girl approached you."
"Jennie?" There was a shade of surprise in her face
and voice. "She met me in the rear hall and said that
as she had no other work just then, if I would give her the
keys to Miss Doris' rooms—she always says 'Miss Doris'
—she would 'do them,' and when I seemed to hesitate
she said, 'You know, ma'am, they ain't been done up for
a week,' and when I still made no movement she urged
further that she thought by 'doing them' to-day she might
have a little extra time to-morrow to sew up her new dress
lengths upon Martha's sewing-machine. Of course then
I was obliged to go through with the pretense of looking
in my basket, and one or two other places where I knew
they were not, for the keys."
"One moment. Did she go with you to your room?"r


HO NO PROOF.
"Why, yes—it did not seem a significant act then—
she did.""
"Thank you. Go on, please."
"I told her she would better wait, as my keys did not
seem to be in their usual place, which was quite true. I
would look them up, I added, and she need not mind
about the room."
"Did she seem concerned—disappointed?"
"Yes. Her face grew very long, and she ventured a
hope that the keys were not lost. I assured her that they
could not be lost, and sent her away in spite of her propo-
sition that she look them up for me."
"Ah! yes, yes," said Jasper absently, and was silent for
some moments. Then suddenly he came closer, took the
captain's vacant chair beside her own, and asked, while
he looked first at the sun and then at his watch:
"Is the attic still locked?"
"Yes."
"I mean most particularly the trunk-room."
"It is locked."
"I want to go up there at once. Could we manage it?"
Her surprise spoke in her face, and almost rose to her
lips, but she checked it and bent her head in thought.
"Martha," she said, "is busy in the sewing-room."
"It is Jennie that I especially want disposed of for, say
half an hour."
A smile crept into the corners of her mouth. "I have
it," she said. "I will set Jennie to hunting out of doors
for those keys. I think that Eugene is in his room, but
the attic stair is beyond sight and hearing from his door,
from the main hall in fact, and I can mount guard at the
end of the hall and give you warning if any one
approaches."
"Excellent. Let us lose no time. I must visit the at-
tic by day; a lamp or candle might betray me."
"I must look in upon Glenn first," she said, and arose
to go within.


GETTING ON. 141
CHAPTER XXL
"GETTING ON."
Jasper was waiting, still seated in the captain's easy-
chair, when Mrs. Wayland came back.
.'Glenn is very comfortable," she reported, "and I have
the keys."
"Good!" He was about to rise, but she held out her
hand.
"One moment." She stepped to the door opening
from the side hall upon the piazza and touched a bell which
stood always in summer upon a little corner pedestal.
"She will probably bring iced water," smiling again
and sinking into the chair beside the little table. "She
will think we are fixtures here and that will insure a
more thorough search upon her part."
A moment later the patter of nimble feet and the tinkle
of ice against glass verified her prediction, and Jennie
appeared in the doorway with the expected tray between
her hands.
"It's lemon-water," she said, explanatorily. "Cook said
you'd prefer it," and she put it carefully down upon the
table at Mrs. Wayland's elbow and placed the glasses.
"Shall I serve—"
Mrs. Wayland put out her hand. "Not now, Jennie.
I want you to go along the terrace and across the orchard
and see if you can discover those keys on the way. I
was over that ground this morning, and sat a short time
on the crooked apple-tree seat. Take plenty of time, Jen-
nie, and look close as you go. Your eyes should be keen."
"As keen as they are bright," supplemented Jasper, with
a repetition of his wide and all-embracing smile.
The girl set down the glass she had taken up, with
alacrity, and turned quickly, as if eager to go upon her
new quest.
"Shall I go right now?"
"Yes; go at once, and take time for a thorough hunt,
across the orchard if necessary."
"Yes'm." There was a look of pleased expectancy in


142 NO PROOF.
her eyes as she tripped down the steps, and when she had
passed beyond them a few paces, she turned and sent back
over her shoulder a swift glance in the direction of the
upper windows.
"She is willing to go," commented Mrs. Wayland.
"Umph!" Jasper, who had turned in his chair to look
after the girl, and who had just intercepted that quick
upward glance, turned back. "She is more than willing,''
he said grimly. "Is the coast clear now?"
"I think so. I will go upstairs, and do you follow a
few steps behind, as if going to your room. Of course
you will know what to do if any one is in sight. I shall
stop at Glenn's door."
"I shall enter mine," he said, with a smile. "Is any one
likely to be in our way?"
"Eugene is in his room, you know," she said as she
entered the hall.
All was silent upon the stairway and in the hall above,
and Jasper followed with light feet past Glenn's closed
door, around the curve which led to the wing, and down
a couple of steps. Here Mrs. Wayland waited beside an
open door.
"It's well you know the house," she whispered. "Go
on; I will sit on this step, and if any one should come,
which is not likely, I shall be going up or coming down,
as seems best."
He took a step past her and then turned. "Is it light
enough to—"
"I always keep light in my rooms. It's nature's antidote
for moths."
He went quickly and lightly down a short hall, and
turned at the end to ascend a flight of stairs. He had
played in this same attic in childhood, and he smiled and
then sighed as the remembrance of those fair days flitted
through his mind. He could almost see Glenn Wayland
and Doris playing at theater, with two deal boxes set side
by side for a stage, and with himself for sole audience.
But he still remembered Mrs. Wayland waiting on
guard below and he gave no time to reverie.
There were two doors at the head of the flight of steps,
and he put his hand upon the one at his left.



GETTING ON. 143
"I suppose this is the trunk-room still," he said to him-
self, and entered.
The place was clean and orderly, with only a film of
dust upon floor and contents to show that it was a spot
seldom visited. It was sufficiently light also, and he stood
for a moment and looked about him. Then he stooped
and put a finger-tip upon the floor, examining it after, and
then wiping it carefully, like the tidy fellow he was."
"Dust ten days' deep, I should think," he meditated.
"I must ask about that; and not a track; not even the
track of a mouse." He turned and looked about him.
At one side of the door hung a long gray top-coat, some-
what shabby and weather-stained. "Just the thing," he
assured himself, and stood on tiptoe to reach it without
moving from his tracks. He recognized the garment as
one the captain had worn two winters since, and held
it out before him with a smile of affectionate reminiscence.
"Sorry to add to your forlorn plight, old castout," he
murmured, and then he turned, and, holding the garment
by the collar, let the skirts rest upon the floor close to the
door. Then, with long quick strides, he crossed the room,
drawing the coat after him, and thus erasing the footsteps
that would have stood out like snow-prints in the thick
dust left to be seen by the next comer. He had crossed
the room in this fashion, obliterating his tracks as he went,
when suddenly he dropped the coat and exclaimed, sotto
voce:
"What a donkey!" Then regardless of tracks he strode
across the floor to where, in a corner, a bundle of brooms
stood upright.
Quickly untying' the cord which held them, he took one
of the brooms and began to sweep vigorously, sending the
dust in clouds through the room. He worked swiftly,
and when the floor had been sufficiently swept, he went
about the room brushing the dust from the tops of trunks,
boxes, rolls of carpet, bags, bundles, everything. "There,"
he said, putting the broom back into its place, "no one will
see my finger-marks in the dust upon anything here now,"
and he began to examine the trunks and boxes more
closely.
It was a rapid survey, and when it was over he went


144 NO PROOF.
straight to a large steel-bound trunk, the very counter-
part of two he had seen below in Doris Merrick's room.
In a corner of the end panel a small square of tin, bearing!
the figure 2, was tacked by the four corners.
Jasper stood and looked at this trunk for a moment
with a knit brow and puckered lips. Then he dived into
a pocket, and bringing out a rather large pocket-knife,
which, upon opening, proved to be several other things
as well, he selected from the half-dozen miniature imple-
ments attached to the handle something that looked like
a steel toy chisel fitted to a knife-handle, and dropped
upon one knee at the end of the trunk.
When he arose, after some energetic prying, he held
a little tin square in his hand, and he gazed upon it with
a queer smile curving his lips before he bestowed it care-
fully in a safe inner pocket. Then he bent again to look
at the lock.
"Just the same," he muttered, and turned and left the
trunk-room and attic.
"All quiet?" he questioned, as Mrs. Wayland arose and
looked up at the sound of his light approach.
"All quiet," she replied, and turned to go.
"Wait one moment. Can you find that lost key before
dinner-time and slip it into my hand? And will you al-
low me to be ten minutes late at dinner?"
"Yes to both questions. That is, I will try."
"Then on, please; I will follow. Get the key now. I
will be upon the piazza."
Ten minutes later, with the key in his pocket, he
sauntered toward the stables, passing the captain, who
was now smoking in a hammock chair swung between
two great oaks.
"Man," cried the latter, "don't you know your failing0
It's too near dinner-time for you to go among the horses."
"Just going to speed Kitty in the near pasture," replied
Jasper carelessly. "Be back soon."
And so he was. Half an hour before dinner-time the
captain went leisurely indoors. He had grown to man-
hood with a nice regard for the formalities of the table
thoroughly ingrained, and, in city or country, the dinner
hour found him, and those of his house, in evening dress.
c*U..



GETTING ON. 145
Ten minutes after the captain had left his place under the
trees Jasper went in quietly, not crossing over the lawn,
as he had gone, but skirting the hedge between the house
and the stable-yard, and approaching by the front walk,
where he could gain the house unseen from the south
windows, above stairs or below.
When the dinner-bell sounded, Jasper, in his claw-
hammer and white tie, stood close behind his door, which
commanded a view of the stairway, and which stood ever
so little ajar.
Through the tiny opening he saw, with a start of sur-
prise, Glenn Wayland pass and go slowly, languidly down
the stairs; and, was he mistaken, or did she, as she passed
his door, hesitate just an instant, and cast toward it a
wistful, almost deprecating glance? The next instant
the sound of an opening door caused her to start, to
hasten her steps, and to glide down the stairs at a more
rapid pace, but holding weakly by the rail as she went.
Then Eugene Merrick, pale-faced and sad, passed by, and
down the stairs, and he heard his hastening step, and a
moment later his mellow voice.
"Glenn," he said gently, "my dear girl, are you not
overtaxing your strength? How pale you are. Here,
take my arm, so, and do not try—" The gently remon-
strant voice became only an indistinct sound, and then
died away, as the two passed down the lower corridor,
and Kenneth Jasper, himself pale-faced and stern of brow
and eye, came cautiously out from his room, and gliding
along close to the south wall and out of view from the
stair-well, paused before Doris Merrick's locked rooms,
and turning the well-oiled key without noise, was quickly
inside.
It was not yet 7 o'clock and there was still enough light
in the rooms, which Mrs. Wayland had never allowed the
servants to darken, and from which only the sunlight
had been excluded, to serve his purpose.
He went quickly through the outer room and straight
to the two large trunks so nearly alike, standing by them-
selves in the dressing-room beyond. There was a window
just behind them, and when he had assured himself that
the outside shutters, though closed, yet admitted the light


146 NO PROOF.
through the open slats, he promptly increased that light
by pushing up the inside blind. Then, moving rapidly
and without noise, he took from his pocket the key he
had found under one of the trunks, just before he was
called away by the captain, on the occasion of his first
visit, and bent to apply it to the lock of the trunk nearest
him.
And then he observed what he had not had time to
see before, because of the captain's hurried summons.
The locks, which at first glance, and a few steps removed,
looked unusual, were unlike any he had ever seen,
and he had made the study of locks, firearms, and burg-
lars' tools of all sorts something more than a fad since his
earlier student days.
"A special lock," he muttered, "made by an expert, no
doubt," and then he applied the key; but although he had
been sure it would fit the lock, and although it seemed as
if meant to fit it, it would not turn and the lock remained
immovable.
With a stifled exclamation he caught away the key,
looked at it again closely, and turned to the second trunk,
in which the key fitted instantly, and which, in another in-
stant, was open under his hands. ,
At the very top of the upper tray, lying upon a heap
of soft flannel and snowy linen, lay a long narrow strip of
note-paper, and picking this up, he read the first lines
and smiled a slow, pitying smile.
It was a minute and daintily written list of the articles
contained in the trunk, a list of shirts and hose, and all the
paraphernalia of a gentleman's attire—a fastidious gentle-
man, who wore fine raiment and possessed much of the
same.
Jasper ran his eye down the list, put his hand upon the
topmost fold, and then drew back, shaking his head. He
got up quickly and looked from this open trunk to the
three on the other side of the room.
"It's clearly not worth while," he said to himself. "They
look the same—genuine—all," by which he meant that
the other three trunks previously opened and passed by,
as he was now about to pass by this one, without further
investigation, had, like this one, each contained its written



GETTING ON. 147
list of contents in the same fine and flowing handwrit-
ing, and again he shook his head and turned back to
close and lock the trunk.
Having done this, he stepped back a pace, running his
eye over the two receptacles, noting their close similarity
and their slight difference. They stood quite near to-
gether, end to end, and he caught the nearest by a
handle and drew it away from the other, so that he could
examine the ends of each.
"So," he murmured, his eyes lighting up suddenly,
and, putting a hand to his pocket, he drew out the con-
venient knife of many parts and dropped down on one
knee at the end of the keyless trunk just exposed, where
a little tin square, bearing a number, was tacked.
It was the work of a moment to remove the tacks, and
when he had done this, he placed the bit of tin upon his
knee, while he drew from his vest-pocket the similar square
taken from the trunk in the attic. And now came a
different task. Placing the four tacks just removed in
the four holes in the number about to be substituted for
the original one, he tried to press them into the solid
leather-covered wood of the trunk, but they entered the
leather only and would go no farther. But Jasper had
prepared himself for this difficulty, and he got up quickly,
went to the door, opened it and looked out. All was still
without, and he heard no sound from below. Quickly
closing the door, he went back. Catching up a small soft
rug from before the door as he entered, and letting it fall
from his grasp, while he caught the trunk handle at the
end where the card was placed, he now gave a strong
tug and set the huge and heavy thing on end, as once
before he had placed the other. Then he took from a
somewhat bulging trousers-pocket a thick, short piece of
iron, like an old-fashioned weight.
With this in hand, he placed the rug over the end of
the trunk so that it covered the tin tag, and doubling it
so as to deaden the blow, felt carefully for the card
beneath it, and when he had found it, struck with all his
force, once, twice.
It was not a noiseless stroke, but he had resolved to
take the risk, if risk there should be. Again he went


148 NO PROOF.
to the door and listened. All was silent as before, and
stepping briskly back, he jerked off the rug.
The tin tag was fast in its place, or the place where the
other had been and quickly placing the trunks in statu
quo, and pulling down the shade, he left the room, locking
the outer door, with a look of satisfaction upon his face.
“Really,” he was assuring himself as he went back to his
own room to unburden his pockets and assure himself
that his toilet was still correct, “really, I think we are get-
ting on,” and he went down to dinner, late and penitent.
CHAPTER XXII.
JENNIE’S FINESSING.
Kenneth Jasper retired to his room that night at an
early hour; in fact, very soon after Merrick had left
the parlor. Just before going he had exchanged a few
words with Mrs. Wayland, in the presence but out of
hearing of the captain and of Doctor Roth, who had
dropped in, as he so often did, for the evening.
“Do you know where the girl Jennie is at this moment?”
he asked, slipping into a seat beside the lady and without
so much as glancing across the room to where the two
men sat discussing affairs of the town in a half-hearted
way.
Mrs. Wayland glanced up at a French clock upon a
bracket and nodded. “At this time,” she said, “Jennie
should be, and no doubt is, helping cook with the after-
dinner work. It's a part of her duty.”
“Does she ever go upstairs at the front in the evening?”
he persisted.
“Only in answer to a bell. I have long since found it
best to be very strict about these things, and Jennie knows
that, after her work is done, her place is below-stairs,
unless called.”
“Thank you. About that key—the attic, you know?”
“It is under the edge of the carpet to the left as you


JENNIE'S FINESSING. 149
º
face the door. I left it there remembering—” She
stopped as if in doubt. -
“Remembering that I said something about a second
visit?”
“Yes.” She was looking at him with grave, question-
ing eyes, and he bent toward her and said earnestly:
“Mrs. Wayland, you are a woman in a thousand. I
know how my queries and prying must excite your won-
der, and I wish I might tell you my motive, but, believe
me, things now are incomplete; I am simply following
slight clues and working out frail theories—”
“Stop!” She put her hand upon his arm. “I want no
incomplete confidences—suspense is better than such;
and don't think because I now and then am betrayed into
a look of surprise that I am making a bid for information.
Go on as you have begun and use me according to your
needs. Is there anything more?”
“Nothing to-night.” He half rose and dropped back
into his place again.
“How is Miss Wayland to-night?”
“She appears quite free from nervousness and seems
to prefer to be alone. She says she will be quite well and
out again to-morrow.”
“And do you think she is réally better—quite out of
danger?”
She smiled a weary, frosty smile. “I think her illness
to be only the effect of her interview with you. You
should know how great cause there is for the shock and
nervousness to be serious and lasting.” -
“Mrs. Wayland, believe me, if I have been the cause
of a shock such as you describe it was not meant to be
to her hurt. If my will could compass it, if my will can
compass it, no trouble, or danger, or least unpleasantness
will ever trouble the peace of Glenn Wayland. Do you be-
lieve me?” His eyes sought and held hers, full, clear,
challenging.
“Yes,” she said slowly, “I believe you, Kenneth.”
“Thank you. She doubts me, but some day she will
find out how much I am, and have been, her friend.”
He got up slowly, turned to leave her, and once more
came back. “I wish she would trust you,” he said.


150 NO PROOF.
"She will not," and the mother sighed heavily.
Kenneth Jasper went slowly up the broad stairs, slack-
ening his pace as he neared the top, and glancing keenly
about him.
To his right, as he came, was the door of the closed
rooms, nearly opposite was his own door, and beyond,
upon the same side of the wide hall, Eugene Merrick
occupied the large room at the southeast front. A mel-
low light from the swinging hall lamp showed him all that
could be seen from the point of view at the stair-head,
and, having glanced up and down, he tip-toed to the
point where the hall curved a little to the right, and then
on to the rear, where an intersecting passage divided the
north wing, the servants' hall and stairway joining it at
the rear, or northwest end.
Satisfied that the passages were quite untenanted, he
went back to his own door, opened it carelessly, and with
just enough noise to make it seem the act of a careless and
possibly sleepy occupant.
A moment later he had reissued from the room, the door
of which he had left ajar. He had removed his dress-
coat, and now wore a loose smoking-jacket, while slippers
of soft felt replaced the polished foot-covering he had pre-
viously worn. Glancing down the stair-well to make sure
that no one was likely to appear from below, he approached
Merrick's door, coolly hung his handkerchief over the
knob, and knelt and bent his head to the floor to see if he
could discover a light within. Evidently this scrutiny
was satisfactory, for he lifted himself quickly, drew the
handkerchief from the door-knob, and applied his eye to
the keyhole.
Again he nodded as if satisfied, and getting up, glanced
once again down the stair-well. Then he went straight to
the curtained recess that opened upon a large front bal-
cony. This place held, behind the half-closed portieres,
a couple of fine branching palms, a pair of easy-chairs,
a little table, and some ottomans of the soft-cushioned
sort so dear to the ladies.
Moving swiftly and noiselessly, Jasper drew the cur-
tains wider apart, placed an easy-chair close to the one
on the side opposite Merrick's door, thrust one of the


JENNIE'S FINESSING. 151
ottomans behind the chair, and close against the wall and
the heavy curtain, which thus afforded an ample screen
for a watcher comfortably bestowed behind the chair,
with its high sloping back, upon the ottoman.
Having arranged this nook to his liking, Jasper went
back to his own room, moved a light reading-stand and
lamp to a point opposite the door, which he left ajar, and,
drawing up a reclining-chair, placed it, after one or two
trials, where he could readily see, without changing his
position, any one who might pass his door from front
or rear. Then taking an uncut magazine and a paper-
knife with which to occupy himself, he took his place of
observation.
He knew that the doctor would hardly be able to leave
the house without first paying a visit to the invalid, for the
captain's anxiety was not easily allayed, and the parsing
hour proved the correctness of his judgment. He heard
footsteps upon the parquetry of the hall below and the
murmur of voices, a moment after, upon the stairs. Then
the captain and Doctor Roth passed his door on their
way to Glenn Wayland's chamber in the southwest corner.
He made no sign that he saw or heard them as they
passed, and they, in turn, went by with only a glance. But
when they came back, after a short stay, in the invalid's
room, the doctor halted.
"With your leave, Captain, I will stop for a short call
upon Jasper. Can't I let myself out?"
"If you can not, Ken can," replied the captain. "He
knows all the ropes. Good-night to you." And he went
slowly down the stairs to his own apartments.
"Am I intruding?" asked the doctor as he entered Jas-
per's room, stopping near the door as he spoke.
"On the contrary, you're very welcome."
"The truth is—shall I shut this door?"
"Yes."
"The truth is, that upon seeing your door ajar, I fancied
you might wish to see me; to 'hear from Miss Glenn."
"I do. Sit down, Roth. How is she, in your opinion?"
"She's had a shock, a surprising nervous strain. I did
not think it was in her to break down so. She has a strong
will of her own."


152 NO PROOF.
“But, she is better? She has rallied?”
“Oh, yes. And it's because of that same strong will
that she has. She seems bent on a quick recovery, and
would like to have us all ignore the real cause of her
present weakness.”
“The-real cause?”
“Yes. What do you think she said to me to-night?”
Kenneth shook his head.
“I was surprised to learn that she had ventured down
to dinner, for I knew how great an effort of will it must
have cost her, and I told her that she must not repeat
the effort, ‘You must give your system time to recover
from the strong wrench and shock it has lately endured,’
I said, 'if you don't want to break down entirely.’ And
then she said, ‘Doctor,’ if you are asked by any one other
than my parents about my foolish illness, won't you please
call it incipient fever, gradually developing phthisis? Call
it, I beg of you, anything but 'sudden shock.’”
“You are paying strict regard to her wishes,” said
Jasper, with a flash of something like resentment in his
eye.
“I am telling you the truth,” replied the other com-
posedly, “because I think it well that you should know
the truth concerning Glenn Wayland. She is seriously
troubled, mentally, about something; physically she
would be well enough, but for her nerves.”
The doctor, who had remained upon his feet, now
moved back a pace as if to go, and Kenneth got up
quickly.
“Roth,” he said, with the quick, boyish smile that his
friends found so winning, “I know you are my good
friend, and I do appreciate it. Don't mind my cranki-
ness; I'm worried, and that's the truth.”
“And can I help you?”
“Later, perhaps. Not now.”
The doctor gazed at him earnestly.
“Kenneth,” he asked slowly, “are you still bent upon
shielding Glenn Wayland?”
“I am still bent upon vindicating her.”
Roth came a step nearer.
“Suppose, Ken, just for the sake of argument, that


JENNIE'S FINESSING. 153
you should be convinced that she could not be altogether
vindicated—what then?"
Again the younger man flushed hotly, and for a mo-
ment was silent; then he threw back his head and met the
doctor's eye squarely.
"I won't argue the point again, old man," he said quiet-
ly, "and I won't quarrel any more with you. But, since
you ask, I'll tell you this"—and. his voice grew suddenly
firm and vibrant—"right or wrong, innocent or not, I
am in this case now for the sake of Glenn Wayland; and
I'll never rest, I never can rest, until I have proven her
innocence or—"
"Or guilt," and Roth turned to go.
Jasper sat late that night, with his open book in hand,
and the chamber door ajar, but it was little that he
profited by the wisdom and wit between the printed pages
he held. Nothing, visible and in the flesh, at least,
went past his door; and at midnight he gave up his vigil.
Next morning, in spite of his late sitting, he was up
"with the sun," literally, for that luminary was just peeping
above the horizon when he stepped out from his door
and glanced up and down the hall.
He was not up thus early simply to enjoy the "breath
of the morning," if one might judge from his toilet, which
was not exactly fitted to "tread the morning dew." It
was sufficiently negligee, however, and consisted of a
slriped tennis-cap, a long loose garment which might
have been called either a dressing or smoking gown, and
which successfully hid in its voluminous folds the bulging
pockets of his trousers. His feet were clad, not shod,
in soft bedroom slippers, sole and heel consisting of the
same heavy felt, in which he could safely tread without
fear of waking a slumbering household.
For a moment he stood at his door looking and listen-
ing. Then he moved swiftly and without sound to the
door of Eugene Merrick's room.
Here he bent to peer through the keyhole, through
which he could see the dressing-table, upon which the
toilet articles lay in orderly array as awaiting use, a pair
of slippers set side by side before a low chair, and a cor-


164 NO PROOF.
ner of the bed whereon the outline of a shapely foot was
visible through the counterpane.
Jasper smiled, and substituted an ear for an eye. In
the stillness he could distinctly hear the slow, regular
breathing of the occupant of the bed.
So far all was well, and he arose and approached the
windows at the front where on the previous night he
had arranged the curtains for an ambuscade. They were
precisely as he had left them, and behind them was the
gloom of a late twilight or faintest dawn, for the window
opened to the east and the shutters in summer were
always tightly closed, to shut out the morning sunshine
with its attendant warmth. Jasper smiled again at sight
of the ottoman in the shadow of the curtain, and then,
turning his back upon this portion of the hall, he glided
swiftly down its length, turned, as on the previous night,
and in a moment more was groping at the left side of the
attic stairs for the key to the trunk-room.
This time there was no need for delay upon reaching
the attic. He went straight to the trunk from which he
had removed the numbered tin tag, and kneeling beside
it, pressed the tacks through the holes in the tag, fitted
it over the marks made by the one removed, pressed
them hard upon the stretched leather, and then with a
tiny auger bored four holes into which he could then
press the tacks.
He could not venture upon lifting this trunk because
of the other trunks and boxes piled close about it, and so
was obliged to crouch, and, throwing the rug before used
over the end of the trunk, he began to feel for the tin
and the tacks beneath, and, having found them, to strike
them with a short, solid little mallet which he had man-
aged to smuggle from the stable tool-chest between the
hours of dinner and going to bed.
The blows, though muffled, were by no means silent,
but he had closed the doors of the stairway and the trunk-
room and he felt tolerably secure. He lost no time in re-
turning to his room, however, and in slipping out of his
flowing and concealing gown, and. finishing his cus-
tomary morning toilet, he placed his door once more


JENNIE'S FINESSING. 165
ajar and seated himself by an open window overlooking
the lawn to the southward, and the stables and paddock
beyond, and upon a line with the two windows of Mer-
rick's room upon that side of the house.
He had arranged his window-blinds before retiring,
and they were now so slanted that he could look down
upon the lawn and the path across it, himself unseen.
He had not been long at his post when he heard a slight
sound outside, as of some one not far off gently turning
the shutters of a blind, but he made no effort to look be-
yond his present range of vision, and only withdrew his
gaze from the lawn long enough to consult his watch.
"Too early, I fear," he said to himself; and then, pulling
a chair toward him and placing his feet upon it, "If one
dared venture upon a cigar now, but no, it won't do.
And he settled himself back upon his cushions to wait
in patience.
A few moments later he heard a sharp little sound
which brought a broad smile to his face, and then a
vagrant morning breeze wafted past his window a tantaliz-
ing odor—the odor of a good cigar.
"Has not my scruples, evidently," he mused. "That
does mean wait." And he got up and took from the read-
ing-stand a volume of Lowell.
For half an hour the sun's rays spread and lengthened
and the sounds of the summer morning increased in vol-
ume and variety, and Jasper alternately glanced from the
lawn to his book. He heard a sound from the stables,
and saw the groom come out from the carriage-house
and go, halter in hand, toward the paddock; and presently
came the noise of shutters being thrown quickly open
from the rear. "Umph!" he muttered; "umph! they're
stirring in the kitchen;" and then a figure in pink print
appeared, broom in hand, from under the portico and
flashed out upon the lawn.
It was Jennie, and when she was a few paces beyond the
shadow of the portico she stooped, as if to pick up some-
thing from the grass, and turned about, with a movement
of a hand to her bodice, and a simultaneous glance up-
ward. It was only a glance, but even from his height
the watcher, at one open window, at least, caught the


166 NO PROOF.
flush that swept from brow to chin, as, picking up the
dropped broom, she hastened within.
"Hum! 'See a pin and pick it up,'" muttered Jasper.
"Well done, really." And the pink gown being no longer
visible, he got up with alacrity, and, still wearing the soft
slippers, stole into the hall, closed the door silently, and
in a moment was safely out of view behind the almost
wide-open curtains opposite Eugene Merrick's door.
And this time he had not long to wait. He had ruth-
lessly cut a small slit in the rich drapery, and through this
he saw Jennie come tripping around the corner from the
rear. She glanced stealthily up and down the hall,
and then, taking some snowy towels from a number hung
across one arm, she came straight on to Merrick's door,
where she stopped, glanced once more about her, and then
tapped, so softly that even a very light sleeper might have
slumbered on for all such fairy taps.
And yet they were heard within, and the door was
opened, very carefully and slowly, and with almost no
sound.
"Oiled!" commented, silently, the gazer behind the
curtain.
In the space made by the partial opening of his cham-
ber door stood Merrick, with a sad, half-expectant smile
upon his handsome face.
"Here are your bath-towels, Mr. Merrick," Jennie said,
holding them out to him and glancing nervously be-
hind her.
"Thank you, Jennie," he said, very softly and gently,
as he took them from her hand.
"And"—here her low tone dropped to a half-whisper—
"please, Mr. Merrick, I did not get the keys. Mrs. Way-
land had mislaid them somewhere. We—we both looked
for them. Shall I try again for you, sir?" she queried
anxiously.
Merrick drew back.
"Not now, Jennie—another time; I will let you know."
The door closed upon the expectant girl, and the sadly
smiling face, its eyes resting so gently upon her own,
was shut from her admiring gaze, upon which she turned
away with a little sigh and a very sober face.


I DON'T WANT TO BLUNDER NOW. 157
At Jasper's door she gave a sharp little rap and said,
with her lips to the keyhole:
"Have you any bath-towels, Mr. Ja—as—per?" and
then she flitted around the corner and was gone.
"Mrs. Wayland," said Jasper that morning at the break-
fast-table, where he had appeared late, later even than Mer-
rick, who only entered as the captain was about to rise,
"Mrs. Wayland, if I am to be quartered upon you for
another fortnight, or more, I would like to send up a
small trunk, if you don't object to my making myself yet
more of a permanency here. I find that much linen and
some congenial books are needful to a fellow's happiness
in summer."
Mrs. Wayland, who, having breakfasted, as was her
habit, with her husband, had remained to pour the cof-
fee for the late-comers, looked up and smiled amiably.
"Bring it, by all means, Kenneth; and if your room
will not accommodate it, it shall go to the trunk-room
in the attic."
CHAPTER XXIII.
"I DON'T WANT TO BLUNDER NOW."
"Merrick," said Jasper, appearing at Merrick's door
shortly after luncheon, "do you happen to have any as-
sortment of keys about you? By some stupid blunder
I have lost or mislaid the key to my trunk, and I'm no
better off than if I had not driven to town in the heat and
dust this morning. Excuse my intruding—you were
napping, weren't you?"
"No; only trying to. Come in, Jasper, while I inves-
tigate in your behalf." Merrick arose while he spoke from
the couch upon which he had been lounging and opened
the door wide to admit Jasper, who entered in a slow, mat-
ter-of-course fashion and stood idly waiting. "I can't
think how I managed it," he said, still referring to the


158 NO PROOF.
key; "it's my punishment here below for not pinning my
faith upon those convenient little key-rings carried now-
adays by most sane men. It's a Simms lock."
"I don't know about the infallibility of key-rings"—
Merrick was fumbling about in a deep drawer, with his
back toward the speaker—"and I'm not sure that I can
help you out." Here there was a sharp metallic sound
as of something falling from his hand into the drawer.
"Here are some keys; a rather miscellaneous lot, I fear.
They're odd and they're old. The fact is—come in, Jas-
per and sit down," and he hospitably rolled forward his
own favorite chair. "The fact is I lost my most useful
keys when—when I went to town last."
His voice wavered at the last word, and he dropped one
of the detached keys, which he still held, and stooped for
it hastily.
Jasper let himself slowly down into the cushioned seat.
"Well," he said negligently, "that was a bungle, espe-
cially if you needed your clean linen at once."
"It was not so bad as that." Merrick placed a handful
of loose keys upon a table at Jasper's elbow. "In fact I
did not miss them until I was on my way home, and,
while in the train, had occasion to open my bag." He
pushed the little pile of keys nearer to his visitor. "I hope
some one of these may fit your case."
Jasper swept the keys into the palm of his hand, and
after a glance at them, dropped them in his pocket. "Thank
you," he said affably. "I'm sure I hope so; I depend
upon that trunk for clean duck and dust coats. In an
emergency like this one is tempted to declare that the
superabundance of new patents in the way of locks, keys,
etc., are not an unmixed blessing to careless people.
Once anybody's key would fit everybody's lock, and how
comfortable that was."
"Especially for the burglars."
"Well, I don't know. The burglars seem to multiply
and increase in cunning with the multiplication and cun^
ning of the locks. They're as enterprising as the lock-
smiths. By the way"—Jasper drew himself erect in his
chair, leaned toward Merrick, and lowered his tone—"I'll
take this opportunity to tell you that you gave me a very


I DON'T WANT TO BLUNDER NOW. 159
valuable clue when you mentioned that burglar business."
"W—what?" Merrick started violently. "I don't com
—comprehend."
"Well," laughing lightly, "I was not very lucid in my
way of beginning. What would you say now if it should
turn out that some of those people whom you spoke of,
to me, as having been disturbed twice by the captain in an
attempt to enter Waylands should turn out to be the guilty
parties? You see it struck me at once as a rather strange
coincidence that these two attempts should have been
made so shortly before the—the catastrophe."
"Yes." Merrick was flushing and paling alternately.
"Go on—go on!"
"In the excitement of the moment no one thought much
of searching the grounds outside."
"No."
"And so, perhaps, some valuable clues were lost. But
I have been making a careful study of outside and in, and,
Merrick, it would have been a very easy thing for any
one who possessed a plan of the house, and who watched
the habits of its inmates, to have entered while the family
were at dinner through the wide-open front door, crept
up the stairway—"
"Good heavens!"
"And—your wife's rooms were the first and easiest of
access, you will remember."
"Yes, yes."
"And, supposing robbery to have been the intent, those
trunks, some open and some closed, and the valuables,
presumably still strewn about, would have been a strong
temptation to a robber."
"But—why—"
"Let me finish. This is little more than theory, remem-
ber. To enter, empty-handed, and at the right moment,
is one thing; to go out laden with spoils is another; to
secrete himself and wait his time would be safer."
"I see, I see!" Merrick was listening, with burning,
eager eyes and parted lips.
"There are hiding-places enough; an empty closet,
dark and deep, a couch, a screen, a draped bed, and—-we
can imagine all the rest, can we not?"


160 NO PROOF.
Merrick nodded, and for a moment his face was hidden
by his hands.
Then he looked up, and there was an eagerness in his
glance that was a surprise to Jasper.
"Do you believe in this—this theory, in the face of the
other evidence? Do you believe it?"
"In the face of the other—yes. Those bits of paper are
but fragments at best; they may mean anything but what
we think. Does this seem so very improbable?"
"No; and if it did"—Merrick got up and stood erect
before him—"if I could believe this it would lighten my
heart, oh, more than I can tell. I want to believe in my
wife's nearest friends, and next to Doris has stood Glenn
Wayland in my regard. She has been like a dear sister
to me, and—" He came a step nearer to Jasper. "I have
not told you all. Do you know that by my wife's death
Glenn becomes, sooner or later, a rich woman—a richer
woman, I mean, than her parents will make her?"
"So," sharply, "you had that in mind? Yes, I knew it.
What else?"
"Nothing." There was a note of surprise in Merrick's
voice. "That was more than enough. It made me
wretched."
He dropped back into his chair. "Sit down again, Jas-
per; I want to talk this over."
"I can't," with a hint of impatience in voice and man-
ner. "It won't do to keep this up too long. There's one
thing, though." He had himself well in hand now, and
the impatience was gone from his voice. "I have sup-
posed thus far that robbery was the motive, but there is
another possibility. Had your wife or yourself in your
possession anything, a paper, letter, what you will, that
was strongly coveted by any one else? Think, such things
have been. Was there anything in your rooms which
might tempt a desperate man to attempt to wrest it from
your wife in your absence?"
No answer. Eugene Merrick was lying back in his
chair, his face pale to the lips, those lips twitching convul-
sively; but it passed in a moment, the startled look and
the pallor, and Merrick sat erect and drew a long sighing
breath.


I DON'T WANT TO BLUNDER NOW iul
"Good heavens! man, you made me fairly see my poor
girl threatened and terrified by some villain. It gave
my heart a turn. No, there was nothing of the sort you
imagine; nothing to tempt robbers save the usual bait,
money, jewels, etc."
Jasper moved toward the door.
"And do you really intend to follow out this idea?"
"I do."
"And you believe in it?" Merrick followed him step
by step to the door.
"I do. I believe fully that some one outside the walls
of this house on that night is responsible for your wife's
death. I have found already a clue or two. Oh, I'll have
the fellow yet."
"And I will be your debtor for life. You have given
me a ray of comfort, Jasper. I did not want to doubt
any one here."
"And I think you need not." Kenneth put a hand
upon the door. "Don't look for further confidences yet,
Merrick, and do not hint at such as I have given you.
My work must be slow; and now I must go. Mrs. Way-
land was about to let me have the attic keys so that I
might stow away my small trunk. I hate luggage about
a man's room. I will return those keys as soon as tried,
Merrick." And he went out quickly.
Alone in his room, Jasper locked the door and looked
carefully through the keys given him by Merrick, but he
did not apply them to the trunk which had that morning
been placed in a corner of his room by the Winston ex-
pressman. It was a brief scrutiny, and having completed
it, he took out a small journal and wrote rapidly for some
moments.
The first written item was as follows, and was classified
upon a page headed at top, "Mem. M. E."
"M. lost key-ring in city; missed on train out. Mem.—
This, if true, would account for everything concerning key
question."
Having put away the little journal, he sat for some mo-
ments thinking, then, scattering the borrowed keys upon
the floor beside the trunk, he opened his door, and closing
it sharply behind him, ran downstairs.


"P2 NO PROOF.
When he came back, carrying in his hand a screwdriver
and a small hammer, he found Merrick standing before
his door.
"Hello, Merrick!" he said aloud, and for the benefit, evi-
dently, of any who might chance to be near, "going to
return my call? Go right in; the door's unlocked, but not
with your keys. They wouldn't fit." He had arrived
by this time at the door, and threw it open wide. "Come
in and see how I get the better of lost keys."
Merrick entered the room, and at once stated his errand.
"You spoke of taking your trunk to the attic," he said,
glancing at the still open door, "and it struck me that as
you have the keys I would, with your permission, go up
and take a look at some of my possessions, with a view
to sending some of them to town. That is—"
"Oh, by all means; but, first, as I can not fit a key to
this troublesome lock, I intend to take it off and unpack.
Have a seat, Merrick; there are some prime cigars upon
that mantel."
Without availing himself of the proffered cigar, Mer-
rick seated himself, and Jasper, after carefully picking up
the borrowed keys and placing them upon a table, seated
himself upon the floor before the trunk and began, rather
clumsily, to remove the lock with the aid of the tools he
had brought from below. As he began, Merrick made a
forward movement as if about to proffer his assistance,
but he checked himself, and sat watching the work until
it was done and the trunk stood open before them.
"Now," said Jasper, "to unpack," and he began to de-
posit upon the bed armfuls of masculine garments, a few
books, and sundry toilet articles, tennis-shoes, slippers,
etc.
When this was done he lifted the trunk by one handle,
as if weighing it.
"A light load; I can be my own porter," he said
carelessly.
Merrick sprang up. "Are you going at once? Why
not let me carry one end?"
Jasper laughed. "Well, why not? If you don't mind
I don't. I've 'toted' heavier loads often." and he thrust


I DON'T WANT TO BLUNDER NOW. 163
his hand through the leather handle nearest him, Mer-
rick following suit with the other.
"Every man his own porter," quoted, or misquoted,
Jasper, thrusting out his foot to push open the door
which he had left ajar upon entering, and starting briskly
down the hall.
"Your door," reminded Merrick; "shall I close it?"
"Oh, we won't stop for that. There's no one about
to see my disorder." And Jasper strode on, but he was
too wary to display his knowledge, and asked as they
neared the two dividing ways:
"Which road? Oh, yes," making the right turn as if
his memory had been suddenly refreshed; "the boy in
me," he said lightly, "remembers what the man had almost
forgotten." And he led the way upstairs, fumbling a
little with each key before opening the two doors between
them and the trunk-room.
Once within, Jasper put down his end of the trunk, and
turned to look about him, Merrick following his example.
"Same old attic," Jasper declared, putting his foot
against the empty trunk and pushing it vigorously toward
a corner, "and Martha is queen of the sky-parlor, just as
of old. Witness these orderly rows of boxes and bales,
and what not; this freedom from dust. She used to
sweep the attic regularly. Kept out moths, she said."
He had got his trunk into its corner by this time, and
turned toward Merrick, who stood in the middle of the
room glancing about him.
"Help you with anything?"
Merrick went slowly toward the place where, among
lesser trunks, stood the big one which had so lately
been tampered with. He glanced at it carelessly and
touched it with his foot. "I had thought I would perhaps
begin the breaking away from this dear homelike place
by sending that away. It's my winter outfit, in part.
Heavy, too, if I remember right; furs, coat, caps, thick
suits, robes, and, I think, some books." He bent over and
looked at the end where Jasper had so carefully replaced
the tin tag.
"Strange!" he exclaimed, as he slowly lifted his head,
"Strange—very!"


164 NO PROOF.
"What's that?" queried Jasper.
Merrick straightened himself and pointed to the tin
tag. "I had three similar trunks," he said slowly, "and for
easy identification I had them numbered. I saw to the
storing of my luggage here. I am a rather methodical
fellow, and I would have sworn that another trunk stood
here. I had placed them in their order, one, two, and
three." He stepped back and turned to look at the other
boxes.
Jasper laughed lightly.
"My dear fellow, if you had spent many days of your
youth here, not in this attic, exactly, but at Waylands, you
would not be puzzled at finding your luggage yet more
'out of order.' I dare say Martha has been on a mouse or
moth hunt, and at such times no regard is paid to dignity
of place. Martha pays regular visits to all the places of
storage, scattering insect-powder and poking about with
a feather."
Merrick's face showed clearly the relief caused by this
explanation.
"That accounts," he said, turning toward the door.
"After all, I won't open the thing now. I was thinking,"
he said by way of explanation, "of getting out the books
and sending the furs to the city to be properly cared for;
but another day will do as well. Are you ready to go
down?"
"Quite ready." There was a gleam of satisfaction in
Jasper's eyes as he followed Merrick down the attic stairs,
locking the two doors carefully behind them as they
went.
"And now," he said, as they reached his door, "having
disposed of the trunks, I must dispose of the contents.
Wish the latter could be done as easily as the former."
"Why don't you call the girl, or Jennie, the maid?"
asked Merrick, turning back.
"My dear fellow," laughed Jasper, "it's plain that you
were not brought up by a maiden aunt. Won't you come
in and see me do it?"
"Thank you; no. I—the fact is, I don't think I am
quite well. I don't like to admit it, but fear I must. I
think I will just try to sleep. I—I sleep so little at night."


NOW I CAN WAIT IN PATIENCE. 165
"Ah! that's bad. You don't look quite up to the mark,
now that I notice closely. Try the nap, by all means,
and don't let yourself run down, Merrick. See the doctor
if things keep on the drag."
"Thank you, Jasper." Merrick went slowly on and into
his room, and Kenneth Jasper, after seeing his door close,
entered his own room and flung himself into his easy-
chair with a chuckle of satisfaction.
"Not half bad," he assured himself and the inanimate
objects around him. "It's wonderful how these links fit
in. Ah, ha, Mr. Ken Jasper, you can afford to be pa-
tient, you can. Things will begin to move at a livelier
pace soon. They are bound to do it."
Having delivered himself of this not very lucid re-
mark, Mr. Jasper began to write rapidly in that small
cliary, which never left his person except to receive fresh
thoughts, and from which the penciled pages were ruth-
lessly torn when he had once transferred their contents
to that other journal, safely concealed in his desk in Aunt
Jem's home in town.
When he had finished with the diary he got up, went
to the door, as if intent upon some fully thought-out pur-
pose, then stopped, pondered, and shook his head.
"No," he muttered, "I'll wait. Let matters take their
course. I don't want to blunder now."
CHAPTER XXIV.
"NOW I CAN WAIT IN PATIENCE."
True to his resolve to let matters take their course, Ken
Jasper, in spite of some well-concealed and solitary fum-
ing over the uneventful days, let them pass by, biding his
time, in idleness, and watching, waiting, thinking.
Watching two people under this roof, which covered
so much doubt, anxiety, and mystery, as well as all the
elements of yet another tragedy.
Waiting for the next move, as Kenneth so often told
himself, with but little doubt of what it would be.


166 tf
And thinking, not so much of the mystery he was hop-
ing to unravel, for he had now little in the way of mental
work yet to be done. He had possessed himself of a
theory, had worked it out, mentally, and now, with his
thinking and planning done, he was awaiting the issue
which he could in no wise hasten, as yet, but thinking
always, by day and by night, of a girl's proud, cold, beau-
tiful face, and watching, day after day, for some sign of
relenting, some shade of softness, some relaxing of the
unsmiling lips, some change in the frigidly civil tones, and
as yet he waited in vain.
On the night after his visit to the attic in company with
Merrick, Kenneth had made his way there again. He had
pondered long over the risk of going up at night, for the
mansard windows were open to the sunlight, which Mar-
tha maintained was needful where wearing-clothes were
stored, and the gleam of a lamp would stream out through
them and far across the lawn. But yet he went; went
groping down the dark hall, and up the stairs, feeling for
the keyhole at either door, and blindly fitting his skeleton
keys. In his pocket he carried a box of slow-burning
matches, and over his shoulders he bore a folded blanket,
thick, dark, and soft. He spent half an hour in the attic,
and when he came down he wore upon his face the broad
beam of triumph, which he did not permit to show, save
through his eyes, upon the occasion of his former visit.
"I was sure of it," he said to himself exultantly; "and
now—now I can wait in patience."
In spite of this agreeable frame of mind, however, or
perhaps because of it, he did not sleep until daybreak,
and then he slumbered so heavily that the breakfast-bell
failed to arouse him, and when he finally came down he
found only the captain at the table, and caught through the
window of the morning-room a glimpse of Mrs. Wayland's
phaeton driving away from the house.
"Was I mistaken?" he asked as he shook out his napkin,
after making his morning salutations and apology to the
captain, who rather enjoyed finding some one later at
table than himself—"was I mistaken in thinking that I
saw three heads in the phaeton as I came in?"
"I can't vouch for what you saw, of course," replied the


NOW I CAN WAIT IN PATIENCE. Ifi?
captain, with lawyer-like accuracy, "but there were cer-
tainly three persons in my wife's carriage."
"And Miss Glenn, she is better then, much better?"
"She is able to drive out, and so, as you have observed,
was Eugene," said Wayland drily. "Try some of these
berries, Ken; I'll ring for the coffee." He took up the
morning paper from the floor, where it had fallen from
his hand, folded it to his liking, and looked keenly across
at Jasper.
"If you don't mind," he said, turning half-round, "I'll
go to the study; it's cooler than this room, or any other,
at this hour; and when you have finished, if you can spare
the time, come in and smoke with me."
Kenneth looked quickly up and their eyes met; at the
same moment Jennie came in with the coffee.
"By all means," he replied lightly; "that will suit me
perfectly." And while the captain passed out he turned
his attention to the dainty breakfast Jennie was placing
before him, sipping his coffee and watching her deft move-
ments with eyes that were openly admiring.
"Do you know, Jennie," he said, as the girl was about
xto leave the room, "I take it to be very good of you to
look so bright and smiling over my tardiness. Martha
used to frown away my appetite when I came late to
breakfast. That was before your day."
Jennie bridled and simpered. "Oh, Mr. Jasper!" she
exclaimed, and beamed more than ever, while the wily
young man went serenely on with his breakfast.
For a few moments Jennie stood expectant and hungry
for more flattery. Then she asked, coming a step nearer,
"Is there anything else, Mr. Jasper?"
"Nothing else, thank you, Jennie," with another smile.
"I couldn't think of making you any more trouble." And
Jennie, simpering and flattered, went out, her pleasure
finding vent in a giggle as she closed the door behind her.
"Little simpleton," muttered Jasper, and his smile be-
came a momentary frown.
When he joined Captain Wayland in the study, that
gentleman threw down his paper with a look of relief
and motioned him to take the chair nearest him, and be-
side the little table which held the cigars, but he did not


168 NO PROOF.
speak until his guest was seated, and then, as he pushed
the box of perfectos toward him, he only said:
"Well?"
"Well?" responded the younger man, as he selected a
cigar; and then, leaning across the table toward him, "I
want you to answer a simple question, Captain, without
demanding an explanation."
"Very good. I'll try."
Jasper lighted his cigar and drew upon it until it glowed
redly at the end. Then—
"Did Merrick accompany the ladies at his own sugges-
tion?" he asked.
"Well—that is a question. But, never mind, I'll an-
swer it."
"Well—do!"
"Merrick did not go until he was urged."
"By whom?"
"By my wife first, and then by Glenn."
"I see." And Jasper leaned back in his place and
smoked for a little while in silence, the captain eyeing
him closely meanwhile. Then, removing his cigar from
his lips, the young man spoke again.
"Captain, has Merrick, to your knowledge, ever mani-
fested the least desire to return to his business since his
wife's death?"
"N—no." The captain smoked on imperturbably.
"Has he been down-town since?"
"No."
"Ever say anything about his business?"
"Only that he had no heart for it, and that he could trust
Avery to run the office for a time."
"Umph! Getting morbid, isn't he?"
"Looks like it. The fellow shuns visitors as if they
brought contagion, and he got up and went to his room
only yesterday when that tree agent came up the path.
He seems to shun strangers and friends alike."
"I have observed it," said Jasper, and seemed to have
dismissed the subject from his mind, smoking for some
time in a silence which his companion made no effort
to break.
After a little he put down his cigar. "Captain," he


NOW I CAN WAIT IN PATIENCE. ,106
began, "I would like to have everything left in Mrs. Mer-
rick's rooms as at present. Let it seem to be from you
that the order comes. There must be no cleaning or
sweeping of the rooms unless under your wife's eye."
"Very well."
"And if Merrick should suggest the removal of any-
thing, tell him that you contemplate calling in some one
from the city as soon as your daughter is better and the
ladies, both, have become a little more accustomed to the
thought."
"Very good. I will play my part."
"And there's one more thing. If, at any time, I refer
to some person, or event, as if you were aware of all that
I allude to, please fall in with my idea; take your cue
and do your part."
The captain looked puzzled. "Can't you give me an
idea of the sort of cue I am to follow?" he asked.
"Why, yes. Suppose, for instance, I ask you who
those two strange men were with whom you were talking
across the paddock fence, or down by the lower gates,
you won't know who they were, and will think them a bit
queer, and you will remember that you have seen them
about the place before; see?"
"No, I don't see; but I will say anything you like that
will help on the work."
"Thanks. I was sure you would understand. Sup-
pose we go outside." He got up, and the captain also
arose.
"Ken," he said, and paused, hesitating. Then quickly
stepping to the side of the young man, now waiting at
the door with a look of inquiry upon his face, Captain
Wayland put a hand upon his arm. "Kenneth, boy, I
have not forgotten our argument, and I don't claim a
right to your confidence, but this suspense is horrible.
Sometimes I feel as if I can't endure it. It's not the fact
of that poor girl's strange death alone, terrible as it is,
but it's the very atmosphere we are breathing—an at-
mosphere of mystery. Merrick going about like a ghost
of his former self, utterly unlike himself, my wife so pre-
occupied, so engrossed with something, or some thought,
that I first feel sure she is keeping something from


170 NO PROOF.
me, and then curse my folly the next moment for
harboring the thought. But the worst to bear is the
change in my girl—in Glenn. It's natural that she should
grieve over her cousin's death, and such a death must of
course have been a shock to her, but, Ken, have you
noticed the look in my girl's face, that strange, half-cold,
half-defiant look? How she seems constantly watching,
constantly on guard? I could understand nervousness
such as she so suddenly broke down under if she had
been nervous from the first, but she has been like ice and
steel until that breakdown, and already she is ice and steel
again. That is not grief, Ken." He stopped short.
Kenneth was looking at him so intently, so strangely, with
a mixture of trouble, surprise, and something else which
he could not fathom, that after a long stare into his set
face he exclaimed impatiently: "Boy, do you think I am
maundering? Have you seen none of this?" And then
Ken's set look suddenly changed to one of pain.
"My God!" he exclaimed, turning away from his un-
conscious tormentor, "have I not!" And then suddenly he
turned back, the eyes of the two men met, and they
understood each other.
For a moment neither spoke, then Kenneth turned
again toward the door. "Come," he said once more, in a
tone that was gently authoritative, "let's go outside."
When they were out upon the gravel and walking slow-
ly down the shaded drive, Kenneth spoke again.
"You began, Captain, to say something about—"
"Never mind," broke in the captain. "I began to grum-
ble, but," and his voice fell to a gentler tone, "I see—I
know that I am not bearing it at all, nor, perhaps, the
worst. I wait your good pleasure, Ken."
The smile that hovered for a moment about the young
fellow's mouth made his fine face look boyishly tender
and kind. "Captain," he said, "things may not look prom-
ising, but it moves for all that. I believe we shall solve
the problem, and solve it soon."
"Soon!"
"It may be a matter of weeks, but if I am right, and I
think I am, it can't be longer. It's a theory I am follow-
ing out, but events and clues are fitting into my theory;


NOW I CAN WAIT IN PATIENCE. 171
like the pieces of a mosaic. They can't come so by chance
I feel sure."
"Ah!" The captain sighed out his relief and satisfac-
tion in the one syllable, and while his lips kept the prom-
ise of silence they had made, his eyes searched Kenneth's
face eagerly questioning, but the boyish look had given
place to the firm expression of a man who knows whereof
he speaks.
"If I could tell you more, Captain, feeling that it was
best, and right, I would gladly do so. Believe me, it is
best that you, and all here, should know as little as possible
of the true inwardness of my movements while I am with
you. The feeling that you will fully agree with me in the
end, as you surely will, helps me to harden my heart
against what your face, if not your voice, says very plain-
ly" He stopped, uttered a short laugh, and then added:
"Honestly, Captain, to tell you what I am trying to do
and why could but have one of two results, possibly both—•
either you would be made vastly more uncomfortable
than you are now, or I should find my work hindered,
perhaps fatally. I am telling you the truth."
Captain Wayland stopped short and faced his friend.
"That is enough, Ken," he said with decision. "I have
muzzled my curiosity from this moment. Give your or-
ders; they shall be obeyed in future without question,
blindly. And don't think I have doubted you, boy, for
even one instant."
The young fellow's face paled suddenly, as it did al-
ways under strong feeling.
"At.first," he said slowly, "I doubted myself, Captain,
and was almost upon the point, after accepting the task,
of giving it over to other hands. But not now; I believe
I have in hand one end of the thread that will lead me to
the truth, and there can be no man, given this clue, who
could work with so strong an incentive to success, for,
if there is any limit to my friendship for you, and I trust
there is none, I should still work on. I would not fail. I
.could not, for the sake of—Glenn."
He turned quickly and went back to the house, and the
captain, after staring a moment straight before him, and
whisking something from underneath his eye with a plump


172 NO PROOF.
right hand, walked on down to the gate, where he stood
for some moments, very still and very thoughtful and
serious of face.
CHAPTER XXV.
"IMPORTANT."
Glenn Wayland recovered from her attack of "nerves"
soon and completely, or so it seemed. From the date of
that morning drive in her mother's phaeton, and with
Merrick in attendance, she went out daily, and, while at
first she had included Merrick among those whom she
greeted and treated with stately civility and aloofness, and
shunned as much as a young hostess could, she began,
after that morning drive, to relent and unbend by degrees
toward him, until, after a few days, the two seemed upon
a really friendly and sympathetic footing, which Jasper
and Doctor Roth observed and interpreted from afar, each
in his own way, for Doctor Roth found occasion to call
at Waylands almost daily, and was received quite as one
of the household by the host and hostess proper, and
welcomed warmly, always, in spite of their differences
of opinion, by Jasper.
As for Glenn, while she never seemed to shun him, if
present when he entered a room, it was noticeable that
she never joined the group of which she knew him to be
one. Indeed, she was often absent when he came, for,
after that first drive, she went out daily, at first
in the phaeton, and then, to the surprise of all, upon her
horse Jet, which she rode fearlessly and with perfect grace.
The doctor had prescribed daily out-of-door exercise, but,
he confided to Kenneth that he could not feel sure whether
it was in obedience to his instructions that she went out
thus, or in an attempt to exhaust thus some of the nervous
force that he could see she was holding in check with a
firm hand and strong will.
"That girl," he said, "is living under pressure of a sup-
pressed but strong excitement that I can not altogether ac-


IMPORTANT. J73:
count for. She impresses me as being constantly on her
guard against some surprise, or in daily expectation of
something which she dreads. If this thing continues too
long, she will break down again, and it will be an utter
breakdown next time."
"What do you mean by 'this thing?'" questioned Ken-
•neth sharply.
"This condition, then; this overstrain and its cause. It
should not last too long."
"Nor shall it!" came the response; and Doctor Roth,
turning to look his friend in the face, was surprised at
the hard, stern look of his mouth and the almost vindictive
gleam of his eyes as he faced him. "I'm your debtor,
Doctor, and I promise you that Glenn Wayland shall not
be sacrificed to these 'conditions.' God!" turning upon
his heel with clenched teeth and clenched hand, "this is
too much!"
They were out upon the lawn in the late afternoon, and
had just watched Glenn and Eugene Merrick ride out
through the great gate, the man mounted upon the horse
which had been the especial property of his wife, in pref-
erence to his own spirited animal, which was fretting for
want of use.
A silence followed Jasper's last words, which remained
unbroken until the captain was seen coming toward them
from the house, and then, with his face turned away and
in utter silence, Jasper arose and went slowly across the
lawn and toward the terrace.
Doctor Roth smiled behind his thick mustache as he
watched the retreating figure. He had known and loved
Kenneth Jasper since his boyhood, and he knew that these
betrayals of strong feeling, of which the younger man
never spoke once they were past, were no signs of weak-
ness, and he knew, too, that only to a friend, trusted and
true, would Ken Jasper so reveal his innermost feelings.
The understanding between these three men was cordial
and perfect of its kind, and when the captain sat himself
leisurely down in the place upon the rustic seat just va-
cated by Jasper, the doctor silently proffered his cigar-
case and drew hard to bring his cigar to a proper glow
in order to furnish a light also, Then, when the captain


174 . NO PROOF,
had lighted his weed and settled back in the corner of
the seat, he spoke:
"I'm glad to see Merrick out to-day. He needs a good
gallop quite as much as Miss Glenn."'
"Yes," absently. "It's his first."
"I observed"—here the doctor's brows met in a char-
acteristic frown—"that he does not ride his own horse."
The captain glanced at him askance. "No," he replied;
"he has looked after his wife's horse with a most pathetic
carefulness since his first visit to the stables, and when Joe
remarked to-day that Mrs. Merrick's pony was 'suffering
actuil' for exercise, Merrick gave a start, ran his hand
down the mare's neck and leg, patted her much as I have
seen Doris do, seemed to consider and hesitate, and then
said, 'When you saddle Miss Wayland's horse, Joe, put
my saddle upon Daisy and bring her around—she must
not suffer,' I declare, I felt sorry for the fellow."
The doctor made no comment; his brow had not re-
laxed its frown.
"Roth," said Captain Wayland, with something of com-
punction in his tone, "I've felt always that you did not
like Merrick overmuch, and sometimes I more than half
fear that I have not sympathized with him fully, not done
him justice, perhaps, but, I tell you, beyond a doubt, Eu-
gene Merrick loved his wife truly and mourns her bitterly,
sincerely. Never in all my life have I seen a man so ut-
terly changed as Merrick is since his wife's death."
"Changed! Ah!"
"Changed utterly." They were sitting with their faces
to the east, and neither saw Kenneth Jasper, approaching,
pause and silently turn back. "I don't want to seem to
criticise, Roth, but I can't help but see your dislike of him;
and he suffers horribly—I know it."
"Wayland—" Doctor Roth turned toward him slowly
and met his eyes full and steadily. "I am not a saint,
and I should need to be one before I could love Eugene
Merrick; and do you think he is the only man who
suffers?"
"Why Roth, old fellow!"
"Old fellow! Yes, I am an old fellow; but Eugene
Merrick never loved Doris Grey and cannot mourn her


IMPORTANT. 175
as I did, and do. She is the only woman I ever loved—
or will love." He turned slowly back, with his face to
the eastward, and for many moments neither spoke, the
doctor's dark face looking stern and inscrutable, and
that of the kind-hearted, impulsive captain amazed, con-
trite, and full of sympathy. At last he, essayed to speak.
"Roth, I'm awfully sorry—"
"No, Wayland," putting out a hand as if to check his
speech. "Let us not discuss it. I am glad you know,
now that it is said; and it's like you to speak a good word
for Merrick. Don't I know how reluctantly you gave
her to him! Why, bless your kind heart, man, you'd like
to love your deadliest enemy if you were not just a little
too human. You'll never wrong Eugene Merrick, and
neither will I—I promise you. Here comes Mrs. Way-
land."
Such men, and none have tenderer or truer hearts,
are loath to linger over any display of feeling or sen-
timent; and these two turned, with frank relief, toward
the returning phaeton, in which Mrs. Wayland had driven
alone to the village, going forward to meet her, and ac-
companying her to the piazza, where she threw aside
her shade-hat and drew off her gloves, sitting the while
in her favorite willow comfort rocker, with its sloping
back and broad accommodating arms.
"Won't you ring for some lime-water or other cool
beverage, Mr. Wayland?" She never addressed her hus-
band as "captain." "What will you take, Doctor? We
drink a variety of iced things here. My husband and I, for
instance, like lime or lemon juice; Eugene, iced milk,
and Glenn and Kenneth, Russian tea, iced of course."
"Russian tea!" It was Kenneth who spoke, coming
carelessly up the steps, looking cool, collected, and in-
different, like a man who knows perfectly what he is
about and has put indecision behind him. "Have you
rung for Russian tea, Mrs. Wayland? If not, do pray; or
stop, let me; our equestrians are coming over the hill, and'
they will appreciate it, I know." And, having rung the
bell upon the little table beside the door, he seated him-
self upon the top step, where he could watch the approach-
ing riders.


176 NO PROOF.
"I have brought quite a heavy mail," said Mrs. Way-
land, shaking out the contents of a roomy chatelaine
pocket upon her lap and beginning to assort them,
placing them in piles upon the arms of her chair.
While thus occupied the two riders came around the
curve and paused before the piazza.
Jasper stepped quickly down and held out his hand
before Merrick could dismount.
"Allow me, Miss Glenn," he said with perfect com-
posure. There was just an instant of hesitation, and then
the girl gave him her hand, and sprang to the ground,
while Merrick sat still in the saddle.
"Give me the rein, will you?" he said to Jasper, as
Glenn, with a little nod which seemed to include the two
men, went up the piazza steps. "I will ride to the stables."
He looked listless and weary, and rode away slowly and
with bent head.
At the top of the steps Glenn paused a moment, and
then, meeting her mother's inquiring glance, she said
carelessly:
"We rode as far as the ridge, and stopped at the ceme-
tery."
Doctor Roth had risen and dragged forward for her a
low piazza chair, which he now placed near her mother's.
"Will you sit, Miss Glenn?"
She shook her head, made a hesitating forward move-
ment, and, with a little upward lift of her rounded chin,
turned and seated herself in the very spot which Jasper
had lately vacated to do her service. He was still stand-
ing at the foot of the steps, and a gleam of pleasure lit his
eyes at sight of her movement; then, looking up, he
caught the doctor's eye, challenging his with a meaning
smile.
"How are the flowers, Glenn?" asked Mrs. Wayland,
beginning again to sort her letters.
"Doing well, except the white rose-bush you put out
last. Something has been at the roots. I think it is
quite spoiled."
"Too bad!" looking up, with the last letter between
finger and thumb. "I must have another put in its place."
"Leave it to Eugene, mother. He wishes to .do it."


• IMPORTANT. 177;
Doctor Roth made a sudden impatient movement, and,
to cover it, seated himself again near the captain, while
the two ladies continued to talk about roses, and the best
time to transplant them. Presently the doctor leaned
toward Captain Wayland.
"Do you know anything of Merrick's plans for the
future?" he asked in a low tone.
"Nothing whatever." Jasper, still standing at the foot
of the steps, at the end farthest from Glenn and nearest
the two men, at this moment seated himself upon one of
the lower steps.
"I was thinking," went on the doctor, "that, in case
of his breaking up here, I should like, if she should be for
sale, to buy the mare—Daisy."
"Oh!" murmured the captain, and stopped, looking
sympathetic. "I'll keep that in mind—at the right time."
"I remember," suggestively, "that the animal was your
gift."
"Yes, to be sure."
There was a sudden lull in the talk at both sides of
the steps. Merrick was crossing the gravel just beyond.
"Merrick" said Kenneth amiably, putting a hand upon
the step above him and between himself and Glenn,
"there is still a choice of seats."
"Eugene," said Glenn graciously, "won't you take this
chair?" It was the one placed for her between her
mother's seat and her own present perch upon the upper
step. These two clever young people were very human
after all.
In the silence following Merrick's reappearance among
them, "Mrs. Wayland began to distribute the letters, be-
ginning with those nearest her hand.
"Kenneth, here are three for you. I hope one contains
pleasant news from your aunt."
"There are two in her dear familiar hand," replied Ken-
neth; "thanks, Mrs. Wayland."
""Mr. Wayland, this is positive greed; you have nine."
"Business letters, of course," broke in Glenn. "I know
papa's letters, averaging six lines apiece, at most."
"All the sooner read," grumbled the captain, beginning,
without ceremony, to tear off the ends of the envelopes.


179 NO PROOF. «
"Here is one, just one, for me," went on Mrs. Way-
land. "This is an ill-balanced mail. Here are three for
you, Glenn. And why, Eugene, you have been neglected.
Not even a post-card for you."
"That," replied Merrick gloomily, is one of the misfor-
tunes of being a man without a family. I have neither
father, mother, nor brother, you know, and no near rela-
tives. Mrs. Wayland, this is the first home of which I have
been an inmate since my childhood."
"Do I infer," said the captain, "that you have a sister,
or sisters? I have never heard you speak of it, I think."
"No." Merrick's face was turned gloomily toward the
lawn, where, across the paddock, Joe could be seen exer-
cising his neglected saddle-horse. "I don't think I ever
did speak of my sister. She was years older than I, and
she ran away from home and married, 'beneath her,' as
they say. The break was permanent. It has always been
a sore subject."
"I'm sure I beg your pardon, Eugene," began the cap-
tain, and stopped, as Glenn broke in upon his speech.
She had torn open her first two letters, and had just
started to read the second.
"Papa," she called imperatively, "here is a letter from
second cousin Sue. It is meant for you quite as much as
for me; you must read it." And she got up and put the
letter in his hand, returning at once to her place, and
taking up the third letter.
"Mother," she exclaimed, turning and extending the
unopened envelope to Mrs. Wayland across Merrick's
knees, "do you know that handwriting? I do not, I am
sure."
The lady bent to look at the writing, and Kenneth
Jasper, whose eyes were not for long withdrawn from
Glenn Wayland's face, and who had noted the quick pass-
ing of the letter to her mother's hand from hers, saw
also that, as it came under his eye, sitting as he did be-
tween the two, Eugene Merrick glanced at it, and started.
It was but an instant's glance, and when he looked again
the letter was in Mrs, Wayland's hand and no longer to
be seen by him,


IMPORT ANT. 179;
', "It's strange to me, my dear," said Mrs. Wayland, and
she held it up before the captain's eyes.
"Why," he exclaimed, "it looks like Mrs. Fralick's hand;
don't you think so?"
"My old teacher?" murmured Glenn, taking back the.
letter with the address underneath. "Probably you are
right. We will see." And she plucked a long, slender
scarf-pin from the knot of black at her throat and cut
the end of the envelope deftly, while Mrs. Wayland began
to hand about a number of papers and magazines.
Kenneth, glancing again at Merrick, saw that his face
had resumed its usual composed gravity of expression.
And then a quick exclamation from Glenn drew all
eyes toward her; a second and smaller envelope had
slipped from out the first and went tumbling down the
steps to lodge at Kenneth's feet.
He caught it up instantly, and in that instant saw the
superscription. When he put it into her hand, the next
moment, the writing was again underneath, and Glenn,
who had risen hastily upon seeing the letter fall, remained
standing while she looked at it, started, glanced quickly
first at Kenneth and then at Merrick, hesitated, and then
turned toward the latter.
"This is very strange," she said distinctly, icily almost.
"Did you expect a letter through me, Mr. Merrick?"
"I? Why—no—"
"Nevertheless, here it is." She made a step across the
piazza, extended the letter, with a haughty gesture, and
dropped it in his extended hand before it could reach
hers. Her cheek was pale, her eyes repellant. Without
heeding the envelope which had contained so surprising
an inclosure, and which had fallen at her feet, she passed
over it and across the piazza. "Let me pass, papa, please,"
she said. And her father, glancing at her agitated and
scornful face, arose silently from his place before the
door, and she swept across the threshold and out of sight.
Involuntarily the eyes of the others had followed her
movements, all save Merrick, who, tearing open the
wrapper after a single glance at the writing upon it, had
hastily opened and glanced at its contents.
Doctor Roth was the first to turn his gaze back to Mer-


180 NO PROOF.
rick, and then, with a sharp exclamation, he sprang
toward him.
"Merrick! are you ill, man! What is it?" For Eugene
Merrick had grown ghastly pale, and reeled in his chair as
if about to fall.
"What is it?" Mrs. Wayland repeated, and stopped,
startled.
"The letter—is it that?" cried the captain, and, somehow,
this seemed to arouse Merrick, and recall his scattered
senses. He put a hand to his head weakly.
"Yes," he said faintly. "It—it startled me. It's—from
my—sister."
"How strange!" ejaculated Captain Wayland; but Jas-
per and the doctor said nothing, they only exchanged
glances.
Mrs. Wayland turned to the little table where the
tray of iced lemon and the glasses had been deposited
unnoticed at the moment of the arrival of the riders, and
where it had since stood neglected. She poured out a
glass of the cool liquid and held it to Merrick's lips.
"Drink this, Eugene," she said with gentle authority;
"and then the doctor must take you in hand."
Merrick put his lips to the glass and sipped a few
drops, then waved it away.
"I am singularly dizzy and weak," he said slowly. "I
I think I have not been quite well of late. This should
not have startled me so—if I were not ill." He had held
the open sheet clenched in one hand from the first, and
now he thrust it into a pocket and got slowly to his feet.
"If you will allow me, Mrs. Wayland, I will lie down.''
"You would better not go upstairs now," the doctor
interposed; "you are too weak. Lie down in the morn-
ing-room for a time, and when your nerves are firmer,
and you are quieter, I will come in and look you over.
That is—if you wish."
"I do. Thank you."
He turned to leave the piazza, still very pale and tremu-
lous, and Mrs. Wayland flitted before, to arrange the
couch and close the curtains, while her husband proffered
his shoulder, which Merrick accepted gratefully.


WHA*T DOES IT MEAN? m
When they had left the piazza, Jasper turned to the
doctor.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Umph!" was the answer. "It's either a case of serious
illness or else that sister's letter contained a very sudden
and serious shock."
Kenneth Jasper came close and lowered his voice to a
whisper:
"Roth, you promised me your help—upon occasion."
"Well?"
"Would a mild opiate, one that would insure the
patient's sleep for, say an hour, injure him in the least?"
"Do him good just now."
"Well, you give him one, and order him to bed?"
"Upon—my—word!"
"Will you?"
"Is it important?"
"More than you can guess."
"Very well. Between us two, it's the very thing he
needs."
"So much the better," said Kenneth grimly.
CHAPTER XXVI.
"WHAT DOES IT MEAN?"
Ten minutes after Merrick had laid his head upon the
cushions of Mrs. Wayland's soft couch in the morning-
room, Doctor Roth entered and drew a chair beside the
new-made invalid. He asked no questions, but sitting tall
and grave before him, put a light finger upon his pulse.
"Still weak," he said. "Dizzy yet, sir—of course?"
"Yes," murmured the patient.
"Merrick, you don't want to be ill, I am sure?"
"No. Oh, no!"
"Then you must get out of this condition, which
weakens faster than you might think. Only I don't want
you to think. What you want is rest from this nervous
and mental strain. You can go to your room now, and


182 NO PROOF.
I will give you a sedative. I mean to stay by you until
I see how you feel two hours from now. In the. mean-
time you must sleep—if possible."
A quarter of an hour later Roth came out from Mer-
rick's room and tapped at Jasper's door. The young
man opened it, dressed for dinner.
"Is he asleep?" he questioned.
"As sound as possible."
"Dressed?" . .
"Except for his coat, which he did not remove until
he was almost asleep, and then at my suggestion. He
seemed to be watching, and on his guard, and spoke of
locking the door when I left him. I gave him his dose,
and then sat beside him, talking just enough to keep him
from thinking, and when he began to be drowsy I told
him that I meant to watch the effect of his medicine and
that when he had fallen asleep I would, if he wished, lock
his door and leave him. If he liked I would keep his
key, and when he awoke he could ring; I would be in
the study and would come to him at once. He was more
than half-asleep, and altogether off his guard, and he
assented."
"Good!"
"Jasper," the doctor went on gravely, "you have
taken me at my word with a vengeance; and if I did not
know you as I do—"
"Roth, upon my soul you'll never be sorry! Have you
got the key?"
'"Yes."'
"Then give it to me, and wait in my room. Remem-
ber, this is our secret; even the captain must not know."
"He shall not, from me. And, Jasper, I don't want
to hear anything about this—not a word."
"I am glad of that. I do not mean to tell you—not
for some time at least. Now—"
"Now I am going to let you in, and I mean to stand
guard outside; if any one comes up I will step into your
room."
"No one will come. I have looked to that."
If Merrick had taken thought for the security of the
letter which had so disturbed and unnerved him, the


WHAT DOES IT MEAN? 183
swift action of the doctor's sedative had put such thought
out .of his mind even before his body had yielded to its
influence, and the doctor's presence had made any
shadowy remembrance, even if such came to him, of no
avail.
And now he lay breathing regularly and undisturbed by
the fact that Kenneth Jasper, after a glance at the sleep-
ing face, was leaning across his supine shoulders, and
passing his hand carefully along the surface of the light
coat its owner had, with his last glimmer of fast-suc-
cumbing prudence, thrown upon the little tabouret in the
corner behind the couch, which, for the benefit of the
breezes passing from window to window, he had placed
between two, and directly across a corner.
It was a strained and difficult posture, but Kenneth
held it manfully, until, without in the least changing the
position of the garment, he had found the letter and care-
fully drawn it forth. The next instant he stood erect,
and, with the letter in his hand, looked again at the man
before him. '• \
What a handsome face it was! How different, softf^
how, from the waking face; less self-poised, and simply
melancholy, anxious, uncertain, troubled.
"There's no doubt of it," Jasper assured himself, "the
man is growing thin. He was never formed for trouble
and solitude together. He can't bear it long." And he
went to the window beyond the head of the couch and
opened the sheet. His movements, all of them, were
quick, but not hurried, and his look as composed as if he
were in his own domain.
The letter was brief, and his face showed his surprise
at its contents. That it was in a disguised hand he saw
at a glance.
"Dear M." So it ran.
"From what I can learn you would do well to plant
those seeds. Exposure or carrying about of these rare
kinds upon the person is not good for them, I find. John
Smith has been looking for you on important business.
Shall try to reach you with this through La Seur. .Take
care of yourself, old fellow. J ."
.When Kenneth Jasper had read this extraordinary mis-


1S4 NO PROOF.
sive to the end he knitted hia brow, and sitting deliberate-
ly down in the nearest chair, read it again, slowly, and
as if weighing every word. And then, tearing a sheet
from a tiny note-book, carried in his waistcoat pocket, he
copied it, word for word, filling both sides of the little
sheet. Then he replaced the letter with greatest care,
cast upon the sleeping man a last, long look, such a
look as one might cast upon an enigma which he is loath to
leave unsolved, and went back to his own room, where he
found Roth improving the flying moments by giving such
touches to his morning toilet as he might in the absence
of a dress-coat. For Captain Wayland, plump and short,
and looking his worst in a full-dress suit, nevertheless
never dined at home in anything else.
By the time he had reached his own door Kenneth's
face had assumed its usual look of amiable frankness,
that look so often more baffling and misleading than any
other of the many masks that shut the real man from all
his fellows.
"Taking liberties," said the doctor, turning away from
the mirror, and utterly ignoring Jasper's errand or its re-
sult.
"Quite right. Of course you'd be above borrowing
one of my coats?"
"Oh, entirely!" The doctor was even taller than Jas-
per, and much narrower in the chest. "Now I am going
back to my patient. I want to note his symptoms until
dinner-time."
"Ah! You'll find them quite favorable; at least I did."
"Umph!" was the sole answer as the doctor strode out.
Kenneth stood at his open door in the attitude of a
host who has just ushered out a guest of honor, until he
heard the door of Merrick's room close quietly, then he
turned at once and rang his bell.
Leaving his door ajar, he crossed the room, unlocked
a drawer and took from it an envelope, the same which
Glenn Wayland had dropped when leaving the piazza.
"I was sure of it," he said to himself, glancing down
at it. "It is addressed in a different hand; a woman's
hand, I should say." Then, holding it up between him-
self and the late sunlight, he shook his head.


WHAT DOES IT MEAN? 185
"It might aid me much to know," he murmured. "But
no; any help gained through her must come with her
consent, not otherwise." In the strong light filtering
through the envelope one could see clearly that it con-
tained still an inclosure; probably, from the flatness of
the wrapper, only a thin slip.
Presently there came a light tap at the door, and turn-
ing he saw Jennie, smiling her perennial smile and blush-
ing her vain little blush.
"Jennie," he said, going to the door, "has Miss Glenn
gone down?"
"No, sir. At least I think not, sir."
"Then, Jennie, just take this to her, if you please, now,
at once, and say that Mr. Jasper picked it up after she
had left the piazza, and forgot it for the moment in the
flutter over Mr. Merrick's sudden seizure."
With a coquettish glance and a little simper, Jennie
took the envelope and went down the hall, and Jasper
stood in his doorway until he heard her rap at the young
lady's door. Then he sighed, closed his own door, and
went downstairs.
Little was said at the table concerning Merrick's ill-
ness and its cause. But all agreed that it was quite
natural, in his present state of mind and nerves, that a
letter from a sister from whom he had long been es-
tranged should come as something of a shock.
"It is often surprising," remarked the doctor, in re-
sponse to some comment from his hostess, "how small a
thing will sometimes temporarily prostrate the nervous
system, when once it has been lowered by trouble, or ill-
ness. I fancied when Miss Wayland held out the letter
to you, Mr. Wayland^ that as his eyes fell upon the super-
scription Merrick started, and looked disturbed for the
moment."
"Really," responded Glenn. "It was somewhat startling
to me also, especially as I was not aware, until Mr. Jasper
returned me the envelope I had let fall in leaving the
piazza, that there was an inclosure to myself." She had
nodded across the table to Kenneth in frigid acknowl-
edgment of the returned document; and now she added,


186 NO PROOF.
lifting her eyes in a cold glance to his: ".Were you aware
that it contained anything?"
"I was, naturally," he replied, returning her look with
much composure, "as you would have been had you taken
it in your hand after removing Merrick's letter."
"Ah! true." She dropped her slim hand to her side and
drew from a silken pocket the envelope in question, bend-
ing forward to place it beside her father's plate.
"There, papa, is the explanation, such as it is, of what
seemed to me, and no doubt to all of us, so strange. Per-
haps it will interest all. Read it, please."
The captain took up the envelope, extracted the thin,
small half-sheet of note-paper, and read:
"Miss Wayland:
"Having heard of you as a friend of Mr. Merrick, whose
exact address I do not know, I inclose to your care a
letter sent me for him, and which, the writer informs me,
is of importance to him. I trust that its delivery may
cause you no inconvenience.
"Yours respectfully,
"Julia M ."
"Well!" Captain Wayland drew a long breath and
returned the paper to its wrapper. "It's cool, to say the
least."
"It explains," said Glenn dryly.
"Quite sufficiently," added the doctor.
But Mrs. Wayland looked troubled and Kenneth
dropped his eyes to his plate.
Very soon after dinner the doctor went up to look after
his patient, coming down again soon to report him as
having awakened much refreshed, soothed, and strength-
ened.
"I took the liberty of ordering him some light food,
and he will do quite well, will rest, I think, and be almost
himself again in the morning."
A few minutes later he took his leave, and very soon
Glenn excused herself and went upstairs.
There was no formality of entertainment at Waylands,


WHAT DOES IT MEAN? 187
and Mrs. Wayland had taken up a book before her
daughter left the parlor. For a little time the captain
lounged and chatted with Jasper, who was unusually
silent, and then he got up, yawned behind his white
plump hand, and declared his intention to smoke upon the
piazza, adding: "Won't you join me, Ken?" as he moved
toward the door.
"I can't leave a lady alone, Captain," the young man
returned lightly. "I am too young to do it gracefully."
And the captain nodded his appreciation of the sally and
passed out through one of the long French windows.
"Mrs. Wayland, may I interrupt?"
The lady closed her book at once.
"By all means," she replied.
"I fear I must make myself disagreeable. I want to
subject you to a little catechism. It's for a purpose, of
course."
"If it's for the purpose—" she began.
"It is."
"Then make all possible use of me."
"First, then, do you think you could get Merrick down-
stairs soon upon some pretext which will prevent his
going back for some considerable time, two or three
hours, say?"
"Yes," she promptly replied.
"If need be I will set myself the task of entertaining
him, for I must ask you to make a search for me."
"Of what and when?"
"I think you guess in part. I believe that Merrick was
sometimes away from Winston during his engagement,
was he not?"
"Yes."
"And there must have been an exchange of letters?"
"Daily, almost."
"In my examination of Mrs. Merrick's rooms I do not
remember to have seen such letters, but my search was
not for them then. Mrs. Wayland, I do not ask you to
read any correspondence that you may find; there could
be nothing in an ante-marriage correspondence that could
help us. What I want is merely to know if, anywhere
among your niece's treasures or belongings, in desk,
'


188' NO PROOF.
drawer, or trunk, there are now any letters from him to
her."
"Do you want such if they exist?"
"Only to know if they exist. You need, only, to be sure
that they are his."
"I will do this," she said firmly. "Is that all?"
"No. Have you a photograph or photographs of Mer-
rick?"
"Of course," smiling slightly.
"I would like to see any and all that you may have."
She arose quickly, crossed the room, and on to the fur-
ther one, and came back bringing in her hand two or three
of the elaborate velvet and satin photograph cases so
much affected at the time, and taking the place of the old-
time album.
"Our later pictures should be here," she said, and be-
gan to turn over the contents of one after another.
They were many and various. Men and women, fam-
ily groups, duos, trios, lovely children, and pretty girls,
but when all had been examined, once, and yet again, to
make assurance yet more sure, there was no picture
among them of Eugene Merrick.
Mrs. Wayland turned abruptly, thrust pictures and
velvet cases from her in a heap upon the nearest chair,
and turned to face her companion.
"What does it mean?" she whispered.
CHAPTER XXVII.
WANTED—A PHOTOGRAPH.
Kenneth answered her question, like the Yankee he was
proud to be called, by asking another, with an imperturb-
able face which in no way replied to the startled ques-
tioning in hers.
"Have you any others?"
"Doris—" she began.
"Not yet," he broke in. "Miss Glenn—has she any?"
"She has, or had, two."


WANTED—A PHOTOGRAPH. 18$
"Do you think you could get them now, or, at least,
find out if she has them still?"
"I will try." It had been in her mind to say simply, "I
will," but the thought of Glenn's late strangeness and
reserve caused her to add a last qualifying syllable. "Shall
I go at once?"
"If you will; the sooner the better—now," he replied.
And Mrs. Wayland left the room without another word,
leaving Jasper, for the moment, lost in admiration for the
woman who, having asked his aid, and promised her own,
now went without question or comment to do his will.
Glenn Wayland was sitting by a table artistically lit-
tered with books and magazines, the shaded reading-
lamp drawn down, and its light falling over her shoulder,
leaving her face in shadow, and illuminating the book
which she held, but for some moments had not been read-
ing-
Mrs. Wayland, after tapping at her daughter's door,
an observance which she never omitted with any member
of her household, entered, on being bidden—for Glenn
knew the familiar rap—and came forward with the look
of straightforward resolute intent which the girl knew so
well, and so well understood. She knew that this visit
was no casual coming in, in passing, that its purpose was
serious, and rising at once, she stood awaiting her mother's
first words.
"Glenn, my dear, I find that my pictures of Eugene,
which were in the main parlor, have been removed;
they are not in the cases. I think you have one or two
of the same, have you not? I would like to take them."
Glenn was silent a moment, then, coming nearer her
mother, she said:
"I have no pictures of Eugene, mother."
"None?"
"Not one."
"Will you explain this, Glenn?"
"I have destroyed them."
"Since when?"
The girl stood silent a moment, then she lifted her head
with a proud movement.
"I shall never refuse to answer you, mother, when it is


190 . NO PROOF.
possible and honorable to do so. I destroyed them before
Doris was married."
"But—"
"Yes, I know what you are about to say. I had not
owned them three days when I burned them. There
must be others in her rooms, mother."
"Possibly—probably." Mrs. Wayland turned toward
the door.
"And the others, in the parlor; they can not be lost."
"Excuse me, dear; I can not stop to discuss it now.
We will soon know. Say nothing about this, Glenn."
"Certainly not, mother." And then as the door closed
behind Mrs. Wayland's retreating form she murmured in
her turn: "How strange! What does it mean?"
Mrs. Wayland went back to the rear parlor where Ken-
neth still sat alone.
"I was wrong. Glenn has no pictures of Eugene," she
said.
"None?" He stood up, facing her, with his bright,
keen eyes full upon hers. "Do you mean that they also
have disappeared?"
Her first instinct, the mother's instinct, had been to
shield Glenn, and make no explanations; but the first
look into the face of the young man, so wholly and en-
tirely absorbed in this matter, of such vital interest to her
and hers, brought her mind to a juster balance.
"Oh, Kenneth," she said, bending upon him a motherly,
almost tender look, "I can trust you, I know, and you
deserve our confidence, all of it. Glenn has destroyed the
pictures."
"Destroyed!" He checked himself, and a quick flush
swept his cheek and slowly faded out. "May I know,"
he began hesitatingly, and then his head was lifted higher
and his voice grew firm again. "Mrs. Wayland, this may
prove important. May I not know when this happened?"
"I can give no dates. In reply to my question my
daughter said that she had not owned the pictures three
days when she burned them."
"Ah!" Again the flushed and paling cheek, and Ken-
neth dropped his gaze to the floor.
"The picture's 'were given Her," Mrs. WaylanE went on


WANTED—A PHOTOGRAPH. 191
in a lower, gentler tone, "at the time, or very soon after
the engagement."
"Thank you." Kenneth turned away; he seemed to
have forgotten for the moment the object of his present
quest.
"Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Wayland, after & moment
of silence, "there are still some to be found in Dolly's
rooms."
He shook his head. "You might look; I wish you
would look; but I do not believe you will find anything;
still, it is important that we should know now."
She looked at him with a wistful shadow deepening in
her fine eyes and saddening her face. "There is some-
thing," she began, "which I have not told to any one
except Eugene. I thought it could not be needful. But
I think now you would better know it."
"Yes?" He turned back and sat down beside her again.
"When we placed Doris in her coffin I discovered that
his picture, Eugene's, was upon her breast. It was the
square card, the last he had had taken at her request.
I knew by the shape of the card what it must be, and, be-
sides, she had kept it in a closing frame. I found the
frame empty."
Kenneth merely nodded. He had made the same dis-
covery himself on the night of Eugene Merrick's return.
Suddenly he turned his head, looked over his shoulder
into the large parlor to the front, and with a quick "Ex-
cuse me one moment," got up and walked into that room.
He stood a moment beside the table from which she had
taken the photographs, went to the door opening upon the
hall and staircase, looked out, and went back to his place
beside Mrs. Wayland.
"You have told in detail about that night," he began;
"the night of her death, I mean; but I would like to
refresh my memory, beginning with the time when Mrs.
Merrick left the room after dinner to complete her
packing."
Mrs. Wayland sighed and bowed a silent consent to his
catechism.
"Will you show me, as nearly as may be, just where
yo'u sat, all of you, b'efore she left this room?''


192 NO PROOF.
She got up, and, moving from place to place, indicated
the position of the captain, her daughter, Doris Merrick,
and herself.
"I see," he said, as she resumed her seat. "The cap-
tain upon the corner divan, and yourself in the low rocker
near him, would have been unable to see into that room,"
motioning toward the front, "even if you had been facing
that way."
"Which we were not."
"Ah! Miss Glenn sat beside the reading-table,
facing—"
"Nearly north," she said.
"Then she could not have seen the table, nor the door
into the hall, without turning half around?"
Mrs. Wayland crossed the room and sat down beside the
little table.
"As nearly as I can remember she sat like this," she said,
watching him keenly.
'Then she could only see the northeast windows and
a small part of the room?"
"That is all."
"And Doris, Mrs. Merrick, sat opposite her?"
"Opposite, and in that low cozy. She faced my hus-
band and myself, and nearly all of the front room except
the north side.'7
"I see. And that room, how was it lighted?"
"Only by the tall lamp in front of the mantel, and that
was shaded, as now, and burning dimly."
"And the outer door—that upon the hall?"
"Open also, as now. It was quite warm even then."
"I remember." He got up quickly. "I see I am
wearying you, Mrs. Wayland. Thank you very much.
I hope to be more definite and satisfactory soon. I will
join the captain now. Do you think you could get Mer-
rick down here to-morrow if the doctor consents?"
"I will if the doctor consents. By the way, he is com-
ing early. Could you not be down early also? Con-
trive to intercept him on his way to the house and send
him first to my room—first, remember."
"I both can and will. Won't you come outside, Mrs.
Wavland? It is very fine."


WANTED—A PHOTOGRAPH. 103'
"Thank you; I shall go up to Glenn for a short time.
Solitude is not good for any of us now, Kenneth. Go
to my husband, by all means."
He walked with her across the two rooms and saw her
pass up the stairs, and then he went in search of the
captain.
When Doctor Roth, mounted upon a tall, well-groomed
sorrel horse, rode at a brisk trot up to the gates of Way-
lands next morning, he found Kenneth Jasper pacing the
drive and smoking an ante-breakfast cigar.
"Come down, Doctor," said Jasper as the rider came
through the patent gate, which opened, as if by magic,
at his approach; "you're too lofty, and"—lowering his
voice—"I've a message for you."
The doctor swung himself from the saddle and drew the
reins across his arm, and as they walked slowly toward
the house, Jasper delivered Mrs. Wayland's message.
"Very good," assented Roth. "I am at Mrs. Way-land's
service always. Have you seen my patient this morning?"
"Yes; looked in at him before coming down. He
seems quite himself, but complains of weakness."
"Umph!"
"Roth," went on the young man, "I want to med.lle
with your practice a little more."
"No more prescriptions, I hope."
"No; only sanitary measures. I am very sure that
Merrick ought to be got downstairs and out upon the
piazza, or lawn instead of cooped up alone in his room;
company, you know, cheerful company."
"Umph! Yourself, for instance?"
"Certainly. Why not? And, as soon as possible, he
should take a run to the city, or somewhere; change of
scene, you know."
"Ken," said the doctor, turning to glance at his com-
panion, "you know how much I believe in you, but, con-
found you, I can't see what you are at!"
"Then I'll tell you. It's simplicity itself. I want to
see if he will go."
"Oh—you do?" began the doctor.


IM NO PROOF.
"Hush!" broke in the other. "Here comes the captain."
"Morning, Captain," called Doctor Roth as his host
came down the steps toward them; and then, dropping
his voice, "Ken, the old boy's beginning to show how
hard he is taking all this, under all his mask of geniality
and hopefulness. Don't worry him with your subtleties
more than you can help. Gray mare's the better horse of
the two now."
"I know, I know! I'm doing my best, Roth. God
knows I wish I could spare them all—" He stopped
short as the captain came within earshot, and a moment
later he was holding the doctor's horse, a new acquisition,
while Captain Way land looked it over with the eye of a
horse-lover. The doctor had passed within to seek Mrs.
Wayland.
As a result of all these preliminaries, before the doctor
left the house he had seen his patient comfortably estab-
lished upon a couch upon the northeast corner of the
piazza, near the hammock and the palms, and where he
could be, at any moment, rolled upon smooth casters
into the cool and shady parlor—Mrs. Wayland laid claim*
to no "drawing-rooms"—where he might rest and sleep in
quiet.
"The fact is, Merrick," said the doctor, when the removal
had been accomplished and the invalid's pillows and cush-
ions had been arranged under the medical eye, "I want
to see you spend less time upstairs. You're very poor
company just now for yourself. In your condition of
mind and body you want society. Not chatter, neces-
sarily, but some one near you. Drive and ride, and, as
soon as you are a little stronger, take a little run to the
city, or somewhere. Change—that is what you need."
"Not when I'm really ill, Doctor?"
"Of course not. But you won't be really ill." He
sat down upon the edge of the couch and laid a finger
upon the patient's wrist. Kenneth was standing at a little
distance down the piazza, and Mrs. Wayland had just
stepped within. "Your trouble, Merrick," lowering his
voice and glancing about him, "is of the mind and nerves;
serious enough troubles, I grant you, but under the con-
trol of the will, and your will is all right, sound and


WANTED—A PHOTOGRAPH. 195
strong. Let these people here, Jasper, for instance, a
mere idler, help you to keep from brooding."
"Then you think I'm not really threatened with illness?
I—I've had some queer sensations, Doctor."
"Nerves, just nerves, man. Keep in the open air; it's
good for you."
And the doctor took his leave.
It was not until mid-afternoon that Kenneth found an
opportunity to speak again with Mrs. Wayland in private,
and then it was by a masterly coup on the part of the
lady, for Jasper avoided all possibility of suspicion by
not seeking her, and depended, for the most part, upon
chance, or what would seem chance, for their conferences.
All the morning Mrs. Wayland had spent upstairs, and
had then, after a few moments passed beside Merrick's
couch, retired to her own room, not appearing again until
she took her place at the luncheon-table.
It was late afternoon when Mrs. Wayland's phaeton
and ponies came around, and when that lady came out
upon the piazza, equipped for her drive, Glenn was sitting
in the hammock, not far from Merrick's couch, and Jasper
stood at a little distance leaning against a pillar and watch-
ing the girl's face as much as he dared without discovery.
Mrs. Wayland passed him on her way to the invalid's
couch, and in passing shot him a meaning glance.
"I am going to town, good people," she said, drawing
up the wrist of her driving-glove with care. "I had
thought you might like to call at the milliner's, Glenn,
but since I find you here I will put our invalid in your
care and go, unless you take pity on my solitude, Ken-
neth, all by myself."
"And you don't like that, do you, mother," spoke Glenn,
Jasper separated himself from the supporting pillar
slowly, as if not too anxious to go, which, because of
Glenn's presence, was, in truth, the case.
"If you can't do better, Mrs. Wayland," he said, "and
if you'll allow me time to change my coat I'll go with
pleasure."
When he came down, scarce a moment later, he had
not only exchanged his coat, but had stowed in his pocket
the key to "Aunt Jem's" cottage.


196 - NO PROOF.
When they were out upon the high-road he turned to
his companion.
“You did not succeed?” he questioned.
“Are you disappointed?” she asked.
“No. In one sense I am not. I did not expect you
would find a photograph. Was there no correspondence?”
“Nothing—absolutely nothing. And yet Doris re-
ceived and answered many letters. She must have de-
stroyed them all. There were ashes in the grate.”
“Yes,” he said absently.
“Did you want that picture very much?”
“I wanted it—yes.”
“Then, I was about to say that Cooper took Eugene's
picture; the one buried with Doris. We may be able
to get one there.”
“Let us try,” he said.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE POTTER'S FIELD.
“We must have a pretext,” said Kenneth, as they
climbed the stairs to the studio of the photographer. “It
won't do to seem to come expressly for his picture.”
“What must it be, then?” queried Mrs. Wayland anx-
iously.
“Leave that to me. Only follow with your request.”
They were almost at the door, and it opened a moment
later in their very faces. It was the photographer—he
called himself an artist—who met them thus at the thresh-
old, and who drew back and ushered them in with many
words of apology for venturing to leave his own estab-
lishment.
“It's not a sitting now,” broke in Jasper, “that we want.
I want to ask you if you still have the negative of my
aunt's, Miss Jasper's, picture. It was a very good one,
and some mere copies are in demand.”
º -


THE POTTER'S FIELD. 197
“Of course the negative has been preserved,” the artist
said; “shall I look it up at once? It is only a year-old
negative, and—” But Mrs. Wayland saw her opportunity
just here and spoke quickly.
“Then, in that case, you must, of course, have Mr. Mer-
rick's negative. It was made quite recently. Or, per-
haps, you may even have a copy or two of the photo-
graphs.”
“I—ah—” The artist hesitated, and Mrs. Wayland, to
refresh his memory, went on.
“He came with his wife, if you remember, and you made
very successful likenesses of both.”
“Yes, Mrs. Wayland; but then, you don't know that Mr.
Merrick instructed me to destroy them—at least his own?”
“No. Really—” -
“That must have been recently,” broke in Jasper.
“Recently! It's really a coincidence. I destroyed the
negative and several pictures at noon to-day. I received
a note from him this very morning instructing me to do
so.” He turned to his desk and took a letter from the
file. “Here it is.” He smoothed the sheet and read
slowly:
“Mr. Cooper:
“Dear Sir: You will probably recall the fact of having
made photographs of my late wife and myself not long
since. Will you kindly look up the negative of my own,
together with any copies that you may have, and destroy
then at once? That you may not think me eccentric I
will explain. That picture was found upon my dead
wife's heart, and is buried with her. I want no duplicates
in other hands. Inclosed—”
He broke off with some embarrassment. “He inclosed
some money, which I will of course refund,” he explained.
Jasper and Mrs. Wayland exchanged quick glances,
and the lady said:
“Do not return it, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Merrick is ill,
and he is very sensitive in regard to his loss. You would
better send him a line telling him what you have done,
and the fact that he has not spoken of this shows that he


198 NO PROOF.
does not' want it talked about. I shall not speak of it to
him. Have you any of Mrs. Merrick's pictures?"'
Mr. Cooper put down the letter upon his desk and
went behind the show-case to look among the pictures
filling it. But he found none, and when Jasper had given
an order for half a dozen of Miss Jasper's pictures, they
left the place.
"Do you know," said he, when they were again in the
phaeton, "what I read at the bottom of Merrick's note
while Cooper was looking through the case for you?"
"How should I?"
"To be sure. Cooper left off at 'inclosed find ten dol-
dars to indemnify you for the loss of such future orders
as, under happier circumstances, I might have given.
Destroy at once, and consider this confidential.'"
"The artist interprets that word very liberally," com-
mented she.
"I think we surprised the man into the disclosure. He
'won't speak of it again, I am sure. And now—are you
in haste to return?"
"No."
"I would like to drive to Aunt Jem's and to Roth's for
a moment."
At the gate of Miss Jasper's shut-up cottage Mrs. Way-
land sat waiting, while the ponies pranced, and Kenneth
made his way in, by the aid of a latch-key, returning soon
with a package, box-like, nearly square, and securely
wrapped and tied.
"When we reach Waylands," he said, as he deposited
this in the bottom of the phaeton, "will you kindly allow
it to pass as your property, Mrs. Wayland, until such time
as I can smuggle it to my room unobserved? There is
sure to be some one upon the piazza, or lawn when we
arrive."
"If you can assure me that it is not an infernal machine,"
she replied, with a slight smile, "you may carry it, with my
own little parcels, yet to be purchased, to my door and
there leave it."
"But it is an infernal machine, warranted, however, not
to discharge itself prematurely," he replied, and she smiled
as if she understood.


THE POTTER'S FIELD. 199
Doctor Roth was just emerging from his office when
they halted before the door, and he came at once to meet
them.
"It's a small matter of information that we want, Doc-
tor," said Kenneth in answer to his invitation to enter.
"No, thank you, we cannot stop, can we, Mrs. Wayland?"
"Not if we expect to reach home in time for dinner.
Another time, thank you, Doctor," said Mrs. Wayland;
and then Kenneth leaned forward and lowered his tone.
"Would it be a breach of confidence, Roth, if you told
us whether or no you posted a letter for your patient this
morning?"
"For Merrick?" with a look of surprise. "I did; yes."
"I thought so. And it was directed to Cooper, the
photographer, eh?"
"It was."
"Do you know what it contained?"
"Merrick merely said that it was a reminder about some
pictures."
"Pardon me, but did he mention whose pictures?"
"He said something about Cooper having made some
good negatives of Mrs. Merrick and himself not long
since."
"Oh! Thanks, very much," Kenneth said, drawing
up the reins and favoring his friend with a humorously
malicious smile. "We learned that such a letter had been
sent and I was naturally curious to know whom the bearer
might have been." And he drove away, throwing back
at the doctor a last glance, which plainly said, "You will
know all when we meet again."
For three days Merrick occupied the couch upon the
piazza, or sat idly in a long piazza-chair beneath leaf and
vine, looking pale, and seeming weak and despondent.
Then he began to rally, appearing to grow daily stronger
in nerve and muscle, and, during these days, Kenneth
Jasper passed much time in his society. He read to him,
chatted and smoked, sitting beside his couch upon the
shady porch, and walked and drove with him as he be-
came stronger, and Merrick grew to look for his com-
ing when, for any cause, he was absent for a time, and
find comfort and cheer in his bright optimism, and^ in


THE POTTER'S FIELD. 201
That afternoon, when Doctor Roth had paid his visit to'
Merrick, and taken leave of him, Kenneth asked him to go
to the stables and look at his mare Kitty, who was acting
queerly.
After some talk, in which Kitty and her queerness had
a very small part, Jasper suddenly asked:
"What do you think of Merrick?"
The doctor looked grave. "I am beginning to pity the
man," he said. "He has a nervous, finely strung organi-
zation, and he's taking his trouble hard. Honestly, Ken,
he has greater depth of character than I at first supposed."
"Oh! he has?" with a fine scorn. ".Why, Roth, that
fellow is so clever, so subtle, that—"
"That—what, Ken?"
"That he is puzzling me. It is not all plain sailing,
confound it!"
And Eugene Merrick in those days was an enigma to
more than this one member of the Waylands household.
,With his pale, sad, handsome face, his appealing eyes, and
mellow voice, he went and came to the cemetery, the
grove, the meadow, never intruding his sorrow and never
seeming to forget it.
When he became strong enough to revisit the cemetery
he began to take a new interest in the cultivation and care
of the rare roses and other dainty blossoms that were
already making Doris Merrick's grave a place of beauty.
And what had at first been Mrs. Wayland's care, he now
assumed as .his own.
"Leave this to me, dear Mrs. Wayland,'' he said to her
one day when they were discussing the work and choosing
some new roses to replace others that had failed of their
promise. "At first I could not, but now it is all I can do.""
There was a strangely reluctant look in the lady's face,
a sort of holding back, and Ken Jasper, lounging near,
got up and walked away down the drive, but Merrick had
his way. At first he went with Mrs. Wayland in the
phaeton, but soon he went alone.
One morning—it was the seventh day after Merrick's
attack—he sat upon the piazza, watching Mrs. Wayland
arrange some young rose-bushes, fresh from the Win-
ston greenhouse, and carefully wrapped in moss. They


A TRUNK AND A TROWEL. 203
hazel-brush grew rank on the one side and the potter's
field lay upon the other, a remote corner, more overgrown
and neglected than the rest, and more closely filled, Ken-
neth stood and watched the moving figure beyond.
Merrick carried in one hand a trowel for digging, and in
the other a cluster of something white and flowering, and
he moved about among the graves, aimlessly, it would
seem, and now and then would bend down, and, with the
trowel, remove from a grave some unsightly weed and
fling it away—surely a gentle, kindly act; and thus he
moved on until he came to the edge of the potter's field,
and then Kenneth dropped suddenly to his knees behind
the hazel screen.
Pushing aside the overhanging branches of a low-
growing tree, Merrick moved on into the very heart of the
potter's field, and then paused, where the grass grew
high, the branches hung low, and a poison ivy formed
a curtain between himself and the newer ground. And
there, beside a grave, low sunken and having at its head
a small, old slab, weather-worn and half-overgrown with
earth and weeds and brambles, he turned, looked around,
and up, and let the trowel fall from his hand. Then,
crouching close to the weed-choked headstone, he put
down the bunch of white-flowered greenness and began
to dig.
Kenneth Jasper lay still among the concealing hazel-
.brush for some time after Merrick had gone, and then
shifting his position to make himself more comfortable,
waited yet longer. Then, moving cautiously, as if sur-
rounded by wary foes, he crept forth through the hazel-
brush, through a gap in the old fence, and so into the
potter's field.
CHAPTER XXIX.
"A TRUNK AND A TROWEL."
Jasper came down to dinner ten minutes late, after the
soup, in fact, and was humbly penitent because of it.
"You see," he said to Mrs. Wayland, to whom, of course,
his apologies were addressed, "I got farther away than


204 NO PROOF.
I intended. I found a great deal to interest me in the
south wood."
"In what locality?" It was Merrick who asked the
question.
"Round about your favorite Goose Lake. I took a
number of charming bits and actually photographed a
squirrel sitting." And he smiled with open-eyed frank-
ness at his questioner. "You ought to go out with me,
Merrick. I have enjoyed myself immensely. Of course
it's a long walk, but we could drive; go around, you
know."
"Did you go around?" Merrick asked.
"Not I! I went, and came, across lots, through the
cemetery, and across the wood beyond. By the way,
Captain, what a densely shaded and overgrown place our
cemetery is, at least a part of it. No, Jennie, no cream
sauce, thank you." And Kenneth turned his attention
to his dinner.
He knew very well what had been the movements of
the masculine inmates of the house during the day; that
Merrick had taken a morning gallop with Glenn, the first
since his illness, a nap after luncheon, and then his solitary
visit to the cemetery.
When dessert had been placed before them and a lull
had fallen upon the conversation, Jasper looked up, with
a half-peeled orange in his hand, and turned toward the
captain.
"Captain, if it is not an impertinence, or a secret, may I
ask who were the two strangers leaning over the rails
of the south pasture this morning?"
The captain looked up quickly. He had been listening
for this or a similar question for a week or more, and
now that it had come he was taken somewhat off his guard,
but he rallied quickly.
"I don't object to telling you, Ken," he said, with the
air of a man who has his reservations, "but unluckily I
can't. Why this interest?"
"It's only curiosity of the idlest kind. When one sees
a couple of well-dressed, keen-looking strangers driving
past Waylands on the high-road, going south, and cut-
ting around the section to come back along your west


A TRUNK AND A TROWEL, 505
pasture, at night, and then spies them leaning over the
meadow bars and eying afar the paddock and the house
in the distance next morning, one naturally indulges in
a little idle curiosity."
"And when," retorted the captain in the same tone, "a
brace of smart-looking strangers accost a man across his
own boundary fence, asking idle questions about the
town and the inhabitants, shall he not answer with all
politeness?"
"To be sure."
"Well-dressed strangers hunting in couples and on
foot," commented innocent Mrs. Wayland, "are quite un-
usual so far from the town."
"Two miles," said the captain statistically. "Just ring
for Jennie and the coffee, my dear, won't you." And thus
the subject was dropped.
As they passed out from the dining-room Merrick ad-
dressed Captain Wayland in a low aside.
"Can you spare Joe to me this evening, Captain?" he
asked. "I want to be driven into town. Somehow I
don't feel up to the drive by myself—I'm afraid I have
been too enterprising of late; and I want to see Roth and
my partner."
"Spare Joe! Why, bless you, man, Joe's quite at your
disposal always."
"Thank you. Then I think I will go at once." There
was a note of weariness in his tone, and the impulsive
captain asked with quick kindliness:
"Sha'n't I order your trap? I am going out."
"Thanks. You're very kind. If it won't trouble you,
Captain." And Merrick put a hand upon the newel post,
and went with slow, languid steps upstairs.
"Whither bound, Captain?" It was Kenneth who
spoke, standing upon the piazza, step with a cigar between
his fingers.
"Just across the lawn, to the stables, in fact."
"Then I'll walk with you. The fact is," he said, his
tone growing serious, "I want to put you to considerable
trouble, Captain."
"Eh! How?"
"I want you to go to the city."


206 NO PROOF.
"When?"
"To-morrow, if possible. Can't we talk it over later?"
"Yes. Come to my den whenever you think it best."
"That will be when Merrick has retired," said Kenneth,
smiling.
"Eugene? Well, we need not wait for that. He is
going to town, at once almost."
"To town—now? This evening?" Kenneth stopped
short. "Do you know why?"
"To see Morse and the doctor, he tells me." And the
captain obligingly repeated his brief interview with
Merrick.
When they had reached the gate opening into the stable
yard Kenneth paused.
"After all, Captain, we may have to wait until a late
hour for my explanation. I suppose it would not answer
for you to set off at once in the morning. Can you go
by the afternoon train? I think without doubt you could
get back next day, or night."
"That depends upon the nature of the business, Ken."
"Well, I suppose I may tell you that at once. I want
you to find for me an expert locksmith. Best of his kind."
"You make me curious; and why can't we have the
details now, as soon as I have got out that horse for
Merrick?"
"Because I mean to go to town myself."
"With Eugene?"
"No; after him at a respectful distance." He swung
open the gate, with a short laugh. "Enter, Captain; let
us hasten the departure." Then, as the captain passed
through, he added, smilingly: "Patience, my dear sir;
patience."
"Hang patience!" ejaculated Captain Wayland testily
and half to himself, and Kenneth, still smiling, followed at
a loitering pace and without comment.
Ten minutes later Merrick and Joe, the groom, drove
cut upon the high-road and went spinning toward town,
and before a second ten minutes had passed Kenneth was
cantering gaily over the same road.
Merrick was driven straight to the office of "Merrick
& Morse, Real Estate," etc., but he did not enter.


A TRUNK AND A TROWEL. 207
Darkness had quite fallen by the time they had reached
the town—the soft, gray dusk of the summer night—
and Merrick sat, a mere dark shape outlined in the less
dense darkness, while the boy Joe entered the office, in
which, through the window not yet screened from out-
side gazers, a man could be seen reading beside a desk.
This was the partner, Morse, Jerry Morse, a man with a
serious, not to say morose countenance, and exact busi-
ness habits. He had been from the first the indoor part-
ner of the concern, and all his habits were sedentary and,
by preference, solitary. It was understood in Winston
that Merrick was the capitalist of the firm.
This man turned upon Joe a face well covered with a
three-months' growth of beard—au natural, except for a
very slight trimming about the edges and at the ends,
listened in silence to his message, motioned to a seat be-
side the desk, which he closed quickly and locked, pock-
eting the key. Then, catching up his hat, he went, without
a word, out to the place where Merrick sat waiting.
"Get in," said the latter crisply, and Morse having
climbed into his place, still in silence, they drove away.
They turned at once away from the business streets,
driving out toward the less busy and thickly populated
portion of the town. Here, where all was quiet, the
lamps burned with suburban dimness, and they drove
slowly in and out among the shadowy streets, talking in
low tones.
Now and then, as they passed along the wide tree-
shaded roads, they met a carriage filled with laughing peo-
ple, or were passed by the light, swift wheels of a spruce
trap, "just big enough for two." Once or twice the light
from a silently flitting bicycle flashed past, and once they
were near colliding with some one upon a lightless wheel.
"Where did that fellow come from?" asked Merrick's
companion. "Fool! to be going about such a night with-
out a light. Ought to be arrested. Which way did
he go?"
"Toward town. I saw enough to know that. He was
faced that way."
"For just a minute," declared Morse, "I was primed for
a smash. Held my breath to jump. Horse took it well."


A TRUNK AND A TROWEL, 2%
“Look here, sir,” called Morse sharply. “What do
you mean by following this outfit, eh?”
“It's the same fellow,” whispered Merrick.
The man with the wheel suddenly flashed a noiseless
parlor match and bent quickly down, seeming to study the
ground by its light. Then, as the match flickered out, he
stood up and said, in a heavy voice and with a strong Ger-
Iman accent:
“Sa—a! You titn't runt oafer soam poontles, hein?
He kot loast vrom unter mine arum.” And again
he struck a match and again bent to scrutinize the
ground, muttering as he did so a round German oath
and quite ignoring their question. He seemed to be clad
in a workman's blouse and wore a flapping straw hat.
Thus much they could see by the flickering match-light,
but his shoulder was toward them, and he stood with the
wheel on the farther side, and only his broad back was
visible when he stooped to look for the lost “poontle.”
“D–n the Dutchman ſ” muttered Mr. Morse. “Drive
on, Merrick; there's no use in parleying with him.”
Merrick shook the reins, his horse completed the turn
in the road, and the Dutchman continued to strike his
matches and peer along the highway.
When they had gone a little distance Merrick turned
his head and looked back. The gleam of matches could
still be seen in the distance, flaming up, and then dying
out, and he turned back with a sigh of relief.
“No doubt he's all right,” he said, “but for a moment
I would have sworn he was listening.”
“Pah!” grunted Morse. “Drive faster.”
A moment later the man with the bicycle threw away his
twentieth match and straightened himself.
“Reckon I’ve kept this thing up long enough,” he mut-
tered. “Who could have been prepared for that sudden
turn? But they did not see my face; I am sure of that,”
and he mounted his wheel, struck across the nearest cor-
ner, and dashed back to town on the next street running
parallel with that traversed by Merrick and his companion.
Reaching the heart of the town, he turned into a short
side street and entered the wide door of a livery stable.
Here he placed the wheel against the wall and entered the


210 NO PROOF.
little office where a young man lounged, smoking a pipe
and reading a sporting paper.
Jasper peered through the dingy glass to make sure
that he was alone and then entered.
"I have brought back your wheel, Charley," he said,
divesting himself of the blouse and straw hat. "Much
obliged for the same, and for these," and he hung the
blouse upon its accustomed nail.
"All right. Did your little joke work?"
"Well, not quite. I'll tell you about it when I have
more time. Ta, ta, Charley!" And he left the youth to
his "penny dreadful."
"Queer fellow," murmured Charley, as he turned his
sheet. "Wonder what he was up to, anyway? No harm,
I'll be bound," and he became once more absorbed in his
paper, while Jasper went back to the stalls, untied his
horse, rode out of the stable yard, and taking a short
cut through a lane, was soon upon the street where Doctor
Roth's office stood.
Merrick's trap stood before the door, with Joe loung-
ing upon the seat, and seeing this, Jasper ambled past,
secure from recognition in the gloom, and went swiftly
homeward.
The next morning as he was dressing for breakfast, he
heard a sound as of shuffling feet and voices, mingling in
quick exclamation, and a moment later a bumping sound
as of a heavy body being carried with difficulty.
Opening his door a little, he saw the head and bent
shoulders of a Winston wagoner, and then, suddenly en-
lightened, he came out into the hall. Eugene Merrick
was standing a few feet away from the head of the stairs
overlooking the efforts of Joe and the wagoner, who
were laboriously guiding a large, heavy iron-bound trunk
down the stairs. It was too large to be shouldered, and
too heavy; and, even in the hands of the two men, it went
sliding and bumping, and once or twice obstinately halt-
ing on its downward way. It was Merrick's trunk, and
Jasper, leaning over the railing, saw, with a sensation
of relief, that it bore the number of the trunk of the attic.
"Heavy?" he commented to Merrick, who joined him
beside the stair rail.


A TRUNK AND A TROWEL. 211
"Horribly so. I ought to have removed those books,
really. Morse is going to the city and will look after it
and see that my fur things are properly cared for. It's
a good chance."
"Yes." Jasper moved toward the head of the stairs
as if anxious for his breakfast. "At first I feared you
were about to leave us."
"Not yet." Merrick joined him at the top of the flight
and they followed the trunk, slowly, step by step. "Not
until I am a little stronger. Roth tells me I am better
here. And—I know it must come, of course, but it will
be a wrench when I have to tear myself away."
"Naturally. But you won't leave us yet. I think it
would be very trying to both the captain and Mrs. Way-
land to be left alone now." And the trunk being at last
down and its bearers resting at the door, the two young
men went on their way to the breakfast-room.
At the table Captain Wayland announced his visit to
town, having first prepared his wife for the sudden de-
cision, and it was discussed in a desultory fashion, as was
also the sending of Merrick's trunk.
"I feel," the latter said, turning to Mrs. Wayland, "that
at least I ought to relieve Waylands of some of my lesser
superfluities. The greatest one, myself, I must ask you
to tolerate a little longer until Roth has made me a little
more of a man, physically speaking."
Of course he was promptly reassured of his welcome,
his secure place as one of the family in his dead wife's
place, and then Glenn inquired solicitously after his health.
He was listless and heavy-eyed and he ate almost nothing.
"I don't want to admit myself really ill," he said de-
jectedly, "but I seem only half alive, somehow. I have
thought it entirely a mental condition, and that I could
shake it off, but"—he shook his head—"I'm afraid Doctor
Roth does not agree with me."
Merrick went straight to his room after breakfast and
was not seen again until noon, when he came down to
luncheon, looking flushed and feverish. All the earlier
part of the afternoon he lingered in the shade of the
piazza, lounging and listless, but after the captain had set
out upon his journey cityward he went out into the


212 NO PROOF.
grounds, and after a little aimless moving about the lawn
set off across the meadow and in the direction of the
cemetery.
A little later Jasper ordered out his wagonette and
drove southward. When he had arrived opposite the
eastern boundary of the cemetery he drew his horse out
of the road and close to the low fence, across which he had
a clear view of the modern portion of the ground. There
was no one in sight, but he stood erect in his place and
looked for a moment across the more open ground, and
then, reseating himself, called lustily:
"Merrick! oh, Merrick!"
There was no reply; but, after a moment, Eugene Mer-
rick emerged from the thick undergrowth on the farther
side, stood irresolute for a little time, and then, seeming
to descry Jasper, waved his hand and made his way slowly
toward him.
"They told me at the stables that you had crossed the
meadow," began Jasper, leaning forward and beaming
upon Merrick, "and I took the liberty to follow."
"To follow?" Merrick ejaculated, and then, in a milder
tone: "You are very kind."
"You see, I thought you might be taking too much
upon yourself—this walk, in your state, you know; and
as I was going out for a drive, I thought I would like
your company."
Merrick leaned across the fence to pat the handsome
horse as he said:
"You're an awfully good fellow, Jasper! I hope you
have not had a long hunt?"
"For you?" Jasper laughed. "I hope I may always
hunt as luckily, that's all."
"Oh, really! Did you cross the timber?"
"Bless you, man, do you think I've been tramping
after you? Why, I'm here straight from the stables,
quick time, too. Look at the nag. Were you in the
woods?"
"In—well, not quite. I was just rambling about. Been
to the other side; across that old ground. It is badly
neglected, as you said the other day." ""*"•>•
"Neglected! I should think so! You see, it's forgot^


A TRUNK AND A TROWEL. 213
ten almost. Has not been a burial there within my mem-
ory, and I don't suppose any one ever goes mere any
more."
"I dare say." Merrick came close to the wheel. "Where
are you driving?"
"Wherever you please, if you will go for an hour or so."
"I'm sure you're very good. I'll just go and bring Mrs.
Wayland's trowel."
"All right; take your time."
Merrick went at a somewhat unusual pace across to the
open space in the middle of which stood a fine oak tree,
a solitary sentinel at the head of Doris Merrick's grave,
and, bending down, looked here and there among the
roses and lilies already planted thick upon it. Then, lift-
ing his head, he glanced about him sharply, and bent to
repeat his first movements.
In a moment he looked up, took two or three steps
toward the wagonette, and called across to Jasper.
"I can't find Mrs. Wayland's trowel."
"Eh?" Jasper put a hand to his ear and moved as if to
jump out, but Merrick threw up his hand and went yet
a few steps nearer.
"Don't get out," he called; "there's no fit place to tie.
I'll just look a little farther; perhaps I lost it while looking
about. I'll be with you in a minute." And as Jasper sank
back in his place and took up the reins, he turned and
began to peer here and there, moving gradually nearer
the old ground. As he approached the southern end he
started and turned suddenly at the sound of a mellow
whistle not far away. Jasper was half way across the
inclosure, and the moment Merrick turned toward him
he began:
"It's no use, Merrick, you are not fit to prowl about
here like this. If you must find that trowel sit down under
one of these trees and let me do the peering about. There
now"—as he came closer—"you're actually pallid this
minute." Then, dropping his half-jesting tone, "Merrick
you look really ill. It takes a strong person to stoop
over these flowers for long; sit down and breathe."
Merrick let himself slip down upon a stone coping and
dropped his face in his hands. "I did not know I was so


214 NO PROOF.
weak," he said. "I'll be all right in a moment, Jasper.
I suppose it was the bending. My head is a bit light at
times yet."
"Naturally." Jasper seated himself beside the other,
and for a moment both were silent. Then Merrick looked
up and smiled as he met his eyes.
"I suppose it will not be a criminal case if we do go
back without that trowel, but, hang it, it's so stupid to lose
a lady's property." And he smiled again.
"Well, you can't hunt any more, but I'm at your service.
Must I beat the whole bush?" waving his hand toward the
south.
"Hardly needful to look where I have not been, is it?"
"Hardly."
"Well, if you will look over in that corner," pointing
to the southeast; "I looked about in there after I had dug>
around the lilies and carnations, according to Glenn's
directions, and then I crossed through there," indicating
by gesture the way diagonally across from southeast to
west. "I stopped near that tall round shaft, the tallest
one, and, after loitering a little, came back. If you get be-
yond my line I'll call to you."
"All right."
Jasper went faithfully over the ground indicated, while
Merrick sat, still somewhat pale and weary of aspect,
looking after him as he went slowly about. When he had
covered the ground according to directions, he turned,
still standing at a distance, and called:
"Merrick, the thing is not to be found in this beat, I
am sure. Shall I go farther, and, if so, which way?"
Merrick got up slowly. "I am making you too much
trouble, Jasper," he called back. "Let it drop for now."
"Well"—Jasper came toward him as he spoke—"I think
it's just as well, although I'm quite at your service. If
you'd like to beat up the whole ground, only say the word.
After all, it's only a trowel."
"True," said the other absently, and, turning toward the
wagonette, "we will give it up for the present." And,
Jasper following, they were soon in the little trap and
whirling down a fine country road.


HE DOES NOT KNOW. 215
CHAPTER XXX.
"HE DOES NOT KNOW."
Late that night, after the house was still, and most of
its inmates sleeping, a window in the upper row, facing
southward, opened noiselessly, rather the screen, which
most good housewives interpose between the outer and
inner world, did. It slid up as if it had been carefully
manipulated and prepared, as indeed it had, and, in a
moment, the slatted shutters also swung wide and a head
peered out, seeming to listen. The roof of the piazza, level
and firm, was only a couple of feet below, and presently
a figure, carrying something in each hand, stepped over
the window ledge, paused to secure something to the win-
dow casing, and advanced cautiously to the edge. In a
moment something long and slender and undulating
slipped over and down into the darkness of the moonless
night.
It was a light rope ladder, and it swung loose for a
moment, just over the piazza, steps, then it grew taut
under the weight coming, hand over hand, over the por-
tico roof and down.
On either side of the steps a luxuriant ivy clambered;
and the figure, now landed upon the steps, taking the rope
ladder up carefully, gave it an outward whirl, drew it
quickly aside, and, presto, instead of dangling straight
over the open space, the ladder end was tucked securely
in among the vines, and its length, caught and draped
over the woody fiber, was as secure from the passing
touch as it had, from the first, been from sight.
"It's more than likely he will come this way," murmured
the dark figure, and then, crossing the lawn, he threw
himself down beside, and almost under, a spreading
syringa at an angle with the southeast corner of die house.
From this point he would be able to see, dimly, any-
thing that might cross the open space between the front
or side entrance and his own hiding-place. And here,
for a long half-hour, he waited.
At the end of that time a second figure emerged from


216 NO PROOF.
the blackness of the piazza, and, keeping away from the
gravel path, passed, slowly and with much caution, be-
tween it and the syringas, in the direction of the stables.
When this second figure had passed, the first arose,
and stood listening, then, quickly and quietly, followed
after the other.
Straight on and with much caution went the first fig-
ure, and straight on, and with confidence, followed the
second. But, when the first had crossed the stable yard
and the paddock and had climbed the rail and set out
across the meadow in the direction of the cemetery, the
other halted at the farther paddock fence, and, leaning
upon it, said to himself:
"It's useless to toil unnecessarily. I'll just walk about,
enough to insure myself against sleepiness, and wait here
comfortably until—um—" He broke off as if suddenly
struck by a new thought, and went slowly back as he
came.
Then, for another half-hour, or near it, he waited, some-
times sitting beneath a tree and resting against its trunk,
sometimes pacing to and fro along the line of the drive
from the stables to the road and running straight out,
parallel almost with the main drive from the house to the
highway, and then, standing beneath a tree, he slung
from his shoulder a strap, attached at both ends to an
oiled silk case, closely packed, from which he took first
a soft, wide-brimmed hat, and next, and last, a coat of
the species duster, light and thin, and falling, when it
was donned, almost to his heels. Dimly seen through
the darkness, he would look, as he well knew, taller by
inches, and narrower of shoulder, Hke another man, in
short.
Having donned these transforming garments, he went
directly to the gate which connected the grounds with
the stable yard, and there, leaning upon a post, stood at
ease.
The night, which had been cloudy, was growing clearer.
Here and there stars were out and shapes could be seen
dimly at short distances. But a huge oak at his back hid
him in its shadow where he stood, though he knew that a
few steps on the other side of the gate, and into the stable


HE DOES NOT KNOW. 217
yard, would reveal him to one approaching from the
opposite direction, once he had entered the yard, which
was narrow, but long, running back to the orchard in the
rear.
The drive passed the gate, and, on the opposite side
from which he stood, was a tall old elm tree, some twenty
feet away.
Twenty minutes passed, and the watcher at the gate
moved restlessly and adjusted the strap across his shoulder.
"If he doesn't come soon," he assured himself, "we shall
have too much light to suit me." And he smiled into the
darkness as if it were a confidant.
A moment later there was a stirring in the long meadow
grass close beside the paddock fence, and some one
vaulted over and came straight across, through the pad-
dock, on into the stable yard, and toward the house. As
he cleared the fence between paddock and stable yard—
the gate was farther down—he moved more slowly and
with greater caution. Not far from the dividing fence
was a small group of trees, and, as he came to the last of
this group, and took a forward step, peering about him
more and more carefully, a sound caused him to start
and then to stop suddenly. It was, he was sure of it, the
sound of the gate across the yard, the "lawn gate," as it
was usually called, to distinguish it from the paddock
gate, and it was opening, or being opened by some one,
slowly, carefully, but still to be heard.
He made a backward step, and. stood silent beneath the
trees, and then started again, and an actual trembling
seized him; for, dimly, indistinctly, but surely, he saw a
tall figure emerge from the direction of the house through
the gate, and stop a moment, turning, as if to listen to some
sound from behind.
Standing thus, the tall form, the big slouch hat, and long
coat were quite distinctly outlined to the eyes now so near.
But the pause was brief, and the tall stranger crossing the
drive was soon lost beneath the big elm. Evidently he
was making for the road.
Then the man who watched beneath the trees made
again a forward step, listened, and came on. He had
cleared the trees and was nearing the carriage-house,


218 NO PROOF.
when a whistle, low and soft, but distinct, and evidently
coming from some point upon the lawn, brought him
again to a halt, and now he seems to have abandoned
his intention of going straight back to the house. In-
stead he turns toward the stables, enters the carriage shed,
where the darkness is thick, and for many minutes there
is no more stir about the stable yard.
Meanwhile the figure in the long coat has reached the
outer gate and has gained the road. From this gate a
low hedge bounds the lawn of Waylands, and between
hedge and street stands a row of fine old trees. Swiftly
along under their shelter runs the tall figure until it has
passed the gate, then, turning and catching up the broad
coat skirts that flap at his heels, he leaps lightly over the
hedge and runs across the grass, crouching and following
the line of shade made by tree and shrubbery until he has
reached the northeast corner of the house. Here he
whisks off the hat and coat and tucks them snugly away
behind and beneath the vines and shrubbery that grow
about the little portico leading -to the captain's study, and
then, bareheaded, and careless now of discovery, he makes
the circuit of the house, coming around from the rear to
the piazza steps, where he has left his ladder.
Here he makes sure that it is secure and out of the way,
and then he takes one of the cane chairs upon the piazza
and calmly places it at the very top of the steps and there
seats himself. Now he takes from his pocket a noiseless
parlor match and a mild cigar, lights the latter, and then,
as it begins to glow, gets up, goes to the table beyond thei
door and feels about carefully. Yes, it is there, and he
takes it back to his place at the top of the steps. It is a
large palm-leaf fan, and, holding it before the lower half
of his face, he smokes on, the fan forming a screen behind
which the spark of his now glowing weed is quite con-
cealed from any one coming directly toward him, the
shrouding vines making him secure from the other points
of view.
Presently a second thought causes him to rise again
and pull off the coat of thin dark serge over which he
had drawn the longer garment. This he drops behind
the table near by and again sits down to wait.


HE DOES NOT KNOW. 219
He had made this last move none too soon, for in a
moment his keen eyes discerned in the open space oppo-
site a shadowy something moving toward him over the
grass.
He smoked on in silence until the figure was directly
opposite him and not a dozen feet away, and then he let
fall the fan and sprang down the steps, two at a time, the
light of his cigar now visible as he caught it from between
his lips.
There was the sound of a sharply caught breath and a
sudden recoiling movement on the part of the approach-
ing figure as the one upon the piazza darted forward with
a low spoken:
"Stop! fellow, and give account of yourself!"
There was an instant of silence and then the other said
in an agitated voice:
"Jasper! Is that you?"
"Great Scott! Merrick." Another instant of mutual
surprise and silence, and then Jasper grasped the other's
arm and said: "Man, what does this mean?"
Merrick made a movement toward the steps. "Let me
sit down, Jasper. I'm done up, and you've just added
the finishing stroke." And he dropped down upon the
first step.
"Well, we couldn't find a better place," seating himself
beside Merrick. "There's no one sleeping upon this side
of the house, since you and I are both out of bed, so now,
what has brought you out?"
Merrick uttered a short and scarcely audible laugh.
"I might ask the same of you," he said, "but there may be
some mystery attached to your story. Mine is very com-
monplace. In the beginning—"
"The beginning? Ah! go on, Merrick."
"I came out to smoke. I don't sleep well, and I've often
longed to get up and risk disturbing the house by
stumbling downstairs, or rattling the locks and bolts, but
I've never ventured until to-night. I got out without
accident, let myself out by this door behind us"—meaning
the side door upon the piazza. "I did not want to send
the odor of my midnight cigar floating about too close
to these open windows, and so I walked down the drive,


220 NO PROOF.
keeping off the gravel, and meaning to try the captain's
barrel hammock, which seems to be neglected of late."
"Fact; the captain seems to dread solitude; but go on."
"Well, I had smoked a cigar and thrown the stump
away, and I lay there, beginning to feel drowsy, when I
heard ever so slight a rustling among the bushes some-
where quite near me. I lay with my face turned roadvvard,
and I tell you I was, honestly, a little startled when, the
next moment, I heard breathing, unmistakable breathing,
very near me. It was dark, and I could see nothing, and,
after a moment, I no longer heard the breathing, so I
turned my gaze about, from one open space to another,
knowing that it was useless to try to peer under the trees
and among the shrubbery, and I suppose I had not watched
two minutes, though it seemed longer, when, in the open-
ing, directly in front of the hammock, and very near—you
know?"
"Yes, yes!"
"Just then I saw a shadow, a figure, stop almost directly
before me, stand a moment, and then move on toward the
house. Of course I knew it was an unlawful intruder,
and, of course, I was unarmed. I followed and watched
as well as I could—" Here he stopped suddenly.
"Well," inquired Jasper, "what then?"
"It just struck me that you might have been upon the
same business."
"I think not. I'm about convinced that I have been
upon a goose chase."
"As how?"
"Nevermind; finish your tale, and I'll tell mine. What
became of your man?"
"He hovered about the house and seemed to be study-
ing the grounds. Being unarmed I had no idea of assail-
ing the fellow single-handed and empty-handed. I merely
followed as best I could with the intention of giving
the alarm if he attempted to force an entrance to the house.
Of course I had in my mind the man whom the captain
drove away."
"Yes, I see! And how did it end?"
"I wonder if it is ended? The man finally went toward
the stables, and just as I was thinking it might be best


222 NO PROOF.
"Only that he seemed tall; taller than you or I, I am
quite sure; and he was evidently in disguise."
"How so?"
"He wore a long loose coat and a wide hat with droop-
ing rim."
"Um! Did he seem to know his way?"
"I should say not; certainly not, by his movements.
They were very uncertain."
Jasper bent his head and seemed for some moments to
be thinking deeply, and Merrick, seeing him thus occu-
pied, got up and walked cautiously, first to one corner
and then to the other of the southern face of the house,
as if fearing the return of the mysterious intruder.
"What do you make of this?" he asked as he resumed
his place upon the piazza, step.
"Nothing as yet. I must sleep on it, and if either of usl
does much sleeping we would better bestir ourselves and
lock these doors behind us. If your tall friend had known
that these doors were both unlocked he would hardly
have wasted so much time outside, I fancy. Come, let
us go in, Merrick."
But Eugene Merrick kept his place, and there was a
new note of decision in his voice when he said: "Sit
down again, Jasper. This is as good a time as we are
likely to have to say a few words in private." He stopped
and then added: "It's important—to me."
Jasper resumed his seat in silence. Then, as Merrick
seemed to hesitate, he said: "Let's come to the point,
Merrick; it must be two o'clock."
They had been speaking from the first in hushed under-
tones, and Merrick's voice sank lower yet as he began.
"Don't think I am finding fault, Jasper, or that I doubt
you, but I am growing restless. I feel sometimes as if I
should go mad if I did not find a way out of this horrible
mystery. I feel like a man living in a nightmare. I
must know the truth. Day and night, over and over, I
think and guess, and it is always the same; nothing
changes. Jasper, have you learned anything? Is there
any clue? For God's sake tell me!" His voice trembled.
"Jasper," he hurried on, "this place is growing hateful
to me. I am haunted in it. Over and over I see my


224 NO PROOF.
“Do you mean—”
“I mean to Captain and Mrs. Wayland, and—I think-
to you.”
“Jasper, do you mean—”
“Don’t ask me what I mean. I have already said
enough; too much, perhaps. When the motive is known
all will cease to wonder.”
“The motive! Ah! have you found the motive? Do
I know?”
“Stop, man! No more questions. As to motive, I
think we shall make it clear.”
“Jasper, tell me one thing. Is it a man or woman?”
Jasper was silent.
“You won't speak? Well, at least give me a hint. I
have thought of so many possibilities. Had it anything
to do with that inheritance?”
“I will answer that after a fashion, and then, Merrick,
my mouth does not again open upon the who, how, or
why of the matter. You speak of that inheritance. Did
it ever occur to you that your wife's aunt might have had
other relatives—would-be heirs, perhaps?” Once more
he arose. “We must really go in, Merrick.”
Merrick got up slowly as if he were still pondering.
“You have told me something after all, Jasper,” he
said, standing before him. “Tell me one thing more.
How long—” He stopped as if at a loss for the right
word.
“How long before I shall be able to report success or
failure? I believe that in one way or another the affair
will reach its climax within two weeks.”
“You say—in one way or another?”
“There is, I admit, a chance for failure, but I believe the
chances are as one to nine, and the nine, I believe, are in
favor of success.” He turned to go up the steps.
“Man!” exclaimed Merrick, “you speak as if you would
almost regret the success.”
Jasper made no sign that he heard. Instead he put a
hand upon the door and said: “We would better go in
one at a time, Merrick, and you may go first. I believe
I'll just take one more turn about the grounds to make


HE DOES NOT KNOW. %25
sure that fellow doesn't come back. You should not be
out any longer. You'll be down again.”
Merrick assented, and when Jasper told him to go
straight on and not stop to secure the front door, as he
had proposed, he assented to this also.
“It wants a steady hand not to rattle those locks and
bolts,” said Jasper. “Don’t try it.”
He did not wait to assure himself that Merrick went
straight on through the halls and up the stairway, but
when he had seen him turn into the main hall, he pulled
the door shut softly, and darting back to the spot where
he had left his rope ladder, loosened it from its place
among the vines, leaving it a-swing, as at first, over the
piazza roof.
“He will look out, of course,” he soliloquized, as he
turned away, “but he won't see that, I am sure.”
He had tarried behind in order to release his ladder
that he might draw it up on reaching his room, and to
regain his coat and his disguise, and having secured
these and placed them in a safe and convenient place, he
made the tour of the grounds round about the house,
going back by way of the piazza entrance, and, having
carefully drawn in his ladder of rope, like a romantic young
lover, but with all the skill of a professional burglar, he sat
down by the window to reflect upon the incidents of the
night.
“It's a regular puzzle,” he declared, half aloud, “and
growing queerer every minute. That man went back for
the trowel, nothing is more certain. He believes fully
that he saw a stranger, an intruder, to-night, and he does
not know how Doris G–Merrick died, nor why.” He
crossed to the table upon which his portable writing-case
stood and seated himself before it. “And yet,” he assured
himself, as he put the key into the lock of the desk, “I
believe you're right, Ken Jasper, only somewhere there's
a link of the chain yet to be found—and fitted into place.
I wonder—” He broke off suddenly as the desk opened
under his hand, and took up a bundle of papers and a
much-consulted note-book, and daylight found him just
rising from his place at the table. -


228 NO PROOF.
CHAPTER XXXI.
"MY FRIEND, MR. FALK."
Merrick did not appear at breakfast next morning, and
Jennie, having been sent to his door to learn his wishes,
reported him ill.
"He's got an awful fever, Mrs. Wayland," the girl de-
clared, "and he wants to see Doctor Roth."
Jasper got up quickly, seeing Mrs. Wayland put down
her napkin as if about to rise. "I will go to him, Mrs.
Wayland—I have finished my coffee; and I will let you
know at once if it is at all serious."
He found Merrick sitting near a window in a reclining
chair, his legs outstretched, and his head lying weakly
back among the cushions. His face was flushed and the
crimson silk linings of his dressing-gown heightened his
fevered aspect.
"I think I must have taken cold in some manner last
night," he said in answer to Jasper's queries, "and I was
wishing to see you. I didn't quite like to send, you know.
I have been wondering if it would not be well to tell the
doctor and the rest that I went out last night?"
"To smoke? Yes, it might."
"Then this—this interloper is not to be spoken of?"
"I think not; at least not to the ladies. Perhaps, when
the captain comes back—" He stopped; Jennie, bearing
a dainty breakfast, was at the door. But they understood
each other.
When the doctor arrived Jasper, by good management,
chanced to meet him, as he reached the top of the stairs.
"Doctor," he whispered, pausing for a brief hand-shake,
"do me a favor."
"How?" gruffly.
"Humor your patient."
"Umph!" was the sole reply, and the two men sep-
arated.
Doctor Roth left Waylands without tarrying to see the
ladies, and with a frown upon his brow. This was gt
9 o'clock a. m.


MY FRIEND, MR. FALK. 227
At 2 p. m. Kenneth Jasper entered his office. The
doctor sat beside his desk smoking "like a furnace" and
with the very last number of the "Lancet" in his hand.
Kenneth silently perched himself upon the corner of the
desk, and the man of medicine looked up.
"Umph! It's you, eh? Patient worse? Or are you
sick now? Been exposing yourself to the dews of
heaven, too?"
"Doctor, that 'too' is eloquent. It says whole chapters.
You're out of humor, it's clear, but I'm in search of in-
formation, and I'm in haste."
"Well?" sharply.
"What ails your patient?"
"Which one?"
"You know quite well, Merrick."
The doctor's face, averted for a moment, wore a look
of scornful amazement, then he turned squarely toward
his visitor and tossed aside the "Lancet."
"What about Merrick?" he asked.
"Frankly—what ails him?"
"He went out last night—to smoke. He thinks he must
have caught cold."
Jasper got off the corner of the desk and stood erect
close to his friend.
"Doc," he said, earnestly, "I know all about your 'code'
and your 'professional honor' and all that, but, hang it,
you agreed to help me, and, just now, I need your candid
opinion. I have reached a crisis and I depend upon you
for this information. My next step depends upon it. It
can not safely be taken without it."
"Do you mean all that?"
"I do! Heretofore I have been compelled to move
slowly. To you, doubtless, it looks as if I had hardly
moved at all. Nevertheless I have now reached a point
where I must move with some rapidity, and, unless you
help me, I must work blindly, and perhaps blunder."
"Enough, Ken. I have found out all I can expect to
know." The doctor smiled blandly. "Begin your
catechism."
"You!" Jasper, who had drawn himself very erect,


288 HO PROO51.
subsided again, letting himself down upoii tlie desk corner
once more as he said: "Confound you, I had begun to
think you had turned crank. What ails Merrick?"
"A little mental disturbance as nearly as I can judge.
It has been at the foundation of all his ailments."
"And those ailments—is his heart affected?"
"No."
"Is he at present really ill?"
"No; only anxious."
"Is it possible for a man to produce that feverish condi-
tion artificially?"
"Yes. If he knows how."
"Does Merrick know how?"
"I think so. There are constitutions upon which a full
dose of quinine will act almost like a poison. I happened
to learn from Mrs. Wayland that a couple of days ago
he asked her for some quinine pellets, and, of course, got
them."
"And the cold?"
"Nonsense!"
"Roth, we must cut this short. I will tell you what I
want. In two days, at the longest, I must go to the city,
and Merrick must not leave Waylands. To leave there,
in my absence, would make me endless trouble, perhaps."
"He is not much inclined to leave, I fancy."
"Are you sure? You have talked with him much. If
you should find him gone some morning would you be
totally unprepared?"
"Jove! Now that you put it so, the fellow has more
than once bewailed his inability to take up his work, or go
away, and has expressed fear lest his health had really
broken. He believes that he will never outlive this trouble
until he goes among strange people and scenes, and while
it would be hard to tear himself away from Waylands
and so many sweet associations, yet there are times when
he feels that he must spring from his bed and go, without
a look or word of farewell to unnerve him."
"You have heard him say that?"
"That, or words to the same effect. Why, even this
morning he said much the same thing."
"Roth, he must not go—yet!"


MY FRIEND, MR. FALK. 223
Doctor Roth turned and, reaching out, pulled toward
him a big easy-chair.
"Sit there, Ken," he said. "I don't want all of your
secret, but we must understand each other. Sit down."
Half an hour later Jasper arose to go. His face had
grown animated as well as earnest, while upon the coun-
tenance of the doctor rested the look of a man thoroughly
committed to a serious undertaking.
"I will do my part," the doctor was saying as they
moved together toward the door. "I hope the necessity
may not come, but, if it should, I will not fail you. And
now, Kenneth," laying a hand upon Jasper's shoulder,
"without forcing your confidence, I have learned at least
one thing," and he smiled his slow, self-contained smile.
"Indeed"—the smile that sprang to Kenneth Jasper's
eyes was not permitted to reach beyond them—"and what
have you discovered?"
"Merely that, in your opinion, at least, Eugene Mer-
rick is the man who could tell, if he would, how his wife
came to her death." And now the young man's face was
very grave as he replied:
"It's natural that you should arrive at that conclusion,
Doctor; but, remember, I have not intentionally mis-
led you. Eugene Merrick knows no more of his wife's
death than does—yourself."
"Do you mean—"
"Just what I say"—Kenneth's hand was now upon the
latch—"and yet it is through Eugene Merrick that I
hope to reach the truth. Don't try to trap me into further
admissions, and don't fail me at need. Good-day to you."
Before Roth could have interposed, had he been so in-
clined, Kenneth was upon the street. But the doctor
had no wish to detain him. He felt that he already had
sufficient food for thought, and as he went back to his
place his face was gravely anxious.
"It's incomprehensible," he muttered. "I am utterly at
a loss then, after all my reasoning. Well, I shall see Ken
through, let come what will."
The great artery of traffic which passed through Win-


230 „ NO PROOF.;
ston, from north to south, brought daily three swift trains
from either point, and the train which passed through
Winston in the early morning, coming from the city, and
going south, carried, among its passengers, one who, as
he passed through the town, looked out upon the alleys
and rear views which form the usual village outlook
from a Pullman window, and upon the scattered villas and
homesteads clustered here and there upon the uplying
ground at a distance. He had just emerged from the
sleeper, where, save himself, all the inmates were still
packed in horizontal rows behind gloomy curtains, and
when the town was called, in that peculiar volapuk which
leaves so much to the imagination, he put out his hand
to intercept a passing porter.
"Did that fellow say Winston?"
"Win-—s—n; yes, sah."
"Thanks. And how far to the next station?"
"Jes a few miles, sah; ten-minute run."
"Charlie"—he put out his hand and a piece of bright
silver passed from it into the negro's dark paw—"do
you think you could get me a good cup of coffee, right
away—before the next stop?" ,
"I'll try, sah."
"All right. Oh, by the way, Charlie, what time does
the up-train pass Winston?"
"'Bout foaty minutes, sah. Right neah sun-up."
"Thank you, Charlie. Now—the coffee—quick."
When the north-bound train steamed into Winston,
"right neah sun-up," a young man carrying a small Glad-
stone bag stepped off the rear car and began to run his
eye over the three omnibuses and two carriages that con-
stituted the local means of transportation. Presently he
beckoned to one of the hackmen; the one who showed
the least anxiety to secure a fare.
"Do you know Mr. Kenneth Jasper of this place?" the
stranger asked.
"Yes, sir. Knowed him ever since he was knee high
to a grasshopper."
"Then you probably know where he lives on Locust
street?"


MY FRIEND, MR. FALK. 231,
"Yas. Only he don't live on Locust street, not jest
now."
They were moving toward the carriage, and the
stranger paused with a foot upon the step.
"Take me to him," he said, and seated himself. The
driver picked up his reins.
"He's stoppin' to Waylands," he remarked.
"Very well. Take me there."
The driver put his horses in motion and looked back
with his mouth open, but there was nothing congenial
or encouraging in the thin, long, melancholy face. "Noth-
in' tu be got out o' him," he assured himself with great
perspicacity, and the drive was made almost in silence.
No one seemed stirring about the house when the rat-
tling carriage drew up under the porte-cochere extending
out from the piazza, at the northeast corner, and it was
some moments before Martha appeared in answer to the
stranger's ring.
"Is Mr. Kenneth Jasper within?" The man spoke with
the least perceptible accent, and when told that Mr. Jas-
per was yet in bed, sent up his card, nevertheless, with the
utmost solemn sang froid.
Jasper, strange to say, at that early hour was up and
prompt to reply to Martha's ring, giving vent to a low
whistle as he read the name, "Gustaf Falk," upon the card.
"Falk!" he exclaimed in a tone of pleased surprise, and
then carelessly turning the card, he saw, faintly traced in
one corner, a penciled cross, a mere scratch that a child
might have made. "Upon my word," he said again, "Gus
Falk! Tell him to come right up, Martha. I'm not quite
ready to go down, and I never yet stood upon ceremony
with Falk," which was quite true. "Why"—as if to him-
self more than another—"the man must have been on
the road all night."
When Martha, "knowing her duty," as she was fond
of saying, conducted the newcomer to the young man's
door, she saw it swing open at her first tap, and Kenneth's
face, beaming a welcome, appear again.
"Falk, old fellow," he cried, "what a surprise! Glad to
see you! Come in, come in!" And Mr. Gustaf Falk
was almost dragged into the room and the door closed.


232 NO PROOF.
"That's the way I like to see a man," said Martha to
herself as she retraced her steps. "No half-and-half wel-
come for his friends; though I do think Mr. Falk might
'a' been a little more a-tickled himself." And then, half
way down the stairs, she paused at the peremptory call.
"Martha!"
"Yes, sir." The girl turned back.
"Needn't come back, Martha. Save your steps." It
was Kenneth, or his head, thrust out at his half-open door.
"Yes, sir," replied Martha again, and just then Mer-
rick's door was gently set ajar.
"Will you tell Mrs. Wayland that a friend, Mr. Falk,
has just arrived on the southern express, and that if it
suits her convenience 1 should like to present him at
breakfast in about half an hour."
"Yes, sir," said Martha for the third time.
Mr. Gustaf Falk was a tall, thin, wiry personage, with
light, straight, thin hair, a very high forehead, and pale-
blue introspective eyes, partly concealed by a pair of gold-
rimmed nose-glasses. When Jasper closed his door, hav-
ing instructed Martha, and, incidentally, as he very well
knew, Merrick also, he found Mr. Falk seated in the
most uncomfortable chair in the room, one knee crossed
over the other, his hands clasped about these, and his face
at attention.
"Mr. Falk," said Jasper in an entirely changed tone,
"you must have traveled all night. Was I wrong in or-
dering breakfast at once? Will you rest instead, or—"
Mr. Falk lifted a long, slim hand. "I can sleep any-
where, sir, and I am quite refreshed, or will be with
breakfast and a smoke if there is time."
"There is time."
"Thank you. Now kindly tell me how I am to be of
service to you."
Jasper had seated himself close to his guest and had
spoken in an undertone, but he now arose, and, going
to the window nearest Merrick's room, softly closed it.
"What did Captain Wayland tell you?" he asked, going
back to his place.
"Just that you wanted the help of an expert locksmith
whom you could trust to keep a secret. That the matter


234 NO PROOF.
the drive altogether for pleasure. Mrs. Carson, one of my
mother's old servants, is ill, and I go as mother's almoner."
Jasper listened with interest. He knew the route to he
one seldom traveled, a country cross-road, in fact. But
Merrick did not decide at once. He answered that much
must depend upon his feelings and his strength, when it
had been a little longer tested. "Besides," he added, "I
fear that in your open village cart the sun will be too strong
for my poor addled head."
"If that is all," interposed Mrs. Wayland, "Glenn can
take the carriage with Joe to drive. It will be quite as
comfortable for you both."
It was a quiet breakfast party. Mr. Falk was weary.
He confessed to as much upon being questioned, and
once or twice he even concealed a yawn, or attempted so
to do. That he was a seriously disposed person was
readily discovered by all; not brilliant, and decidedly
matter-of-fact, this was the verdict of all, including Ken-
neth Jasper. But the latter added this reservation:
"He certainly knows what he is about. I'll wager he
makes no blunders."
"Better try a cigar before the nap, Falk," said Jasper,
as they left the breakfast-table, and Mrs. Wayland at once
threw open the long French window that they might pass
at once from the breakfast-room to the piazza,.
"A German can smoke at any time," said Mr. Falk
gravely; "in his sleep even." And he followed Merrick
out upon the piazza, while Kenneth lingered to exchange
a few words with Mrs. Wayland. Glenn had been the
first to leave the room.
Merrick had already established himself in the piazza,
hammock, and was languidly poking at the cushions,
when Mrs. Wayland and Jasper came out, and, before
the gentlemen had lighted their cigars, Doctor Roth was
seen driving around the curve.
"Here is the doctor," said Mrs. Wayland, standing at
the top of the steps. "We will consult him about your
drive, Eugene." And she went slowly down the steps,
and presently met Doctor Roth half way down the walk,
£nd came back lightly chatting at his side.
S'Ken," kefan th? doctor Before they had reached th^


MY FRIEND, MR. FALK 235
piazza, and seeming not to have seen the stranger sit-
ting behind one of the pillars, "Ken, you're the very man
I want after I have disposed of Merrick; that is, if you
want to see Mathews' colts, now is your time; I'm on my
way out there, and I'll take you along."
Of course Jasper excused himself and introduced his
friend Mr. Falk. But his friend Falk declared that, with
Jasper absent for a couple of hours, he could sleep with
a clear conscience, and the doctor pronounced a morning
drive in a comfortable covered vehicle the very thing for
his patient; and so, when Glenn came down presently
and the carriage was driven around, Merrick, assisted by
the others, took his place, and, leaning far back under the
screening carriage-top, and pulling his broad-brimmed
straw hat well down over his eyes to shut out the sun-
light, he was driven away with Glenn Wayland, beautiful
and stately, sitting erect beside him.
A moment later Mr. Falk tossed away his cigar stub
and got up, turning upon Jasper an inquiring look.
"If I may be excused," he said, and bowed to Mrs.
Wayland, who at once arose.
"Pardon my forgetfulness, Mr. Falk," she said with
her gracious smile. "I should have told you immediately
after breakfast that a room was at your disposal. I think
the maids are now at work in your room, Kenneth"—
turning to Jasper—"and Mrs. Merrick's room is made
ready for your friend's use. I will call—" But Kenneth
started forward, breaking in upon her speech.
"I will go up with Mr. Falk," he said. And Mrs.
Wayland merely nodded assent.
When the two men were within the room which had
been Doris Merrick's, and when Jasper had turned the
key and the guard upon the keyhole, he said, pointing
to the huge steel-bound trunk:
"That is the thing I want to open—at my pleasure."
"You want to open it now?"
"I want, if possible, a duplicate of both lock and key.
The key I must have. I believe it is a peculiar and a com-
plicated lock."
Falk went down upon one knee before the trunk,
"Ah!" the man suddenly hissed^ between his teeth, and


MY FRIEND, MR. FALK. 237
her mother's lap, she flitted around the corner of the
porch.
Mrs. Wayland suppressed with difficulty the surprise
she felt at seeing her daughter so seemingly light of heart.
She could not understand it, and was not altogether
pleased. And then, "Il's only another mask," she as-
sured herself with a suppressed sigh, and turned her at-
tention to Merrick, who looked weary and had dropped
weakly into the nearest seat, declining at once the
promptly offered hammock.
"Thank you; by no means, dear Mrs. Wayland. I
am going to my room very soon. Has Jasper gone away?"
"With the doctor, to see the Mathews horses, you
know."
"Surely! How forgetful." He arose at once. "I will
go to my room and try if sleep will not brighten my wits
and strengthen my nerves. It's disgusting, Mrs. Way-
land, to see a man nervous. Miss Glenn—" But Glenn,
who had appeared a moment before around the corner
of the piazza,, had vanished, and Merrick turned back.
"Since she won't stop to be thanked for my airing I will
leave my thanks with you." And he bowed and went
slowly across the hall and up the stairs. A moment after
Glenn came sauntering around to the front upon the
graveled walk and dropped down upon the step, leaning
back against a pillar and facing her mother, with only
the width of the step between them.
"He does snore," she announced, as if it were an im-
portant discovery. "He snores just as he talks, evenly,
monotonously, and he's just as entertaining asleep as
awake. Ken Jasper's taste in the matter of friends is cer-
tainly unique." And she snapped off a twig of climbing
wistaria with a nervous laugh.
Mrs. Wayland looked up with a gleam of sternness in
her gray eyes. "My daughter," she said gravely, "if you
must act a part, at least drop the mask in your mother's
company. Speak or be silent, smile or weep, only be
yourself. As for your little fling at Kenneth, do you
think your mother does not know you, Glenn?" She
bent forward and caught and held the girl's half-defiant
gaze with her own firm one. "As for your pretense of


238 NO PROOF.
dislike for Ken Jasper, my child, don't fancy that it de-
ceives me."
A moment the girl's head was held haughtily erect,
then, all at once, as if in sudden collapse, the eyes dropped,
the dainty, defiant head drooped, the shoulders heaved,
and the face was bent upon two small gloved hands.
Then a look of compassionate yearning came into the
mother's face, and she made an involuntary forward move-
ment, but she checked this impulse, unwise as she knew it
to be, and, taking up her book, made a feint at reading.
For a short time the girl sat silent and without lifting
her head, then letting her hands fall from her face, she
slid along the step until she could grasp a fold of her
mother's dress. Then, holding it between both hands, she
looked up into her mother's face.
"Mother!" she implored, "if I—if you see me—see me
about to break down, won't you let me go away? Won't
you send me away? Mother, sometimes there are days
when I am afraid—when I want to run away."
Mrs. Wayland's eyes were dim with tears. She bent
toward her daughter, but she did not touch her. She
knew the sensitive, shy, proud temperament of her child
too well.
"My girlie," she said, tenderly, soothingly, "when it be-
comes too hard we will go together, you and I. But,
Glenn—" She checked her speech sharply, and they
both lifted their heads and looked toward the gate, where
the sudden roll of wheels, coming from the soft sand of
the south road to the gravel of the drive, had stopped the
speech of the one and startled the silence of the other.
It was the doctor and Ken Jasper returning at a leisurely
pace from their journey to the Mathews stock farm.
Behind the doctor's wagon, prancing, caracoling, and
tossing its thick and glossy mane, came a handsome young
saddle horse. He was full of fire, spirit, and grace, and
was led with difficulty by Jasper.
At sight of the beautiful animal both women, ardent
horse-lovers and fine horsewomen, stood quickly erect.
"Oh!" cried Glenn, "the beautiful creature!" And then
she drew suddenly back.


MY FRIEND, MR. FALK. 239
"How spirited!" exclaimed her mother. "Have you
really led him all the way, Kenneth?"
"By no means," laughed the young man. "It has been
the other way much of the time."
"You should have seen him ride the rascal," put in
Roth, maliciously.
"Oh!" murmured Glenn, and with a quick, darting
movement, was down the steps. As the wagonette stopped
before the door she caught at the bridle, and, pulling the
head of the handsome, and for the moment docile bay
down to a level with her own, she laid her cheek against
it and swiftly stroked its arching neck.
"You beautiful creature," she murmured again and
again, and then, as the two men alighted and Jasper came
toward her on the farther side of the horse, she turned
abruptly, sped up the steps, and in a moment was fleeing
up the stairs.
Doctor Roth, after a few words with Mrs. Wayland,
stepped back into his wagonette and drove homeward,
and then, while Mrs. Wayland went within, Kenneth
Jasper led his beautiful new purchase stableward, and,
after leading the frisky animal into a roomy stall and tying
him with his own hand, he threw his strong right arm
across the arching neck and pressed his brown cheek
upon the self-same spot where Glenn Wayland had laid
her own not long since.
"Happy fellow," he murmured, "you are one of for-
tune's favored henceforth."
That afternoon the captain returned, looking as if his
visit to the city had not been altogether a hardship.
He greeted Kenneth's guest with surprise and pleasure,
and extended to him, on his young friend's behalf, the
freedom of Waylands. But Mr. Falk had not designed
to weary his entertainers, so he assured them. He had
seen his "friend Jasper" and passed some pleasant hours
in his society, but his time was not all his own, and short
visits were certain not to be tedious. Besides, he
could come again, having found the way. And so, on
the afternoon of the day after his arrival, he set out on
his farther journey, for he had dropped in upon Waylands
en route for the city, where he would be due next morning.


240 NO PROOF.
Sitting beside Kenneth in his light-running wagonette,
Mr. Falk bowed his last adieu to the group upon the
piazza of Waylands, and was driven by "friend Jasper"
to the Winston station.
"It has been a very pretty little play," said Mr. Falk,
as they bowled over the smooth road townward, "and I
have quite enjoyed myself. As for your little commis-
sion, I think I can put it into your hand, say in three
days; and how shall it come?"
"You may send it," said Jasper promptly, "not to me,
but to Doctor Roth. Wire like this: 'Your suit ready
to fit. Ahrens.' It will be taken at the office for a mes-
sage from his tailor. You will then receive one of two
replies, sent, of course, from me direct. It will be either
'Send at once,' upon which you will express the little
package to the doctor, or 'Coming to-morrow.' You
understand?"
"Oh, quite. It is very clear."
"'Coming,' of course, will mean that I will call at your
place of business and receive the key at your hands."
As they parted at the station Jasper turned back to say
a last word.
"Get that fellow out here by to-morrow morning, if pos-
sible," he said, "and be sure that he understands. Let
him be as conspicuous as he likes about town, but he
must onlv pass by Waylands as by accident and not too
often."
"I am quite sure that I know what it is you wish," re-
plied the locksmith with Teutonic gravity. And bow-
ing, he stepped aboard his car.
"Remember, too," went on Jasper, drawing himself
up to the lower step of the rear platform, "he is to see
no one from Waylands, and must return after a day and
a night. I merely want him in evidence. You will pay
him for me."
"Yes, yes. Good-by."
"I think that will serve," mused Jasper as he turned
away. "News of a stranger about W'inston will keep him
in if nothing else can, I am certain." For he had decided
upon this means of making sure of Merrick's seclusion
during a certain absence of his own.


DIPLOMACY. 241
CHAPTER XXXII.
DIPLOMACY.
When Jasper had watched the departure of the train
bearing away his friend Mr. Falk, in his character of an
idle young man, and when, after the manner of the lei-
surely Winstonians, he had turned away without forgetting
his role of man of leisure, he went, nevertheless, straight
about his next task, and this was the finding of John Fish.
John Fish was a Winston character—a wagoner, a car-
rier of parcels, messages, notes, telegrams, a grower of
"truck," and a really good "gardener by the day." In this
capacity he had been employed by Aunt Jem as many
days in as many summers as Jasper could remember or
count as his own, and there had grown up between them,
as man and boy, that queer sort of intimacy which, having
its roots close to nature, changes not with the changing
years.
It was not hard to find John Fish, for, better than all
else, save his dog and his pipe—chick nor child he had
none—Fish loved to sit upon a truck, under the shade
of the drooping station-house eaves, and "swap talk" with
a congenial soul, and there were many around the sta-
tion, while they waited the coming and noted the going
of the various trains.
Fish and his boon comrades of the moment had just
risen from the truck they had been occupying in utmost
harmony that it might be put to legitimate use by one of
the station hands, when Kenneth approached them.
"H'war' ye, John?" he said with easy familiarity.
"I've been instructed to interview you about that aban-
doned garden of Miss Jasper's. Can you give a good ac-
count of the crops?" He paused beside the group and
leaned, like them, against the red wall of the building.
Fish grinned, took the pipe from his mouth, and slowly
and silently knocked out the ashes, while his kindred
spirit, who chanced to be a stalwart negro scarcely known
to Jasper, set an example of good manners to his betters by


242 NO PROOF.
lounging away with an air of doing the very thing he
had meant to do, at that moment, since the very begin-
ning, and of being quite unaware of Jasper's presence.
Meantime Fish had bestowed his pipe in the pocket of
his jeans, and then, with a side glance at Kenneth, as if
to say, this is only a waste of my valuable breath, he
responded, with a negligent hitch of his shoulders:
"I guess the guyardin's doin' well enough."
And Kenneth knew that Fish fully realized that he
was being trifled with and that it was time to come to
the point.
"Fish," he began, "are you very busy this afternoon?"
"N—no," very gravely and after some reflection. "Not
so busy as common—not quite, that is."
"I'm glad of that. Fact is, I don't know of another
man that I could trust for a little joke of mine. Can
you go out to Way lands—well, say at four o'clock?"
Fish seemed making a close calculation. "I reckon
I might make out," he said at last, and then, having com-
mitted himself, he became businesslike and active. "S'pose
we go 'long to the end uv this platform an' talk it over,"
he added.
There were still a few idlers near, and the two went to
the isolated end of the long platform, and here Kenneth
made known his business.
"I owe the captain a little stirring up," he said, "and
he needs it, too. I want you to take a letter to him,
anonymous, you know; just deliver it to whoever opens
the door and tell them it's a telegram for Captain Way-
land. Answer no questions and keep mum about the
matter. You can trust me in such a matter, eh—Fish?"
Fish nodded and then added: "Law—yes!"
"I'll be sure to be in the grounds and to see you when
you arrive, and it's five dollars in your pocket, Fish."
The man straightened himself. "Got the letter read}'?"
he questioned.
"Not here. You go on ahead, John, and after a bit
follow me to the cottage. I'll hand you the letter there.
Have a cigar?"
Fish accepted the cigar and moved away slowly, in-
creasing his pace as he left the station behind. And


DIPLOMACY. 243
Kenneth strolled around the long low building and into
the waiting-room.
There was the usual freedom of access to this country
town railway office. The cage door was wide open, and
Kenneth strolled in. A more welcome visitor the young
man in charge could not have had. He regarded Ken
Jasper as a man of great parts, and one of the chief orna-
ments of Winston society.
They talked affably for a few moments, then the whistle
of an approaching train caused the agent to spring up
and make ready to go out with his books and bills. As
he began to gather up these Jasper took up the office
pencil.
"May I write a line on your stationery, George?" he
asked.
George assented and hurried out as the train steamed
into the station, and Jasper drew toward himself a tele-
graph pad and hastily scratched a few words upon the
topmost blank. Then helping himself to an envelope, he
addressed it and went slowly out, meeting the returning
agent at the door.
"Going, Mr. Jasper?" he asked, regretfully.
"Oh, I'll drop in again soon enough. I must look in
on my aunt's premises before I leave town, I suppose."
And he went his way.
Not long after he was back again at Waylands. None
of the family were visible, and he went at once in search
of the captain, carrying in his hand that gentleman's por-
tion of the afternoon mail. He found him in the study,
and came at once to business.
"Captain," he said, "I have come to tell your fortune."
Captain Wayland smiled feebly at what he fancied might
be a joke, but Kenneth went on unsmilingly.
"In about an hour you will receive a telegram."
"Who from?"
"From me, although there's another name signed to
it. It will call you to the city again on business."
The captain's face dropped. "Ken, that's too bad of
you."
"When you have read it," went on Ken, "you will at
once set out—"


244 NO PROOF.
"At once! Oh—"
"In search of me," pursued the young man. "You will
find me, perhaps, in the company of some one of the
family; but never mind that. You must show me the
message at once, and ask me if I won't kindly go as your
substitute." The captain heaved a sigh of relief. "I shall
demur, but you will urge in your most appealing man-
ner, and, of course, it ends in my going to-morrow morn-
ing, early train."
He paused, and they exchanged long glances. Then,
for a moment, both were silent. It was the captain
who spoke first.
"I understand," he said soberly, "and I'll follow your
instructions. It's all right, Ken. You need not explain."
"I don't mean to," Ken replied; "at least not until I
get back. I think we shall have the whole story soon,
Captain."
"I hope so," sighed the captain. "In the meantime
I am trying not to think of it. I don't want to think of it."
John Fish did his errand well, and the message arrived
and was delivered in the presence of Jasper, Mrs. Way-
land, and Merrick; the latter having crept down, in smok-
ing-jacket and slippers, and joined the others upon the
much-used, broad front veranda, so cool, so roomy, and
vine-screened in the early afternoon, when the sun had
not yet dipped low enough to make the "captain's cor-
ner," the more secluded retreat, inhabitable.
The captain was equal to his role, and Kenneth, after
some show of reluctance, at last agreed to accept the
commission "for friendship's sake."
The captain even went so far as to briefly explain the
nature of the business, and then withdrew "to look up
some papers," he said.
It was not long before Mrs. Wayland folded up her
light needlework and left the piazza also, and then Jasper
turned at once to Merrick.
"It's lucky for me that the captain's commission will
not keep me long. I want to be in Winston, in the village,
that is, for a day or two soon, and I don't want long vaca-
tions just now. However, I don't mind saying to you
that a day and a night in the city will not be an unpleasant
change. We're very dull here, and there are a number


DIPLOMACY. 245
of good things going on in town just now. Merrick, I
wish you could make the trip with me. You seem really
better and stronger, and you need the change."
"I do," said the other thoughtfully, "and I would like
it. But—"
"Of course you need not do much walking. Cabs are
plentiful and the town's at.its best now in looks."
"That's so." Merrick stirred uneasily. "I believe I
will consult Roth if he chances-to come in to-night."
"Oh, he's sure to come in before bedtime, and you know
he says you are to be diverted. I won't urge you into
any undue dissipation. I believe I want to smoke. Have
one?" But Merrick declined.
Merrick retired to his room before Ken's cigar was
consumed. He would rest a little and be fresh for dinner,
he said. He preferred to come to table when possible.
If the doctor should come meantime, would Kenneth see
that he was sent up?
"Oh, he won't come now until evening," declared Ken.
But he did. He cantered up half an hour after and de-
clined at first to dismount.
"But you're wanted," said Jasper. "Merrick must see
you, he says."
"Oh, in that case—" The doctor made a wry face.
"And I want you," added Jasper. "Tie your horse and
let me speak first."
When Roth came up the steps, having tethered his
horse, he said abruptly:
"Time's short. What is it?"
Jasper got up and stood close beside him, speaking
low.
"I am going to the city to-morrow. Merrick is not
well enough to go, and he must not be able to leave the
house, or the grounds at most, until after my return."
"Umph! But what if I can't keep him?"
"You can, and you must. If he leaves this place before
I come back the person responsible for Doris Grey's
death will never be found—perhaps."
Roth started. "Ah! then he knows?"
"He knows nothing."
"Then what in the name of the^—"


246 NO PROOF.
"Man, have you no patience?"
"You are baiting me with an enigma, Ken. Good
Lord! why must he he kept here if he is not the one?''
"Because, if you will have it, if he leaves here he is likely
to find out who did it."
"Jove! And it is some one of his—"
"Roth, you won't get another word out of me until I
am back from town. Will you keep Merrick here?"
"Yes; if I have to poison him."
"He will be more useful to me alive," smiled Ken.
"Now go to your patient."
"Doctor," said Merrick, when the usual preliminaries
were over, "am I strong enough to go to the city to-
morrow?"
The doctor looked serious.
"For how long?" he asked.
Merrick told of Jasper's coming trip and of his request
that he should accompany him.
"Do you want very much to go?"
"I don't think"—wearily—"that I want anything very
much. But I like Mr. Jasper, and if he cares for my
company—you see, I feel really indebted to Jasper."
"Then you would not care to go solely upon your own
account?"
"No! Oh, no! Doctor, I am not in the mood for
gaiety. Still, to oblige Jasper, if you thought—"
"I think," broke in the doctor, "that your best place is
in your own room. To go to the city is out of the ques-
tion." He got up with a look of decision. "Merrick, I
want to examine you; don't be alarmed; it may be
nothing."
He took out a stethoscope, placed it under the victim's
arm, examined his tongue, drew up the eyelid and peered
into his eye, and, after asking a number of learned ques-
tions, reseated himself and seemed to be pondering the
case. Then—
"Merrick," he began, "it's now some four weeks since
you—you last visited the city, eh?"
"Almost," sighing heavily,


DIPLOMACY. 247
"It is not often," Roth went on, "that a contagious dis-
ease remains so long in the system undeveloped, still—"
"Doctor"—Merrick started up—"do you mean that I—"
"Softly, softly. No excitement. I want you to think
where you were during those two days. Were you near
any case of illness; did you, for instance, call upon any
sick friend, or—"
"No, I— Why, Doctor?"
"Now, you're not to take the alarm, Merrick. I'll be
quite frank with you in this matter. There are some
things about your case, some symptoms that I do not
quite understand. These symptoms may be only such
as are naturally attendant, in your case, upon a lowered
tone; disease affects different systems so differently. It
is often difficult, in the earlier stages, to diagnose. But,
I came this morning after giving some thought to the
matter, to tell you that, until I can reach a definite de-
cision, you should not leave this place, even if your
strength would allow."
"But, Doctor—"
"The harm to those here, if any, has already been
done. There may be no trouble, I trust, if you follow
my directions implicitly, to insure for yourself and all
the others a speedy relief if worst comes. Mind, I do
not anticipate the worst; I only see the possibility. At
any rate, perfect quiet, and proper diet, and medicine
will be your safest course. Any overexertion might
hasten a climax, and would certainly aggravate any latent
disease."
"Whatever you say, Doctor," resignedly.
"Not to alarm the family, and for their protection, keep
your room when indoors, and go out once or twice each
day, if equal to it, for a bit of fresh air upon the veranda
or lawji. There is little fear of danger to others whom
you may meet out of doors, and two or three days ought
to tell the story." The doctor got up with an air of
haste. "I will see you often in the meantime," he said.
"Don't rise, Merrick, and don't worry. Prevention, you
know, is better than cure, and I have warned you because
I feared that some overexertion on your part might pre^
cipitate makers,,'1'


248 NO PROOF.
"In short, you think my going to town would have
brought me down?"
"It might, and, if it did, the first M. D. who put his
eye upon you would send you at once to the detention
hospital."
Merrick sank back upon his couch; he seemed almost
to cower, and the doctor went his way.
"I think," he said to himself as he let Dancer take his
own pace homeward, "I think that I have held myself
quite within the bounds of truth and reasonableness. Cer-
tainly, the man's symptoms puzzle me, and any man is
likely to expose himself to contagion in a large city."
As Kenneth came out upon the piazza, shortly after
the doctor's departure, Mrs. Wayland, who was trimming
a climbing rose according to her own ideas, and contrary
to those of the gardener, dropped her shears and joined
him.
"If he, Eugene, should wish to enter those rooms again
in your absence," she asked, "what shall I do?"
Ken's answer came after a moment of thought.
"You can't refuse him," he said. "It would look strange.
I don't think it will happen, but, if it should, humor him;
only keep an eye upon him, and, if necessary, he must be
told that I have expressly desired that nothing be taken
from those rooms."
CHAPTER XXXIII.
PHOTOGRAPHS.
When Jasper came down to an early breakfast next
morning, that he might be in time for the first train,
he found Mrs. Wayland awaiting him—a solitary figure
at the head of the breakfast-table.
She dropped the book she was trying to read and at
once rang for the coffee urn, and when it and the accom-
panying dishes had been served, she at once began in a
confidential tone;


PHOTOGRAPHS. 249
"I know you are in haste, Kenneth, so while you
cat I will talk. It was for this I came down instead of
sending Martha."
"Ah! Martha! Did you—a—speak to Martha?"
"Not yet. There has really been no time. But I shall
not neglect it, and when you come hack I think you will
find her in the right frame of mind. I must tell you of
one thing, however, in advance. It may, or may not,
matter; that is for you to judge."
"What is it?"
"Martha dislikes Eugene very much; and distrusts him,
I believe."
Jasper started slightly. "Do you know why?" he asked.
"No; and I only know this through knowing Martha
so well. It has cropped out in different little ways."
"Do you think it is of long standing, then?"
"Really, as to that I can only say that the symptoms are
recent. I supposed, until of late, that she did like him
well enough."
"Yes; thank you; I am glad to know this. I believe
it will help me at the right time—after you have talked
with her."
"That I will do at once. And now, there is something
else." She leaned across the table and sank her voice still
lower. "Kenneth, Glenn wishes to leave Waylands."
"To—leave—Waylands!" His face paled.
She nodded. "What I want to ask is, will it matter
much if she—if we both go for a short time?"
He pushed back his chair and looked at her fixedly.
His eyes grew keen and stern, and his mouth strongly set.
"It will matter greatly," he said. "It must not be done.
She must be kept at Waylands at all odds until this matter
is settled, even if you are obliged to feign illness to do
it. Mrs. Way land, before another week ends I hope to
have cleared up this mystery. But there is much to do
yet. Promise me that Glenn shall not leave her home
until you, she, until all of us know the truth. Promise—
for her sake!"
Their eyes met and after a moment she turned hers
away.
"I promise," she said.
B


250 NO PROOF.
As Kenneth stood in the doorway a few moments later
looking out upon the front lawn, wondering if the slight
but slow-moving footsteps sounding faintly above stairs
might not perhaps be those of Glenn, and loitering in the
hope that she might descend, he saw a boy come hastily
up from the gate. The lad carried an envelope in his
hand, and Jasper, upon second thought, recognized him
as the lad who had often carried notes for the people in
the block where Merrick's office was situated, as well as
for Merrick and his partner, and who, from an unpleasant
way he had of shedding tears, at the least provocation,
had been dubbed by his patrons "The Baby on our Block."
Wondering a little, Kenneth awaited the lad's coining,
mentally connecting his arrival with Merrick, with no
sufficient reason. He was quite aware that Avery Morse,
Merrick's partner, was supposed to have left town on
business, and that since the night of Merrick's visit to
Morse, and of Jasper's late bicycle ride, the doors of "Mer-
rick & Morse, Real Estate," had been closed to all comers.
"Good-morning, Johnny," as the boy approached. "Got
something for me?"
"Uh, umh! for Merrick!" The boy's eyes were upon
the hand which was audibly jingling some loose change in
a trousers pocket. "Kin I see him?"
"I'm afraid he is not up, my boy; but you can just
put your note upon the table in the hall there and he will
find it when he comes down. Or"—looking at him keen-
ly—"do you want an answer?"
"Naw; Av-ry didn't say nothin' 'bout 'n answer, but,
durn it, I ain't ben paid yit!"
"Oh—that! Well, Johnny, you know Mr. Merrick's
not well, and does not rise early, but—here, I'll pay you
if you don't care to wait; and I'll see that he gets the
note."
"All right! That suits me!"
There was yet a good half hour before Kenneth must
set out for the train, and for some moments after the boy
had gone he continued to pace up and down the porcli,
busily thinking. Then suddenly he went to the hall table,
where the letters were usually laid, and catching up Mer-
rick's note, ran lightly up the stairs and tapped briskly


PHOTOGRAPHS. 251
at his door. There was a stir within and, in a few mo-
ments, Merrick's voice called through the closed door:
"Who is it?"
"It's I, Merrick, Jasper, you know. Can you open
to me a moment?"
When the door was slowly opened, and Merrick stood
within, wrapped in a silken dressing-gown, and looking
weary and weak, Kenneth made his explanation.
"Your youthful 'Baby on the Block' met me just out-
side with this note for you," holding out the same. "I
am going, you know, in a short time, and as there was no
one about, and I didn't want to send him up to you upon
my own authority, I just volunteered to bring it myself
and say good-by. I wish you might have gone," putting
out his hand, and in seeming haste. "Anything I can do
for you?"
"Nothing, thank you," with his eyes upon the letter in
his hand.
"Then I'll just get my bag and be off. Take care of
yourself, Merrick."
"Thank you, Jasper. I'm afraid we shall miss you."
Kenneth looked about him before he answered.
"I couldn't refuse to go, and the time will be so short.
Say, Merrick, could you contrive to send me a cable if,
well, say, if any one came, from abroad, I mean, or if
any of the family left town between now and to-morrow
night? Wire me at the Manhattan."
"Do you think—"
"No, no! Only I am leaving the field unoccupied, and
one never can tell, you know. Well?"
"I'll try to manage it if needful, Jasper."
"Thanks; and good-by. I'll just be getting my little
grip." And he turned quickly and entered his own room.
Five minutes later Merrick tapped at his door and was
bidden to enter.
Jasper was sitting astride a low chair trying to tie a
Teck scarf by the aid of a mantel mirror, much tilted to re-
flect the bric-a-brac upon the mantel, and upon a round
table just before it and about three feet away. He turned
as the other came in.
"Jasper, shall you get to town in time to drive around


252 NO PROOF.
by the office?" Merrick began hurriedly. "Morse has got
back, and writes about a matter that, he says, I must de-
cide upon. It's a bore, but could you hand him a line
from me as you pass?"
"By all means," jumping up. "Is it ready?"
"No. I will write it at once if you can oblige me."
And he turned to go out.
"Hold on! Just sit down and write it here, on one
corner of the table." Just beyond the mantel was his own
portable writing-case, open and ready for use, as he had left
it the night before. He whisked a chair to the table, with
its back toward the mirror, placed the case, and gave his
visitor a light push toward it. "Just scratch it off while
I finish my toilet. I must get away at once in order to
catch Morse and my train too."
He resumed his position astride the chair, took hold
of the two ends of the dark silk scarf, and, with his eyes
upon the mirror, began to hum softly. Then suddenly he
threw aside the scarf, sprang hastily up, and crossed to a
chest of drawers in which he fumbled for another, coming
back to his place with a half-audible aside concerning
neckties in general and this in particular.
As he passed the new scarf about his collar, he also
placed astride his nose an innocent-looking pair of eye-
glasses, the magnifying power of which was known only
to himself. In resuming his place he had slightly shifted
his position before the mantel mirror, and he now had a
clear view of Merrick's back and bent head and shoulders,
while the table, with a large portion of its contents, was
also revealed, much enlarged by the strong lens he wore.
He could see the sheet of paper upon which Merrick was
rapidly penning his note to his partner, and he could read
these words as they were written:
"Don't fail to go this a. m. by that early first up-
town train for Mr. Jasper you know is I think going-
to town by I think that and—"
He could read no farther, Merrick's shoulder being;
interposed between the paper and the glass. But that there
were only a few more words he could see by the motion
of the writer's hand, and he calmly laid aside the lens
and completed the knotting of his tie. Merrick had ad-


256 NO PROOF.
"Half an hour, if you like. I am in Captain Wayland's
debt."
"Well, he is not a hard creditor." He had been feeling
about in a breast pocket, and he now produced and laid
upon the desk between them a large square envelope of
the kind commonly used by photographers. From this
he now took several photographs and spread them out
before the Chief of Police.
"Will you kindly tell me if any of those faces are
familiar?" he asked, stepping back a pace and eying the
face of the other keenly.
The chief bent over the half-dozen cards spread out
before him and then looked up quickly.
"Do you know these fellows?" he asked.
"Do you?"
"Umph!" He put a finger upon the one uppermost—
Jasper had spread them in perpendicular rows, three in
a row—and said:
"That is Sandy Brown, so-called. If he is a friend of
yours"—the chief smiled broadly—"I'll wager you bought
him after the wrestle, or before he broke jail. His pic-
tures had a run each time. Bad likeness, though, very
bad."
It was Kenneth's turn to smile. "Very reason why I
bought it," he said.
"So? Thought you would try my skill at recalling'
faces? Well, it is an old case."
Kenneth only smiled again.
"This," went on the other, "is—well, I don't recall his
name, it's one of those New Orleans billiard sharps who
played here half a dozen years ago."
"Jove! But you have a memory!"
"Oh, that's not much, once you are trained to it. This
one"—he bent over the picture in the middle of the sec-
ond row, and then laughed out heartily—"well, you have
brought me a queer collection. That, it must be a copy
taken something like ten years ago, or, more likely, twen-
ty, and it's Captain Wayland himself in profile."
He had not taken the pictures in their regular order, but
had passed from the first to the third, seeming to ignore
the second, and then on to the middle of the last row.


PHOTOGRAPHS. 257
He now pushed aside the three identified pictures and
swept the remaining three together in a line.
"These," he declared, "are one and the same."
The first represented a young man in evening dress,
vignetted to the waist, with head resting on hand and
full front, but with downcast eyes. The next was a profile
and shoulders, with a low "turn-down" collar, loose sailor
tie, and the velvet collar of a smoking-coat visible. The
last was of a man with luxuriant, but not long, whiskers,
a long mustache and heavy eyeglasses, taken in a close-
buttoned suit to the waist, and with a soft felt hat in one
gloved hand; the face was between a "three-quarter"
and a profile and few would have identified it with the
other two; yet the chief at once declared these three to
have had but one original.
He bent over the three pictures for some time. Then
he looked up.
"I have seen this face," he said, musingly. "I don't
think I have known the name. He's rather a swell, I
fancy, and I feel very sure he has been before me in some
capacity; witness perhaps." He sat with his fingers upon
the profile view, and now he took up the bewhiskered
face.
"It's the same," he said with conviction, "and why the
whiskers? Looks like a disguise. Looks—" He
stopped short and took up the profile.
"Ah!" Evidently something about this had struck him
anew. "Right side face smooth," he murmured, as to him-
self, "and the other—the whiskers left side almost—oh,
but it's the same nose and ear. Will you look closely at
that picture?"
He held out the profile of the smooth right side face,
and Kenneth took it, beginning to look interested. After
a momentary falling of his countenance, "Well?" he
queried.
"Kindly look at that little spot just below the ear, a
mere speck, as it were."
Kenneth looked closer. "I see it," he said.
"Is it anything? Do you know what it is?"
"I think," said the other slowly, "I am almost sure that
it must be a small brown mole."


2M NO PROOF.
"A brown mole. Are you sure?"
"I recall now that the original had—"
"Is he dead?"
"Pardon; that he has a mole just below the ear about
like that; but I do not remember upon which side."
"Oh! then you know this young man?"
Some change in the chief's tone and manner put Ken-
neth upon his guard.
"1 have met him. The fact is, those three likenesses
are snap-shots taken by me at three different times."
"And enlarged by whom?"
"By Harlow."
"Taken recently, then. Harlow has not been long back
from a western trip, you know."
"Taken this summer." Ken saw himself fairly caught.
"Then, will you kindly explain about those whiskers,
and that long mustache?"
Ken was growing wary now and so he chose to appear
frank and not too clever.
"The fact is," he said, "I got a proof and added the
whiskers in India ink, very lightly; then I had the en-
largement made. It was just my little joke. I had no
idea it would succeed so well."
"It was an excellent joke, and I am greatly obliged to
you. It's a great help to know how a fellow will look
in disguise sometimes." He leaned across the desk and
drew toward him the mouthpiece of a coiled speaking
tube. "The fact is," he said, with a knowing smile, as he
lifted the tube to his lips, "we are looking for a man with
a brown mole underneath his right ear." Then he called
into the tube: -
"Boyle."
"Yes," came back the answer so prompt and distinct
that Jasper knew at once that Mr. Boyle must be just
on the other side of the solid office wall.
"Alone?" queried the chief.
"Yes." Again Jasper could catch the reply.
"Just look up the data of that Second avenue affair;
the Meers house, you know, and bring it to me in—well.
a quarter of an hour. I shall be engaged until then."
He put down the receiver and turned back to his some-


PHOTOGRAPHS. 259
what puzzled visitor, at the same time taking up the half-
dozen pictures which he had, before taking up the tube,
carelessly pushed aside into a little heap. "I wish you
would leave these pictures with me for, we'll say for the
day. How long are you in the city?"
"That depends. I hope to get out of it to-morrow.
As for the pictures—I may as well say at once that they
are of value to me as—"
"Clues—perhaps?" The chief smiled and Ken laughed.
"Proofs—possibly. I fear I can't give up those pic-
tures—not yet, at least."
"You want to identify some one by them?" asked the
chief.
"Not exactly. I know who he is. I only want to find
ou.t if he has ever been somebody else," answered Ken,
whimsically.
"Then you'd better leave the pictures. I want to try
and identify that mole. I think it can be done, too; at
least I can give you the result of my effort this evening.
Will that do?"
"At what hour," hesitating.
"Will nine o'clock do?"
"I think so."
"Then let us call it nine. Perhaps then you may feel
like telling me something more about this case." There
was a twinkle in the chief's eye. He struck Ken as
very amiable and inclined to help him. "It will really
oblige me—perhaps help me, and that may mean help for
you; at least as to the identity of your—friend."
"If you can do that"—Jasper took up his hat, mindful
of the quarter-hour limit of the chief's time—"I will leave
them willingly. And now, until nine this evening, adieu
to you." And he went out smiling and inwardly well
pleased.
"That's a cool young fellow," mused the Chief of Po-
lice, "and prompt, too. Wonder what he wants with the
pedigree of that—" He stopped short, and drew Captain
Wayland's note from the pigeon-hole where he had stuck
it temporarily.
"Let's see! Wayland's a shrewd fellow, if a little slow."
He opened the letter and scanned it again.


A NEWSPAPER HUNT. 261
"When you reach the block in which No. 609 stands
drive slowly from corner to corner and be ready to do
what I tell you without any fuss. It will be only to pick
up a certain man whom I will point out to you."
"Oi see, sor." And the big horse shot away southward.
It was a long half-hour's drive, even at that lively pace,
and Ken smoked a cigar and did some hard thinking.
As they neared their destination his face became more
and more grave and determined, as if he had reached some
grim conclusion, and meant to abide by it.
"We're amoost to the place, sor," spoke the driver at
last, and Ken raised himself and thrust the cigar he was
about to light back in his pocket.
"All right," he responded. "Drive slowly."
It was a dingy neighborhood through which they went
at a snail's pace; a conglomeration of old houses that had
seen better days, tenements, small shops, tawdry Jewish
emporiums, rooms to rent, saloons, hucksters' carts and
stands, children in many stages of dilapidation and dirt,
women en suite, and such men as are to be found in such a
street.
Kenneth's quick eye noted it all, and, from the medley,
soon singled out No. 609, a dingy brown cottage with
close-shut door and window shutters, looking forlorn and
desolate enough.
"Looks untenanted," he mused, "but you never can
tell." And then his eye caught the card upon the door
post; a small card, with something scrawled upon it
which, at that distance, he could not read.
"Driver," he said, "turn at the corner and pass No. 609
as close to the curb as you can, but don't look at the
house; look for a fare."
"All right, sor."
As they turned he saw upon the near sidewalk, and
close to the street, a man whom he at once recognized as
his shadow, sent out by Captain Harvey. He was stand-
ing listlessly upon a step a little above the crowd that
had gathered to enjoy a song and dance given by an
"artist" who had loudly proclaimed himself a former
"sta-r of Tooney Pashtoors," and Kenneth observed with
satisfaction that, while he did not shift his attitude, he


262 No PRoof.
shot frequent quick, furtive glances to right and left and
all about him.
A moment later one of these glances falling upon the
passing cab saw a hand at the open window waved slight-
ly, and then the attentive admirer of the late “star” shuf-
fled slowly down the steps, looked in seeming indecision up
and down the street, and went slowly in the direction
taken by the vehicle, which presently drew up at the
sidewalk. -
When the shabbily dressed man came abreast of the
cab he stopped in the casual fashion of the corner idler
and stood contemplating it. Then he shambled on and
around the nearest corner.
“Driver,” said Kenneth, “turn here, and, at the alley,
stop and take in that fellow just passing there; the fellow
in brown clothes; then drive around the block slowly.”
At the alley Captain Harvey's agent entered the carriage.
“Well?” queried Kenneth as they rolled slowly on and
around the next corner.
“Well, sir, I've been here right along. Think I must
a-been on hand a short half-hour after you left the station,
sir. Captain sent me with the emergency team; they're
flyers. It's all been quiet, just like that, and nobody's
been near the house yet.”
“Do you think there's any one there?”
“In the house, sir. Well, it's tight shut at the back, too.
But there's a pan of ashes on the back steps, a kind of
covered stoop like, an' a coal box with a padlock, and
the steps are clean. They've been swept this morning,
for sure.” y
“Did you notice that card on the door?”
The man grinned. “I should think so.”
“What is written on it?”
“Well, you've got me. Of course I took a sharp look,
too. It looks as if somebody'd written “Rooms to Rent'
with a dull, blunt pencil and then rubbed it out with his
finger.”
A look of sudden comprehension flashed into Ken-
neth's eyes, but he only asked:
“What do you make of this?”


A NEWSPAPER HUNT. 263
"Well, sir, it looks to me like a fake of some sort. Sign
to somebody to come or stay away, or something else."
"I fancy you are right," assented Ken, and then he pon-
dered a moment. They were more than half way around
the block, and he called to the driver: "Go around
again." Then, "We must keep the place in sight," he said,
"and not remain long together. Now, I want you, when
you get out, to go to that door and knock, or ring if
there's a bell."
"There's no bell, sir."
"Then knock. Do it thoroughly, and if you can't
arouse any one go down the alley—lucky it's next door—
and try that rear door. Apply for a room for yourself
and—" He stopped to consider.
"Myself and—"
"It's well to know the character of the house at once.
Say for yourself and sister."
"Shall I engage them, too, if—"
"If you can, yes; and pay a little something down. Not
too much, of course. I think you know how to carry it
through. Here's some money. In the meantime I'll go
over to that beer bower, across the street from the cottage,
and keep an eye on the front while you are at the back.
I think you may as well join me at the beer hall afterward,
and don't lose time. I've much to occupy me to-day.
We will leave the carriage half way up the next block
and separate at the crossing. You'd better stop in at the
nearest saloon and give yourself a fresh beery odor. Is
it all right? Can you manage?"
The man met the frankly smiling eyes of his instructor
with a look more serious, but quite as frank. He was a
man of more years than Kenneth, and no longer saw in
such adventures the novelty and flavor of youth, and there
was no tinge of boastfulness in the quietly confident tone
in which he replied:
"I think so, sir. Yes, I'm sure it will be all right. I
don't think I shall be long."
The two men separated, according to Kenneth's plan,
and the latter loitered on the opposite side of the street
and watched the progress of his assistant with much
interest.


264 NO PROOF.
"He's a quiet fellow," mused Ken, "but keen; more
able than pushing if one may judge so soon. I begin to
feel as if I had been really reinforced. By Jove!"
The man had emerged from the dingy saloon, which he
had entered in search of that "been' odor," and without
any change of garment, or additional disguise, he had the
air of a different person. His rough brown coat sat upon
him like a different garment, his hat looked sprucer, some-
how, and was worn at a rakish angle. He had left
the cab a loose-jointed, slouching, slow-moving person-
age; he now emerged from the saloon confident, jaunty,
assertive, as he halted before the door to light a strong
black cigar, scratching a spluttering match upon his boot
heel, tossing away the match, and squaring his shoulders.
As he set off down the street he would have passed any-
where for a confident and good-natured sporting man of
the sort who scorn nothing festive from a chicken fight
to a cellar game with Sambo or Ah Sin. It might also
have occurred to an observer sufficiently interested in the
kind to give it a second thought that he had been basking;
in the smiles of the fickle goddess and was now happily
intent upon some pleasant and congenial errand; by no
means drunk, yet not quite sober.
At the door of the silent cottage he paused, as if sudden-
ly arrested by the sight of the dingy small card, approached
it with confident tread, peered close in a vain effort to de-
cipher it, and then rapped once, twice, and again, bal-
ancing himself jauntily from left foot to right as he waited
between knocks. Then, as no one appeared, he stepped
back upon the sidewalk, looked at the house, turned away,
hesitated, and turned back toward the alley.
As he approached the rear door, keeping close to the
opposite wall, he looked quickly up and down, at the
doors, the windows below and the single smaller one
above under the sloping roof.
"There's some one in there," he said to himself, "and
unless I'm greatly mistaken they don't want a racket about
here. Well, I won't make much," and his gait, as he
mounted the two steps, was suddenly a trifle unsteady.
Then, as he lifted his hand to rap, and glanced again
about the little covered porch, he started. "Upon my


A NEWSPAPER HUNT. 265
soul!" he whispered to himself, and then he knocked as
at first, standing all the time with his ear pressed close
to the crack of the door to catch any faintest sound from
within. But he heard no sound, and after the third knock
he drew back and smiled.
"Now," he muttered, "we'll try the bell. And he reached
up where, a little more than six inches above his head,
a small disk, with a button in its center, was cut into the
door; a bell so high up and so in the shadow of the
low porch roof as to pass unnoticed by nine out of ten
perhaps of those who might ordinarily call at such a door.
But this was not an ordinary caller, nor one to be easily
discouraged. Three times he pressed the little button—
peal after peal—and then stood listening as before.
Yes; he had succeeded; some one was moving within.
He heard a slow step, the sound of something, a key it
would seem, fallen from nervous fingers to the floor, and
then some one was opening the door, slowly, cautiously,
just a few inches. Then a chain, new and bright, held it
thus, and a woman's face appeared in the opening; a face
neither young nor old, but faded, haggard, anxious, and
plainly seeking to hide all too evident symptoms of terror
or dread.
Her hair was dark and abundant, the face still bore
traces of a dark, fierce sort of beauty, the hand laid
upon the chain was shapely, and, the visitor noted, well
cared for. The dark hair, too, was fashionably dressed,
and there was something like an attempt at coquetry in the
style and colors of the rather youthful bodice of which he
had the merest glimpse.
As he made known his errand, with no attempt to pene-
trate farther beyond the chained door, a shade of the
pallor left her face.
"What—what did you say?" she hazarded. He spoke,
purposely, low. "A room—oh! There are none; they
are taken. That—that was only an old card!" And then,
as he chatted on, still amiably smiling and apologetic, she
asked, sharply:
"Why did you come to this door?"
"Why—you see I—I want to quarter hereabout, you
know; and I hate to give up. Felt sure you must be


266 NO PROOF.
at home—er—so early'z—this." He was now reassur-
ingly tipsy.
"And who sent you here?" she asked.
"Sent!" He backed off a little. "S-cuse me, ma'am,
but tain't my way to let myself be sent! I—er—am look-
in' to buy into a s'loon ercrost the way, an' thought
your place might be handy for me an'—the gal, ye know."
A sudden flush and a haughty lifting of the head showed
her, for a moment, something as she might have seemed
in brighter, younger days. She drew back and let the
door close an inch or two.
"I have no place for you. This place would not suit
you. We are poor, but we are not of your sort . Go
away, if you please." And he went; backing down the
steps and apologizing, with a fine air of being suddenly
overcome with a sense of her dignity and with a half-
tipsy hope that she would "give him her custom when
she needed anything in the way of wines and liquors,"
his place being "jest across the road, and a little bit down."
He even went through the pantomime of fumbling in his
pockets for a business card, which he had not yet found
when the door closed and was locked in his still protesting
face.
Kenneth was well pleased with the result of his effort
and the description of the woman was, evidently, both in-
teresting and satisfactory to him. He questioned the
agent closely concerning her and then got up to leave
the saloon, where they had talked, over their beer, across
a little table in a small and dingy curtained space, one of
two set apart, according to the legend above the curtain
which scantily covered the entrance, "For Ladies."
"Thus far," he said, "all seems to be going well. I clo
not think the man I have described will come here before
night, but if I am right in thinking that he does not mean
to spend much time in the city, he will come early in the
evening; perhaps very soon after dark; certainly before
nine o'clock, for his out-bound train leaves a little after
that hour."
"Pardon me! May I ask if there are strong reasons
why he may not cgme by day—possibly in disguise?"
"I will explain. It is my theory that this man will not


270 NO PROOF.
across the way, and wagging his head in lazy enjoyment
of the time and tune.
He moved on, slowly and with a slight stagger, and a
policeman, his club ostentatiously a-swing in his hand,
came slowly along in his wake.
The brown and silent cottage, standing almost in the
middle of the block, was quite in shadow, the mouth of
the alley yawning dark upon the one side, and a second
dwelling, larger and taller than the first, upon the other.
This was dark and close shuttered, save for one window-
on the second floor, through the half-open shutters of
which a light filtered out. In front of the cottage door
was a little covered porch, approached by only two shallow
steps, like so many such doleful dwellings, and its low-
entrance was shadowed by the covering overhead; but
the taller house stood bare and open to the street, the low
doorstep flush almost with the sidewalk.
Upon this lowly projection the shambling figure sat
down with careful slowness and settled himself com-
fortably back against the door.
"Young man, hadn't you better move on?" It was the
policeman, who had followed not far behind, who now
halted before him. He spoke loud enough to be heard
by the passers-by, and a loitering couple paused, and the
youth laughed, while the maiden squealed in affected
fright and shock.
"Oh, let er feller rest, Serg't," urged the man upon the
step, and then, as the couple moved on, and two horse-
cars meeting and passing, added their clatter to the noises
of the street, he added in a lowered tone:
"He's here! He must have made a circuit of the block,
out of caution, for he came past me at that saloon, from
the south."
"Good!" Then in a louder tone, "Oh, you can't sit
there, you know." ,
"I'll get up," aloud. Then as he slowly struggled to his
feet, "He's waiting now, very likely, for you to get out
of the way. March me up the street a few steps, start
me on my way 'home,' and then go south, as if leaving this
quarter; cut around and come in at the other end of the
alley. Then we'll have him between us." He had lurched


THE WRONG PRISONER. 271
himself away from the door by this time, and stood sway-
ing upon the sidewalk.
"Say," said the officer loudly, catching him by the arm,
"don't you live up here in Baldwin's block, eh?"
"Course I do," starting off in the opposite direction.
"Well, you just wheel about then. None of your
'won't go home till morning' doings on this beat. Come
—I want to go meet my relief. Come along; I'll steer
you past a gin shop or two."
"Y-—arr—a—ah—riche! Steer'head."
They had passed the alley now, and the officer felt his
elbow sharply nudged, and, glancing askance, he saw
a man iij a long linen duster and with hat pulled close
down over his brows, slipping silently along upon the
very outermost edge of the sidewalk, which was well filled
with idlers, promenaders, patrons of the cheap theaters,
and the usual early night strollers.
A few steps farther on the officer let go his companion's
arm.
"Now you go on home," he admonished. "If you don't
I'll tell my chum to run you in. Straight ahead, mind, and
look out for the crossing." And he turned and walked
briskly southward. He did not glance back at the sway-
ing tippler, who at once turned in at the first saloon door,
and he passed the man in the duster with scarcely a glance,
though very near. A moment later even a close observer
could have seen upon the street neither the officer, the man
in the duster, nor the undecided tippler, and the mouth of
the alley, at the side of the closed brown cottage, yawned
black and seemingly empty.
Ten minutes later, however, a man moving away from
a rear door, and toward the alley's eastern mouth, felt a
grip upon his shoulder and something cold pressed
against his temple, and hears:
"Throw up your hands, quick!" There is an oath for
emphasis, a spring, a short chase, a struggle, a cry:
"Help! Police! Murder!"
Then a lantern flashes; three forms seem struggling,
all together, and some one is hurrying in at the mouth of
the alley.
There is the sound of running feet in the darkness,


THE WRONG PRISONER. 273
Suddenly the man's sullen air changed to cringing-
appeal.
"Look here," he began; "let me explain this matter
to you."
"All right; go ahead. Wait you," to the man about to
call the cab.
"I am a stranger in the city; came to town this morn-
ing; I can prove it," the man began.
"All right."
"I am in business in the country, and my partner, who
used to live in town, found that some letters had been
sent to his old boarding-house. He wanted me to get
them."
"After dark?"
"Any time. I came this afternoon, but the landlady
was out, so I came back as soon as I could. She wouldn't
let me in; I had to go to the back door to make her hear
me, and she finally gave me the bundle of letters through
a crack in the kitchen door, and I started away with them
in my hand, hurrying to get out of the alley before put-
ting them away."
The officer was silent and seemed thinking.
"If you doubt me, go back with me, or without me,
and ask the woman," he urged.
Still the man pondered, while the crowd gaped and
continued their various comments.
"Look here," said the policeman at last. "Will you
go with me peaceable?"
"W—where?"
"To the nearest station. If your story's all right you'll
only have to stop a little while. If the other fellow's
the one, he's been caught before this,- I dare say, run-
ning out of the alley over on the other street. I've got a
report to make, and I don't want to be rounded up for
makin' no mistakes. Come along, and I'll look into your
case soon. If the other fellow got off I'll see your land-
lady. But you'll have to come." He took the prisoner's
arm and drew him a few steps away and along the side-
walk. "'Twon't amount to much, anyhow," he said in
a low tone, and giving the man a meaning nudge with
his elbow, "only I've got to go through with the cere-


274 NO PROOF.
mony, you see. There was no witnesses, anyhow. They'll
hear your statement and let you off most like; see?"
The stranger, whether he "saw" or not, went of neces-
sity, and without more argument.
"Here," said the officer, when they had reached the po-
lice station, "is a gentleman you're to take good care of
until I call for him, and see that you treat him well be-
tween whiles. It's just a little case of mistaken identity,
and you're to detain him for a witness."
Privately, and out of the prisoner's hearing, he added:
"You're not to lose that fellow, and you may have to give
him a night's lodging. I may be mistaken, but I think
the chap's wanted for something besides identification/''
The officer in charge grinned.
Meantime the other party to the assault, he who, ac-
cording to the prisoner, was the assailant, and, according
to the officer, was the assailed, having dashed through the
alley, and out at its farther end, had leaped into the car-
riage which stood close to the entrance, with its door con-
veniently ajar, and been swiftly driven from the place.
At the end of an hour this same carriage drew up at the
door of the chief's office. It was nearing nine o'clock and
the chief was at leisure.
During his drive the occupant of the carriage had re-
moved some of his disguising head-gear, and he uttered
a short laugh at sight of the chief's surprised face.
"Captain," he said, "I have come to give myself up.
I have been committing assault and highway, or alley-
way, robbery. I will tell you all about it, but I would like
awfully well to hear about this matter of the pictures first;
and, by the way, the man whom Captain Harvey sent
out with me to-day will be here, I fancy, very soon now.
Will you give orders to have him admitted to us at once?"
"Certainly." The chief gave the necessary order, and
then, swinging about in his chair so as to face his visitor
squarely, he said:
"First of all, I want you to answer me one question."
Well?"
The chief had taken in his hand the packet of photo-
graphs, as if to return them, and he now held three of
them up, their faces outward.


276 NO PROOF.
"Well, comrade," questioned Jasper, with a broad smile,
"is all right? Speak out."
"It's all right, sir. I got him out of the alley and he
declared himself an outraged man; swore he'd been
robbed of a wad of money, and some valuable papers.'
"Well, did he desire to enter a complaint?"
"Well, sir, the fact is I didn't give him much of a
chance. I took him to the station house, sir. You see,
your orders were to give him a good scare and then let
him go, but he showed so plainly his fear of arrest that I
saw at once he had some stronger reason to dread the
police than any I knew about. I felt as if, maybe, he
was wanted bad for something, and so I just left him in
the cooler at C street station. I said he was to be
held for a witness."
Ken was silent, and seemed studying the situation.
"I hope," went on Hewes, "that it won't disarrange your
plans any, sir? I felt it was my duty not to let the man
go. Of course, if you vouch for him—"
"Good heavens, no!" ejaculated Ken, "I don't."
"Who is this fellow?" asked the chief.
Ken met his inquiring gaze with a look of meaning.
"He is the friend, or agent, of that personage." And he
put a finger upon the three photographs the chief had a
moment before placed upon the desk at his elbow.
"In that case," said the chief, "he is very well off just
where he is."
They agreed that the unlucky prisoner should be held
at the C street station as a possible highwayman,
in spite of his claims to the contrary, until the following
day, when they would, perhaps, be able to identify him,
if he were indeed a much-wanted offender. Then, when
Hewes had been praised for his good day's work, thanked,
and for a time dismissed, the chief shot the bolt of the
office door, and, going back to his place opposite Jasper,
said:
"Now I am growing interested, Mr. Jasper. Begin
your story, and"—pulling a box of cigars toward them—
"if you can smoke and talk also, have a weed."


278 NO PROOF.
fortably secure. Hewes, his aid of the previous day, had
been detailed by the Chief of Police in person to accom-
pany Kenneth to Winston, although his mission there
was not of our young investigator's planning.
While there were yet twenty minutes of grace, Hewes
arrived, a commonplace figure, neither well dressed nor
ill, and not likely to occupy the attention of even a close
observer for more than the length of a casual glance.
"You're well gotten up," said Ken, as Hewes sauntered
alongside and halted as if from pure inertia, "and you're
sure you know the way without asking questions?"
"Oh, I'll find the way. But I'm thankful the nights are
so light."
"Where are your seedlings and other stuff?"
"Oh, all on the truck; going by express; a right fine
lot."
"And you know how to sell trees and ornamental shrub-
bery?"
"I should think! Have had a long experience at it.
It's a good fake for a fellow when he's got to linger in
a small and inquisitive town."
"Well, Hewes, I think you can do the thing without
more talk. You know we must not know each other.
Confound it"—looking at his watch by way of change—
"we've only twelve minutes."
"Sh!" warned Hewes, and moved away, and Ken looked
up to see in his place Mr. Falk in the flesh, and blandly
smiling.
"So ferry glad not to haf been late, Mr. Jasper! Those
elefated roads sometimes make delays!"
"Ah, yes, yes! Good-morning, Falk. Have you
brought the key?"
"It is here." Mr. Falk thrust a long, lean hand into
a big breast pocket and drew out a small oblong box
wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a silken cord. "And,
I may tell you, it has peen a ferry cunning piece of work.
Hart, you know."
"Yes, yes! But it's all right?"
"All right; yes, sir." Falk still held the box caressing-
ly between the palms of his two hands. "But"—his voice
sinking to a tone of almost funereal gravity—"do you


280 NO PROOF.
"I can't wonder at the chief for detailing those men to
back up Hewes," he said to himself when he had settled
down in his much-tilted chair to think over the events of
the morning, "but he quite understands that I'll have none
of them about Waylands, except Hewes, of course. I
think I made it sufficiently clear to his chiefship that they
must all stand back until my cards are played; and it's
going to be an open hand, too, in so far as I can make
it so."
CHAPTER XXXVII.
DOCTOR ROTH IN AUTHORITY.
•
Mrs. Wayland was a woman of straightforward meth-
ods, and having assured Kenneth before his setting out
for town that she would "talk with Martha," she set about
it promptly.
"Martha," she said, meeting the girl in the passage
leading from the dining-room to the side piazza, where
the captain spent a large part of his morning hours,
"Martha, when the way is clear, that is, when Miss Glenn
has gone to her room or out—"
"Miss Glenn is going out, Mrs. Wayland. She ordered
her horse just a moment ago."
"Going to ride?"
"Yes-m."
"Oh! very well. Then, when she has gone, and as
soon as Jennie goes upstairs, do you come to my room.
I must have a few words with you in private—you un-
derstand?"
"Yes-m; surely.''
Mrs. Wayland passed on, and out upon the piazza, where
the captain was just establishing himself with the morn-
ing paper.
"My dear," she said, resting a hand upon his shoulder,
"I shall be occupied in my room for perhaps an hour.
If the doctor comes meantime please ask him to stay until
I can see him, if possible, and—Glenn has ordered her
horse. It's a warm morning for a ride, but don't say


282 NO PROOF.
"Why, I'll confess, I thought it was queer in Miss Jas-
per goin' away jest now, so near berry and jell makin'
time; but, seein' she was goin', it was natural enough't
he sh'd want to come here, an' I thought 'twas real provi-
dential for the captain, ma'am."
"Yes; well, I will tell you how it came about." And
briefly, but clearly, she related the circumstances of Ken-
neth's search, or as much as seemed needful, while the
good soul listened in surprise almost amounting to awe."
"And now," she said, in conclusion, "I will explain why
I have told you this at this especial time. Kenneth's busi-
ness in the city is, in reality, connected with this matter,
and before going he asked me to talk with you. Martha,
he believes that you can help us if you will."
Martha's eyes, hitherto so questioning, fell suddenly,
and her lips set themselves in a thin, straight line.
"I'm sure," she said, after a moment, "I wish I could
see a way to do it."
"Kenneth," went on the lady, "has gone over the ground
very closely, and he believes, has proof, indeed, that on
the evening of her death Doris wrote a long letter and
that some one took that letter to the Winston postoffice
that night, quite late, perhaps. He believes it to have
contained the secret of her death. Martha, we must trace
that letter, know to whom it was sent, what it contained,
and who took it from her hand."
There was a long moment of silence, then Ma.rtha
pushed back her chair as if the interview had reached
its natural end.
"And—did he think," she asked slowly, "that it was
me?"
"He hoped that you might be able, and willing, to help
us. It's heavy on all our hearts, Martha. I am sure
you would not withhold anything which would help us."
While she spoke the girl had risen quickly upon her
feet.
"Mrs. Wayland," she began solemnly, "God knows I
loved Doris Grey, and I love you all! How could I help
it? If it was in my power to help you I'd do it if it took
years off my life! But it ain't! I don't know; I can't
tell anything. I wish I could; I wish I could!"


DR. ROTH IN AUTHORITY. 285
spindle-legged hall chair with a somewhat bored look.
"Go on." ,
Martha came close beside her and spoke low and almost
in her ear.
"A little while ago, miss, your mother called me to
her room, quite private. I can't tell all she said to me,
miss; very like you know most of it; but I'm bound
to tell you this much. There's them that's still lookin'
into the doin's of the night of your cousin's death."
"I know," impatiently.
"Yes; I felt sure you must, and maybe I've had my
scare all for nothing."
"Your scare!" Glenn looked up quickly. "What
scare?"
"About that night." Martha bent her head and dropped
her voice yet lower. "Miss Glenn, they have found out
that somebody carried a letter from here to town that
night!"
"They have?" Glenn got up and the two women stood
silent for a moment. Then—
"Have they found out who carried the letter?" asked
Glenn, a touch of coldness in her voice.
"No, miss, and they won't; leastways I don't think
they will."
"Oh, yes, they will," Glenn said wearily. "They'll find
out everything they want to know, with a human sleuth-
hound on the track." And then she checked herself,
while a shade of anger, mingled with the weariness in her
face, as the "shadow" of the "sleuth-hound," as she had
characterized poor Ken, flitted across her mental vision.
"Anyway," insisted Martha, "they won't get any of my
help."'
"You're a good, faithful soul, Martha," said Glenn, more
kindly, "and there's nothing to do but let things go on
and come out as they will. Don't worry, you dear, good
girl. You are sure, by the bye, that they don't know
already, and were just trying you?" ,
"Oh, they don't know. For she—they have proof that
s—some one wrote a letter that night, and that some one
else took it to the postoffice late, and—they believe that
letter contained the secret of her death,"


286 NO PROOF.
"My God!" Glenn put a hand to her throat as if she
were choking.
"Martha, I must go to my room now. Get me some
water, please."
******
When Kenneth Jasper had gone his way, Merrick went
back to his own room, and, throwing himself down upon
the low couch by the window, lay for a long time very
quiet and evidently very wide-awake and thoughtful.
There was a slight flush upon his cheeks and his eyes
roved from point to point about the room, feverishly
bright, and very restless. He breakfasted, when he did
not join the family, very much later than the others, and
when his breakfast came he sent it away almost untasted.
After a time he arose, went to his desk, and, unlocking
it, took out a tiny packet, from which he extracted a bit
of folded paper, a powder, in fact, which he dropped upon
the tip of his tongue, and washed down his throat with
some cool water, after which he turned back to his couch
with a very wry face. At nine o'clock the captain looked
in upon him, and found him nervous and with the flush
upon his face increasing.
He was not inclined to talk, and complained of a "full-
ness" in the head, and after a few moments the captain
went away. As he arose to go, however, Merrick aroused
himself a little.
"Captain," he asked, "shall you be driving into town
to-day?"
"I think so. Yes, after a time," said the captain quick-
ly. "Want to go down?"
"I wish I were fit. No; but if it won't bother you too
much this warm day, I would like to send a line to Morse,
that is, if he is in town. He has talked of running up to
the city this week."
"Well, I'll carry your line, and if the door is locked I'll
bring it back. Will that do?"
"Capitally."
"Very good. Then J'lj run up and get your note before
I set out; some time after luncheon, I think it will be."
When the door had closed behind his host, Merrick


MERRICK'S REMOVAL. 289
she had yet to cross the threshold of the invalid's room
for the first time. But Glenn was in a perverse mood.
"Are we to understand," she persisted, "that Mr. Mer-
rick is threatened by some contagious disease?"
Roth turned slightly and met her eyes.
"Yes," he said slowly, "he is threatened, and the dis-
ease which may overtake him is contagious—for some."
He turned quickly to Mrs. Way land. "Understand," lie
went on, "you must say nothing of this to the servants;
there's no danger whatever to them."
;;Why?" shot in Glenn.
"They're strong, healthy creatures." This time he an-
swered without turning toward her. "I was about to
say," he went on, "that it might be well, in case of extreme
restlessness it would be well, to let one of the women
remain near, within call, so that he might easily summon
her. The little alcove at the end of the hall is close
to his door."
"I will attend to it," murmured Mrs. Wayland.
Shortly after luncheon the doctor again looked in upon
Merrick, who had just partaken of his meal, and was lying
back upon a heap of cushions and smoking a cigar.
"Look here, Merrick," he said in a somewhat gruff
tone, "how much do you smoke in a day?"
"Oh, not much. Five or six mild cigars; or, sometimes,
cigarettes."
"Well, it won't do now. You must throw that thing out
of the window and give cigars a rest until, well, until I
see you again at all events. Best to be upon the safe
side." As he went down the stairs he added to himself,
"Best, too, to furnish a natural cause for nervousness;
unless I am much mistaken, Mr. Merrick knows how to
produce the drugged article." And his strong face looked
the contempt of his kind for certain forms of weakness.
Merrick had just tossed his almost-exhausted cigar-
stump out of the window when the captain appeared.
"Now then I am ready for town; going to take the doc-
tor with me and tow his horse. Letter ready, Merrick?"
The letter was ready, and the captain hurried away.
Then, for a little time, the house was very quiet. The
men were 'gone. He had heard the roll of the captain's


MERRICK'S REMOVAL. 291
"What does it mean?" she asked herself when she was
again alone in her room. "What can it mean?" And all
the time she knew that there was no answer to her anxious
questioning.
Doctor Roth came that evening earlier than he had
at first intended; a complicated case would occupy him
later, he told his friends, and, after paying a short visit
to the invalid, and repeating this information, he gave his
directions for the night in a somewhat perfunctory man-
ner and went his way.
"There's no real need of it," he said, stopping beside
Mrs. Wayland's chair as he crossed the piazza, "but Mer-
rick is fidgety and his nerves seem more than commonly
upset—"
"Good Lord!" groaned the captain.
"For this reason," went on the doctor, "among others,
you may as well let one of the maids sit above stairs, you
know."
They quite understood, and when they went into din-
ner a few moments later, Jennie was sitting demurely in
the hall above, a small table at her side, and the swinging
lamp drawn down'to illuminate the strip of linen and the
bright needle, which flashed in and out industriously when
Glenn was heard coming slowly down the hall on her way
to dinner.
Glenn wore a gown of some soft white stuff, with knots
of black ribbon in her corsage, and a band of jet setting
off and bringing out, in a wonderful way, the soft, firm
whiteness of the throat, and adding somehow to the cold,
firm set of the splendid, strong face.
She gave the girl a word in passing, and swept on down
the stairs.
Jennie leaned forward and sent after her young mistress
a long and admiring glance.
"I declare," she soliloquized, "if Miss Glenn don't look
just like a real royal princess; and she looks out of then}
grand eyes of hers as if she didn't care anything about
anything on this solitary earth." She had dropped her
needle, and she did not take it up aga.in, The door of


292 NO PROOF.
Merrick's room had been left ajar and she now gave her
attention to that.
Presently there came a sound like a cough, or, possibly,
a very slight groan, but it brought Jennie to her feet and
then to the door.
"Mr. Merrick"—very softly and without opening the
door wider—"did you wish something, if you please?"
"Come in, Jennie," came the low command, and blush-
ing with delight, the girl entered the room.
"Close the door, Jennie, my dear. I want you to do
me a favor." He was sitting upon the side of his couch,
his cheeks very pale, but his eyes very bright. "Are they
all at dinner, Jennie?"
"Yes, sir; they—"
"Jennie, who has the keys to my wife's rooms now?"
"Mrs. Wayland, sir; that is—"
"Ah! and who takes charge of Mr. Jasper's room in
his absence?"
"Why, I do, sir; and—"
"Have you his key?"
"Yes, sir; he left it in the door—"
He got up slowly and came to her side, placing a white
hand upon her shoulder.
"Now, Jennie, I'll tell you what I want you to do. I
am restless, and the doctor says I must try hard to get
out of this nervous condition. I have taken a great dislike
to this room—"
"La, Mr. Merrick—"
"And it seems as if I could not stay here. Now, you
know that Mrs. Wayland dreads to go to those rooms and
I much dislike to trouble her. But I feel as if I could sleep
there, Jennie, and I want you to help me move myself and
my medicines and cushions in without disturbing any one."
'"Now, sir?"
"Not quite yet. You know I have a right to the rooms;
they were closed at my order, and it occurred to me that
you might just open them for me and help me into
them quietly, and save so much talk and fuss. It tires
me to have so many about me, and you are so quiet and
nice, and helpful Jennie, my child; you won't tire me,
I am sure."


494 NO PROOF.
glasses and dressing things. I went out, and somehow
I thought at once of those rooms, and I just went and
tried the door. It opened, and there, sure enough, Mr.
Merrick, in his dressing-gown, was lying on the little
Turkish lounge, with his feet on a chair, to make out."
Mrs. Wayland could not forbear a smile at Martha's
description of the eking out of the dainty lounge to suit a
masculine measure.
"He was asleep," the girl went on. "At any rate he
didn't stir, or open his eyes, and I just stepped out and
went straight down to the kitchen, for I knew you did
not know of the change. There was Miss Jennie sipping
a cup of tea. She said she felt as if she ought to help
cook while I was upstairs, and when I asked her about it
she said, as innocent as a lamb, why, of course, she
helped Mr. Merrick into his wife's room. What else could
she do? Wasn't she sent upstairs to do for him, and it
wasn't her place to ask questions—there!"
"Well, Martha, Jennie was not altogether wrong in her
argument. And, of course, if Eugene preferred the
change, well, say no more about it now, Martha. It's
done, and can't be helped." And she went back to the
breakfast-room.
But she was troubled for all that and puzzled as well,
and it was with difficulty that she forced the look of anx-
iety out of her face as she resumed her seat at the head
of the table.
Between mother and daughter the confidence, up to
the time of Doris Merrick's death, that is, had been com-
plete; but now, while the mutual love was, if possible,
stronger than in time of sunshine, the barrier of reserve
which had sprung up between the two held the mother's
lips sealed, and the breakfast progressed without question
or comment concerning Martha and her errand.
But when Glenn had stepped out through the long win-
dow to the piazza, and from thence had walked across
the lawn to look at a row of budding young roses newly
set along the graveled terrace, and when the captain had
sought his easy-chair in his favorite southwest corner be-
neath the vines, Mrs. Wayland followed him and told
him briefly of Martha's discovery.


MERRICK'S REMOVAL. 295
"For heaven's sake!" he broke out when she had ceased
speaking, "what does it all mean?"
"I only wish I knew. I wish I knew how to treat this
sudden freak."
The captain smiled grimly. "We are ordered to keep
our distance," he said, "and just now I think we will retire
behind that and wait until Roth comes."
"I'm glad you think so." She sat wearily down upon
the nearest seat. "How I long to see the end of this!"
His face hardened. "I think we shall see it soon. Ken-
neth is due to-day, and"—he checked himself, and then
added—"I can't think that Merrick's sudden move will
matter much now. I fancy it was made too late." And
his eyes met hers, and then both looked away and were
silent.
As Mrs. Wayland leaned back against the rustic
seat he glanced at her from behind the morning
paper, which he lifted from his knee, with an assump-
tion of interest. Her eyes were turned roadward,
but he knew they saw little save the images
passing and repassing before her mental vision.
He noted the shadows beneath the fine and tender eyes,
the growing pallor of the soft, clear skin, the blue of the
veins about the temples. The slim white hands—such
strong, helpful hands they had been—had grown thin and
lay listless and blue-veined upon her lap. Her shoulders
had a weary droop; her eyes, now that she was off her
guard for a moment, looked into the future wistful and
anxious.
His brave, kindly, blameless wife! she had done no
wrong, and yet, through some one's crime, or sin, or
folly, how she had been made to suffer! how she was
suffering now! This shadow upon their home, this
strange change in their only child, their pride and pleasure,
as she had ever been until now. It was becoming too
hard to bear.
He set his jaws fiercely, and got up, clenching his hands
as he went down the steps, and she, turning to look after
him, sighed heavily.
"You poor dear," she murmured, "how bravely you
carry it off, all for my reassuring. As if I did not see


AWAITING THE REVELATION. 299
And now came the story of Mcrrick's sudden midnight
invasion of his wife's rooms, and at once Jasper sat erect,
with head thrown back and his nostrils quivering, and
a look in his face that was quite new to it—the look of
one who, having been defied and tricked, is thereby nerved
to put forth a strength, a power, which he knows will crush
and conquer. But he did not speak until all had been
told, and then he got up quickly.
"You were right," he declared, "very wise and right
to ignore the change and hold aloof. And the doctor is
with him? Well, he has disarranged my plans slightly,
but no matter, only, from the moment we re-enter the
house and the doctor withdraws, you, myself, some one,
must remain with Merrick. And now, Captain, I want
you to take Mr. Hewes, my friend in the outer room, and
drive with him to the cemetery. He will instruct you fur-
ther, and be sure that you obey him strictly. Courage,
Captain, the mystery will soon be a mystery no longer."
And he opened the door and beckoned Mr. Hewes, whom
he presented to the captain, and then hastened their de-
parture.
"And you?" ventured the bewildered captain, as they
crossed the threshold.
"Oh, I shall get a man from the stables to take me
out at once. I am anxious to see the doctor." And he
smiled grimly.
Doctor Roth was a far-seeing man, and one who, in an
emergency, was prompt to act, and, as he sat in Eugene
Merrick's room, a newspaper in his hand, and his
nez pinces upon his nose, he was saying to himself that
an emergency was at hand. It was in the very air, or so
it seemed to him, and he even fancied that Merrick, fidget-
ing restlessly upon his couch, was aware of it too.
Presently the doctor looked at his watch. It was near-
ing the hour when Jasper's train would arrive, and he
got up and went to the window looking out upon the
highway.
"What is that for?" asked the invalid fretfully, seeing


300 NO PROOF.
him close the sash at the bottom, open it at the top, and
push the shutters close.
"A draft is a draft," announced the medical gentleman,
"whether it's hot or cold." And then he came directly
in front of the couch and gave his patient a long, close
scrutiny.
"Merrick," he said, almost gruffly, "as I have told you,
I never give opiates except where they are positively re-
quired; but when the time comes for them I do not hesi-
tate. Now, you have gotten yourself into a very bad
mental and physical condition; there's a difference be-
tween purely mental and purely physical, nervous dis-
order, and you have symptoms of them both. In fact,
you've reached a stage where insomnia is likely to step
in. Now, incipient insomnia can be broken by a single
dose of some soothing drug, and, if you wish it, I am
ready now to give you a dose sufficient to give you a short
sleep. I prefer you to have it when I can be present to
watch results. What say you?"
"Give it to me. I need it if man ever did."
"Yes; you need it. Have you ever taken chloral?"
"I can't take it, Roth, and the bromides are worse than
useless."
The doctor prepared the dose, weighing it out with
great care, and brought it to the couch. "Of course," he
said, "you may not sleep, but, at least, it will relieve the
nervous tension, and, by all means, think as little and o.s
lightly as possible." And he went back to his seat by
the window and took up his paper. Ten, fifteen, twenty
minutes passed, and Merrick grew quieter as they went;
then suddenly he lifted his head.
"Oh, Doctor!"
"Well?"
"Has the midday train from town passed?"
"I—yes, of course—yes, just now, in fact."
"Then, if Morse should happen to run up please rouse
me if I do fall asleep. I want to see him. It is im-
portant."
"Very well; I will see to it; and Merrick, if you should
drop asleep I will leave you for a bit; you can ring if
you want me or any one. I'll not be gone long."


AWAITING THE REVELATION. 301
Ten minutes more. Merrick was quite calm now, only
his open eyes still roved from point to point. Then anoth-
er ten. "Forty minutes," said the watcher to himself,
and he let his paper slip from his hand and turned to
the window. Yes, that was the captain's wagon, the
captain driving; and, he looked again, yes it was a
stranger who sat beside him. What did it mean? He
got up and went to the window near the head of the
couch, the one he had so lately darkened, and softly
turned the shutter at the top. They had reached the gate,
but there was no sound upon the gravel. He peered
down through the trees; yes, they had passed the gate;
they were going southward. He turned to look at Mer-
rick, who was now evidently sleeping, and frowned and
went back to his place.
But not for long. A little cloud of dust where the Win-
ston road curved easterly, then the light roll of swift
wheels, and Kenneth Jasper was almost at the gate. Once
more he bends over the sleeper, listens, looks, touches
him.
"It will last a good two hours," he assures himself, "at
the least; it ought to last four." He touches a bell that
sounds in regions below and goes out and stands at the
head of the stairs, where he can see an approach from
front or rear; and then, as swiftly as feet can fly, Jennie
comes running down the long hall from the back stair-
way. Her slippered feet move lightly, but her breath
comes in little hissing pants, and that is quite enough.
He strides to meet her.
"Stop! What do you mean to come rushing to a sick-
room all out of breath like this? Do you want to wake
a sleeping sick man? Go back at once and tell Martha
that I want her, and, mind, don't you come up those stairs
again until I call for you. If any one else sends you tell
them I won't allow it." And, as the girl, cowed and
wondering, goes reluctantly back, he calls after her: "Be
quick; it's easier running downstairs than up!" And then
he adds to himself: "Little ninny! I don't mean to lose
any chance now through her interference!"
Martha comes promptly and listens in silence to his
commands, for commands they are.


302 NO PROOF.
"Martha, my good girl, I know we can trust you. Mr.
Merrick is asleep in there; very sound asleep. Now, I
want you to see that no one goes near him to disturb or
waken. No noise whatever must be allowed in the halls.
Is Miss Glenn upstairs?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, there's no one else, and she will hardly need warn-
ing. Now, while all is quiet, you are to sit in the outer
room, with this hall door ajar, and the inner one wide
open, so that you can guard both ways. If any sudden
noise is heard below close the door, or, if he shows signs
of waking, shut out all sounds and call me at once. You
must stay until I come to relieve you; you understand?"
"I think I do, sir," said the girl quietly.
"I am sure you do. It is an important post, Martha.
Much depends upon this—this sleep."
"I understand," she repeated, and the doctor went be-
low without another word.
There was no one in sight, either in the hall or the
rooms adjoining, and no sound from any quarter, and he
went quickly out through the front entrance to come upon
Kenneth Jasper slowly swinging in the hammock in the
piazza, corner, looking quite at his ease.
But he sat up quickly enough at sight of his friend.
"This is better than I dared hope," he said, putting out
a hand. "That is, if one may really have a clear field
for a little; the ladies—"
"Miss Wayland is in her room. Her mother was not
informed of your coming. I thought it would spoil her
midday siesta, which she really needs; and it was not
important that we be all kept in suspense, was it?"
"Not at all. You were quite right and very thought-
ful. And now, who is with Merrick. and how is he?"
"Martha is on guard, and he is asleep."
"And likely—"
"And likely to remain so for three or four hours, I hope.
I gave him a small half-grain of morphia about an hour
ago."
"You! Of your own accord?"
"Yes."
"Roth, what has happened?"


304 NO PROOF.
who is with him, we shall, I think, be ready for the reckon-
ing. Now tell me, before I say more, tell me upon your
honor as a physician, how much of Eugene Merrick's
present state, his illness, is and has been real? I can't
go on until I know his exact situation."
"Well, here it is. To begin, he went away from Way-
lands two days before his wife's death, a young fellow in
good health and full strength, fit and normal, so far as
eye could gauge, in body and mind. You have told me
about his home-coming, and I saw him the next day.
He was another man. Now, a strong nervous shock will
do its work, but it must have its time. You tell me that
you broke the news of his wife's death to Merrick, but the!
next morning when I saw him I could have sworn that
he had been under some strong mental and nervous strain
for at least four and twenty hours; probably more. Since
then he has rallied and retrograded; he has shut himself
in his room; denied himself exercise and proper nourish-
ment; malingered in fact; and now—" He paused.
"And now—for heaven's sake go on, Roth."
"And now—briefly, this is his case, and a very queer
one it is. To begin, we have his naturally nervous tem-
perament; to such a man even in health waiting, suspense,
is unbearable, and will tell upon him. I don't know your
lead, of course, but I do know that Merrick came home
with his nerves in a wretched state. Since then he has
been in a constant state of suspense, of anxiety; I might
almost say of anticipation. All this may have been caused
by his wife's strange death."
"May?"
"That is what I said. On the other hand, he has had
from the very day of his return a dread of appearing in
public, a desire to seclude himself."
Jasper nodded. "I have observed it," he said quietly.
"No doubt," dryly.
"Martha!" The two men started upon hearing Glenn
Wayland's voice sounding as from the landing half-way
up the stairs. "Martha, I wish to speak with you."
And then there was a murmur from above, where Mar-
tha, who had slipped noiselessly through the door of Mer-


AWAITING THE REVELATION. 305
rick's room, set slightly ajar, as the doctor had ordered,
was bending over the railing.
"Yes, Miss Glenn; speak softly, please; Mr. Merrick
is sleeping, and the doctor—"
"Martha, is the house quite deserted?" Glenn's voice
as a shade lower, but coldly distinct.
"Your father is away—"
"I know," impatiently.
"Your mother, I think, is sleeping; but the doctor and
Mr. Jasper are somewhere downstairs."
"Oh!" There was indifference and more in the single
syllable. "You may tell my mother, Martha, if she asks
for me, that I am gone to the cemetery, across the
meadow."
The two men exchanged glances, and then in a mo-
ment both arose, as Glenn came quickly out through the
door nearest them. She wore a broad-brimmed black
hat and carried a sun umbrella. She looked very slim and
tall and almost severe in her thin black draperies, with
no relief of color, and her pallor was heightened by the
contrast. She bowed frigidly, and then, turning toward
the doctor, asked: "How is your patient this morning?"
"He is sleeping very comfortably," was the terse reply.
She bowed, turned away, and, putting up her sun um-
brella with much deliberation, went slowly toward the
paddock and the meadow beyond. When they had
watched her cross the lawn and go through the gate and
into the little inclosure fronting the carriage-house, Jasper
got up, and, standing before his friend, said:
"To go back to Merrick. Tell me, Roth, is there any-
thing in his present condition that should prevent me
from carrying out my program of enlightenment? from
making known to him that which will enlighten, while
it will shock and startle him horribly?"
"Nothing! nothing whatever. Anything which will
relieve the present tension, the suspense; any certainty will
be better for him than his present state. He can't be got
out of his seclusion and inactive condition too soon. Don't
fear a shock. All the courage in the man will rise to face
a situation he can understand."
"Then my way is clear. Doctor, I must see yourself,


306 NO PROOF.
the captain, and Mrs. Wayland together before Merrick
wakes, if possible. But first of all"—and the blood slowly
receded from his face as he spoke—"I must speak with
Glenn Wayland, and she has unwittingly given me the
very chance I want." And he set his lips and strode away,
following the path taken by Glenn, who was now half-way
across the paddock.
CHAPTER XL.
BY THE PAUPER'S GRAVE.
When Glenn Wayland entered the cemetery by passing
over a stile at the northwest or inner corner of the inclos-
ure, she was somewhat surprised to see, as she stood upon
the top of the stile, her father's trap drawn close to the
high outer fence, and her father, in person, seated in an
attitude of leisurely waiting, and holding the reins.
This northwesterly corner was, as yet, in its almost
virgin state of thickly grown trees and untrimmed hazel
and blackberry shrubbery, this same state of wildness ex-
tending along the west side and up to the northwest end,
where the potter's field held its place. Gray Tom was
headed southward, and the captain's face was turned away,
and, wondering a little to see him there, and thus waiting,
Glenn closed her sun umbrella and passed on over the
stile and through and around the trees and underbrush.
She had almost reached the edge of the uncared-for
western border, and was about to step out from behind
some low-growing hazel-brush into the clearer space laid
out into graveled paths and staked off into lots, when
she heard a sound as of dry branches crackling under a
heavy foot, and stopped to look in the direction whence
it came.
It sounded, it seemed to her, from the south, and turn-
ing her face toward the "poor corner," she saw, emerging
from the thicket of trees and undergrowth, in the very
heart of the corner, a man, or, at least, the head of a man.
It was almost in line with her as she stood, and it disap-
peared, and she did not see it again until the person


BY THE PAUPER'S GRAVE. 307
had reached the clearing, and then she saw that he was a
stranger; that he was advancing with long strides, now
that he had emerged from the tangle; that he was going
straight toward her father and .the trap, and that he car-
ried, between his hands, something earth-stained and tied
in a cloth or handkerchief.
Surprised and wondering, she stood in her place until
the man had reached the fence, vaulted it with the ease
of an athlete, and taken his place beside the captain.
She heard their voices, but could not distinguish the
words, and she saw that the stranger took from the floor
of the trap a small leather bag, into which he crowded the
earth-soiled bundle with some difficulty, and then her
father turned Gray Tom's head, homeward and they drove
away without once looking back.
When they were out of sight she went forward slowly,
and when she had reached her cousin's grave, sat down
with a weary, long-drawn sigh. For a few moments she
plucked idly at the dead leaves and fading blossoms that
appeared among the fresher blooms which now almost
covered the mound, and then, suddenly, she bent forward,
and, flinging her arms across it and dropping her face
upon them, she moaned:
"Oh, Doris, Doris! If you only knew! Doris, do
you know what I am bearing for you?"
When Kenneth Jasper was half-way across the meadow
beyond the paddock, he saw, across upon the highway, the
captain and Officer Hewes bowling along toward Way-
lands, but he only hastened his steps in the opposite direc-
tion, saying as he did so:
"I wonder if she saw them? and if so, how much she
saw?"
When he had reached the stile he stood for a moment
looking, much as she had done; but he saw nothing, for,
while the trees about the grave and a part of the grave
itself could be seen from the stile, the bent form upon
the farther side was quite hidden by roses and other in-
tervening shrubbery.


308 NO PROOF.
He came down, in his turn, quietly, and taking almost
the same line followed by Glenn, stood, for a moment,
where she had stood, and then he saw her.
"Not now," he murmured, his face softening, and he
stood still for a moment.' Then a new thought sent him
carefully, noiselessly, through the bushes, close along the
western boundary, and so to the potter's field.
Yes, it was as he had expected, hoped almost. In the
middle of the old, old grave, of which he knew, he and
one other, there was a freshly dug hollow, yawning,
empty.
"I was right," he assured himself. "My chain is com-
plete. Hewes would never have removed it else." And
his face darkened and grew stern again, and, standing
there, he fell into a strange train of thought, half sad,
half bitter, and, above all, hopeful and fearful for the
moment to come. And then—it came.
Glenn was too strong to let herself be for long the slave
of her feelings, and she presently lifted her head.
There had been no tears, only a choking sob or two,
and she now clenched her hands and set her lips firmly.
"I can't die," she said, as if addressing the occupant of
the rose-decked mound. "/ have got to live it out." And
she arose slowly, stood irresolute for a moment, and then
turned toward the corner from whence she had seen the
strange man come with his earth-stained package.
She was not careful of her movements, and so it hap-
pened that Kenneth, still standing beside the forlorn and
multilated grave, heard, and then saw her approach, and
awaited her without a sign. There was a clump of bushes,
breast high, between the two, and she was within three
feet of it before he stirred, then he moved quickly around
it and spoke her name.
"Glenn!"
Even then he rejoiced inwardly in her spirit and cour-
age. She did not start nor cry out; she only gazed at
him with a growing anger and scorn in her eyes, and
uttered one syllable:
"You!" How can a woman put so much meaning into
a simple syllable? She uttered it slowly, and after a mo-
ment of silence, and then she turned to go.


310 .. . JfO PROOF.
and believe that you will tell your own story. Shall I
tell you a little of what I shall say to them? Or"—very
gently—"may I tell you what I think, or believe?"
"What do you believe?" she asked, after a moment, and
hesitatingly.
"I believe that you went to your cousin's room that
unhappy night, just as you testified, but I also believe that
afterward she came to you. I don't know what she said,
I don't know how you did it, but I believe that she gave
you a drugged drink that you might be unable to inter-
fere with her plans, and that she bound you by a solemn
promise to do something for her and to keep it a secret.
I have fancied that she may have seemed nervous and
overwrought, and that you took, perhaps, a solemn oath,
fully believing that you were pacifying your always petted
and indulged cousin, and that you would never be required
to keep your promise."
"My God!" she murmured, and, for the first time, her
proud head drooped.
"I believe that it was to fulfill that promise that you
went to your cousin's rooms that night. As for the
pistols," he went on hurriedly, for she had averted her
face and moved a pace away from the tree, "I don't know
how, or by whom, the first exchange was made, but I
decoyed you into giving me her weapon because I was
determined that no eye but mine should know of that
exchange, that no tongue should sully your name by a
doubt or suspicion. Oh, my proud, beautiful beloved, I
was ready to do more than that for your dear sake if need
be; and you thought that I doubted. Oh, Glenn, Glenn!
what is it?"
She had put up her hand and turned, with her face rest-
ing against the friendly supporting tree.
"Will you leave me now?" she whispered hoarsely.
"Ah! you must."
"If you command, so be it! You are sure that I must
go? You will come soon? For, really, I must go back
to those whom I left wondering and waiting—for your
sake. Will you come soon, Glenn? I want you to hear
my story, and I never wish to tell it but once!"
"I will come," she answered faintly, "and soon."


TELLING THE STORY. 311
CHAPTER XLI.
TELLING THE STORY.
It was mid-afternoon and past. Merrick was still sleep-
ing, though with occasional fitful movements, twitch-
ings, and murmurs, which told how the soothing drug
was slowly relaxing its grasp, "soft as silk and strong as
steel." By the window, in the place lately occupied by
the doctor, Officer Hewes sat, looking very unlike an
officer in his suit of summer duck and his tan shoes, with
his shrewd and amiable face set in its blandest mixture
of smiling sympathy and reassurance.
"If he wakes, tell him you are the nurse, sent for by
Doctor Roth, and keep him quiet, in your own way, until
you hear from us; only be sure you keep him quiet. I'll
trust you to manage."
These had been Kenneth's orders, to which he had
added:
"If you want anything, or to send us any word, you will
find a maid in the little hall alcove. Keep your eye on
her, too, by the bye. I want her out of the way for a
bit." And so Jennie sat again in the alcove, the familiar
strip of linen in her hand, feeling a bit dissatisfied that
she must sit at the outer portal, and a bit cross that "that
mean man" should be so "awful observing."
Downstairs, in the captain's study, the others of the
family were grouped. Glenn, who had only just returned,
going, silent and subdued, to her mother's room, and
entering the study at her side.
They were gathered about the captain's round reading-
table; mother and daughter side by side, the captain near-
est his wife, and Doctor Roth at the opposite end of the
little semicircle. Martha sat just in the rear of and near-
est to her mistress, and at the opposite side of the table,
where he could look from one face to the other, was Ken-
neth Jasper, somewhat paler than usual, and very grave,
but self-possessed and firm, as one who has mastered a
difficult situation and now holds the issue in his own


312 NO PROOF.
bands. He sat close to the table, upon which he had
placed several small articles which he had brought into
the room in his hands, and as he began to speak he
leaned forward and rested an arm upon the table's edge.
"I am more glad than I can tell you," he began, as soon
as the ladies, who, followed by Martha, had been the last
to enter, had taken their places, "that the time for secrecy
and all manner of concealment is passed, and that I am
now able to tell you, and to prove, what I have personally
believed since the day after Mrs. Merrick's death, that
she died, unquestionably, by her own hand; but that her
death still lies at Eugene Merrick's door. I make this
statement in the beginning and ask your patience while I
explain what may seem, to some of you, gross incon-
sistencies.
"For instance, I have assured some of you that Mer-
rick did not know the cause of her death. This was and
is true. Even now I doubt if he even suspects the whole
truth."
There was a sound like a sigh of relief from the lips of
Glenn Wayland, and she leaned a little nearer to her
mother, where they sat upon a low willow tete-a-tete, and
slipped a hand beneath that lady's arm.
"I believe," went on Kenneth, "that there is one in this
room who has doubted Merrick from the first, and with
reason, but not with proof." The hand upon Mrs. Way-
land's arm tightened its grasp.
"And now," went on Kenneth, "I will tell you how I
first came to suspect Merrick, and how I followed up my
suspicions. I need not dwell upon the discovery of the
death, but will remind you of the condition of the rooms
in which it occurred. Mrs. Merrick had been preparing
to go away and several trunks were in the dressing-room,
packed, or to be packed, for the journey of the next day.
Now, it was agreed that all day and at that last dinner
Mrs. Merrick was in happy spirits. I knew her, and know
how difficult it would have been for her to dissemble;
and so I at once decided that when she left the drawing-
room, after dinner, she had no thought of taking her
own life. Consequently I set down as a basis for investi-
gation this fact. After going to her room, presumably


TELLING THE STORY. 313
alone, she discovered something so personal, so awful,
that it drove her to take her own life. What was it?
"Now, I discarded, from the first, any theory of attack
from without, or possible murder, and any thought of a
possible visit from some one who came with her knowl-
edge. I know"—glancing about him with the shadow
of a smile—"that I have discussed all these possibilities,
and others, with as little reason in them from my point
of view; but I must remind you that in order to study
Merrick I must have him within easy reach, and to make
him an object of suspicion to all of you would have made
his stay here impossible, and made you all most uncom-
fortable, while, at the same time, defeating my purpose,
perhaps causing my failure. Besides, I had only my sus-
picions then, and no proof.
"I stood in Doris Merrick's place and tried to picture
her going, light-hearted and full of pleasant anticipation,
to her room, and then—what? She was alone, and the
thing, the horror which fell upon her, must have mani-
fested itself soon; doubtless within that first half-hour.
She dismisses Martha very soon, declaring her intention
to pack the remaining baggage with her own hands.
Now I find that her own trunks were packed, with Mar-
tha's assistance, before dinner; ergo then, she begins hap-
pily, daintily, to do something for her husband. Now,
she has personally superintended the moving of these
trunks from the attic, her own and his, and no doubt she
intends to remove the contents, for contents there must
have been—so think the servants who brought the trunks
down—for, of course, I went into all this quite privately;
and now she begins upon these trunks, and the first we
find daintily packed with linen and summer apparel, writ-
ing-case, smoking-set, etc., and with a complete list of
the contents in her own pretty handwriting."
Mrs. Wayland bent her head and wiped the tears from
her eyes. She could see it all, oh, so plainly.
"And now she turns to the other. Perhaps she notes that
the trunks, while all alike in size and general appearance,
are yet different, and that the keys are not quite the same;
not ordinary keys, by any means, especially this last one.
But it opens the trunk, and she lifts the lid. And there,


314 NO PROOF.
my friends, the secret which drove Doris Merrick out of
life lay at the bottom of that trunk. It was Pandora's
box, and worse.
"I said then, in that first twenty-four hours, that in
one of those two trunks lay, or had lain, the secret of her
death, the weapon which caused it. What that weapon
was I little guessed then. But I felt that I had my first
clue, and I said, 'I will follow it up.' My friends, the secret
of that trunk has remained a secret to me until to-day;
less than two hours ago. But let me go on with my story
as it happened. I meant, for my own satisfaction, and
hoping to make the mystery less fearsome for you all, to
follow up this clue, and I at once began to look about for
corroboration of my theory.
"It was not lacking, and I did not lack my opportunity.
The fact that she had assumed, with such care, her wed-
ding garments, was the first thing that I observed on
entering the rooms for the first time, that and the careful
order of them both, with the total absence of all the little
personal belongings usual to the rooms of a dainty woman.
Next I was sent to look in her desk for an address, some
clue to Merrick's whereabouts in the city, and then I
observed further. The boxes, desk, trunks, everything
belonging to Mrs. Merrick were closed and locked, but
with the keys remaining, while the trunks on the other
side of the room, Merrick's trunks, were locked and key-
less. I considered this an important fact. I found, too,
in looking through the desk, that it had been
recently overhauled, and that there was very little cor-
respondence; none whatever from him to her; in
short, that the desk had been practically cleared of the
usual dainty litter of a woman's writing-desk. Nothing
personal remained, and all was in order; the order that
is left for stranger, or unused eyes, to see. I also ob-
served that there was not a photograph or any manner of
picture of Merrick in the rooms. And right here let me
add, as regards the photographs, that after investigation
showed that there was not a picture of him about the place;
then' I saw some reason to wonder if it had not been
Merrick who had gathered them up, but I now believe
that his wife, in the fierce activity of her first discovery,


TELLING THE STORY. 315
made her way down to the front drawing-room, which she
could easily have done, and secured the pictures from the
tables there, knowing just where to find them as she did.
The room was in semi-darkness, and the occupants of the
rear parlor were not in positions commanding a view of
that part of it where the tables stood.
"After the funeral, a week, in fact, after Mrs. Merrick's
death, the captain came to my room one night and ap-
pealed to me, as a friend, to do the very thing I had
already determined to do; to try and sift the strange
affair; to follow it to its source. I was not surprised at
this, but, soon after, I had a second visitor upon the
same errand. Eugene Merrick came and implored me to
try and fathom the mystery surrounding his wife's'strange
death. Now, this surprised me; not that he should desire
to know the truth, for I was already convinced that he did
not guess it, but that he, knowing the city so well, should
appeal to me.
"But I soon saw, or fancied I saw, an explanation. He
had made a search of his wife's rooms, which I had asked
Mrs. Wayland to close, and leave as nearly undisturbed
as was possible, and he had found—in and near the fire-
place, where, as I had already discovered, his wife, or
some one, had burned a quantity of papers the night of her
death—these bits of paper, evidently the fragments of a
letter, which he had fitted together." Here he took from
the table the fragments committed to him by Merrick and
held them up. "This is the document; and when I have
done you are at liberty, all of you, to examine it. Mer-
rick had construed it into a very ingenious, but to me
not at all probable, theory; and he showed me plainly
what line he expected me to take. I took possession of
the fragments and told him that I would most certainly
go into the case, and he left me quite satisfied." He
turned to Captain Wayland. "This may help you, Cap-
tain, to understand why I found it so easy to take my
place under your roof without arousing doubt or suspicion
in Merrick's mind. He knew why I came here, and he
fancied that he was aware of the direction of my search.
This, too, is why I have found him so accessible."


TELLING THE STORY. 317
for I knew that I must depend upon him and his move-
ments. There was, at first, no other way.
"My first move upon entering this house as an inmate
was to make sure, as sure as possible, that Merrick did
not again enter his wife's rooms alone. I asked Mrs.
Wayland to lock them and to keep the keys.
"On the one occasion when he had gained access, and
found these scraps of paper, and very important they have
proved to be, I was puzzled. He had told me that a sum
of money had been given by him to his wife before he set
out for town. Now I knew that this money was not in
the desk, the most likely place in which to find it, and
Mrs. Wayland, who had looked carefully through the
dead girl's boxes and trunks, in the hope of finding some
clue to her strange deed, knew that they contained none.
But when I asked him how he accounted for the money,
he replied that it was doubtless in the desk, adding that
the desk was locked and the key had probably been over-
looked in giving him the others.
"Now I knew from Mrs. Wayland that she had her-
self unlocked the desk and boxes for him, and then I
added to my theory; which, by that time, ran like this":
He took up a note-book and opened it. "I will read you
the notes I have written here in a sort of jargon cipher of
my own," he said. "They are the first of a sort of working
theory." And he read:
"'Mem.: Theory—That D. M. was driven to take her own
life because of something discovered in opening a trunk be-
longing to her husband; said trunk being one of three stored
in attic, and numbered 1, 2, and 3.
"'Theory Second—That the wrong trunk, by some mistake,
fell into her hands; probably through his hastily, carelessly,
or, in a moment of excitement, giving her the wrong keys.
"'Note: If Merrick had been suddenly called to New York
upon business, important, unpleasant, difficult, or dangerous,
this might account for such a mistake in the matter of keys.'"
He looked up.
"I learned, after writing this, that Merrick had driven
to Winston that morning, and that he came home in haste
and went to the city by the late afternoon train, and we


320 NO PROOF.
belongings, which later he 'would have removed and
stored.'
"Now, having investigated, I reasoned that the trunks
might really have been mistaken; I could not rid myself
of the idea, as a simple solution of many things, and, on
the strength of this belief, for it had grown to that, I
changed the metal tags upon the trunks, taking that upon
the locked trunk in the dressing-room and putting it upon
the trunk in the attic, and vice versa. Then, at a time
when I knew the men were otherwise busy, I asked Mer-
rick to help me take my trunk to the attic. He fell into
the trap, and after a good look at the trunk with the
changed tag, he said, with a look of absolute relief, 'I
fancied that trunk downstairs bore this number;' but he
did not question, and I was much relieved, for I had
feared that he had made a note of these numbers. But the
trunks in the dressing-room stood close together. I
had to move one to see the number on the other,
and both of his visits there had been short, hur-
ried, and made under excitement, and with some-
thing entirely different in mind. If he had ventured to
peer between the trunks it must have been a hasty glance,
and the room was not well lighted at any time. Well, he
was relieved, for some cause, I could see, and at the first
opportunity he sent the trunk away. 'To be stored in the
city,' he said.
"I had observed that he had won the girl Jennie to
serve him with a single mind, and I kept my eye upon
her. One day I found her trying to get the keys of the
closed rooms, but we baffled her, Mrs. Wayland and I."
"I remember," murmured the lady.
"Not long afterward Miss Glenn received the letter
which we all remember, inclosing one for Merrick 'from
his sister,' he said. Later in the day I contrived to enter
his room and to read that missive. I did it without scru-
ple, and the result proved that I did not exceed my duty.
'You will do well to plant those seeds,' said this sisterly
letter. 'Exposure, or carrying about of these rare kinds
is not good for them I find. John Smith is loyking for
you on important business.' This was the purport of
the letter, and it gave me a 'straight tip' at last, for I


I WILL BE HEARD. 323
some of them in his handwriting, besides a miscellaneous
lot of crushed and battered silver and odd pieces of jew-
elry which he was doubtless holding until it was safe to
sell it. She found enough, and more than enough, and
she saw, turn where she would, disgrace and shame for
herself and for her friends.
"She thought, and thought quickly. She threw into the
trunk everything of his not packed already, and on the
top tossed the well-filled purse he had left her. Then she
locked the trunk, made the odd little key into a little par-
cel, and attached it to a slender chain." He paused a mo-
ment. "That key," he went on then, with his eyes turned
toward the window, "was buried in Doris Merrick's grave."
Glenn uttered a quick exclamation, but he hurried on.
"When she had secured the trunk she went softly down-
stairs and got the pictures from the drawing-room tables,
and these, with his letters, and the pictures in her own
possession, she burned in the grate. Then she wrote a
letter—to him."
"A letter!" exclaimed Mrs. Wayland, while again Glenn
essayed to speak, and again Kenneth hurried on.
"To explain I must go back to the day of my first search
in Mrs.—in Doris' room. In her desk I found two things
that helped me; the first was a little packet of tiny white
powders, with an empty powder-paper inclosed, as if some
one had taken the drug hastily; later I found a second
empty paper behind the desk, where it had perhaps flut-
tered from her nervous hand. These powders I took
afterward to Doctor Roth, who at once pronounced them
morphia powders, a full adult dose in each. I found also,
later, that Merrick, as I will still call him, had used them
often; and it is to be presumed that on that night the
poor distracted girl, having ordered the pitcher of lemon-
ade from Jennie, afterward dropped the contents of the
two empty papers into the drink, of which she partook,
and, perhaps, obtained from it the strength of nerve to
carry out the awful task she had set herself to do. The
second thing found in the desk was a piece of pink blot-
ting-paper, large and nearly square; it had been used
but once, and, by placing it under a strong lens, I could
niake out whole lines qf the writing impressed upon it.


324 NO PROOF.
Upon leaving the desk, I examined the trunks, and finally
lifted one, thus discovering a key underneath the edge,
pushed there, I have no doubt, by her hand, and meant to
be found by Merrick. There was also a strip of paper,
and it contained the proof that she did write to Merrick,
wrote, and rewrote, for this was a torn fragment, the
very first words of the letter, though not, of course, of the
letter I snatched last night, like a highway robber, from
Mr. Morse, of 'Merrick & Morse, Real Estate Brokers.'"
"But, man alive," burst out the captain, "that letter;
how did it get to the city? Who sent it?"
And now, at last, Glenn Wayland's voice rang clear
above the rest, as she sprang up and turned to face them,
first one and then the other.
"Papa! Mr. Jasper! Iu'ill be heard! You must let me
speak now!"
CHAPTER XLIII.
GLENN WAYLAND SPEAKS OUT.
"I should feel myself a poor creature," Glenn Wayland
said, her head proudly erect, and her glance turning from
one face to the other, to fall, at last, under the gaze of
Kenneth Jasper, who had drawn back a pace, seeing that
she would no longer be restrained, but who never once
withdrew his gaze from her face. "I should despise my-
self if I could longer allow Kenneth Jasper to go on with
his story, knowing, as I do, that he could have made clear
every point but for his chivalrous intent to keep my name
out of it, to shield me; and now I will tell you what he
would not, though he knew, or guessed it, while he may
not have possessed the proof. I can tell you about the let-
ter which my cousin wrote that night, though of its con-
tents I can only guess.
"I told nothing but the truth when I described my
few words with Doris as I stood at her door that night.
She was writing, and she scarcely turned her head. \
was not to interrupt her, she said—she was busy; and so,
I went my way. But that was not all. I had read until


328 NO PROOF.
put her hand over her heart. 'It's because you are lone-
some, dearie,' I said soothingly. 'Yes,' she said, 'that is
it; I am so lonely. If Eugene had not gone I should be
happy now. Yes, I'm sure of it. But he is gone, and,
who knows, I may never see him again. Oh, I know I
am foolish; still, Glenn, there are so many accidents, so
many sudden deaths; and I have been thinking that every
one, husbands and wives, wives most of all, should be
prepared. Cousin Glenn, you are so strong and
brave, this may seem silly to you, but I am going to ask
you to promise to do two things for me, and first promise
you will never, whatever comes, tell any one how I came to
you and talked to you to-night; not Eugene, not any one.
Promise, promise!' Of course I promised. I dared not
refuse, looking into those burning eyes. 'And now,
'
Doris went on, 'I want you to take this, and when I am
dead, if I should die soon, you know, go to the place
where I lie, in my coffin, mind, not before, and slip this
little gold chain about my neck, out of sight; and let the
locket—it is his picture, you know—and this queer little
key that is with it, slip into my bosom. No one will
wonder or ask questions then, and these things mean—
oh, a great deal to me, Glenn dear!' And then she put
her head in my lap and was still for a moment, while I
sat with the chain, locket, and key in my hand, where she
had laid them. By and by she whispered: "Promise again!
swear it, Glenn! and that no one shall know!' Of course
I promised. Then she lifted her head and laid in my lap
a letter addressed to him. 'I was writing this when you
came, ' she said slowly, as if studying her words, 'and it
must go to-night. Glenn, there is something, something
overlooked, or a mistake, perhaps, and this letter must—
must reach him before he leaves the city. It is very im-
portant, Glenn, and I don't want to send it—I know how
the servants would smile if I asked them to take this to-
night; how silly they would think me, and how they would
just leave it until to-morrow, and it must not wait. Glenn,
it must go!' She was beginning to tremble, and the color
in her face to waver. I pitied her so, though I thought the
letter folly, like all the rest, but I took it in my hand. 'I
will send it/ I said, and she cried: 'Oh, you can; they


GLENN WAYLAND SPEAKS OUT. 329
won't dare disobey you! and Glenn, promise me, swear to
me, that you will send it to-night, soon. Ah, if I could
carry it myself, but I can't—I can't.' And then she re-
peated that urgent cry, 'Promise! promise!' and in fear
lest she would really make herself seriously ill, and to
quiet and soothe her, I promised, solemnly, to do all
that she had asked, and to 'keep her secret,' a secret which
I did not, could not guess. When I had promised she
grew somewhat calmer, kissed me, and asked me to pray
for her. But she grew excited at once when I proposed to
go with her to her room, or keep her with me. She
would do better alone; she would soon be quiet, she said."
Glenn dropped her head upon her hand, and for a moment
no one spoke. Then she went on:
"I watched her enter her room, and heard the key turn
in the lock—she must have unlocked it later—and then I
went down the back stairs very softly to look for Martha."
She turned toward the girl here and said: "Martha, please
tell the rest."
"I was alone in the kitchen," so the girl took up the tale
without in any way changing her position, "and when Miss
Glenn came in it startled me a little, she looked so sort of
pale and worried. 'Martha,' she says, 'I have a letter
here that must go to town by the early train; would you
mind going with me across the east meadows to Win-
ston? It's pleasant, and I sha'n't mind the walk if you
sha'n't.' Well, I didn't mean to let Miss Glenn do no
such a thing as that, so I just said that if she didn't mind
my stoppin' long enough to look into Mrs. Bowen's,
that's my cousin, you know, jest to ask after her little boy
as had been real sick, I'd take the letter, and no need for
her to go at all, for, of course, she wouldn't want to wait
for me; and so Miss Glenn, thinking I really was anxious
to go, let me carry the letter. It was all stamped and
ready. Nobody saw me go or come, as luck had it, and
I promised Miss Glenn, sacred, not to tell unless she give
me lief, and I didn't. I remember," she added, as an
afterthought, "that jest as I was going to the back hall
door to step out Mrs. Wayland began to play the piano
again, after it had been still quite a spell."


GLENN WAYLAND SPEAKS OUT. 331
"Yes," echoed Martha, "I wouldn't be afraid to swear
to it."
"There will be no need. It is the very letter, wrapped
in paper many times double, that I stole from Morse
after waylaying him in the alley last night. I shall give
it to' Merrick," and he glanced at Glenn as if for her
approval.
"Yes," she said gently. "It was her last wish. He
should have the letter."
"And are we not to know—" began the captain, and
then stopped short.
Kenneth again turned to the table. "Here," said he,
"are the fragments found by Merrick in the grate of his
wife's room. He little thought that they were portions of
a hastily written letter of farewell to himself. She re-
wrote it and doubtless changed or omitted something;
but it is not probable that she changed her meaning; and
here is the blotter which Merrick carelessly overlooked
and which I found." He placed the pieced-together frag-
ments, with the bit he had taken from beneath Merrick's
trunk, and the pink blotter, upon the edge of the table,
spread out for inspection. "These fragments helped me
long ago to a solution of the riddle. They are not com-
plete, of course, but this slip, the one found beneath the
trunk, tells that the letter is to Merrick, and with the
other bits and the help of the blotter—of course there
were blanks to be filled in, and some that could not be
filled in—I could make out thus much. She was filled
with horror at her discovery, with fear for him, and with
shame for herself; worse than all was the dread lest his
crimes should become known, and her uncle and her
friends—all of you—be made sharers in her disgrace.
And then, feeling that she could never live with him, and
that it would be worse than death to see him again, she
took her decision. She would kill herself, and he must
go away, far away, change his name, repent, and reform
if he could; but, at all events, he must not remain where his
career might sOme day become known, and be made a
reproach to those 'who had been his best and dearest
friends. Such a letter," added Kenneth grimly, "ought
to strike a guilty man dead."


HEWES TAKES HIS INNINGS. 333
a stranger near him. But now he raised himself upon his
elbow and stared at the stranger, and a look of sudden
apprehension came into his scarcely awakened eyes.
"Who—are you?" he asked under his breath.
"Oh! you're awake! What a nap you must have had.
Feel any better?" asked the stranger soothingly.
"Who—are—you?" the tone still low.
"Who? Do you mean to say you don't know? For-
gotten, maybe." And Hewes smiled indulgently. "I'm
here to look after you; doctor's orders. Didn't he say
anything about a nurse to you? I've just come this
afternoon."
"From where?"
"The city. I fancy nurses are scarce elsewhere. The
fact is, I was just told to look after you until you woke
Orders will come later, no doubt. The doctor's in the
house. Shall I call him?"
"No. Do you know Doctor Roth?"
"Never saw him before, sir. Country practitioner, is
he not?"
"Yes." Merrick arose slowly and seated himself upon
the side of the couch. He seemed to be listening. In
reality he was thinking. He had been on the alert from
the first; shy of strangers and ready to take the alarm;
and at times he had feared, doubted, and half suspected
Jasper. Now, added to the rest, was his anxiety concern-
ing Morse, who had, no doubt, gone to the city in spite
of his note of warning, and, since he had not returned,
and no word had been sent, something must have hap-
pened. Had Jasper failed to give him the letter? After
a little he raised his eyes from the floor and sat erect.
"Who brought you here?"
"Who? Man from town; a stranger. You see, my
instructions were to go to Doctor—Doctor Roth's office.
I found a man from here waiting for me."
"Did Jasper come too?"
"Jasper?"
"Who came from the city with you?"
"With me? No one. I say"—very gently—"you are
not talking too much are you? I wish that doctor would
come!" But Merrick was persistent.


336 NO PROOF.
"Fifteen minutes, I should think, sir," replied Hewes.
The doctor bent over Merrick, put a finger upon his
pulse, and stood erect again. "I see," he said, in the same
general manner, "the soothing dose has put you right,
Mr. Merrick, quite as I expected. These little habits,
when they are too sharply cut off, are apt to unsettle the
nerves. It only needs a sufficient dose of the customary
tonic; and, you see, you are really more yourself than you
have been for days."
"I don't catch your meaning," said Merrick morosely.
But he did, nevertheless.
"Well, it's not important now; explanations on that
head can wait. Mr. Jasper here has something to com-
municate."
Eugene Merrick drew himself more erect on his couch,
and his head was involuntarily lifted, while his eyes were
dilated and fixed upon Kenneth Jasper. In that moment
he looked more a man than at any time since his midnight
arrival at Waylands. He felt that a crisis had come; that
something had been learned by these three men standing
so gravely before him with no longer an attempt at dis-
guise. But he did not open his lips, and, after a mo-
ment, Jasper spoke.
"Some weeks ago, Merrick, and within the same twenty-
four hours, Captain Wayland and yourself came to me
and besought me to find out, if possible, the cause, the
reason why your young wife took her own life; for that
she did take it was beyond a doubt."
Hewes, the ever watchful, saw, at this point, a quiver
flutter the eyelids of the man upon the couch, but he made
no other sign of feeling.
"That I would attempt what then seemed almost an im-
possibility, I promised both of you, and since that time
I have done nothing and thought of little else. I can not
now go into the details of the events which have added
link to link in my chain of proof. They have been, for
the most part, little things, but they have led me so
straight to the truth at last that I can describe to you
the acts, almost the thoughts, of your poor wife that night,
and put my finger, almost, upon the moment when the
blow fell, and she, who, the instant before, was one of


GLENN CAPITULATES. 341
hour had passed, and his statue-like stillness was beginning
to grow oppressive, he suddenly rose and turned toward
them a face distorted by silent anguish. Going back to
the couch, he flung himself down upon it, and broke sud-
denly into hoarse, hard, tearless sobbing.
It was horrible to hear in the stillness and growing
dusk, and Hewes got up, and, going over to the couch,
put a hand upon his shoulder.
"Merrick! Man, don't do it! Gad, man, you'll wear
yourself out!"
Then- Merrick lifted his woful face and held up the
letter, fast shut in his right hand.
"I'm not a coward," he said hoarsely. "I suppose I've
been a hard man, and I could take my round of punish-
ment and not wince; but that letter! A hundred knives
would be easier to bear. They're her last words; and—
yes—she says it—I killed her! And I—I would have died
for that sweet little soul any day! I never gave her a hard
look, even! I never could! I loved her! All the good
in me went out in loving her, and"—he dropped his hand
and fell back upon the couch—"I killed her!"
The ladies did not appear at dinner, and while the three
men sat together, Hewes came into the room.
"The girl told me you were alone," he said by way of
apology, "and I came to you, Doctor. Merrick sent me
to beg of you to send him a small dose of the morphia.
He says he wants to leave here without a break-down.
I really think he'd better have it," he added. "He agrees
to go quietly and make no trouble if we will not iron
him, and I'm to tell you that the name of Merrick will
never be mixed with any criminal trial—that it is not
known except in Winston. Shall I have the powder?"
"Why, I suppose so. The fact is, he has taken this
stuff habitually, and it is the getting out of it, or going
without it to get up a little fever, that has helped his
malingering scheme. Truth is, in keeping himself so
secluded, he has not always been able to keep up his po-
tions, even with the help of that silly Jennie, who, I sus-
pect, has supplied him more than once."


342 NO PROOF.
"Well, his supply seems to have run short now, at any
rate," said Hewes, as the doctor arose to get his medicine-
case.
"Um—yes," the doctor grunted. "It would seem so."
The house was very still that night. The ladies did
not appear, Glenn sharing her mother's room, where
they sat up late, and had much to say to each other. All
the barriers that had seemed to rise between them were
leveled at last.
In the captain's den the three friends smoked until
midnight and talked of the one only subject in theii minds
just then; and, above stairs, Hewes and his aids dined in
Merrick's apartment and took turns at napping in the
dressing-room. Merrick, after his outburst had subsided,
was very quiet, and, having been given his opiate, seemed
to sleep.
At half-past three they were aroused by Martha, who
served them a "lunch breakfast," taken standing, and then
the forethought and wisdom of Hewes and his men was
made clear.
The two last-comers had been driven, early in the day,
"across country," to a town at a convenient distance, and
upon an almost parallel line of railroad. Here they had
secured a close carriage, and had driven with this back to
Waylands, and, coming over a quiet, little traveled coun-
try road, had not found it difficult to enter the carriage-
yard, where the strange vehicle was soon housed out of
sight, while the two men desired an opportunity to "talk
with the captain about a new surrey," and awaited the
leisure of that gentleman, by his orders, in the snug office
and harness-room of the carriage-house. There was no
one but Joe about the stables, the other man having been
sent away for the day, and Joe, who seemed to have been
born lacking the bump of curiosity, neither talked nor
asked questions. In fact, Joe was, in the best sense of
the word, the captain's man.
It was Joe who, at four o'clock, brought out the horses
and harnessed them to the close carriage, and, with one
of Hewes' stalwarts upon the driver's seat, and Hewes,
Merrick, and the second stalwart officer inside, the vehicle
drove out through the lane so quietly that the inmates


344 NO PROOF.
the face of my own most ungracious conduct, got the
other weapon—her weapon—out of my hands and put it,
secretly, in the place of the other; and, you have heard
how he omitted to mention anything that would drag
in my name when telling his story yesterday." And now
she turned back and came closer to Jasper.
"Kenneth, before these friends of ours, I ask you, with
sincere humility and repentance, I ask you to pardon my
folly, my prejudice, and all the uncharitableness of my
words and deeds; to forgive it all, if you can—and to
forget it."
For a moment Jasper was silent, and then a smile broke
over his face, and she moved instinctively backward a step
at sight of the look in his eyes, a look she recognized,
and had seen him wear on more than one occasion when
he had roguishly seized an advantage she had not meant
to give, and used it with amiable but determined assur-
ance. He put out his hand, and when she had placed
hers within its grasp, he said, very gently: "There is
nothing you could do that I would not forgive, Glenn.
And, as for forgetting"—he still held her hand, and quite
firmly, as she found upon attempting to withdraw it—"as
for forgetting, well, I can not help remembering just now
that you have, for weeks past, systematically refused me
every smallest favor I have ventured to ask. Now, give
me proof of your sincerity by promising me that the next
time I ask of you any reasonable favor you will not re-
fuse it."
The color swept up from cheek to brow, and the brave
eyes wavered and fell. She made a little imperceptible
effort to withdraw her hand, but only felt it in a stronger,
warmer clasp, and then, alas for the dignity of Glenn's
apology, she heard behind her a soft little sound, a stifled
laugh, and from her mother.
Then, with a little movement of well-feigned surprise,
and a demure glance from under her long lashes, she said:
"Since you show me so clearly my obligation to you, Mr.
Jasper, I of course can not refuse a 'reasonable request,'"
and she swept him a little courtesy and turned toward her
mother, who, now that the scene had suddenly developed
a lighter, more human side, turned toward the waiting


346 NO PROOF.
"Certainly not; but, think—did Doris know that there
was any distinguishing mark upon that pistol?"
Glenn's eyes fell. "True," she said; "I did not think."
"You see,"' he went on, "I remember how you told me
once that those pistols had never been used by either of
you, to your knowledge, since the day in April when I was
at home, and we were all over at the lakes."
The captain lifted his hand warningly. "Children,
hush; she is asleep." And he got up and tiptoed within.
It was quite true. Mrs. Wayland, having heard about
the pistols all that Glenn could tell during the long night
the two had spent together, and weary beyond her own
guessing, had been swayed to sleep by her husband's
kindly hand.
Kenneth arose noiselessly. "Come," he said, putting
out his hand, and the erstwhile haughty Glenn got meekly
up and walked by his side to the farther end of the
piazza, ignoring, however, with a demure little side glance,
the proffered hand.
"My darling," he said, taking the hand she had with-
held, with the air of a person entirely within his rights,
"I remember that day distinctly. Merrick had loaded
your weapon, and to keep it and you from getting again
into his hands, I got you into the boat, and while you
played at rowing—"
"Played!"
"While you rowed, then, I carved those letters upon
the weapon. Meantime he had emptied the other, and,
by some means, it had not been reloaded. When we land-
ed you called a start homeward, startled a little at the late-
ness of the hour—"
"I remember," she murmured.
A half-hour later he looked at his watch. "I must go,"
he said, and sprang to his feet.
"Go! Go where?" looking up from her place upon the
rustic bench.
"To town to telegraph to Aunt Jem that her banish-
ment may end at her pleasure, and to get the papers."
"I suppose a letter would be too slow?" with fine
sarcasm.
"Glenn, dear, in a telegram you can't tell secrets. But


350 NO PROOF.
train." A long and rambling description of the body,
the story of his latest exploit at the Meers pawnshop,
and much imaginary matter followed.
Joe, who had been deputized to bring the doctor's mail,
had also intercepted a telegram for that personage on its
road to Waylands in the hands of slowly plodding and
much aggrieved Dan. And this contained a second mes-
sage from Hewes, sent to the doctor, as all readily under-
stood, as a wise precaution against gossip.
This was very direct, containing only four words:
"Be there; night train."
"Good!" said Jasper. "He will clear up the knotty
points. It was a wise thought."
Doctor Roth met the returning officer at the station
and drove him at once to Waylands. One of Jasper's
precautions, upon hearing of Merrick's death, was to warn
the others against letting the servants know that anything
had happened, and this proved a wise measure.
"How much do the servants know?" was one of Hewes'
first questions. "Especially that little blonde who sat in
the hall upstairs the other day?"
"You," replied the doctor, "are thought to be a kindly
nurse, and your two men are merely Merrick's friends,
who chanced to come at that time and who very cleverly
escorted him to the city, where he proposes trying hos-
pital treatment for his nerves."
"I want to see that girl you call Jennie," Hewes said,
after he had told them in detail the story of Merrick's
journey and his death, and had followed this up with an
account of the episode of the lemonade, and Jennie's
prompt readiness.
Jennie was not a hard witness, and confessed that Mer-
rick had written a note and slipped it into her hand when
she was innocently giving him a glass of milk, early in the
morning of the "day before he left," meaning while she
was serving under the doctor's orders, and the too close
supervision of Martha.
He had directed her where to go and what to say. She
was to take a little roll of money from behind the vase
upon the table when she came in again, and he asked her
to change the water upon the flowers. She was to ask


THEIR LAST WORDS. 351
for a certain youth, and to put a bill into his hand when
she made her request, which she must make privately,
etc., etc.
"I'd got it for him before," the girl whimpered, "and he
said it was all that would make him sleep. He said Doctor
Roth was behind the times, and city doctors all used it."
"Well, it hasn't been good for him, Jennie," said the
doctor gravely, "and you are to remember that there is a
law which might punish you for tampering with deadly
poisons." And so the girl was dismissed from their pres-
ence just then and from the Waylands' service at the ear-
liest opportunity.
"And now," said Hewes, when the girl was gone, "I
have what is, I hope, the very last scene in this last un-
happy act to make known to you. Late on the night of
our watch here with Merrick, he sat down at his desk and
wrote what might have been a long letter, or several short
ones, and, when done, he asked me to come and sit beside
him at the little desk. He had the letter from his wife,
and another, freshly written and folded, lying together in
the desk. 'This letter of my wife's,' he said, 'I at first
determined should never be seen by the Waylands. But
I have thought better of that. Here is a letter written to
them. As a whole I think it is one letter, one act, at
least, of which I need not be ashamed. I am going to
seal the two, in your presence, in this single wrapper, and
give the whole to you. If I ask it back before we reach
New York you will give it to me, of course. If I do not
recall it I ask you to promise to send it to Captain Way-
land in such manner as to make sure that he receives it.'
I never dreamed of what he had in his mind," Hewes
went on, "but here is the letter, Captain Wayland, and
my promise to the poor misguided soul has been kept."
The letter from Doris Merrick to her husband was like
her, and it brought tears to the eyes and fresh sorrow
to the hearts of her friends. It was the cry of an innocent
soul, whose faith and love had been all her life, and who
had learned no lessons from grim Fortitude; whose
strength and weakness, all untutored, had found for her
but the one way out of the maze of woe and hopelessness
into which she had so suddenly fallen.


352 NO PROOF.
"My husband," so the pitiful letter began; "for you are my
husband; nothing can undo that, and, though all must end
between us now, to-night, though I shall never see—I do not
wish to see—you again, yet, I would not have It otherwise.
"No, I would not see you again! That would be harder than
dying! How could I see your face; you, the man I have loved,
believed in, and honored, knowing
"I can not write of it! Only, I am sure you did not mean
this blow for me! It was a mistake; you were in such haste,
and—you gave me the wrong key, and with it my death-war-
rant. I shall take it with me; it will lie upon my heart; and
when the pitying Lord demands my account, I shall show him
—that, and He will know that I could not wait for your return.
"I have been, for a little while, the wife of a man kindly,
loving, manly, and honest in word and deed. That is the man
I married and I own allegiance to no other. I was his wife, and
he Is dead. How could I wait here until to-morrow to accept,
in his place, the man who has touched, used, worn those hide-
ous, accursed things lying at the bottom of—that wrong trunk?
At least I can thank you for furnishing me with the means to
go; and oh—how I long to go now before my face, or, perhaps,
my poor, weak tongue may tell my secret.
"It seems strange! I can not understand it; but still I
think you loved me and meant that I should never know. And
I can forgive you now, because I shall never see you again.
"Let the other Eugene, the one I have known, kiss my, dead
face if he will. And then let the key upon my dead bosom
still keep the secret we must hold between us to the end. When
all is over you must go away, and after that let the name we
have both borne be no more heard in Winston; and never let
my dear ones here at Waylands guess the truth; otherwise
my death will have been, to them, a useless horror. If you
have ever loved me never let them know, and never let them
see, or hear of, you once you have seen me laid in my peaceful
new home—the grave. Oh, I can not reason! I can not think!
I want to end this awful heartache. It hurts, It hurts! * * *
"I have seen Glenn, and she will send this, secretly, and
without a suspicion of the truth.
"The Eugene Merrick from whom I am escaping will know
how to play his part; mine, in a few moments, will be ended.
"If I dared I would pray for us both. I dare not. Good-by.
Your wife. Doris ."
This pitiful last cry of a tortured, half-maddened soul
went from hand to hand, and was read silently, tearfully,
until it came to Doctor Roth, who read it with a white, set
face, and finally placed it upon the table near Glenn's hand.
"Curse him!" he said hoarsely.
"Doctor—he is dead."


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