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THE LOST MILLION


1 Fiction, Amencan


THE LOST MILLION
BY
WINTHROP ALDEN

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1913
NBO


THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
wy32920
ASTOR. INOX ASD
TILDE VITUS
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
Published, January, 1913


1913
***B0* FRTZ
S OF THE
NEW! "
FEB
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
I DESCRIBES A MAN AND HIS SECRET. I
II CONTAINS SEVERAL SURPRISES . . . 10
III What MR. ARNOLD LEFT BEHIND . 24
IV THE MAN WITH THE RED CRAVAT. 35
V The SIGN OF THE GLOVES . . . . 46
VI The QUICK AND THE DEAD . . 59
VII DAWNAY Makes CONFESSION . . . 70
VIII The STORY OF THE CYLINDER . . . 81
IX REVEALS GUY's SUSPICIONS . . . . 91
X The Evil OF THE TEN PLAGUES . . 103
XI A SENSATION IN THE COUNTY . . . 114
XII The Cry IN the Night . . . . 125
XIII One Point Is Made CLEAR . . . . 137
XIV CONTAINS ANOTHER SUGGESTION . . 148
XV CONTAINS SOME Fresh Facts . . . 159
XVI THE SIGN OF THE HAND. . . . 170
XVII A FURTHER PROBLEM . . . . . 181
XVIII I MAKE A DISCOVERY . . . . . 191
XIX Falling SHADOWS . . . . . . 205
XX The Man WITH THE CRIMSON BUTTON 216
XXI More MYSTERY . . . . . . . 231
Pont 2017


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
XXII THE SECRET OF HARVEY SHAW . . . 243
XXIII “A FOREIGNER” . . . . . . . 254
XXIV A WOMAN'S WORD . . . . . . 266
XXV IN THE NIGHT . . . . . . . 275
XXVI CONTAINS AN OMINOUS MESSAGE . . 287
XXVII In The Balance . . . . . . 301
XXVIII ANOTHER RevelATION . . . . . 312
XXIX DISCLOSES Shaw's SECRET . . . . 324
XXX THE THIRD OF NOVEMBER . . . . 331
XXXI The Truth CONCERNING ARNOLD . 342
XXXII A Heart's SECRET . . . . . . 349
XXXIII PloT AND COUNTER-PLOT . . . . 358
XXXIV WHAT THE CYLINDER CONTAINED . . 362
XXXV CONCLUSION . . . . . . . . 373


CHAPTER I
DESCRIBES A MAN AND HIS SECRET
“See! It's — it's in my kit-bag, over there!
The thing — the Thing at which the whole world
will stand aghast!”
The thin white-faced, grey-bearded man lying
on his back in bed roused himself with difficulty,
and with skinny finger pointed at his strong but
battered old leather bag lying in the corner of the
small hotel bedroom
“The keys — on my chain — Mr. Kemball "
he gasped faintly, his face slowly flushing.
“Open it quick! - ah! no, you can't deceive me,
my dear fellow. I'm dying! I heard what the
doctor told you — though he only whispered.
But Mr. Kemball, although you are a young man,
I — I'm going to trust you with a — with a
strange responsibility. I—I trust you because
you were so very kind to me on board. They all
shunned me — all, save you! They didn't know
my real name "- and the old man chuckled bit-
terly to himself -"and they were not likely to !”
“You were unwell on the voyage, Mr. Arnold,
and it was surely my duty to —"
LUS


THE LOST MILLION
je
“Duty! What duty do you owe to me - a
perfect stranger — an adventurer for aught you
knowl” cried the old fellow with whom I had
formed such a curious friendship. “No, Mr.
Kemball, you have acted as a real man, as a
friend - one of the few friends one meets
in this hard work-a-day world," and he clutched
wildly at his throat, while his sunken cheeks slowly
assumed a hectic flush. “Unlock the bag -
get it out — before — before I lose my senses," he
added.
I took the bunch of keys attached to his steel
watch-chain from the dressing-table, and was
crossing the room towards the bag when he ex-
claimed —
“Listen, Mr. Kemball! I'm a dying man.
Will you make a solemn promise to me? Will
you grant me one last earnest request? In half
an hour — perhaps before — I shall be lying here
dead. But I'm still alive — a man who has seen
much, who knows strange things — a man who has
lived through much and who has stood by and
seen men die around him like Aies. God! if I
dare only to tell you half — but —”
“Well, Mr. Arnold," I asked quietly, return-
ing to the bedside and looking into the pinched
grey face,“ how do you wish me to act?"
en


THE LOST MILLION
3
“I have already written it here — I wrote it on
board ship, after my first seizure,” he said, slowly
drawing a crumpled and bulky envelope from be-
neath his pillow and handing it to me with trem-
bling fingers. “Will you promise not to open it
until after I have been placed in the grave, and to
act as I have requested?”.
"Most certainly, Mr. Arnold," was my reply.
“A promise given to one who is about to pass to
the Beyond is sacred."
His thin fingers gripped my hand in silent ac-
knowledgment. He did not speak, but the expres-
sion in his eyes told of his profound thankfulness.
I placed the letter in my breast-pocket. Some-
thing seemed to be enclosed within.
“Go and open the bag," he whispered after a
brief silence.
I did so, and within, to my great surprise, found
two huge bundles, one containing nothing smaller
than a hundred dollar bill, while the other con-
tained fifty- and hundred-pound Bank of England
notes, and each packet several inches thick and tied
with faded pink tape.
He beckoned me to bring them to him, and when
I again stood near the bed, he selected one bill,
and then said:
“I wish you to destroy all of them — burn


THE LOST MILLION
them there in the grate — so that I can watch
you,” and he gave vent to a harsh unnatural laugh,
a hideous laugh of despair.
I looked at him in hesitation. The poor old fel-
low was surely mad. In my hands I held notes to
the value of an enormous sum. And yet he wished
to ruthlessly destroy them!
He noticed my hesitation, and in a quick impa-
tient tone asked whether I would not carry out his
wishes, at the same time handing me the bill he
had taken, telling me that it was to pay for his
interment.
“As you desire,” I said with some reluctance.
“But is it just — with so much distress here, in
New York - to deliberately destroy money like
this?"
“I have a reason, Mr. Kemball, a very strong
reason,” he answered in a low tone.
So I was compelled to untie the bundles, and
separating the notes, placed them in the grate and
commenced a fire, which I fed on and on until the
last note had been consumed and there re-
mained only a grate full of blackened tinder. I
confess that I found myself wishing that I had the
numbers of some of the notes, in order to reclaim
their equivalent from the banks.
The old man's wild eyes, full of unnatural fire,


THE LOST MILLION
watched the flames die down, and as they did so
he gave a sigh of distinct relief.
Then, with difficulty, he turned to me and
putting out his hand said:
“In the bag — at the bottom — you will find
a sealed cylinder of metal.”
I searched as he directed and drew forth a
heavy ancient cylinder of bronze about a foot and
a half long and three inches in diameter. The
top had, I saw, been welded down, but a long time
ago, because of the green corrosion about it.
When I had carried it across to him he looked
me straight in the face with those deep-set glassy
eyes, which haunted me for long afterwards, and
said:
“ I trust you with that, Mr. Kemball, because —
because I feel assured that you will act as I direct.
Do not attempt to seek — to discover what is
within. That secret must be withheld — from
you. In this I hope — that you will respect my
desire — I hope so, for — for your own sake."
I held the mysterious cylinder in my hand in
wonder. Evidently he treasured it even far
greater than his riches, and had brought it to New
York with some distinct purpose which he was now
- owing to his heart-trouble - unable to accom-
plish.


THE LOST MILLION
“There are other things — other things in the
bag. Bring them to me,” he said in a low weak
voice, speaking with greatest difficulty.
I brought the bag over to him, and turned its
contents pell-mell upon the floor. Among the sev-
eral articles of clothing were a few old letters
which, at his direction, I burned amid the tinder of
the bank notes. Then, on searching further, I
found a small, and evidently very antique statuette
of a figure standing, holding a kind of spear. It
was about seven inches high, much worn, with a
square base, and of solid gold. Around it I no-
ticed an inscription in hieroglyphics.
“That," my dying friend managed to gasp, “is
an ancient image — of the Egyptian God Osiris,
son of Seb and Nut, or Heaven and Earth, and
married to Isis. He was held to have gone
through sufferings — to have died — to have
risen again, and finally to have become the Judge
of the Dead. His mysteries and rites were —
were the most important part of Egyptian wisdom.
The inscription upon it shows that it was made by
one Mersekha, in the reign of King Radadef, in
the Fourth Dynasty — or about three thousand
five hundred years before the Christian era. Take
it for yourself, Mr. Kemball," added the old man,
his voice distinctly weaker. “It will serve as
ere


THE LOST MILLION
your mascot, and will perhaps remind you of the
friendless man whom you have to-day befriended."
I stood by in silence, for I saw that a distinct
change had crept over him.
I took him a glass in which the doctor had
placed some drug, giving me instructions to admin-
ister it to him, and I forced a few drops of it be-
tween his teeth.
The evening was warm and oppressive. Twi-
light was just falling, and through the open win-
dow came the low hum of the motor traffic a few
hundred yards away in the Avenue. The hotel in
which we were was a quiet, unostentatious little
place in Forty-fourth Street to which, on leaving
the ship two days before, he had persuaded me to
accompany him. Someone had recommended him
to go there, he said, in preference to the Waldorf
or Plaza.
On board the Brazilian, which he had joined at
Rio de Janeiro, he had displayed no outward sign
of wealth — or that he possessed money to burn.
Indeed, his dress was mean and shabby, and by
the wardrobe contained in his two ragged bags one
would certainly never put him down as a man of
means. It is generally dangerous, however, to
judge a man by his clothes.
A clock in the vicinity struck eight, and a few


THE LOST MILLION
moments later there came a low tap at the door,
and the doctor again re-appeared, and bent over
his patient anxiously.
He gave him a few more drops of the medicine,
but the old man made an impatient gesture, and
refused to swallow more.
· What request, I wondered, was contained in that
crumpled and rather bulky letter which I held in
my breast-pocket?
Outside in the corridor the doctor told me that
the end was quite near, and suggested that I should
obtain something from him concerning his friends.
"Mr. Arnold has already told me," I replied.
“He possesses no friends."
And at that the doctor shrugged his shoulders
and descended the stairs.
Back at the bedside in the fast-fading light of
the hot day of early June I took the old man's
bony hand in silent farewell.
He turned his eyes upon me, gazing at me with
a strange intense look, as though trying to read
my very soul.
He endeavoured to speak, but though I bent my
ear to his mouth I could catch no words. His thin
nervous hands clenched themselves, his grey beard
moved and he struggled violently to communicate
with me, but without avail. Then with his right


THE LOST MILLION
hand, he made a sign that he wished to write.
Instantly I took out a pencil and obtained a piece
of paper which I placed before him.
For a long time his hand trembled, so that he
could make no intelligible writing. At last, how-
ever, he managed slowly, and with infinite diffi-
culty, to trace unevenly the words -
“Remember the name Harford — be friendly,
but beware of him — and of the Hand!”
He watched my face eagerly as I read.
Of a sudden, the light went out of his grey coun-
tenance, the pencil dropped from his thin nerve-
less fingers and a deep, long-drawn sigh escaped his
ashen lips.
Then a great stillness fell — a great silence
broken only by the low roar of the New York
traffic.
And I knew that Melvill 'Arnold, the man of
mystery, was dead.
un-


CHAPTER II
CONTAINS SEVERAL SURPRISES
For some moments I stood gazing upon the dead
man's changed face, not knowing how to act.
I, Lionel Kemball, had, perhaps, very unwisely
accepted a strange responsibility. I had acted with
complete indiscretion.
On my way home from Argentina, where I had
been for a voyage for my health, the liner had
called at Rio de Janeiro, and Mr. Melvill Arnold
had joined us. On the day after we had sailed I
heard that he had had a sudden heart seizure, and
was confined to his cabin, therefore — why, I
can't exactly tell — I sought him out, and spent a
good many hours chatting with him, and keeping
him company.
Perhaps it was that, having been something of
an invalid myself, I knew the weary monotony of
being confined to bed. I could sympathise with
anybody who was ill.
From the first I realised that Arnold was a
man of no ordinary stamp. Possessed of a clear
and quick intelligence, he was a cultured man not-
withstanding his rather rough exterior, and full
TO


THE LOST MILLION
II
now
of a quiet, sound philosophy. To me, it appeared
as though he had lived abroad a good many years,
and was consequently out of touch with New York.
Whence he had come, he never told me, save to
casually mention that he had been a great trav-
eller and had “lived out in the wilds for years."
The possession of the golden god seemed to
point to the fact that Egypt was not unknown to
him.
“New York has now-a-days no attraction for
me," he told me one day. “I only go there
merely because I am forced to do so. I finished
with New York long, long ago."
Surely, as I, a prosaic man-of-the-world, sat in
that narrow cabin as we steamed towards New
York I had never dreamed that in his old kit-bag,
smothered as it was with faded hotel-labels, there
reposed a fortune in bank-notes.
He had been perfectly frank on one point. He
was a man without a single friend. And now I
knew that he had an enemy — and that his name
was Harford.
Presently I bent to the dead man's bag and ex-
amining it thoroughly, discovered that one letter
had remained unburned — a letter which by the
New York post-mark upon it had been written
two years ago. It was addressed in a fine angular


I 2
THE LOST MILLION
me
woman's hand to Arnold Edgcumbe Esquire, Gen-
eral Delivery, New York Post Office, N. Y.
The name caused me to ponder. Had not he
admitted that Melvill Arnold was not his real
name? Was it not to be supposed that his actual
name was Edgcumbe?
The letter was, to say the least, a curious com-
munication. It bore no address, but on the half
sheet of paper was written in the same feminine
hand the words: “You, no doubt, saw the news-
papers of September sixth, and the sentence of
the Court upon the person they know as Lancaster.
Rest assured that her betrayal will not go unre-
venged by HER FRIEND."
I stood gazing at the missive which the dead
man had evidently believed that I had burned. It
would not be difficult to search the files of the
newspapers for September 6th, 1908, and ascertain
for what crime a prisoner named Lancaster had
been sentenced. The information might, per-
haps, lead me to some further discovery.
I placed the letter carefully aside and made a
most minute search of the dead man's clothes and
of his other belongings, but found absolutely noth-
ing. Then, crossing the wasted hands, and plac-
ing the sheet tenderly over the white face, I left
the room and descending informed the hotel man-


14
THE LOST MILLION
ters straight, and my visitor bowed himself out.
Sorely was I tempted to tear open that letter
which the mysterious man, now dead, had with
calm forethought prepared, yet on the envelope
was boldly written the words: “Not to be opened
until after my burial.” That plain injunction de-
terred me.
Yet on the following morning I went down to
Newspaper Row, and at the office of one of the
daily newspapers I asked to be allowed to see
the file of the paper for September, 1908.
It was not long before I was turning over the
pages of the news of the day in question. For
some time I searched until my eye at last caught
the name of Lancaster in the report of a trial in
one of our courts.
The report was headed:
“LADY LETTICE LANCASTER.
“ AMAZING LIFE STORY OF AN ADVENTURESS
“The story of a woman adventuress is al-
ways interesting, and that of Lettice Earnshaw
alias Lady Lettice Lancaster is no exception.
She is a woman of mystery. Born thirty-four
years ago in the West of England, she has lived
the greater part of her life more or less by her
wits. Always a woman of mystery, she has used


16 . THE LOST MILLION
nar-
9 she was married at Boston to the student,
whose name was given as Henry Earnshaw.
“At this youthful age the young bride started
her long list of aliases. According to the mar-
riage register she was nineteen years of age —
a jump of four years — and her name was given
as Edith Jane Lucy Haddon, the surname being
that of her nurse's daughter. Her actual life
immediately after marriage is not known, but
about a year later she was living in Chicago,
where, according to the prosecuting counsel in
the case heard yesterday she was obtaining her
living by acting in vaudeville. Her stay in
that city was perhaps her longest anywhere, but
she did not obtain notoriety until some years
later in London. There she was known as
Lady Lettice Lancaster and also as the Hon.
Lucy Huntington. The Hon. Lucy was unmar-
ried, but Lady Ella had entered the bonds of
wedlock.
“With her many aliases and a husband and
foster-brother who conveniently changed places
as the occasion demanded, Lady Lettice Lancas-
ter, to give her the name by which she is best
known, has nearly always contrived to enjoy life
at the expense of others. When the bills be-
gan to arrive she denied responsibility, the hus-
TS


THE LOST MILLION
17
band or brother to whom the creditors were re-
ferred was not to be found, and yet when a
suitable opportunity occurred she herself disap-
peared only to bob up elsewhere and continue
the same game. The story of this amazing
woman's amazing life has never been published;
but we are now in a position to give many in-
teresting facts as to her career. Lady Lettice
had many residences but they were few in com-
parison to her different aliases. Here are
some of the names by which the extraordinary
woman has been known:
"Lady Lettice Lancaster, Lady Ella Earn-
shaw, Hon. Lucy Huntington, Mrs. Emily De-
war, Mrs. Gertrude Curtis, Mrs. Shaw, Alice
Lethbridge, Grace Fane, Hon. Mrs. Trelawney.
“Each of these names was used by her, while
she had a habit of giving one of the other names
as reference. In the case for which she has
now been convicted in this country she was using
the name of Mrs. Gertrude Curtis, and had
given one of her aliases as a reference."
The report then went on to give an example
of the clever way in which this extraordinary
woman tried to escape paying her creditors.
“Early last year," the journal continued,


18 THE LOST MILLION
as
“this remarkable adventuress took a fine fur-
nished manison at Morristown, New Jersey, in
the name of Mrs. Gertrude Curtis and almost
immediately afterwards a man who subsequently
became known in the town as Hoare, and was
thought to be her groom, arrived on the scene.
About two months later Mrs. Curtis arrived,
but by this time there was a considerable sum of
money owing. Certain sums were paid on ac-
count, but before very long the tradespeople
were getting anxious about their money, and a
number of county court summonses were issued.
These were allowed to go by default and after
judgment had been given the woman and a man,
who was known as Ralph Lancaster and was
said to be her foster-brother, were found to
have removed the furniture, and antiques, to
New York where it was sold. The defence to
the charge was that Hoare was really Earn-
shaw, the woman's husband, and that he was re-
sponsible for the debts, which were on his ac-
count, he having given the orders.
“In the witness-box Mrs. Curtis admitted
that Hoare was her husband, and that his real
name was Earnshaw. She took the house in
the name of Curtis because she was anxious to
get away from her husband, who when drunk
CO


THE LOST MILLION 19
was very cruel, and on one occasion broke her
arm. He, however, found her out, and, as a
matter of fact, had established himself in Mor-
ristown some time before her advent there. She
claimed to have a moral right' to use the
name Lady Lettice Lancaster, but ‘for family
reasons' refused to divulge why. If she did
her income would be discontinued. She added
that she was receiving £5 per week from a firm
of solicitors in London. The defence did not
prevail, and both the woman and Ralph Lancas-
ter were sent to jail for nine months.
"The way the three persons mixed up their
relationship is decidedly interesting. Earn-
shaw or Hoare is said to be the son of an of-
ficer who held high rank in the English Navy,
and was known as groom, butler, chauffeur, hus-
band or foster-brother, while Ralph Lancaster
was referred to as foster-brother, husband or
step-brother. The real husband was nearly al-
ways treated as if he were the groom, and when
the woman was prosecuted — a short time pre-
vious to the present charge — for keeping a dog
without a license, it was Lancaster who repre-
sented her at the police-court. He then said
he did not know whether she was the daughter
of a Duke or of an Earl, but she was his wife.


20 THE LOST MILLION
" It appears, also, that while living in Morris-
town, the woman got herself into more trouble
by assaulting a butcher's salesman, who had
been sent to obtain payment of an account. He
found the gate of the house locked, and rattled
it to attract attention. Lady Lettice then came
out of the house with a hunting crop in her
hand, and shouted to her daughter: ‘Let loose
the dogs, and they will kill and devour him.'
The dogs, however, neither killed nor devoured
him, but the woman hit him on the head with
a hunting crop, and knocked him over his bi-
cycle. This little amusement cost her ten dol.
lars and costs at the subsequent police proceed-
ings.
“ Lady Lettice was always interested in
horses, and had some good animals in her
stables. It came out at the trial that for some
years she, in conjunction with Ralph Lancaster,
had been the owner of a riding-school in the
West End of London, and it is stated that her
income from this source was nearly £500 a year.
She herself stated that she had taken the place
at Morristown for the purpose of teaching rid-
ing, and receiving hunting guests. But al-
though she had several horses there, the only
persons to use them were Lady Lettice, the two


THE LOST MILLION
21
men
now
men and the children. The eldest of the chil-
dren, a girl of sixteen, frequently attracted at-
tention by her plucky riding, and she is now
earning money as a rider in a circus.
"All the time that the remarkable trio were
living in Morristown, the house there was re-
garded more or less as a house of mystery, and
strange tales are told of how the woman disre-
garded the canons of convention during the hot
weather. Moreover, the hours kept were
hardly regarded as usual by her neighbours.
Morristown being a small town, is generally
asleep fairly early, but if the statements made
to callers are to be accepted as correct, Lady
Lettice frequently retired for the night as early
as six o'clock. Nevertheless it is stated that
she was sometimes seen walking in the grounds
during the night in a garb that can only be de-
scribed as scanty. Naturally the house was
watched by the local tradespeople with some
care, and it was due to this watching that the re-
moval of the furniture was discovered. The
local postman and grocer, to whom she owed
nearly one hundred dollars, saw the furniture
being removed, and followed it to New York,
where it was sold. The police, in the course of
the evidence, also hinted at the probability of


22
THE LOST MILLION
ore S
other and more serious charges of crime being
preferred against them on the expiration of their
sentences.”
In the centre of the report was given the photo-
graph of “Lady Lettice," taken by one of the
news-agencies, the picture being the head and
shoulders of a good-looking woman, smartly
dressed in tweed country-hat and tailor-made coat
- a woman whose type of features was certainly
aristocratic and would never be adjudged an ad-
venturess.
When I had finished reading the report —
which I here reproduce in order that you shall be
more thoroughly acquainted with every detail of
the strange adventures which befell me — I pur-
chased a copy of the paper, and carried it back
with me to my room at the Hotel Plaza.
Who was that mysterious correspondent of the
dead man who had sworn vengeance? Who was
the friend of Lettice Lancaster? For what rea-
son had that letter been written? What connec-
tion could the quiet-mannered, unassuming old
gentleman have with sạch a trio of clever swin-
dlers ?
It was fortunate, perhaps, that the letter had
not been burned, for it had, at least, placed me
еа.


THE LOST MILLION
23
in possession of some curious facts which must
otherwise have been hidden.
During the next three days I was greatly oc-
cupied by my own affairs, which had been neglected
by my year's absence in South America. Yet,
time after time, I felt the keenest anxiety as to
what could be contained in the dead man's letter
of instruction, and in that corroded cylinder of
bronze.
At last, however, I followed the mortal remains
of my mysterious friend to Greenwood Cemetery,
the sole mourner, and after I had seen the coffin
committed to the grave I returned to the hotel,
where the statue of Osiris stood upon my table,
and there with impatient fingers tore open the
letter.
I read it through.
Then I stood staring at the unevenly scribbled
words — staring at them like a man in a dream.
What I read there held me aghast, amazed,
stupefied.


CHAPTER III
WHAT MR. ARNOLD LEFT BEHIND
The letter, written upon the note-paper of the
Brazilian, was dated some days prior to our ar-
rival in New York.
Perhaps I cannot do better than reproduce it in
its entirety:
"To LIONEL KEMBALL, ESQUIRE,
“Dear Mr. Kemball,
"Now after my death, I desire to here place on record my
great indebtedness to you for your kindness and sympathy.
You knew nothing of me, yet you took pity upon my lonely
and unfortunate self. You have, in addition, made solemn
promise to me to act as I direct. At the outset I desire to
be perfectly frank with you, and to confess that I was not
what I represented myself to be. Certain chapters of my
eventful life must be for ever hidden, even from you who
are acting as my friend. This I greatly regret, but to
reveal all must only bring unhappiness upon one who is
innocent. For that reason I die carrying my secret with
me.
“How long I shall continue to live after penning this
request I cannot know. Therefore, I will make matters
as plain as possible, and earnestly request you to act as
follows:
24


THE LOST MILLION
25
“To be present at the railway station of Beverly, in
the State of Massachusetts, at five o'clock on the even-
ing of the Twentieth of June next, and there meet a
certain man who will come in secret in search of you. He
will wear a red tie, a carnation in his coat, and will carry
an ebony walking-stick. He may be watched, therefore
do not approach him unless he unbuttons his gloves and
removes them. To him hand the enclosed letter, and if
you wish to further serve the interests of one who herein
expresses his deepest and most heart felt gratitude, watch
him, become his helper, and act as he directs. But do
not trust him implicitly.
“Some of the circumstances may strike you as extraor-'
dinary and unwarrantable, but I beg of you not to at-
tempt to solve mysteries which must, for ever, be hidden.
The person in question may be in sore need of a friend
to give assistance and advice, therefore rest assured that
such favour shown to him will not go unrewarded.
“As regards the bronze cylinder be extremely careful
of it, and in all security hold it unopened in trust for
me until six months from the date of this letter — namely
on November 3rd — when you will hand it without ques-
tion to the person who comes to you and lays claim to it.
“What is enclosed, addressed to yourself, please accept
as a trilling token of the great esteem in which you have
been held by the lonely and forgotten man who, in later
life, was known as
"Melvill ARNOLD."
I tore open the envelope addressed to myself
and therein found twenty bills for five hundred dol-


26 THE LOST MILLION
lars each. My mysterious fellow-traveller who
had money to burn had presented me with the sum
of ten thousand dollars!
The other enclosure, a letter secured by three
seals of black wax, was addressed to “ Arthur
Dawnay, Esquire.”
My trust was indeed a strange one, increased by
the dead man's request that I should befriend a
man who was friendless, and at the same time
warning me against placing too great a trust in
him.
I tried to conjure up in my mind what kind of
person I was to meet so mysteriously away off in
New England. Why, I wondered, could not Mr.
Arnold's affairs be settled in a proper manner by
his lawyers ? But perhaps, so mysterious was he
that to entrust lawyers would be to reveal his iden-
tity. One thing, however, was evident. He had
already made a secret appointment with Mr. Daw-
nay. In all probability he had travelled from
South America to the United States expressly to
see him.
From Mr. Dawnay I should probably learn
something concerning the man from Nowhere who
had made me that very welcome present of ten
thousand dollars.
That the grey beard was not his own, and that
SON


THE LOST MILLION 27
he was somewhat younger than the age he had as-
sumed were, in themselves, facts which caused me a
good deal of deep reflection. He was a complete
mystery, and more could not be said.
Many times had I taken the ancient cylinder
in my hand, wondering what it really contained.
As far as I could judge it was of metal half an
inch thick, for the cylinder was well made, and had
apparently been drilled out of a solid block. The
welded end had been very carefully and neatly
closed, and it had evidently lain in the damp, or
more probably under water, for many years, judg-
ing from the rough corrosion upon it.
My instructions were to guard it with all zeal,
yet I was to hand it without question to whoever,
on the third of November, should ask for it.
I turned it over in my hands time after time,
wondering what could be the nature of this, the
greatest treasure of a man who had undoubtedly
been wealthy.
I confess to you that I entertained certain mis-
givings. Out of mere pity, I had made the ac-
quaintance of Melvill Arnold, never dreaming that
I should be led into so strange an executorship.
Again, there being no will, I began to wonder what
was my actual position in law.
The mystery surrounding the dead man had
ere


28
THE LOST MILLION
resa
been increased both by the discovery of his dis-
guise and by the frankness of his letter in which he
plainly admitted that he was not what he had rep-
resented himself to be. Why had that letter
been sent to him, threatening revenge for the sen-
tence upon the adventuress who called herself
Lady Lettice Lancaster? What connection could
he have had with such swindlers ?
The whole affair formed a complete enigma.
Perhaps I had acted very foolishly in mixing my-
self up with a perfect stranger, and as day suc-
ceeded day, this thought became the more and
more impressed upon me.
I suppose in order that you should understand
matters aright, I ought here to say something con-
cerning myself. I, Lionel Kemball, was aged
twenty-seven. My father, a well-known New
York surgeon, had died two years ago, leaving me
with a comfortable old house, called Boxwood, near
Roslyn on Long Island, and an income of about
fifteen thousand dollars a year. Three years
prior to his death he had retired and given up a
house in Madison Square, preferring life in
healthier and quieter surroundings. I had studied
medicine, and had passed my preliminary examina-
tions in New York, when I found myself troubled
slightly with my lungs and had been advised to
cel


THE LOST MILLION 29
take a trip to South America. To my satisfac.
tion I had returned in the very pink of health, and
perfectly cured.
I had visited all the principal cities of South
America, and had witnessed some of the wonders
of that country, and now, on my return, had be-
come involved in this most curious and perplexing
romance.
The day on which I opened Mr. Arnold's
strange letter was the eighth of June, therefore
twelve days had to elapse before I could go down
to New England to meet the mysterious Mr. Daw-
nay.
Those were hot, exciting days. Such blazing
weather in June had not been experienced in New
York for years. It was hot by day succeeded by
oppressive, breathless evenings with that red dust-
haze seen only in the great cities. Yet the hotels
were crammed. The colossal Plaza at which it
was my habit to stay, was filled to overflowing, and
the Avenue still ran riot with gaiety and extrava-
gance.
Perhaps, fortunately for me, for it prevented
my mind being too much concentrated upon my re-
markable trust, I found myself involved in some
trouble concerning some land down on Long Is-
land, and I had a number of interviews with my
IC


30
THE LOST MILLION
late father's lawyers. A lawsuit was threatened,
and it looked much as though I should be the loser
by several thousands a year.
My mother died when I was but ten, and though
I was fond of a country life, yet somehow, since
my father's decease, I had not cared for the lone-
liness and solitude of the quaint old house. It
was certainly a delightful old place with several
oak-panelled chambers. Its greens and its gar-
dens ablaze in summer with crimson ramblers were
charming, yet it was, after all, only a white ele-
phant to me, a bachelor. So I had kept on a
couple of the old servants, who together with
Tucker, the head-gardener, and his assistant, kept
the place going — for I had secret thoughts of let-
ting it furnished.
My trouble over the ownership of the piece of
land forming a portion of the farm attached to the
house and several other matters which had been
neglected owing to my absence in South America,
kept my hands pretty full; nevertheless I found
time one evening to motor up to Greenwood Ceme-
tery in order to see that the grave of my dead
friend had been properly closed and put in
order.
It was about six o'clock in the evening when I
arrived and there were many friends and relatives


THE LOST MILLION
31
215-
tenderly watering the flowers on the graves of their
loved ones. Without much difficulty I found the
newly-made mound of brown earth, but to my sur-
prise I also saw that a magnificent cross of white
flowers had been laid upon it.
This I eagerly examined, but no card was at-
tached.
Surely whoever had placed it there had mis-
taken the grave, for Mr. Arnold possessed no
friends, and I had been the only follower. His
decease had not been advertised, therefore surely
none could know of his death.
For a few moments I stood there, gazing upon
the emblem and pondering.
Suddenly I saw the cemetery-keeper, and walk-
ing up to him pointed out the grave and asked
him if he knew anything of the cross that had been
placed upon it.
"Oh, you mean Mr. Arnold's grave, I suppose,
sir,” exclaimed the man.
“How do you know it is Mr. Arnold's?” I
asked.
"Well, sir, the day after the funeral a young
lady came to me and inquired where a Mr. Melvill
Arnold had been buried. So I looked it up in the
books, and told her. She's been here every day
since, and put fresh flowers there."


32
THE LOST MILLION
“A young lady! What was she like?” I in-
quired.
"Oh, well, she's about twenty, I should say,
pretty, with dark hair and dressed in mourning,"
he replied. “She comes each day about five —
generally in a private motor-car — a big grey car.
The flowers cost her a tidy lot, I should think, for
they're not common ones.”
“About five o'clock!” I exclaimed. “Has she
been here to-day?"
“No. And she didn't come yesterday, either,"
was the man's reply. “Perhaps she'll come later
on. We don't close till half-past seven just
now."
II
So I waited in patience in the vicinity, eagerly
watching for the advent of the one person beside
myself and the undertaker who knew of the last
resting-place of the mysterious man who had de-
liberately destroyed his fortune.
I wandered among the graves for a full hour,
until, of a sudden, the cemetery-keeper approached
me, and in a low voice said:
“Look, over yonder, sir! That tall young lady
in black, with the chauffeur carrying the wreath;
that's the lady who comes daily to Mr. Arnold's
grave."
I looked, but curiously enough she had turned,


THE LOST MILLION
33
and was leaving the spot without depositing the
wreath she had brought.
“Somebody's watching her, sir," remarked the
man. “ Perhaps she recognises you. She's tak-
ing the wreath away again!”
The chauffeur was walking close behind her
along the central avenue as though about to leave
the burial ground, when of a sudden she crossed
the grass to a newly-made grave and there her man
deposited the wreath.
She had detected somebody watching — per-
haps she had suspicion of the keeper in conversa-
tion with myself — at any rate she resorted to the
ruse of placing the wreath upon the grave of a
stranger.
Fortunately I had been able to obtain a good
look at her handsome refined features, and I de-
cided that hers was a countenance which I should
recognise again anywhere.
I looked around, but could see no one in the vi-
cinity to arouse her suspicion — nobody, save my-
self.
Why did she hold me in fear? By what man-
ner had she been aware of the mysterious man's
death, or that I had been his friend?
I watched her turn and leave the cemetery, fol.
lowed by her motor-driver.
Lrouse
ve


34
THE LOST MILLION
Why did she hold the dead man in such esteem
that she came there each day and with tender hands
placed fresh flowers upon his grave? What rela-
tion could she be? And why did she thus visit his
last resting-place in secret?


CHAPTER IV
THE MAN WITH THE RED CRAVAT
er
OF necessity I went down to Boxwood in order to
see old Tucker and his wife, who had acted as
caretakers in my absence.
Thomas Tucker, a tall, thin, active, grey-mous-
tached man of sixty-five was a servant of the old-
fashioned faithful school. For many years, ever
since the day of his marriage, he had lived in the
pretty rose-embowered lodge, and had been taken
over by my father as part of the estate. Indeed
in such high esteem did the governor hold him that
he was given an entirely free hand in all outside
matters while his wife, a well-preserved, round
faced woman equally devoted to her master, was
entrusted with the care of the servants, and other
domestic affairs.
Hence, when I had found myself possessor of
the place I, too, reposed the same confidence in
the faithful pair as my father had done. But
now that he was dead and I was alone, Boxwood
seemed alas! very grim and silent. True, the old
Long Island place with its quaint corners and as-
sociations, its dark panelling, polished floors and


36
THE LOST MILLION
antique furniture, its high box hedges, level lawns
and wealth of roses, would have delighted the artist
or the antiquarian, but to me, modern man that I
was, I failed to find there very much to attract
me.
It was a house built for entertainment, and was
only tolerable when filled by a gay house-party.
The lawns, gardens, and park were looking their
best in those balmy days of June, yet as I walked
about, listening to Tucker as he showed me some
improvements in tree-planting and in the green-
houses, I found myself already reflecting whether,
after all, it was worth while keeping the place up
further, now that I scarcely ever visited it.
The rural quiet of the place palled upon me, so
much so, indeed, that while sitting on the wide ve-
randah, smoking in the sunset on the third evening
after my arrival, I made up my mind to leave
again next day. This I did, much to Tucker's re-
gret.
The old fellow watched me climb into the dog-
cart and touched his straw hat in respectful silence.
I knew how the poor old fellow hated his master
to be absent.
Again in New York I waited in eager impatience
until the nineteenth of the month, when I left the
Grand Central Station for Boston.


THE LOST MILLION
37
Beverly, I found a quaint old sea-side town on
what is called the North Shore of Massachusetts,
a town of recently acquired publicity because of the
fact that the President of the United States has his
summer residence there.
The leading hotel, where I took up my quarters,
was situated not far from the sea, and from its
windows innumerable small vessels — yachts and
“ fishermen ” — could be seen. But of such
things as fishing boats, yachts, or of scenery I cared
nothing on that well-remembered day — the day
appointed for me to keep the strange tryst made by
the man now dead.
The wording of Mr. Arnold's injunction was
“to be present at the railway station of Beverly
at five o'clock.” It did not mention the platform
or the waiting-room. Examination of the time-
table that day, showed that no train arrived or
left Beverly between the hours of four-thirty P. M.
when the Portsmouth train arrived, and the five-
fifteen up train to Boston. There were several
through expresses, of course, Beverly being on
the main line between Portland and Boston.
By this fact it seemed that the mysterious man
whom I was to meet would already be in Beverly,
and would come to the station in order to meet me.
All day, therefore, my eyes were open for sight


38
THE LOST MILLION
of a man wearing a red tie or a carnation in his
coat.
Mr. Arnold had held suspicion that he might be
watched. Why? What did he fear?
I was not to approach him unless he unbuttoned
his gloves and removed them.
All that well-remembered day I idled away on
the wharfs, conversed with the fishermen and sail-
ors, and strolled about the quaint streets of the
rather sleepy place, eager for the arrival of five
o'clock.
The station being some distance from the town,
I walked down to it about half-past four. The
afternoon was blazing hot, and scarcely anyone
was astir. Even the dogs were asleep in the
shadows, and the heat-slumber was over every-
thing."
A hundred times had I tried to picture to my-
self what Mr. Arthur Dawnay could be like. In
the main street earlier in the day I had seen a
young man in tweed Norfolk-jacket, obviously a
tourist, wearing a red tie, but no carnation, and
had followed him unnoticed to a house out on the
outskirts of the town where he was evidently lodg-
ing. Was his name Dawnay, I wondered? If
he were actually the man whom I was to meet, then
he certainly was a very prosaic-looking person


THE LOST MILLION 39
Still I possessed my soul in patience and with the
dead man's letter in my breast-pocket I walked
through the waiting-room and on to the platform.
Several persons were about, ordinary-looking in-
dividuals such as one sees every day at the station
of a small provincial town. But there was no man
wearing either a red cravat or a carnation.
I lit a cigarette and strolled up and down the
platform and into the waiting-room where the
ticket office was situated.
Twice expresses with mails from Maine for
Boston roared through, and slowly the hands of
the clock approached the hour of five.
The appointment must have been made long
ago by the man now dead — weeks ago when he
was still abroad, for the letter, I recollected, had
been written on board the liner between Rio and
New York. But the principal point which puzzled
me was the reason why the dead man's letter
should be delivered in such secrecy.
A man with a red tie is easily distinguishable,
and I flatter myself that I possess a very keen eye-
sight, yet though minute after minute went by till
it was already a quarter past the hour, still no man
answering the description given by the late Mr.
Arnold put in an appearance.
Presently on the opposite platform a train from


40
THE LOST MILLION
the East came in sight, and suspecting that he
might arrive by it I dashed across the track to a
position where I could see all over the up-plat-
form.
Few passengers had alighted, but among them,
some distance away, I instantly discerned a man
wearing a cravat of scarlet satin. He was smartly
dressed in a grey lounge-suit, and in his coat he
wore a pink carnation. In his hand was an old-
fashioned black ebony cane with silver knob.
He was standing, looking up and down the
platform as though in search of somebody.
Therefore I rushed towards the spot where he was
standing, though I had not seen his face distinctly.
Suddenly, as I was within six yards of him, I
recollected the dead man's written words, and
halted short.
He was still wearing grey suede gloves. He
had not removed them; therefore he was suspicious
of being watched!
I lit another cigarette and with careless air
sauntered past him in order to gain a good view of
his features.
He was, I saw, of middle height, and aged about
fifty. His clean-shaven face, with heavy, square
jaws, was pimply and rather bloated, a face which
somehow filled me with repugnance, for it was the


THE LOST MILLION
41
countenance of one who was a fast liver and who
indulged a little too freely in alcohol. His grey
suit, grey soft felt hat and grey gloves gave to him
a certain air of smartness and distinction, yet those
small brown eyes with a peculiar, indescribable ex-
pression, searching up and down the platform, were
the eyes of a man full of craft and double cunning.
From the first moment I turned my gaze upon
him I held him in distinct suspicion, while he, it ap-
peared, in turn held somebody else in suspicion. I
looked around, but could not discern anybody who
might arouse his misgivings. About us were all
honest Massachusetts folk.
The fact that he had not taken off his gloves still
remained. My injunctions were not to approach
him if he failed to remove them. He had the air
of a bon vivant, even to the manner in which he
tucked his ebony cane beneath his arm in order to
light a choice cigar.
By this time most of the passengers had crossed
the track and were on their way to the town, while
others were entering the motors and carriages sent
to meet them.
Once, only once, his small, narrow brown eyes
met mine, and I saw in them a look of quick in-
quiry and shrewd cunning.
Then, still wearing his gloves as sign to me to


42
THE LOST MILLION
n
hold aloof, he leisurely crossed the track to the
down-platform, and strolled along the hot, dusty
road into the town.
As far as I could discern nobody was watching
his movements at all; nevertheless I could only sup-
pose that he had great cause for precaution, other-
wise he would have allowed me to approach and
speak to him. .
True, there was a queer, insignificant-looking old
lady in rusty black who had been on the platform
when I had arrived, who had crossed the track and
waited for the train from the East, and who was
now making her way back into Beverly in the direc-
tion we were walking.
Could it be possible that he feared her?
It struck me that he might have recognised that
I had travelled there to meet him in place of the
man now deceased, therefore I hurried on and got
in front, so that he might, if he so wished, follow
me to the hotel.
But judge my chagrin when at last we entered
the main street and while I turned down towards
the sea he turned in the opposite direction, thus
showing that he had not detected my anxiety to
speak with him. And the old lady had followed
in his footsteps.
Suddenly a thought occurred to me. It was
)
W


THE LOST MILLION 43
surely more than probable that Mr. Dawnay was
there to meet the man Arnold, in ignorance of his
death. Therefore, having allowed him to get on
some distance, I turned upon my heel and followed
him.
His movements were certainly curious. He was
undoubtedly avoiding the unwelcome attentions of
the old lady, who now seemed to be acting in con-
junction with a dark-haired, middle-aged man with
beetling brows, who wore a shabby brown suit and
a last year's straw hat.
The man with the red cravat entered an inn
and remained there a full hour, the other man
watching in the vicinity. Then, on emerging, he
went to a druggist's and afterwards turned his foot-
steps back towards the station.
I saw that his intention was to leave Beverly.
Therefore in preference to following on foot I
drove to the station in a hack.
He had never once removed those grey suede
gloves, though the day was so hot, for on the up-
platform the man in the straw hat was still idling
behind him. A number of people were waiting
for the train, and I, discerning Mr. Dawnay's in-
tention of travelling, entered the station and
bought a ticket for Boston.
At last a train came roaring into the station,


44
THE LOST MILLION
when the man whom I was there to meet jumped
quickly on board, entering the only Pullman car on
the train; and while I remained vigilant I saw the
mysterious watcher enter a coach a little way be-
hind. Then just as the train was leaving, I also
sprang on board the Pullman just in time to see Mr.
Dawnay paying the porter for the use of the state-
room, which was at the forward end of the car.
Having bought a seat, in my turn, from the por-
ter, I allowed some little time to elapse and then
walked ahead until I reached the compartment of
the fugitive.
As I entered his quick, wary eyes were upon me
in an instant, and I saw him start visibly in alarm,
as I shut the door behind me leading into the pas-
sageway.
“I believe," I exclaimed next moment, “ that
you are Mr. Arthur Dawnay?".
In an instant, before, indeed, I was aware of it,
I found myself looking down the big barrel of a
heavy Colt pistol.
“Well!" asked the man with the red tie without
moving from his seat, yet covering me with his
weapon. “And what if it is, eh?”.
Upon his face was a hard, evil grin, and I saw
that he certainly was not a man to be trifled with.
"You think you've cornered me this time, eh?”
lom


THE LOST MILLION 45
he said in a hard, dry voice. “But raise a finger,
and by Gad! I'll put a bullet through you. So
you'd best own yourself beaten, and let me slip out
at the next station. Understand?"
Then next moment the train unfortunately en-
tered the tunnel and we were plunged in complete
darkness.


CHAPTER V
THE SIGN OF THE GLOVES
assu
Those moments of obscurity seemed hours, as I
sat there with the pistol turned upon me.
Truly his was a strange greeting.
At length, however, daylight showed again as
we commenced to descend a slight incline, yet I saw
that his hand — practised no doubt with a weapon
by the manner he had whipped it forth — was still
uplifted against me.
“Really, sir, you have no cause for alarm," I
assured him with a laugh. “I could not approach
you openly, so I adopted the ruse of travelling with
you in order to speak. You came to Beverly to-
day in order to meet me, did you not?"
“No, I certainly did not,” he said, the expres-
sion upon his countenance showing him to be much
puzzled by my words.
“Then perhaps you came to meet Mr. Melvill
Arnold?" I suggested.
“And why do you wish to know that, pray?”
he asked in the refined voice of a gentleman, still
regarding me with antagonism. His small closely-
set eyes peered forth at me with a ferret-like ex-
sm.
46


THE LOST MILLION 47
pression, while about his clean-shaven mouth was a
curious hardness as his hand still held the weapon
pointed in my direction.
"Because you are wearing the signs, the scarlet
tie, the carnation, and I see that you carry the
ebony walking-stick," was my cool reply. I was
trying to prevent myself from Ainching before that
grim, business-like weapon of his.
“And what if I am? What business is it of
yours?” he asked resentfully, and in evident alarm.
"My business is with you, if your name is Al-
fred Dawnay," I said. “Mr. Melvill Arnold is,
I regret to say, dead, and”
“Dead!” he gasped, lowering his weapon and
staring at me, the colour dying from his face.
“ Arnold dead! Is this the truth — are you quite
certain ? "
“The unfortunate gentleman died in my pres-
ence."
“Where? Abroad, I suppose ?"
“No, in a small hotel in New York," was my
reply.
The news I had imparted to him seemed to hold
him amazed and stupefied.
“Poor Arnold! Dead!” he repeated blankly
to himself, sitting with both hands upon his knees,
for he had flung the pistol upon the cushion.


48 THE LOST MILLION
“Ah!” he exclaimed, suddenly raising his eyes to
mine. “Forgive me for receiving you in this an-
tagonistic manner, sir, but — but you don't know
what Mr. Arnold's death means to me. It means
everything to me — all that — " But his lips
closed with a snap without concluding his sentence.
“A few moments before he died he gave me
this letter with instructions to meet you at Beverly
to-day," and I handed him the dead man's missive.
Eagerly, with trembling fingers he broke open
the black seals, but the letter was in a second en-
velope also carefully sealed with black wax. This
he also tore open, and breathlessly read the closely
scribbled lines which it contained — the message
from the dead.
He bit his full red lip, his cheeks went ashen
pale and his nostrils dilated.
“I—I wish to thank you for carrying out
Arnold's injunctions,” he managed to gasp. “I
went to Beverly for the purpose of meeting him,
for he had made the appointment with me three
months ago. Yet it seemed that he must have had
some presentiment that he could not keep it him-
self, or he would not have suggested me wearing
a red tie, a carnation, and carrying this old-fash-
ioned stick which he gave me long ago."
Briefly I recounted my meeting with him when


THE LOST MILLION
49
he came on board at Rio, his sudden illness and its
fatal termination in the New York hotel.
“Ah, yes,” sighed the man Dawnay — the
man whom I was to help, but not to trust. “Poor
Arnold was a great traveller — ever on the move
- but for years he knew that he had a weak
heart.”
I was about to make further inquiry regarding
the man who had so strangely left me a legacy,
but Dawnay suddenly exclaimed:
"You and I must not be seen together, Mr.
Kemball — for I notice by this letter that that is
your name."
“Where can I meet you again ? " I inquired, for
I recollected the dead man's words that my strange
companion might be in sore need of a friend.
"I hardly know," was his hasty answer, as he
replaced his pistol in his pocket. “I am closely
watched. Probably you saw the man — a fellow
in a straw hat."
“Yes — and the old woman."
“Ah! Then you are observant, Mr. Kemball,"
he exclaimed with a slight grin. “Yes, I am in
danger — grave danger at this moment and
how to escape I know not.”
“Escape from what?”
“ From arrest."


50
THE LOST MILLION
SO
“Is that young-looking man a police-officer?”
I asked, much surprised.
“Yes. He's older than he looks. I ought
never to have dared to go to Beverly.”
“Why not to Beverly?" I asked.
“I was lying low — for a certain reason, Mr.
Kemball. All of us have to wash in dirty water
sometimes — you know," he smiled grimly.
“ You are an honest man, no doubt - I too was,
once."
“And now the police are in search of you —
eh?” I asked. So my estimate of the man was
not very far wrong.
He nodded slowly in the affirmative.
A silence fell between us. This discovery,
coupled with Arnold's mysterious connection with
the trial of the adventuress who called herself
Lady Lettice Lancaster, caused me to ponder.
Arnold had warned me not to trust him entirely.
Suddenly we were both conscious of that un-
easy feeling which follows the jarring of the air.
brakes.
Without a word, my companion suddenly sprang
to his feet, and going out on the front platform
peered ahead to see if he could determine what
the trouble was. I watched him with various emo-
tions.


THE LOST MILLION
51
Then, returning to me, he said:
“Nothing seriously wrong, I fancy, but perhaps
it would be better, Mr. Kemball, if you left this
compartment while we are stopping. We must
not appear to have knowledge of each other."
Scarcely had I time to resume my chair in the
main part of the car when the train pulled up. For
a moment or two I sat gazing unconcernedly out of
the window, when, sure enough, the man in the
straw hat who had taken the coach in the rear of
the train strolled aimlessly along, and as he passed
the Pullman compartment occupied by Dawnay,
glanced in to satisfy himself that he was still
there.
For some reason or other, whether there had
been an accident as some of the passengers said, or
not, the wait was long. But at last we moved off
again, and as soon as we did so I returned to the
mysterious fugitive.
“Tell me, Mr. Dawnay, something concern-
ing Mr. Arnold," I urged earnestly without pre-
amble. “He did me the honour of entrusting me
with certain purely personal matters, but gave me
no information as to whom or what he was."
"Melvill Arnold was a most remarkable per-
son," declared the man in the red tie. “He di-
vided his time between life in New York and ex-
.


52
THE LOST MILLION
ploring the remains of the extinct civilisation in
Egypt and South America."
“ Then he lived in Egypt!”
“ Mostly in the deserts. His knowledge of
Egyptology was, perhaps, unequalled. The last
letter I received from him was from El Fasher, in
Darfur."
“ Arnold was not his real name."
“Not exactly his baptismal one,” laughed Daw-
nay lightly. “It would hardly have suited him
to have used that!”
“What was it? Is there any reason why I
should not know?"
“Yes. I am scarcely likely to betray my dead
friend, Mr. Kemball.”
I was silent beneath his stern rebuke. At one
moment I felt repulsion when I gazed upon his
pimply face, yet at the next I experienced a curious
sense of fascination. The mystery of it all had
become most tantalising. Thought of the bronze
cylinder and what it might contain flashed across
my mind, whereupon I asked whether Arnold had
had any permanent address in New York.
“No. I usually wrote to him to the General
Delivery of the New York Post Office. He was an
elusive man always, and when in New York which
was on very rare occasions, seemed to change his


THE LOST MILLION
53
abode each day. He boasted that he never slept
two nights running in the same bed. He had rea-
sons for that the same reasons, truth to tell, that
I had.”
“He feared the police — eh?".
Dawnay's fat face relaxed again into a grim
smile.
“But now that Arnold is dead I have to secure
my own safety," he exclaimed quickly. “I'm in an
infernal trap here, in this train. I may be arrested
when I step out of it — who knows?”
"And would arrest entail serious conse-
quences ? " I asked slowly, my eyes fixed upon his.
“Yes, very serious consequences. For myself
· I don't care very much, but for another — a
woman — it would, alas! be fatal,” he added
hoarsely.
A woman! Did he refer to that remarkable .
adventuress, details of whose strange career I had
read in that old copy of the newspaper ?
I remembered that Arnold, in his letter to me,
had appealed to me to assist this man — who was
evidently his very intimate friend.
“You must evade this person who is watching,"
I said. “How can it be done ? "
He shrugged his shoulders with an expression
indicative of bewilderment.


54
THE LOST MILLION
A sudden thought occurred to me.
“You and I are about the same build. Could
we not exchange clothes ? " I suggested. “At
Lynn, you could walk to the front of the train
and escape away and out of the station, while I
will still sit here, my back turned towards the win-
dow. The detective will believe you to be still in
the train."
“ Capitall” he cried, starting up. “A splendid
plan, Mr. Kemball! By Jovel you are resource-
full” and he began quickly divesting himself of
coat and trousers. “This train does stop at Lynn,
I happen to know, and no better place could be
found because of the crowd always at the sta-
tion.”
I threw off my coat, vest, cravat and trousers
and in five minutes had exchanged my garments for
his and had assumed the scarlet tie in place of my
own, while he, on his part, got into my suit which,
however, seemed slightly tight for him. We
laughed heartily as we stood regarding each other
so quickly transformed.
I assumed the grey suede gloves, slightly large
for me, tilted the smart grey hat a little over my
eyes, and then ensconced myself in the corner, so
that my back only could be visible when the train
drew up in Lynn station.


THE LOST MILLION 55
Dawnay went out into the passage-way to ob-
serve the effect critically.
“ Capital ! ” he cried. “ Capital! Won't the
fellow be done in the eye!”
“Yes," I laughed; "it will be really amusing
to watch his face when he comes to arrest me."
“But he may not come until you get to Boston.
And what excuse shall you make for changing
clothes with me?”.
"Oh, don't bother about that,” I said, rather
enjoying the prospect of a joke, but little dreaming
of the serious predicament in which I was placing
myself. “Where shall I meet you again ?".
“Ah! Be careful — be very careful, Mr. Kem-
ball. You will, no doubt, be watched. They
will suspect you of an intention to meet me again
in secret, and for that reason will keep strict sur-
veillance upon you. Use the name Hamilton
Davis, and write to me at the New York General
Delivery office. That is as safe as anywhere. I
shall be in New York. But I must be off now, and
the moment the train stops I shall be out and away.
There's sure to be a crowd in the Lynn station.
Ah! You can't tell what a great service you have
rendered me in assuming my identity this evening
— you have saved me. Good-bye — and a thou-
sand thanks."


56 THE LOST MILLION
son
Then with a wave of his hand and a merry
smile, the elusive person for such he no doubt
was — went out of the stateroom and disappeared.
I took up my previous position, so that when the
train ran into Lynn I was seated with my back to
the window, one leg up on the cushion, lazily read-
ing a newspaper which I had found in Dawnay's
pocket.
Much bustle was going on outside on the plat-
form and I knew that the police officer had passed
in order to re-assure himself that I had not escaped.
For perhaps ten minutes I sat there in lazy indo-
lence, until at last the train moved off again, and,
once more, I was free from observation.
I could not, for the life of me, discern why the
man had feared to be seen in my company.
Arnold must have somehow foreseen that his friend
would be watched, and had, therefore, prearranged
the sign of the gloves. Perhaps he had expected
that another enemy, not the police, would be
watching. Yet even there, in the train, Dawnay
had expressed fear lest we be observed together.
It was a point the full meaning of which I failed
to grasp.
At Somerville we stopped again, and I assumed
my attitude just as before, with my back to the
window, when of a sudden the carriage door was


THE LOST MILLION
57
flung open unceremoniously and a man's voice ex-
claimed:
“Alfred Dawnay, I am a police officer, and I
hold a warrant for your arrest!”
I roused myself slowly and facing the man who
had addressed me, remarked in a cool voice:
“I think you've made a slight mistake - eh?
My name is not Dawnay."
The man in the straw hat uttered an ejaculation
of surprise and stood staring at me dumfounded,
while a man at his side, evidently one of the Bos-
ton police in plain-clothes, looked at us both in won-
der.
“If you are not Dawnay, then where is Daw-
nay?" demanded the detective quickly.
“How do I know?”
“But you are wearing his clothes! You as-
sisted him to escape, therefore, you will have to
make some explanation.”
“I have no explanation to offer," I said. “If
you want Dawnay you'd better go and look for
him. You have no warrant to arrest me merely
because I happen to be wearing clothes resembling
Dawnay's."
"Perhaps not, my dear sir," replied the detective,
greatly annoyed at being thus outwitted. “But
I tell you it will be better for you to be quite frank


58
THE LOST MILLION
and outspoken with us. When did Dawnay leave
this train: Tell me."
“I don't know," I replied, which was really the
truth. And the chagrin of the two police-officers
was now fully apparent.
“But you've rendered yourself liable to prosecu-
tion, don't forget that,” said the man with the
straw hat. “That man Alfred Dawnay, alias
Day, is wanted on a very serious charge."
“Of what?" I asked quickly.
“Never mind what. You've assisted him to es-
cape and you'll have to answer for it.”
And he closed the door angrily, for the train
was again about to move off towards Boston.
What, I wondered, was the serious charge
against Alfred Dawnay?


CHAPTER VI
THE QUICK AND THE DEAD
All the time that I was in Boston and even after
my return to New York I had the very unpleasant
experience of being closely watched by detectives,
just as the fugitive had foreseen. It was quite
evident that the police intended to re-discover Daw-
nay through my instrumentality.
I wrote to“ Mr. Hamilton Davis" at the New
York Post Office, giving him my address at the
Hotel Plaza and also my address at Boxwood on
Long Island, hoping that he would send me an ap-
pointment. Yet he had shown himself so wary
that I hardly believed he would at once reveal his
hiding-place. I was extremely anxious to meet him
again, for I hoped to learn more from him and
solve the mystery of the man whom I had known
as Melvill Arnold.
In order to evade the unwelcome attentions of
detectives I went down to Long Island for a few
days, for I knew that if any stranger were lurking
in the vicinity of Boxwood, old Tucker would
certainly know of it. Not three days had I been
there, indeed, before one morning he lingered over
59


60 THE LOST MILLION
watering the plants in the conservatory when I
came down to breakfast to declare that he was
much puzzled over the fact that a man — "a
decent-looking man,” he described him — seemed
to be for ever passing and re-passing the lodge.
“I can't think, sir, what can be his business," he
said. “I don't like the looks of him at all.
Maybe he's one of a gang who intends to rob
the house, sir. Therefore I've told Thomas and
Mason to keep their eyes open." He referred to
the groom and the under-gardener. “ I've half a
mind to set the dogs on 'im,” he added. “Only
let 'im come into the drive and I'd let Prince after
'im. His whole suit of clothes wouldn't be worth
sixpence afterwards."
“ Some inquisitive fellow, I suppose, Tucker," I
said in an endeavour to treat the incident with utter
unconcern. “I don't fancy burglars would come
here."
"Don't you believe it. sir. There's lots of
things — pictures and curios which your father
collected which would fetch a big price in New
York, you know, sir."
“Well," I laughed, “if burglars really do pay
us a visit, Prince will see to them. I'd be sorry to
face the dog if I were a thief.”
“ So would I, sir. Only there's such a thing as


THE LOST MILLION - 61
a dose o strychnine on a bit o' meat, you know."
“ Abroad, yes. In Italy it is the favourite ruse
of burglars, Tucker. But here in New York we
are much more secure."
And then, watering-can in hand, the faithful old
fellow passed out, while I sat down to my lonely
breakfast.
Some weeks after I had written to the New
York Post Office, I received a note dated from the
Hôtel de la Boule d'Or at Provins, a small town
some sixty miles east of Paris.
“I am delighted to have your address," it read.
“At the present moment my movements are very
“ uncertain, but as soon as I can see you again I
" will write to Boxwood. Be careful, however,
" that when you meet me you are not watched. I
“ fear you may be troubled by unwelcome watchers.
“ If you are, pray forgive me, and recollect how
“ grateful I am to you for the service which you
"have rendered me, and which one day I hope
"to repay."
: That was all. There was no signature.
And so I was compelled to wait for a further
communication from the man who was undoubtedly
in hiding in that obscure old town in the valley of
the Voulzie.
Time after time I took out that corroded cylin-


62 THE LOST MILLION
der — wherein was Something which the dead man
had declared would cause the whole world to stand
aghast — and held it in my hand full of wonder.
Upon the table in the big old-fashioned library
stood the weird little figure of the ancient god of
the Egyptians — the great Osiris. Sight of it,
each time that I entered there, recalled to me that
sunset hour in the little hotel in Forty-fourth Street,
the hour when Melvill Arnold had passed silently
to the Beyond.
Three weeks went by in eager expectancy. By
careful inquiry and judicious watchfulness I came
to the conclusion that the surveillance set upon me
by the detective had been withdrawn. Hence it
seemed to me that they had found traces of the
fugitive they sought. Probably, if he were a
known criminal, his presence in France had been re-
ported through the Prefecture of Police in Paris.
It was part of the international police system to do
so.
Was Alfred Dawnay again in peril of arrest, I
wondered?
One morning, however, I received the long-ex-
pected message, for among my letters I found a
note asking me to be at a small cottage a
little way out of Roslyn on the Westbury Road —
at three o'clock that afternoon. The heavy hand-


THE LOST MILLION
63
sa
an
writing was the same as the letter from Provins,
and I knew it to be from Dawnay.
Therefore, with considerable eagerness, I set
out about two o'clock to walk to the place ap-
pointed for meeting. I passed through the streets
of Roslyn, but nobody followed me. It was early-
closing day, and the place was sleepy and deserted.
Out again upon the dusty high-road I met nobody
save a middle-aged man on a motor-cycle who
dashed past me at a tearing pace and who, later
on, pulled up at a small inn to make some repair.
Suddenly I regarded him with suspicion. Was
it possible that he was following me to watch my
movements ?
As I went by he looked up, full into my face,
and then I felt certain that I had seen him some-
where before. But where I could not recollect.
I had half a mind to turn back and thus throw
him off the scent if he were actually a detective,
nevertheless compelled as I was to act warily, I
strolled on through the village and out upon the
open road, up the hill in the direction of West-
bury.
I glanced at my watch, and found it already a
quarter past three. But nobody was yet in sight.
Probably Dawnay was standing concealed some-
where behind the hedge, in order to satisfy himself


64 THE LOST MILLION
that the coast was quite clear before approach-
ing me.
Behind, at some distance away, I heard the hum
of an approaching motor-car and stepping to the
side of the road, prepared to be suffocated by the
thick white dust.
The car swung through the village and rushed
up the hill, but as it came behind me slowed down
until it passed me at quite a slow pace. Then I
saw it was a powerful limousine, painted and up-
holstered in stone-grey, and within sat a woman
alone.
A few yards in front of me it stopped dead, and
the woman leaned out of the door when, to my
utter amazement I recognised her to be the same
pretty young girl whom I had seen in Greenwood
Cemetery — the mysterious person who had so
tenderly placed fresh flowers upon the grave of
Melvill Arnold.
"Excuse me!" she exclaimed, addressing me
in a musical voice, as she opened the door. “I be-
lieve you are Mr. Kemball, are you not?”
“That certainly is my name,” I said, raising my
straw hat instinctively.
“Well, I — I've come here to meet you," she
laughed merrily. “Would you come inside, and
then I can tell you all."


THE LOST MILLION 65
So at her invitation I got in beside her, when the
car turned round, and the next moment we were
swinging back towards Roslyn, the driver evidently
having already received his instructions.
“I suppose I ought to explain Mr. Kemball,
that Mr. Harvey Shaw, the gentleman known to
you as Mr. Dawnay, deemed it wiser not to come
and meet you in person, because — well—" and
she laughed sweetly, displaying even rows of
pearly teeth. “I think you probably realise the
reason."
“Fully," I answered, quite taken aback by the
ruddiness of her appearance. “But I had suspi-
cion as I came along of a motor-cyclist who stopped
before the inn. He is a man I have seen some-
where before."
“Oh, he is a friend. He is there as scout for
us,” she said. “He has been watching you and
has signalled that all is clear, and so we may pro-
ceed without fear. Mr. Shaw has asked me to
take you to him.”
“ Where is he?"
“At Flushing," was her reply, and as she turned
her splendid brown eyes upon me I judged her to
be about nineteen or twenty, and saw that hers
was a face more perfect in its beauty than ever I had
before gazed upon. Her sombre black heightened


66 THE LOST MILLION
the pallor of her complexion, yet her lips were full
and red; her soft cheeks dimpled and perfect in
their contour, while her large splendid eyes revealed
an inexpressible sweetness and charm. From the
first moment I realised that she was full of good
humour with a bright cheerful disposition, and yet
quiet of manner and full of exquisite refinement.
The expression in her great wide-open eyes was
perhaps just a trifle too shrewd, and she seemed,
as I began to chat with her, possessed of a ready
wit and a quaint philosophy.
Of her wondrous and striking beauty there could
be no two opinions. She was perfect, from the
crown of her neat little straw motor-bonnet to the
tip of her brown glacé shoe. Her hands were
small and well-gloved and her pointed chin gave
to her sweet delicate face an air of piquant irre-
sponsibility that added greatly to her attractive-
ness.
Between the smart chauffeur and ourselves the
window was closed, therefore we could converse
without being overheard.
"Mr. Shaw told me how generously you assisted
him when you met at Beverly," she exclaimed at
last. “Ah, Mr. Kemball ! ” she added, suddenly
growing very serious, “ you cannot tell how great
a service you rendered us then.”
P1


THE LOST MILLION 67
"Us?” I echoed. “Then I presume you are
a relation?”
“His daughter,” she replied, “or to be quite
correct his adopted daughter. My name is Asta
— Asta Seymour. So perhaps I may be permitted
to thank you, Mr. Kemball, for the generous as-
sistance you gave him in securing my foster-father's
escape."
“No thanks are needed, Miss Seymour, I assure
you," I declared. “But tell me, why is he in
dread of the police ?”
“Of that you will learn soon enough, I fear,"
she replied in a hard changed voice, which had a
distant touch of sadness in it.
“Yes. But is there not a grave danger in re-
turning to New York?"
“He was compelled to do so — first in order
to meet you at Beverly, and now, for a second
reason, in connection with the unfortunate death of
poor Mr. Melvill Arnold.”
“ You, of course, knew Mr. Arnold," I said.
“ It is your hand that has placed those fresh flow-
ers upon his grave."
She was silent. Then in a low voice she said:
"I admit that I have done so, for he was al-
ways my friend - always. But please say noth-
ing to my father regarding what I have done."
Wh


68
THE LOST MILLION
“To me a great mystery enshrouds Mr. Ar-
nold," I said. “ Cannot you tell me something
concerning him — who and what he was? By my
very slight knowledge of him I feel instinctively
that he was no ordinary person.”
“And your estimate was surely a perfectly cor-
rect one, Mr. Kemball. He was one of the most
remarkable of men."
“You knew of his death. How?"
“I knew he was in New York, for he scribbled
me a note telling me his address, but requesting me
to reveal it to nobody, not even my father," she
said in a low hoarse voice. “I called to see him
upon some urgent business — because he wished to
see me, but alas! they told me at the hotel that he
had died only a few hours before. So I went
away, fearing to reveal myself to you, whom they
told me was his friend. Two days later I made
inquiries, and learned where they had buried him.
Then, in tribute to the memory of the man of whose
greatness of heart and remarkable attainments the
the world has remained in ignorance, I laid flowers
upon his grave."
“Why did you fear to reveal yourself to me,
Miss Seymour ?” I asked, earnestly looking
straight into her soft brown eyes as the car rushed
along.
rs


THE LOST MILLION
69
But she averted my gaze, while a flush over-
spreading her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment.
“Because — well, because I did not know how
far you might be trusted,” was her frank open re-
sponse, after a moment's hesitation. “Indeed,
I do not even know whether you would still remain
our friend and preserve the secret if the ugly truth
became revealed to you!”


CHAPTER VII
DAWNAY MAKES CONFESSION
HER curious reply greatly puzzled me. What
could be “the ugly truth” to which she had re-
ferred?
At her side I sat in silence for some time. The
car was tearing along a wide straight main-road be-
tween dusty hedges and many telegraph-wires, and
as I glanced at her I saw that she was staring
straight before her fixedly, with a strange hard
look upon her beautiful countenance.
Perhaps I might have been mistaken, but at my
mention of the dead man I felt certain that I saw
in her eyes the light of unshed tears.
Through several small villages we went — the
road I knew well, having motored over it many
times — and soon found ourselves in the wide main
street of Flushing
My fair companion spoke but little. She
· seemed suddenly to have become strangely pre-
occupied. Indeed, it struck me as though she had
been seized by some sudden apprehension, by a
thought which had crossed her mind for the first
time. Her manner had completely changed.
70


THE LOST MILLION
71
“Your father has been away in France since I
met him?" I remarked for want of something else
to say.
“Yes,” she responded; “ both in England and
in France — he has been moving rapidly from
place to place for reasons to which I need not re-
fer."
“But why has he returned if there is still dan-
ger?” I queried.
“I scarcely think there is further danger — at
least at present," she answered. I was puzzled at
her reply, but not for long as I will relate.
The car slipped through Flushing, and a little
farther on swung abruptly through a handsome pair
of lodge-gates and into a broad well-timbered park,
at last pulling up before a long old-fashioned man-
sion which commanded, from its grey stone ter-
race, fine views of the green undulating hills and
sea beyond. The old, ivy-clad place with its
pointed gables and mullioned windows, was not un-
like a stately English home, and as the car drew
up at the porch, the great door was flung open by a
neat man-servant who bowed as we entered the
fine hall.
The place was built in a quadrangle, two-storied,
with handsome heraldic devices in the stained win-
dows. There seemed to be roomy corridors, lead-


72 THE LOST MILLION
ing by stout oak-doors to roomier apartments
within, some oak-panelled, others with moulded
ceilings and carved stone fireplaces.
I followed Asta Seymour along the hall, and
turning into a corridor on the left, suddenly found
myself in a pleasant sitting-room wherein the man
I knew as Dawnay stood, his hands behind his
back, awaiting me.
As we entered she closed the door behind us.
The room bore an old-world air with chintz-col-
oured furniture and filled with the perfume of pot-
pourri.
“At last, Mr. Kemball! At last!” cried the
fugitive, crossing quickly to me and taking my hand
in warm welcome. “So Asta found you all right,
eh?"
“Her appearance was certainly a surprise," I
said. “I expected you to meet me yourself.”
“Well," he laughed, his small narrow-set eyes
filled with a merry twinkle. “It would hardly
have been a judicious proceeding. So I sent Asta
to whom, I may as well tell you, I entrust all mat-
ters of strictest confidence. But sit down, Mr.
Kemball. Give me your hat and stick."
And he drew forward for me a comfortable
chair, while the girl, excusing herself, left us
alone.


THE LOST MILLION
73
When she had gone, my friend looked me in the
face, and burst out laughing, exclaiming:
“I suppose, Mr. Kemball, this is rather a sur-
prise to you to find that Harvey Shaw, the occupier
of Edgewater and Alfred Dawnay are one and the
same person, eh?"
" It is," I admitted. “I have passed the edge
of your park many times in my car, but I never
dreamed that you lived here."
“Well," he said, “I rely upon your secrecy.
You were extremely good to me the other day, so
I see no reason why I should not be just a little
frank with you."
“Your affairs are, of course, no business of
mine," I declared. “But whatever you may re-
veal to me I shall certainly treat with the strict-
est confidence.”
“Ah! I feel sure that you will. Melvill Arnold
would never have taken you into his confidence if
he had not been certain that he could trust you.
He was one of the very shrewdest men in all New
York or he would not have been so enormously suc-
cessful.”
From the long windows with their small leaded
panes I could see, from where I sat, far away across
the park with its fine beach avenue. Over the
wide fireplace were carved many heraldic devices


74
THE LOST MILLION
in stone, while against the dark oak-panelling the
bright chintzes showed clean and fresh. Taste was
displayed everywhere — the taste of a refined
man.
Mr. Shaw, as he was apparently known there,
was dressed very differently from the occasion when
we had met in Massachusetts. Then he had as-
sumed the appearance of a sporting man, but in
his guise of country gentleman he was dressed in
morning-coat of a rather old-fashioned cut, and
pepper and salt trousers, an attire which gave him
a quiet and somewhat distinguished appearance.
I sat before him, wondering at his remarkable
dual personality — the man hunted by the police,
and the wealthy occupier of that fine country man-
sion.
His small shrewd eyes seemed to realise the
trend of my thoughts as he lounged back in his
chair near the window, regarding me lazily.
“I promised, Mr. Kemball, that I would see
you again as soon as opportunity offered," he said;
“and feeling assured of the spirit of good fellow-
ship existing between us, I have this afternoon let
you into the secret of my double life. That even-
ing at Lynn I had a very narrow squeak of it -
by Gad! one of the narrowest in all my life. An
enemy - one whom I had believed to be my friend
nan.
ene


THE LOST MILLION
75
те
- gave me completely away. The police evi-
dently expected to find me through you, for you
were watched constantly. Everywhere you went
you were followed.”
“You know that.”
“I do," he said. “The fact is I have a personal
guardian who constantly watches over me, and
warns me of danger. You saw him on his cycle
near Roslyn. He watched you while I was absent
in France, shaking off those bloodhounds of the
law.”
“And you have now shaken them off, I pre-
sume?”
“I think so. The detectives have happily never
yet associated Judge Shaw with Alfred Dawnay,
alias Day, whom they are so very eager to arrest,"
and he laughed grimly. “Mine is an amusing situa-
tion, I assure you, to sit on the Bench and try pris-
oners, well-knowing that each police officer who ap-
pears as witness would, if he knew, be only too
eager to execute the warrant outstanding."
And his broad, good-humoured face again ex-
panded into a smile.
“Certainly. I quite see the grim humour of the
situation," I said.
“And if you had not assisted me, Mr. Kemball,
I should, at this moment, have been under deten-


THE LOST MILLION
77
“I hope,” he went on, halting suddenly before
me, “that as you have associated yourself with
my very dear and intimate friend, Melvill Arnold,
you will now become my friend also. It is for that
reason that I venture to approach you, as I have
done to-day.”
“Well,” I said, my natural sense of caution ex-
erting itself as I recollected the dead man's written
injunction; “I must admit, Mr. Shaw, that I am
sorely puzzled to fathom the mystery of the sit-
uation. Ever since my meeting with poor Mr.
Arnold I seem to have been living in a perfect .
maze of inexplicable circumstances.”
“I have no doubt. But all will be explained in
due course. Did Arnold make no explanation ? "
“None. Indeed in his letter to me, which I
opened after his burial, he admitted to me that he
was not what he had pretended to be."
“Few of us are, I fear,” he laughed. “We
are all more or less hypocrites and humbugs. To-
day, in this age of criminality and self-advertise-
ment, the art of evading exposure is the art of hon-
esty. Alas! the copy-book proverb that honesty is
the best policy seems no longer true. To be dis-
honest is to get rich quick; to remain honest is to
face the Bankruptcy Court. A dishonest man
amasses money and becomes great and honoured


78
THE LOST MILLION
owing to the efforts of his press-agent. The hon-
est man struggles against the trickery of the unscru-
pulous, and sooner or later goes to the wall."
“What you say is, I fear, too true," I sighed.
“Would that it were untrue. Virtue has very
little reward in these days of unscrupulous deal-
ing in every walk of life, from the palace to the
slum."
“ Then, I take it that you do not hold in con-
tempt a man who, in dealing with the world, has
used his opponent's own weapons ?” he asked.
“How can I? In a duel the same weapons
must be used.”
“Exactly, Mr. Kemball, we are now beginning
to understand each other, and —"
At that moment the door opened without warn-
ing, and Asta re-entered. She had changed her
frock, and was wearing a pretty muslin blouse and
skirt of dove grey.
“Shall you have tea in here, Dad — or out on
the lawn? ” she inquired.
“Oh, on the lawn, I think, dear. I just want
to finish my chat with Mr. Kemball — if you don't
mind.”
“I'm awfully sorry I intruded," she laughed.
“I thought you'd finished.” And with a sweet
smile to me she closed the door and again left us.


THE LOST MILLION
79
How very dainty she looked; how exquisite was
her figure. Surely her grace was perfect.
“Really," my companion said, “I don't know
what I'd do without Asta. She's all I have in the
world, and she's a perfect marvel of discretion and
diplomacy."
“She's indeed very charming,” I said, perfectly
frankly.
“I am glad you find her so. She has plenty of
admirers, I can assure you. And I fear they are
spoiling her. But as I was saying, Mr. Kemball,”
he went on, “I hope we now understand each other
perfectly. Poor Arnold was such a dear and inti-
mate friend of mine, and we were equally interested
in so many financial schemes that it has puzzled
me greatly that he should have sought an obscure
burial as he has done, and that his affairs are not
in the hands of some responsible lawyer. Did he
mention anything to you concerning the terms of
his will ? "
“He never breathed a word regarding it.
Indeed, I have no idea whether he has made
one."
“Ah!” sighed my companion, “so like poor
Arnold. He always was fond of postponing till
to-morrow what could be done to-day. His will
- if he made one — would be interesting, no


80
THE LOST MILLION
'doubt, for his estate must be pretty considerable.
He was a wealthy man.”
I recollected the incident of the burning of the
bank-notes and that set me pondering.
“Do you anticipate that he made a will?” I
asked.
“I think not," was Shaw's answer. “He had
a strong aversion to making a will, I know, because
he feared that after his death the truth might be
revealed.”
“ The truth concerning what?”
“ Concerning a certain chapter of his life which
for years had been very carefully hidden. The
fact is, Mr. Kemball, that he feared exposure!"
“Of what?”
“Of some rather ugly facts. And for that rea-
son he carefully avoided making much explanation
to you as to whom he really was. He had reasons
– very strong reasons — for concealing his actual
identity.”
“May I not know them?” I asked, very slowly
fixing my eyes upon his.
“Some day," was his rather strained reply.
"Not now — some day — some day. I hope to
be in a position to explain all to you — to reveal to
you certain matters which will hold you utterly
dum founded and amazed.”


CHAPTER VIII
THE STORY OF THE CYLINDER
|
W
I was taking tea beneath the trees with my host
and Asta when there approached a tall, dark-haired
athletic young fellow in grey flannels and straw-hat.
He was smiling merrily, and the sudden light in
the girl's eyes when she saw him was sufficient to
reveal to me that they were intimate friends.
They grasped hands while Shaw exclaimed in his
slow, deliberate drawl:
“Hulloa, Guy! I thought you had gone up to
town!”
“No. I had a wire which put off my appoint-
ment until Thursday, so I've come over for a cup
of tea."
Then she introduced the young fellow to me as
Guy Nicholson.
He seated himself in one of the long cane deck-
chairs, and as Asta handed him some tea the pair
began to chat about a tennis-tournament which was
to be held at a neighbouring house. Presently he
turned to me, and we had a long conversation. He
had the distinct bearing of a gentleman, smart,
8


THE LOST MILLION
83
certain quick thumping beneath the pretty blouse
that made her realise she was not quite so adamant
as she had believed.
She believed that her secret was her own. It did
not matter about her heart. No one could see,
and so no one knew.
When we had finished tea the pair rose and
strolled away together through the rosary, towards
the flower-garden ablaze with bright blossoms.
And as they passed beneath the arches of crimson
ramblers and were lost to sight my host exclaimed
with a sigh and a sad smile:
“Ah! How delightful it would be to find one's
self young again — young again like you, Mr. Kem-
ball.”
ces
I laughed and we lit cigarettes and began to chat.
I confess that the mystery surrounding this man
who had so openly admitted to me that he was an
adventurer as well as a county magistrate greatly
attracted me. I found myself fascinated by the
whole unusual circumstances. One curious fact I
had noted was that while Asta was aware of Ar-
nold's death, she had never told the man whom
she knew as father. What motive had she in con-
cealing the truth? Again, it seemed very evident
that the young man Nicholson little dreamed that
Mr. Harvey Shaw was anything else than the


84
THE LOST MILLION
wealthy idler which he pretended to be. And
surely Asta had not undeceived him.
As together we strolled about the beautiful well-
kept grounds, and as he showed me his motor-
garage, wherein stood four cars of various types,
his electric-lighting plant and electric pumps for
the water supply, I tried to obtain from him some
further information regarding the man Arnold.
But to all my ingenious inquiries he remained
dumb.
Therefore I turned my attention to Asta and dis-
covered that he had adopted her when she was left
alone, a little child of eight.
“My life, Mr. Kemball, has been very full of
change and variety. Sometimes for months I have
been compelled to live in strict seclusion — some-
times in places hardly civilised. I spent a year in
the mountains of Northern Albania, for instance,
living with one of the mountain tribes, and on an-
other occasion, necessity compelled me to live for
eight months in an obscure village in Corfu. But
through it all little Asta has been my companion —
ah! yes — how often she has cheered my lonely,
solitary life.”
I saw that whatever might be this man's char-
acter, that he was devoted to her, while she, on
her part, had shown herself to be ever watchful of
his interests.


THE LOST MILLION 85.
“Then she really is quite a cosmopolitan!” I
exclaimed.
“ Certainly. She speaks three languages per-
fectly. Few girls of her age have, like her, seen
life in all its various phases, from that of the peas-
ant-hut to life here in an American home. But,"
he added, “when Arnold spoke to you in confidence
did he tell you nothing ?”.
“Of what?" I asked.
"Nothing concerning his past ? "
“Nothing."
“He did not mention me — eh?” asked my
companion.
“Only to urge me to carry that letter to you
at Beverly."
“And he gave you nothing else? I understood
you to say that he treated you with a certain amount
of confidence,” and he looked me narrowly in the
face.
“He gave me two objects," I replied. “A
small golden figure of the Egyptian god, Osiris —
a very ancient relic — and a curious and much cor-
roded cylinder of bronze."
“My God! The bronze cylinder!” he gasped,
starting and standing before me open-mouthed.
His face had blanched at mention of it.
“ Yes.”
“ He gave you that, eh?” he cried in distinct
arr


86
THE LOST MILLION
alarm. “And you accepted the trust — you were
fool enough to do that?"
“Of course I did. Why? "
“Ah! You would not have done so had you
but known the terrible evil which must now threaten
you," he said in a low, hoarse voice, his manner
changing to one of great alarm. He seemed agi-
tated and nervous.
“I don't quite follow you,” I said, much puzzled
at his manner.
“You are, of course, in ignorance, Mr. Kemball.
But by the acceptance of that executorship — by
the holding in your possession of that cylinder you
are a doomed man."
“ Doomed! How?" I asked, with an incredu-
lous smile.
“I tell you this quite openly and frankly, be-
cause you have already proved yourself my friend,”
he said, his face now entirely transformed. We
were standing together at the edge of the square
croquet lawn, perhaps once a bowling green, where
the great old box-trees were clipped into fantastic
shapes, while at the end was the long stone terrace
with the open park beyond.
“I think you told me that he made you a pres-
ent in bank-notes ? " Shaw went on. “Ah! Mel-
vill Arnold knew only too well what dire unhappi-


88
THE LOST MILLION
I recollected how my friend had just before his
death, declared that its contents would amaze the
world, and I made quick inquiry concerning it.
“What it contains I do not know," he replied.
“ Only Arnold himself knows and he has unfortu-
nately carried his secret to the grave. It was
found, I believe in the tomb of King Merenptah,
the Pharaoh under whom the exodus of the Israel.
ites took place some twelve hundred years before
the Christian era. Arnold himself discovered it at
Abydos, but on opening it dreaded to allow the
thing to see the light of day, and in order to pre-
serve its influence from mankind he again buried it
at a certain spot known only to himself, but, no
doubt somewhere near the great Temple of Amon-
Ra, at Karnak."
"Why did he wish to preserve his discovery
from mankind?” I asked, much interested.
“How can I tell? After his discovery he re-
turned post-haste to America an entirely changed
man. He would never reveal to me, his most in-
timate friend, what the cylinder actually contained,
save that he admitted to me that he held it in awe
—and that if he allowed it to go forth to the world
it would have caused the greatest sensation in our
modern civilisation; that the world would stand still
in amazement."
nea


THE LOST MILLION 89.
“What could he have meant by that?”.
“Ah!” replied my companion, “I cannot tell.
All I know is that, together with the cylinder, he
discovered some ancient papyri recounting the ter-
rible fate which would befall its possessors, and
warning anyone against handling, possessing or
opening it."
“ A favourite method of the ancients to prevent
the rifling of their tombs," I remarked with a laugh.
“But in this case, Arnold, who was a great arch-
æologist and could decipher hieroglyphics, no doubt
investigated the contents of the cylinder and satis-
fied himself that they were such that no mortal eye
should gaze upon without bewilderment. Those
were the very words he used in describing them to
me."
n as re-
“And did anything terrible happen to him as re-
sult?” I asked.
“From the moment of that investigation mis-
fortune dogged his footsteps always. His friends
died one by one and he himself was smitten by that
affection of the heart which, as you know, has ter-
minated fatally.”
“How long ago is it since he made this discovery
in King Merenptah's tomb?" I asked
“ About four years," was Shaw's reply, and I
saw that he was trembling with excitement. “And


90
THE LOST MILLION
e man.
from that day until the day of his death poor Mel-
vill Arnold was, alasl never the same man. What
he found within — the Thing, as he used to call it
— made such a terrible impression upon him that
he, bold and fearless and defiant as he used to be,
became suddenly weak, timid and nervous, lest the
secret contained in the cylinder should be revealed.
That message of the hieroglyphics, whatever it was
haunted him night and day, and he often declared
to me that in consequence of his foolish disobedience
of the injunction contained in the papyri, he had be-
come a doomed man — doomed, Mr. Kemball!”
he added in a low, strange voice, looking straight
and earnestly into my face —“doomed as I fear
alas! that you, too, are now doomed!"


CHAPTER IX
REVEALS GUY'S SUSPICIONS
All endeavour to discover from Shaw something
further concerning the mysterious cylinder proved
unavailing. Apparently he was entirely in igno-
rance of its actual contents — of the Thing re-
ferred to by the man now dead.
Later I had an opportunity of chatting with Guy
Nicholson as we strolled about the beautiful gar-
dens in the sunset. He was a bright, merry, easy-
going fellow who had been a year or two in the
army, retiring on the death of his father and now
expressing an ambition for foreign travel. He
lived at Rose Court, near Mineola, he explained,
and invited me over to see him.
Long ago I had heard of old Nathaniel Nichol.
son, the great Pennsylvania coal and ironmaster,
who had purchased the place from a bankrupt New
Yorker, and who had spent many thousands on
improvements. My father had known him
slightly, and now I was much gratified to know his
son.
From the first I took to him greatly, and we
mutually expressed friendship towards each other.
O


92
THE LOST MILLION
We were both bachelors and I saw that we had
many tastes in common. His airy carelessness of
manner and his overflowing good-humour attracted
me, while it was plain that he was the devoted
slave of the pretty Asta.
Wheaton, the butler, a grey-faced, grey-haired
and rather superior person, called Shaw in to speak
on the telephone and I was left alone with Nichol-
son on the terrace.
“Have you known Asta long?” he asked me
suddenly.
My reply was a little evasive, for I could not
well see the motive of his question — if he were
not jealous of her.
"I understand from Shaw that you have known
him quite a long time, eh?".
“Oh, yes," I replied lamely. “We've been
acquainted for some little time."
Nicholson looked me straight in the face with
his deep-set eyes unusually serious. Then, after
a pause, he said:
“Look here, Kemball, you and I are going to
be friends as our fathers were. I want to speak
very frankly with you."
“Well?” I asked, a trifle surprised at his sud-
den change of manner.


THE LOST MILLION
93
“I want to ask you a plain, honest question.
What is your opinion of Harvey Shaw ?”
“My opinion," I echoed. “Well, I hardly
know. He's rather a good fellow, I think, as far
as I know. Generous, happy —”.
“Oh, yes, keeps a good cellar, is hospitable,
very loyal to his friends and all that,” he inter-
rupted. “But — but what I want you to tell me
is what you really think of him. Is his rather
austere exterior only a mask?”.
“I don't quite follow your meaning," was my
reply.
“May I speak to you in entire confidence ? "
“ You certainly may. I shall not abuse it."
“Well, for some time I have wanted to discuss
Shaw with somebody who knows him, but I have
had no opportunity. Because he gives money
freely in the district, supports everything, and
never questions a tradesman's bill, he is naturally
highly popular. Nobody will say a word against
him. Harvey Shaw can do no wrong. But it is
the same everywhere in a rural district. Money
alone buys popularity and a good name."
“Why should any word be said against him?"
I queried. “Is he not your friend as well as
mine?"


THE LOST MILLION
95
his companion for years, ever since her childhood.”
“I know. You are Shaw's friend, and of
course pooh-pooh any suspicion there may be
against him. Asta is devoted to his interests, and
hence blind to the bitter hatred which he is so
cleverly concealing."
“But what causes you to suspect this?" I asked,
looking at him very seriously, as he stood leaning
upon the old lichen-covered wall, his dark, thought-
ful face turned towards the setting sun.
“Well, I have more than suspicion, Kemball.
I have proof.”
“Of what?"
“Of what I allege," he cried, in a low confi-
dential tone. “This man Shaw is not the calm,
generous, easy-going man he affects to be."
I was silent. What could he know? Surely
Asta had not betrayed her foster-father! Of that,
I felt confident.
“But you say you have proof. What is the
nature of the proof?”
“It is undeniable. This man under whose
guardianship Asta has remained all these years has
changed towards her. There's evil in his heart."
“Then you fear that — well, that something
may happen, eh? — that he might treat her un-
kindly. Surely he is not cruel to her!”


96 THE LOST MILLION
TOU
“ Cruel? Oh, dear no, not in the least. He is
most indulgent and charming always. That is
why she believes in him.”
“But you say that you have actual proof that he
is not the generous man he pretends to be?”.
“Yes, I have. My suspicions were aroused
about two months ago, for behind his calm exte-
rior he seemed ever nervous and anxious about
something, as though he were concealing some
great secret.”
I held my breath. What could he know?
“Well?” I asked, with an effort to restrain my
own anxiety.
"I watched, and my suspicions were more than
ever confirmed. His frequent and mysterious
absences had long ago puzzled me, more especially
when Asta refused to give me any reason for them.
Sometimes for months at a time she has been left
in the big place alone with only the servants.
Why did he disappear and re-appear so suddenly?
Then two months ago — I tell you this, of course,
in the strictest confidence — I was going home on
my motorcycle from Mineola station one dark,
wet night, when I overtook a poor miserable-
looking man, ill-clad and drenched to the skin. I
wished him good-night, and in his response I was
startled to recognise the voice of Harvey Shaw.
as


THE LOST MILLION
97.
So presently I dismounted to repair my machine
so that he might again approach. But he held
back, yet near enough for me to recognise his fea-
tures as I turned my acetylene lamp back along
the road. Next day I made casual inquiry of Asta
as to his whereabouts, but she told me he was in
Paris on business, and he certainly did not return
here until three weeks afterwards."
“ Well, and what do you make out from that
incident?” I asked.
“That he visited the place in secret that night,
although Asta believed him to be on the Conti-
nent."
“But the disguise ?”.
“Ah! there you are! Surely a gentleman
doesn't go about in shabby clothes and trudge
miles through the mud and rain without some
sinister motive. The express from New York
had stopped at Mineola twenty minutes before,
therefore I concluded that he had arrived by
that, and was making his way to pay a secret
visit.”
“Are you quite sure that Asta was in ignorance
of it?"
“Quite confident."
“You told her nothing?"
“Of course not. I have kept my own counsel
1.


98
THE LOST MILLION
and remained with my eyes very wide open.
Every day has rendered it more plain that our
friend is not what he pretends to be."
The situation was, I saw, a most critical one.
The young man loved Asta very devotedly, and
suspecting some undefined evil of Shaw, was now
watching his movements as narrowly as a cat
watches a mouse. This was curious, having re-
gard to Arnold's written words of caution. The
latter's suspicion seemed to have been aroused
after his arrival in New York.
“ Have you mentioned this to anybody?” I
asked him.
“Not to a soul.”
“Then if I may be permitted to advise," I said,
“I should say no word to anybody — not even to
Miss Seymour. I will assist you, and we will con-
tinue to watch and act together."
“Good!” he cried. “Your hand upon it,
Kemball.”
And we grasped hands.
“I somehow fear that something will happen
to Asta,” he said in a low hoarse voice. "I may
be foolish and unjust in my suspicions, yet I seem
to have a distinct presage of evil.”
“ Personally, I don't think you need have any
uneasiness upon that score," I said. “Miss Sey-


THE LOST MILLION 99
mour is his sole companion — probably his confi-
dante — for he has but few friends."
"Exactly. But perhaps she knows just a little
too much, eh?”
I had not looked at the matter in that light.
My companion's discovery was certainly one that
must cause anybody to pause and think, but sus-
picion of Shaw's hatred of Asta was, I felt, too
absurd. But when a man is in love he is very
prone to jump to hasty conclusions.
“Well,” I said, “ now that you have been frank
with me so far, and have taken me into your con-
fidence, Nicholson, will you not tell me what you
really do suspect?”.
“You are Shaw's friend. Perhaps I ought not
to have spoken as I have,” he said.
“I am no more his friend than you are," I
replied, recollecting Arnold's warning regarding
the Hand — whatever that might be. “ Have I
not agreed with you that the circumstances are sus-
picious, and have I not promised to help you to
watch? What actual conclusions have you
formed?"
“H-s-s-h!” he said, and next moment I heard
a light footstep behind me, and turning, found
myself face to face again with Asta.
“They're worrying Dad on the telephone from
732923


100 THE LOST MILLION
New York,” she exclaimed, laughing merrily.
“He gets so out of patience with it. But really
it is awfully trying sometimes. They ring you
up, and then keep you half an hour waiting.”
“I know," laughed Guy. “My own experi-
ence is exactly the same. Why, only the other day
I wanted to ring you up, and it took nearly half an
hour.”
As she stood there with the sunlight full upon
her face she looked inexpressibly dainty and
charming. Truly Guy Nicholson was a lucky
man. They were not actually engaged, it seemed,
for he had not yet asked Shaw for her hand.
Probably Guy hesitated because of the dark sus-
picion which had entered his mind.
I saw the love-light in her magnificent brown
eyes, as she stood laughing with him, while he
took from his case a cigarette, tapped its end
lightly, as is the habit with some men, and lit it.
A few moments later, Shaw joined us smiling
merrily, and as he came up he clapped Guy on
the back heartily, saying:
“You two fellows will stay and have dinner,
won't you? I'm glad you are friends, as you
ought to be."
“I really think I must go," I said. “ It will
take me hours to get home by train.”
u ar


THE LOST MILLION 101
“Train! Why, Gray will drive you back, of
course," he cried. “No, never mind about dress-
ing. Asta will excuse us, and you'll stay."
So, having glanced at each other meaningly,
we both accepted, and very soon were seated in
the long handsome dining-room where the table,
laden with splendid old silver, was decorated taste.
fully with roses.
Wheaton served us, with due stateliness, yet as
I sat watching his grey clean-shaven face, I felt
somehow that there was a strange mysterious craft-
iness in its expression, unusual in the countenance
of a gentleman's servant. The manner in which
he performed his service was, however, perfect.
More than once during the merry meal, I glanced
across at Guy Nicholson and wondered what were
his thoughts.
Fortunately he betrayed nothing in his face, for
he joked and laughed with his host, and praised
the excellent claret which Wheaton had served
with such dignity.
The girl had eyes only for her lover, while
Shaw himself, seated at the head of the table, was
full of fun and overflowing geniality. How very
strange was the situation.
After dinner we took our coffee and liqueurs on
the verandah, for the night was breathless and


102
THE LOST MILLION
1101son.
balmy and the air full of the sweet scent of the
flowers.
Then after a long gossip alone with Shaw, at
half-past ten the car was ordered for me and came
round to the front entrance.
Before leaving I managed to obtain a word with
Nicholson.
“You'll come over and see me," I asked.
“Now don't disappoint me, will you?”
“No, I won't.” Then he whispered quickly:
“I told you that I had certain proofs. I've been
upstairs. When I come I will show them to you.
They will astound you, and they are fully corrob-
orated by what I have noticed to-night. Per-
haps it escaped you. Beware of Wheaton. He's
only been here six months, but I know something
- I have seen something!”
And we shook hands and parted.


CHAPTER X
THE EVIL OF THE TEN PLAGUES
In the days that followed I was intensely anxious
to again visit Edgewater; but I had received a
warning note from Shaw, urging me not to do so
without taking every precaution. I might be fol-
lowed, for the danger of detection was not yet at
an end.
Therefore I remained in eager expectancy of
Guy's visit. He had vaguely promised to come
over “ in a day or two." But as a week passed
and I heard nothing from him I wrote, and by re-
turn of post received a reply that he would motor
over and lunch with me on Sunday.
“I have something of greatest importance to
tell you,” his letter concluded; “so I hope you
can make it convenient to be in on that day.”
I received the letter on Thursday morning, and
at once replied that I would be at home. I would
await his visit with keenest impatience.
The warm breathless days at Boxwood passed
but slowly. Truth to tell, I found life there ex-
tremely dull. I had many friends in the neigh-
bourhood, but they were mostly elderly persons or
OL
103


104
THE LOST MILLION
angular girls of superior education. I had little
in common with them, and already found myself
longing to travel again.
More than once when smoking my lonely cigar
before going to bed, I had taken out the mysterious
cylinder from the big safe built into the wall of
the library, and held it in my hand pondering.
What could be the Thing it contained — the
Thing which would amaze the world!
The weird story told to me by Shaw concerning
it haunted me; yet what evil could its possession
bring upon me? I had heard, of course, of au-
thenticated stories of certain Egyptian mummies
which have brought disaster and death to those
who disturbed their long sleep; yet in my case I
had become the unwilling agent of another.
On the night of receiving Nicholson's letter, af-
ter everyone had retired, I was sitting as usual
smoking, with the long window open to the veran-
dah, for the air was close and oppressive. Out-
side the night was glorious, the moon shone
brightly and not a breath of wind stirred.
I opened the steel door in the wall by the fire-
place and from the safe took out the dead man's
letter to me with the heavy cylinder. It was a
curious fancy of mine to handle and examine it.
I read and re-read that letter traced by the hand


THE LOST MILLION 105
of the man whom I had known as Arnold, but
whose real name seemed most probably to have
been Edgcumbe. Then I read that strange letter
threatening vengeance and held in my hand the
old copy of the newspaper which told the curious
story of Lady Lettice Lancaster.
It was all mysterious, but surely most mysteri-
ous of all was that bronze cylinder. Why should
the dead man have feared to expose its contents to
the world?
Civilisation would be staggered by the revela-
tion, it was declared. What terrible secret of ages
past could be therein contained? Why had the
dead man called it a Thing? Was it really some
living thing imprisoned in that strange unbreak-
able casing ?
I carried it across to the green-shaded lamp up-
on my writing table, and taking up a strong magni-
fying glass examined it closely, and at last deter-
mined that the welding by which it had been closed
had been done ages ago. As far as I could detect
it had never been opened. How therefore could
Arnold have known what it contained — unless the
papyri that had been discovered with it had given
an explanation.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that the existence
of any papyri of great interest would probably be


106
THE LOST MILLION
known in the Egyptian Department at the Metro-
politan Museum. Anyhow, by inquiry there I
might perhaps learn something. So I resolved,
after Guy's visit, to run up to New York and see
one of the officials. As Arnold was an Egyptolo-
gist, he would, no doubt, be known and his dis-
coveries noted.
I was holding the cylinder in my hand, carry-
ing it across the room to re-place it in the safe,
when my eye caught a dark shadow thrown across
the lawn. So quickly, however, did it disappear
that I stood, half inclined to believe it to exist only
in my imagination. It seemed to be a long
shadow, as though some person had crossed in the
moonlight the high bank on the opposite side.
Yet my collie, who would bark at the slightest
sound in the night, lay near and uttered neither
bark nor growl. I went out on to the verandah
and looked about me; but all was perfectly still.
The world lay asleep beneath the great full moon.
For a few moments I stood puzzled. No in-
truder should be there at that hour. Yet the fact
that Prince had not been disturbed re-assured me,
so I closed the window, locked the cylinder and the
correspondence carefully in the safe and then went
upstairs to bed.
My room was directly over the library, and


THE LOST MILLION 107,
something prompted me to watch. So I extin-
guished my light and sat peering through the
chink between the blind and the window-sash.
For nearly half an hour I waited, my eyes fixed
upon the great wide, moonlit lawn.
Suddenly I saw the shadow again, plainly and
distinctly -- the dark silhouette passed back again.
It was probably a poacher from the wood be-
yond. I knew that my rabbits were being trapped
with wires, therefore resolving to tell Johnson, the
keeper, in the morning, I retired to bed.
Next day, among my letters I found one from
my lawyers which made it necessary for me to go
at once to New York and after doing my business
in Nassau Street, I went up to the Metropolitan
Museum.
I had but little difficulty in discovering Professor
Smythe, whose knowledge of Egyptology is prob-
ably as wide as any living man.
Without telling him too many details, I related
the story I had heard of the finding of a bronze
cylinder in the tomb of King Merenptah, and that
certain papyri were discovered with it. Could he
give me any information upon the subject?
"Well, a little,” replied the tall grey-bearded,
bald-headed man, looking at me through his spec-
tacles with great deliberation. “It is true, I be-


108
THE LOST MILLION
lieve, that an interesting cylinder of metal was
found in the tomb of Merenptah, coeval with
Moses, and with it were some fragments of
papyri fairly well preserved, but on examination
they were found not to be of the nineteenth dy-
nasty, as would have been expected.”
“Who examined them?” I asked eagerly.
“I did myself, about two years ago, if I recol-
lect aright,” replied the professor. “They were
brought to me one day for my opinion by a man
whose name I now forget. He was elderly, grey-
bearded, and apparently possessed considerable
knowledge of Egyptian subjects. He left them
with me, so that I might decipher them, as he
wished to compare his own decipher with mine.
But, curiously enough, I have never seen him since.
The papyri I have still locked away, awaiting his
return.”
“ Then they are here?” I cried eagerly.
“ Certainly. Would you like to see them ? "
I replied in the affirmative, and he left me for
some minutes, returning with a big cardboard
portfolio which he opened, showing half-a-dozen
pieces of brown crumbling paper-like substances
covered with puzzling hieroglyphics. With them
were several sheets of blue foolscap, upon which
he had written his translation.


THE LOST MILLION 109.
“Here is what the record contains,” he said.
“ Perhaps, if you are interested in such matters,
you would like to read it. It is a curious piece of
literature of apparently the Pharaonic dynasty of
the Ptolemies — or 323-30 B. C. which ended with
Cleopatra.”
I took the folios of modern paper in my hand
and from them read as follows, written in the pro-
fessor's own crabbed writing:
"... FOR OF A VERITY death, sick-
ness and sorrow, who knoweth which, may fall
upon thee. Therefore beware of the wrath of
Ra, beware lest this cylinder of bronze be
opened and its secret be revealed to men, for
therein lieth the Thing that shall not speak
until the Day of Awakening.
“ For,
“He that seeketh knowledge of that which
is hidden is accursed of Amen with the ten
plagues and doeth so at his own risk and must
meet his fate, being cursed of the wolf-god
Osiris, ruler of the under-world. Truly, cutting
off the head, or forsaking life is better than the
satisfaction of curiosity of what is therein con-
tained.
“ Touch not the cylinder with thine hand for
if ...


IIO
THE LOST MILLION
“Let it remain here in the tomb of the Great
Merenptah, King of Kings, Lord ... where-
in it has been placed to slumber until released
by Osiris, to whom all kings and princes bow
the knee and to whom ...
“ Observe,
“He is all-glorious, on whose pleasure for-
tune waiteth, in whose valour victory, and in
whose anger death.
“ Again:
“ Women are never to be rendered faithful
and obedient; no, not by gifts, nor by honours,
nor by sincerity, nor by services, nor by severity,
nor by precept! ... what women eat is
two-fold; their cunning four-fold; their perse-
verance six-fold; their passions eight-fold and
their patience ten-fold. Wherefore the under-
standing upon which unexpected occurrences
remaineth unaffected, may pass through the
greatest difficulties. He who hath sense and
worshippeth the Sun God hath strength. Where
hath he strength who wanteth judgment?
Where hath ..
“To the unkind the ruin of the worthy bring-
eth delight, and ...
“And wherefore I repeat that, for fear of
great disaster to thyself, let not thine hand
se-


THE LOST MILLION
III
val
ce
touch this brazen cylinder which containeth the
Thing which shall remain imprisoned therein
in the realms of Tuat (the under-world) until
released by Osiris on the Day of Awakening
... this 25th of the month Tybi.
“Be ye therefore warned, for by disobedience
assuredly the anger of the Sun-God and of
Osiris the Eternal will fall heavily upon thee,
and Harnekht shall smite thee.
"May disaster happen but in the house of
thine enemies. May traitors, day by day, be
led by Time to their destruction, and may they
remain for ever in Amentet, the place of
gloom? . . .
“Curious," I said, looking up to the professor's
grave bearded face as he peered over to me through
his round glasses.
“Yes. It is very interesting. I have not yet
decided the actual date of the papyri. But it is
certainly much later than King Merenptah," he
said. “We have many cartouches of his time
here in the museum, and there are many others
about Europe. But in certain ways the hiero-
glyphics are different. Hence I am of opinion
that the bronze cylinder referred to — if it
has been found and still exists — was placed with
wa


112
THE LOST MILLION
this papyri in the tomb at a much later date."
“You have no knowledge of the person who
brought this to you?" I asked.
"Only that his name was Arnold - I see that I
made a note at the time — and that he was staying
at the Savoy Hotel.”.
“Strange that he did not return to claim his
find.”
“Very. My own idea is that he may have been
called abroad suddenly and will return one day.
He seemed extremely intelligent.”
“And the cylinder? What do you think it
could have contained — what is the Thing to which
the papyri refers?”
The old professor shrugged his shoulders.
“How can we tell if the cylinder is non-existent?
Probably it was rifled from the royal tomb a thou-
sand years ago and broken open by sacrilegious
persons who were unable to decipher these writings
and who cared nothing for the curse of the ten
plagues placed upon them,” he laughed.
Then Mr. Arnold had evidently not revealed
to the professor the existence of the cylinder.
Why? Because he had already again hidden it in
fear.
The professor was extremely kind, and lent me
his decipher to copy them. After finding that I


THE LOST MILLION 113
could obtain nothing further concerning the man
Arnold, and that he was not known as an Egyp-
tologist, I thanked him and left without telling
him of the existence of the cylinder.
That same night I returned to Boxwood with
intention to show Guy Nicholson the curious record
when he visited me on Sunday.
Next morning — which was Saturday - 1
opened my newspaper, which as usual I found on
the library table after breakfast, when my eyes
fell upon a heading which caused my heart to stand
still.
The printed words danced before my bewildered
eyes. For a second I stood like a man in a dream.
I held my breath and eagerly read the half-a-dozen
lines of brief announcement — a report which
caused me to clap my hand to my fevered brow,
and to involuntarily ejaculate the words:
"My God! It can't be true - it can't be
true!"


CHAPTER XI
A SENSATION IN THE COUNTY
The paragraph I read was truly a startling one,
brief but amazing.
Apparently few details had arrived in New
York, for it read thus:
“Mr. Guy Nicholson, son of the late Mr. Nathaniel
Nicholson, the well-known ironmaster, was yesterday
morning found dead under somewhat remarkable cir-
cumstances. It appears that he entertained some guests
at dinner at his house, Rose Court, near Mineola, on
Long Island, and the last of his friends to depart left
about midnight. About two o'clock in the morning a
friend who was staying in the house, and whose room
was directly over the library, was awakened by a man's
piercing shrieks, as though of horror. He listened and
heard a loud thumping sound below. Then all was quiet.
It being the first time he had been a guest there he did
not alarm the household, but after lying awake for over
an hour, dropped off to sleep again. In the morning,
however, the maid who went to clean the library found
the door locked on the outside, as usual, but on entering
was horrified to discover her master lying upon the car-
pet. He had been dead some hours. Considerable mys-
tery attaches to the affair, which has created a great sen-
I14


THE LOST MILLION
115.
sation in the neighbourhood, where the young man was
well known and highly popular.”
What could actually have happened!
I read and re-read that paragraph. Then I
rang up Stokes, my chauffeur, on the telephone and
we were soon tearing along the Mineola road.
In a short time we turned into the big lodge-
gates of Rose Court, which I found was a fine
old place upon which huge sums must have been
spent by Guy's father in the way of improvements.
It was a splendid specimen of the old manor-house,
situated in well-timbered grounds and approached
by a long shady avenue of chestnuts which met
overhead.
A young man-servant opened the door and was
inclined to be uncommunicative until suddenly I
caught sight of Shaw's grey car standing against
the garage, and inquired for him.
In a few moments he came forward sedate and
grave and somewhat surprised, I think, at my pres-
ence there.
“This is really a most terrible thing, my dear
Kemball,” he exclaimed, his face pale. “I only
knew of it late last night. The police and doctors
seem to have kept the affair secret as long as they
could."


THE LOST MILLION
117
“Certainly not. We have had that in mind,
but fail to find any trace whatsoever, though
Petherbridge is taking the contents of the stomach
into New York for analysis, in order to thoroughly
satisfy ourselves. Our conclusions are, however,
that probably while seated in his armchair in the
library reading his paper, as was his habit before
going to bed, he was suddenly attacked, shrieked
with pain, and quickly collapsed. Such fatal
seizures are by no means uncommon.”.
“But, doctor, the papers say that a noise of
hammering was heard," I remarked.
“ Captain Cardew, who heard the shriek is not
actually certain about the hammering, it seems,"
replied Shaw. "The poor fellow was in the best
of spirits and quite well when Asta and I left him
about a quarter past eleven. We dined here with
some people named Sweetman, the Vanes from
Westbury, and Judge Michelmore, who is stay-
ing with them. The Judge was talking with him
on the steps when we left.”
“Nobody who partook of the dinner felt any
unusual symptoms, or one might suspect ptomaine
poisoning," remarked the doctor from Garden
City, a short, grey-headed little man who had at
that moment entered the room. “My distinct
opinion is that, though the affair appears most


118 THE LOST MILLION
mysterious, yet it is due to perfectly natural
causes."
“And I suppose that is the evidence you will
give before the coroner to-morrow, eh?” Shaw
asked.
“Precisely. I shall have a searching analysis
of the stomach of course. Indeed, I'm just off to
New York for that purpose. But I do not antici-
pate finding anything. Young Nicholson was not
the kind of fellow to take his own life.”
"No," I said, “ he certainly did not strike me
as having any tendencies towards suicide. Yet
from what the papers say, the affair is most mys-
terious.”
“Oh, the papers ! ” laughed Shaw derisively.
“ They're always sensational! A good story
means thousands of dollars to them. But," he
added, “I must be off, Kemball. I was just go-
ing when you came. I have to be on the Bench
this morning at twelve."
“Please express my most sincere condolence
with Miss Seymour," I said. “You and I will
meet again soon, no doubt.”
“My dear fellow, just come over whenever you
like. Better ring me on the 'phone to see if we
are at home, for we're often out in the car this
fine weather."
mea


I 20
THE LOST MILLION
matters to attend to with his colleague, leaving us
alone.
When he had gone I closed the door. Then,
turning to the dead man's guest, I said in a low
voice:
“I wonder, Captain Cardew, if I might speak
to you in absolute confidence ? ”.
“ Certainly,” he said; “we are mutual friends
of poor Guy's.”
“Well,” I exclaimed, “first, will you tell me
frankly your private opinion of this terrible affair.
Has there been foul play?"
I saw that he hesitated.
"Well,” he replied, “there are certain curi-
ous circumstances which no doubt point to such
conclusion, although I understand that the doctors
have had no hesitation in pronouncing death to be
due to natural causes."
"Would you mind describing to me, as far as
you are able, what you heard in the night?” I said.
“I have a reason for asking this. No doubt you
have already several times told your story."
“Yes. To the medical men and also to the
police,” he said. “Well, it was like this. I'm
quartered at Governor's Island, and Guy, who was
formerly with me, but retired a year or so ago,
asked me to spend a few days with him. I came
nou


THE LOST MILLION
123
one else slept in this wing of the house, or they
must certainly have heard it. I roused myself at
the unusual sound, for I was thoroughly startled
and awakened by it. The clock on my mantelshelf
struck two. I waited for some minutes, when I
heard a noise which seemed to be below in the
library, as though someone were moving about
trying the door and hammering upon it. This
caused me to wonder, and I held my breath to lis-
ten further. I suppose I must have lain like that
for fully an hour. It was my intention if I heard
anything further, to go along to Guy's room. I
had, of course, some hesitation in arousing the
household. But as I heard nothing further I sup-
pose I fell asleep, for the sun was shining when I
awoke again. I got up and was crossing to the
window to look out when I heard a woman's loud
cry for help. So I rushed out in my pajamas and
descending the stairs, found poor Guy lying just
here, and he crossed to a spot about four yards
from the door, and pointed to the red carpet.”
“Was the room in any disorder?” I asked.
“Not as far as I could see. The shutters yon-
der were closed and barred, so I opened them and
then tried to rouse my friend. But, alas! I saw
by the ashen look upon his face that he was already
dead. He was still in his dinner-jacket — just as
ds (


124 THE LOST MILLION
I had left him. Of course you can well imagine
the scene and the horror of the servants. Poor
Guy — he was one of the very best.”
“What is your theory, Captain Cardew?"
“Theory! Well, I hardly know. I was a
fool, and I shall never forgive myself for not
raising an alarm when I first heard his shriek. I
ought to have known that something was wrong.
But there are moments in one's life when one being
awakened suddenly, acts foolishly. It was so with
me."


CHAPTER XII
THE CRY IN THE NIGHT
“ AFTER leaving you at the door of your room he
must have returned to the library," I said to Car-
dew. “Were all the lights out when he came up
with you?”
“By Jove! No, they were not,” he replied.
“He didn't turn out the light in the passage here,
just outside the library door. I have not remem-
bered that point until this moment!”
“ Did you see any newspaper about?”.
“Yes, there was one lying near that armchair
over there," and he pointed to a big saddle-bag
chair in dark green plush, where a large embroid-
ered cushion of pale violet velvet lay crushed and
crumpled, just as the unfortunate man had risen
from it.
“Then it is probable that after leaving you he
made up his mind to return to the library and read
his paper as usual," I said. “He did so, and
lighting up again, Aung himself into his favourite
chair to read."
“And while reading, he had the fatal seizure,
125


126 THE LOST MILLION
eh? That, at least, is the theory of the police,"
the captain said.
“But you say that the housemaid, when she came
to clean the room, found the door locked from the
outside!" I remarked. The reason I cannot tell
but somehow while we had been speaking I thought
I had detected a curious mysterious evasiveness in
the captain's manner. Was he telling all he
knew?
“Yes," he said. “It was undoubtedly locked
from the outside – a most mysterious fact."
“Why mysterious ?” I queried. “If Nichol-
son wished to commit suicide in mysterious circum-
stances, he could easily have arranged that he
should be found behind locked doors. He had
only to pass out by the door, lock it and re-enter
by the library-window again and bar that. I no-
ticed, as I came in, that there is a spring-lock on
the front door — so that it locks itself when
closed!"
"Ah! I had not thought of that,” the captain
declared. “Of course by such proceeding he
would have been found locked in."
“But you have suspicion of foul play," I said;
"you may as well admit that, Captain Cardew."
“Well, I see no good in concealing it,” he said
with a smile. “To tell the truth now, after well


128 THE LOST MILLION
"Well, I have strong reasons for believing that
it was to the interest of certain persons that he
should die suddenly," I said, “that's all.”
“Will you not name the persons ?” he asked.
“Not until I obtain proof. I may be mistaken.
I may be grossly misjudging perfectly innocent
persons, therefore I make no specific charge against
anybody," was my calm reply, as I stood gazing
around the large sombre old room, whence a beau-
tiful view of the long avenue and the park was
spread. It was a quiet, silent, restful apartment
in which the previous owner — a great politician
and writer had spent many studious hours.
“But if you entertain any well-founded suspi-
cions, ought you not to put them to the police ? "
“And allow the local police to bungle a very
difficult and delicate inquiry! Scarcely, I think,"
I replied with a smile, still looking about me, and
wondering what had really happened in that long
room during the silent watches of that fatal night.
"Nothing has been touched here,” Cardew re-
marked. “I picked up the newspaper, but every-
thing is left just as I found it when I rushed down
at hearing the housemaid's horrified cry."
The room was certainly in no disorder. On the
big square table covered by a green plush cloth
were a number of new books and in the centre a


THE LOST MILLION 129
great silver bowl filled with roses. The writing
table, an old-fashioned mahogany one, was, I
noticed, littered with letters, bills and receipts, the
neglected correspondence of a careless man, and
as I stood there I noted that the great easy-chair
wherein he had sat, was placed exactly opposite the
window, while within reach upon a small neat shelf
affixed to the wall was the telephone-instrument.
Strange that, if he felt himself suddenly ill and had
been unable to summon assistance, that he did not
ring up on the telephone.
“The hammering you heard — was it quite dis-
tinct?” I inquired.
“Quite. It seems entirely feasible now, that
he was striving to get out of this locked room.”
The point that the door had been locked from
the outside puzzled me considerably. But a fresh
suggestion arose within me, namely that, after
everyone had retired a servant, remembering that
the window was open and the door unlocked, had
gone down and seen to them. Yet she would in
that case have found her master in the room, with
the light still burning. No, the only explanation
was that the key had been turned by one of the
servants while passing along the corridor after her
master's return there, and while on her way to bed.
Yet, however one viewed the tragic affair, it


130 THE LOST MILLION
was full of most remarkable features. There was
mystery - a great and inexplicable mystery some-
where.
And that mystery I now intended, at all hazards,
to solve.
With that object in view I interviewed the house-
maid who found the body of her young master,
and listened to her story from her own lips. Prob-
ably the whole household considered me to be
highly inquisitive; nevertheless, I pointed out to
them the earnest necessity of clearing up the mat-
ter to everybody's satisfaction, and both to the
housekeeper, a witty woman, and to the other sery-
ants I declared that the facts were full of grave
suspicion.
The local inspector was not highly intelligent,
and as soon as the medical men had given their
opinion he ceased to take any further professional
interest in the affair. It was a sudden death, and
with such occurrences the police have only to at-
tend the inquest, and formally report.
The officer was, I think, rather piqued at the
persistency of my inquiries, for when I pointed
out to him the suspicious circumstances of the
locked door, he point-blank told me that the medi-
cal declaration was quite sufficient for him.
The girl, Kate Hayes, who discovered her mas-


THE LOST MILLION 131
ter - a dark-haired, good-looking maid, about
twenty-six — had been eight years at Rose Court.
It was Mr. Guy's habit to always read his paper
before going to bed, she told me, as we stood in
the long servants' hall.
“I often find the library door unlocked before
I go to my room, sir, and the night before last it
was unlocked."
“Did you lock it?” I asked quickly.
“No, sir. I once locked Mr. Guy in, so I al-
ways look inside now, before securing it,” she re-
plied. “I looked inside and found Mr. Guy
there. He was then taking a book down from one
of the shelves near the window. I apologised for
intruding and wished him good-night. “Good-
night, Hayes,' he replied, and I closed the door
and left him. I heard nothing in the night. But
when I went to the library door next morning I
found it locked. I recollect it was locked, because
at first the key would not turn. At last I suc-
ceeded in opening the door, when the first sight
that met my eyes in the faint grey light through
the chinks of the shutters was poor Mr. Guy lying
crouched up, his knees nearly touching his chin,
and quite dead."
"You are absolutely certain that the window
was quite securely closed?" I asked.


132 THE LOST MILLION
“ Captain Cardew opened it, sir. I ran away
to fetch the other servants."
Here again the captain showed some disinclina-
tion to thoroughly probe matters, for he inter-
rupted, saying:
"I don't see how questioning the servants will
assist us. We already know all that they know.”
“What we want to discover is whether poor
Nicholson received any visitor clandestinely during
the early hours of the morning," I said. “To
me, it seems very much as though he did.”
“Then you are directly opposed to the medical
theory?” he exclaimed
“ And so are you — are you not?" I remarked.
“In a manner, yes — but not altogether. We
must credit doctors with a certain amount of
knowledge where death is concerned."
“I credit them with every knowledge," I has-
tened to assure him. “Only in this case, I fear
they have not sufficiently weighed over all the
known and indisputable facts."
“If there had actually been foul play, there
would be traces of it,” he said.
“Not always," I replied. “Many cases of
secret assassination have been declared by doctors
to have been deaths from natural causes."
I saw that the servants, all country-bred, ridi-


THE LOST MILLION 133
culed my suspicions. Doctor Redwood had said
that their master had died of brain disease, and
that was sufficient. The police, too, were quite
satisfied, and the young man's relations, two of
whom arrived in hot haste while I was there, of
course, accepted the verdict of the medical men
– the evidence which would be given on the fol-
lowing day.
To me, it was a curious circumstance, that Car-
dew, when he heard the shriek had not attempted
to investigate its cause. True, he had listened,
and the 'cry was not repeated. I should have re-
garded his apathy as suspicious if I myself had not
more than once, when dreaming, awakened sud-
denly, believing that I had heard a cry of distress.
The shriek of terror — nay, of horror, Cardew
described it was, in itself, a most peculiar cir-
cumstance. There is a distinct difference between
a cry of pain and a shriek of horror.
No, I felt certain that the medical men had not
sufficiently considered that very singular point.
But when I tried to argue with the captain, he
merely declared that the cause of the shriek would
never be explained. Perhaps it was the sudder
knowledge that he was dying that had terrified
him.
I intended, however, to seek further an explana-
en
as


134
THE LOST MILLION
tion. It was ever upon my mind that the man who
had died so mysteriously intended to visit me on
Sunday, and to reveal to me something - some-
thing concerning Harvey Shaw. .
Shaw was a guest that evening, but it was proved
beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had left the
house two and a half hours before, accompanied
by Asta. It was, therefore, my intention to at
once satisfy myself whether Shaw could have re-
turned, unknown to the girl and re-visited Rose
Court.
I confess openly and frankly that I suspected a
crime. Hence I spared no effort in thoroughly
investigating the curious circumstances — in doing
work which the police would have done, had not
the declarations of the two doctors been so very
positive and emphatic.
I saw the body of my friend lying in a darkened
bedroom upstairs, covered with a sheet. I did
not remove the shroud. I was too horrified. A
post-mortem had been made and the corpse was
waiting for the arrival of the coffin.
What had the dead man intended to reveal to
me? He had evidently discovered Something –
something detrimental to Shaw. Of that I felt
assured, for had he not admitted so much!
“Did poor Guy appear his usual self before the
SO


THE LOST MILLION
135
affair?” I asked Cardew some half-hour later, as
we again stood together in the long, sombre room
wherein he had died. The atmosphere was heavy
with the oppressive scent of the roses, and about
the silent apartment there seemed an air of mys-
tery.
“Well, to tell the truth, I did not notice anything
unusual in his manner at the time. But since —
now that I have reflected – I recollect that he
seemed extremely anxious concerning Shaw's
daughter — as though he were apprehensive of
something, and was in despair."
At that moment the captain was called out by
one of the servants who told him that the police
superintendent from Mineola would like to see
him. Therefore I was left alone in the room and
was thus afforded opportunity to examine it.
I looked at the big comfortable chair in which
the unfortunate man had sat, and tried to picture
to myself what had occurred there, in the silent
watches of the night. Why had he given vent to
that shriek of horror? What had he seen?
Surely he had received some fearful appalling
shock or such a piercing, heart-rending shriek
would never have escaped a man's lips.
I examined the window, the shutters, the lock on
the heavy door of polished mahogany, but nothing


136 THE LOST MILLION
caused me curiosity — nothing had been tampered
with.
My own theory was that Guy Nicholson, while
reading his newspaper had seen Something, and
that, after shrieking in horror, had beat with his
hands upon the door, in frantic endeavour to es-
cape from that room. Imprisoned there he had
received some fatal blow before he had time to un-
bar the window and had sunk upon the floor and
expired in agony.
But what was the Something which had cost a
man his life?


CHAPTER XIII
ONE POINT IS MADE CLEAR
On the following day twelve respectable inhabi-
tants of Mineola and the neighbourhood assembled
around the long dining-table at Rose Court, and
decided upon the evidence of the two doctors that
its young master had died of natural causes.
I was present, and heard a lawyer representing
the relatives put a query to the coroner regarding
that cry in the night. But the official coldly de-
clared that the jury were there only to decide the
cause of death, and that whatever the circum-
stances might be they could only weigh the medical
evidence.
Doctor Petherbridge, of Garden City, assisted
by the county analyst, had, it seemed, examined the
contents of the stomach and made the various tests
for strychnine, for alkaloids, for mineral acids, as
well as searching for arsenic. The result in all
cases had been negative. Mr. Guy Nicholson had
certainly not died of poison.
After the verdict of “death from natural
causes " I drove Shaw, who had also been present,
back to Edgewater, and there saw poor Asta, look-
137


138
THE LOST MILLION
ing wan and pale in her deep mourning. She was
seated in a low chair in her own pretty room full
of books and flowers, an artistic cosy little apart-
ment leading from the big drawing-room and up-
holstered in pale blue.
The blind was down, for the sun was blazing hot
outside. But as she took my hand, I saw that her
eyes had dark rings around them and that she had
recently been crying. .
I hardly know what words of sympathy and con-
dolence I uttered as I held her small hand in mine.
Her heart, however, was too full for words, and
she burst into a flood of tears.
Shaw, unable to bear the sight of her grief,
placed his hand tenderly upon her shoulder and
urged her to bear up, but she only shook her head
sadly in her profound sorrow.
I stood there, not knowing what to say, but a
few moments later when Shaw had left the room
and we were alone, I, too, placed my hand upon
her shoulder and strove to calm her.
“You have all my most heartfelt sympathy,
Miss Seymour," I said. “I have ventured to come
here to-day to see if I could be of any service to
you."
“Ah! what service can you render me, Mr.
Kemball, now that poor Guy is, alas! dead –


THE LOST MILLION 139.
om an un
deadl" she cried hoarsely, staring straight before
her. “The inquest was held to-day. What have
they decided?"
“That the poor fellow died of natural causes.
He suffered from an unsuspected disease of the
brain."
“Ah, yes,” she sighed, " I expected they would
say something like that. But —"and she broke off
short without concluding her sentence.
“You dined with him only a few hours before,”
I remarked, for I had gone there on purpose to
question her, and I hardly knew how to com-
mence, fearing lest in my anxiety I might blun-
der.
“Yes. Who would have thought that when I
parted from him I should never see him again?”
“You left before the Vanes, did you not?”
“Yes; my father, just before eleven, told me
that he was not feeling very well, so I ordered the
car, and we came home, after a most delightful
evening. The weather was bright, and everything
had been done to perfection. On the way home,
Dad complained of bad pains in his head, and I
became alarmed. Indeed, when we got here he
seemed so very queer that I tried to persuade him
to let me telephone for Doctor Redwood. But he
would not hear of it. He begged me to go to bed,


140 THE LOST MILLION
but I remained with him in the smoking-room until
nearly three o'clock.”
“Until three o'clock !" I echoed. “And you
did not leave him at all?”
“No. Because he seemed so very queer. I
mixed him some brandy and water several times,
and he tried to smoke but could not."
“What was his objection against summoning the
doctor?”
“Oh, he said that he would be all right presently,
and that it was only a bad headache. Long ago,
when he was abroad he had been subject to such at-
tacks, he said. But he had not had one for years
past."
“And after three o'clock you retired to bed?”
“It was half-past three, and getting quite light,
when I saw him as far as his room. He looked
fearfully pale and worn — quite unlike his usual
self. He said he had fits of extreme nervousness,
and I noticed that at times his limbs were trembling.
I remarked upon it, but my comments seemed to
irritate him. So I said nothing further. At nine
o'clock next morning he came down to breakfast
quite well. Then — then — just aften ten o'clock
last night — Captain Cardew telephoned to him,
telling him of the — the awful discovery at Rose
Court!"


THE LOST MILLION 141
Her story made one fact entirely plain — namely
that Shaw, whatever he might be, was perfectly
freed from suspicion.
“ Is it not curious that your father was taken ill,”
I asked. “Did he not tell the doctors ?”
“No. Because long ago when he was in South
America, he was subject to such attacks, and his ill-
ness could not have had any connection with poor
Guy's death, he said.”
She spoke very gravely, her sad, tearful eyes
fixed upon the blue carpet. A slim pathetic little
figure she presented in her deep black which, how-
ever, only served to heighten her wonderful
beauty.
I questioned her further regarding the events of
that fatal night, and convinced myself that Shaw
had had no opportunity of returning to Rose Court
after he had once bade good-night to poor Nichol-
son.
Any suspicions I had entertained had now been
swept away. Her statement, plain and straight-
forward, showed how solicitous she was of the wel.
fare of the man whom she had always looked upon
as her father. She had taken me into her con-
fidence on the first day we had met, and she was
certainly not deceiving me.
As I stood near, watching her, I became be-


142
THE LOST MILLION
wildered by the strange circumstances of the death
of the man who had promised to come to me and
in confidence make certain revelations. My feel-
ings toward Shaw had been mixed ones. He had
been open and straightforward with me, and had
told me that he was leading a double life. Asta
had treated me as a friend. Therefore I had in-
tended to protect their secret from Nicholson as
far as possible. Nevertheless I had been con-
sumed by curiosity to know what he had actually
discovered - how far he had ascertained the truth.
His meaning words to Cardew on the night of
his death showed that, owing to his discovery, he
hesitated to ask Asta to become his wife. He
loved her most passionately, and when a man loves
as he did, then it must be a very serious bar which
prevents him throwing prudence to the winds and
marrying the girl of his choice.
Shaw re-entered the room presently, asking me to
stay to luncheon, which I accepted. But the meal
was, alas! a very dismal one. Asta, full of thoughts
of her dead lover, hardly spoke a word, while
Shaw himself seemed pre-occupied and thoughtful.
“The coroner was an idiot,” I declared, in the
course of our discussion of the events of the morn-
ing. “He would scarcely allow any mention of
poor Guy's cry of horror heard by Cardew.”


THE LOST MILLION
143
“Ah, my dear Kemball," my friend replied, " in
many cases inquests are worse than useless. Cor-
oners so often override the jury and instruct them
as to what verdict they should return. In almost
every case you will find that the jury, ignorant for
the most part, though perfectly honest in their
meaning, return a verdict in accordance with the
evidence of the local doctor who, in so many cases,
happens to be the man who attends themselves and
their families. If they are ill, they call him in and
accept his dictum. They do just the same at a
coroner's inquest. They never analyse, or weigh
the facts for themselves."
“Asta has just been telling me that you, too,
were very unwell that night," I said suddenly, and
I noticed that on hearing my words he glanced
across at the girl in annoyance.
“Yes,” he said, with a light laugh. “I didn't
feel over-grand — a bad headache, just as I used
to have years ago. But it was nothing. It didn't
arise from anything I ate or drank. I knew that,
and for that reason did not 'phone to Redwood.
Yes," he added, “I spent a rather poor night.
Asta became quite alarmed.”
“Well,” I exclaimed, “what is your theory re-
garding the poor fellow's death?”.
“Theory! Well, after the medical evidence


144 THE LOST MILLION
and the verdict of the jury, what can one think?"
he asked. “There are certainly many curious
points in the affair, and the chief one, to my mind,
is the fact that he was found locked in the room.”
“That is just my point. He could not have
locked himself in.”
“Yet, remember that we only have the evidence
of the girl Hayes that he was locked in. In her
hurry to enter the room she seems to have fumbled
at the lock and, of course, in her alarm at the dis-
covery may have been deceived, and thought the
key had been turned."
I had not before regarded her statement from
that point of view, and his suggestior. caused me to
ponder.
But next second I asked:
"If the door were not locked, then why should
he have hammered to get out?”
“But did he hammer?” queried Shaw.
“Sounds in the night are always distorted, remem-
ber."
“Please don't discuss the horrible affair further,
Dad,” cried Asta appealingly.
“My dear, I beg your pardon," he exclaimed,
turning to her hastily. “I know I ought not to
have mentioned the matter. Both Kemball and
myself deeply condole with you in your grief. You


THE LOST MILLION 145
never mentioned to me your affection for Guy, but
I had guessed it long ago. I told Kemball about
it, didn't I?” and he glanced across at me.
“Yes, you did,” I said.
“Ah, poor Guy," he sighed. “He was such a
thorough sterling fellow, and I had hoped Asta
that you would marry and be happy. But, alas!
the Fates have willed it otherwise.”
"I-I feel bewildered, Dad,” exclaimed the
girl. “I can't believe that he is really dead," and
rising suddenly, she again burst into tears and with
uneven step left the room.
“Poor child!" remarked Shaw in a low voice
when she had gone. “It is, indeed, a terrible blow
for her. I had no idea that she was so devoted to
him. She has many admirers in the neighbour-
hood, but he was evidently the one to whom she
was most attached. And, between ourselves, Kem-
ball,” he added in a low voice, his wine-glass poised
between his white fingers," he was one of the most
eligible young fellows in the whole country — forty
thousand a year, as well as a half share in Nichol-
son Brothers of Reading. I had dreams of seeing
Asta mistress of Rose Court. But, of course, I
never told her so. I believe in allowing a girl to
make her own choice in life. Love affairs, if inter-
fered with by elders, invariably turn out badly."


146
THE LOST MILLION
And so he chattered on as we smoked our ciga-
rettes; and as I gazed into those small queer eyes of
his I became more and more convinced that my
suspicions of the previous day had been un-
grounded. He could not possibly have had any
hand in the poor fellow's untimely end.
He could not know of Guy's secret intention to
make certain revelations to me, and even if he did,
he knew quite well that I was already aware that
he was leading a double life. No, when I care-
fully weighed over the whole of the facts I came to
the conclusion that the man before me — myste-
rious though he might be — had every motive that
Guy Nicholson should live. I do not think my in-
telligence was much above that of the ordinary
man, yet I felt that if he were an adventurer, as
already seemed proved, then what more natural
than that he should secure Nicholson as husband
for Asta, and afterwards judiciously bleed him. It
certainly was not to his interest that the fellow
should die."
• The circumstances were full of suspicion, I ad-
mit. But the hard facts certainly disproved that
Harvey Shaw had had any hand in the strange af-
fair.
Still what was the Something which had held
poor Guy horror-stricken, and which had produced


THE LOST MILLION 147
symptoms so near akin to the affection of the brain
that the doctors had been deceived by it and the
coroner and jury misled?
The opinion I still held was that Guy Nicholson
did not die a natural death. Therefore I intended
to leave no stone unturned in my endeavour to
probe the extraordinary mystery, and to ascertain
the truth of what had actually occurred in that long,
old room during the silent watches of that fateful
night.


CHAPTER XIV
CONTAINS ANOTHER SUGGESTION
A WEEK went by — a breathless, anxious week.
I had attended poor Guy's burial in the pretty
churchyard of Mineola, and as I turned from the
grave I could not help being filled with wonder at
what he had intended to tell me, had he but lived
to speak.
Yet his lips were sealed. Someone had known
of his intentions, and had forced silence upon him.
My mind was ever full of dark thoughts and
black suspicions, and yet I had so clearly proved
that Harvey Shaw — against whom his intention
was to speak — had had no hand in the matter.
Of one thing, however, I was convinced. Poor
Nicholson had been cruelly murdered.
About eight days after the funeral, Shaw, one
hot afternoon, drove over alone in his car, and
found me smoking in a deck-chair beneath a tree.
The object of his visit was to tell me of Guy's will.
It had been found, he said, that the young man had
bequeathed the sum of fifty thousand dollars to
Asta.
“He was infatuated with her, poor fellow,"
148


THE LOST MILLION
149
Shaw declared, in a tone of slight annoyance. “Of
course she will not touch a penny of it. How
could she? Ah! when he made that will, only
two months ago, he never dreamt that he would
meet with such a sudden end.”
"No," I sighed, my mind full of wonder. At
that moment many strange things flitted across my
brain. “We all of us foolishly believe that we
have many years to live.”
“As soon as Asta heard of the legacy she de-
clared that she would not accept it,” he remarked.
“But I suppose she must, even though she trans-
fers it to some charity, as is her intention."
“I can quite understand her reluctance to take
the dead man's present," I said. “It is only
natural. Is she still very upset?”
“ Very. I scarcely know what to do with her.
She suffers from insomnia, and sits for hours mop-
ing and sobbing. I've been wondering if a trip
abroad would not bring about forgetfulness. But
she declares that she's had enough travelling, and
prefers her own home. Therefore I'm half afraid
to take her away. Redwood advises a journey
through Hungary and Roumania which would be
fresh ground for her. But at present I'm un-
decided.”
He remained with me for a couple of hours and


150
THE LOST MILLION
afterwards left, when that same evening I was
called by telephone up to New York to see my law-
yer regarding the pending action concerning a por-
tion of my land.
Fortunately at the inquest I had met the dead
man's lawyer, Mr. Sewell, and in order to ascertain
whether Shaw's statement was correct, I called
upon him in his law office. From what I gath-
ered it seemed that the bulk of the property had
passed to a cousin, and that Asta had declined to
accept her legacy, and had given instructions for it
to be divided between three New York hospitals.
The lawyer, like myself, disagreed with the find.
ing of the coroner's jury. Yet he could form no
theory as to the manner in which his client had met
with his untimely end.
On the afternoon of my return to Boxwood, four
days later, I was in the library scribbling a letter to
catch the post when a card was brought to me
bearing the name, “Mrs. Charles Olliffe."
“The lady has come by car, sir, and wishes very
particularly to see you," the girl said.
I was not overpleased to have a visitor at that
moment, nevertheless I ordered her to be shown
in, and in a few moments found myself confronted
by a tall, well-built, good-looking, well-dressed
woman of about forty-five, wearing a smart motor.


THE LOST MILLION
151
bonnet and dust-coat. The latter was open, re-
vealing a fine diamond brooch in her white silk
blouse.
As our eyes met I held my breath; but next mo-
ment I managed to recover myself and bowing, of.
fered her a chair.
"I hope, Mr. Kemball, that you will pardon my
intrusion. I am a stranger to you, but I wished to
see you upon a matter of the greatest importance to
myself.”
“There is no necessity for apology," I assured
her; “I am at your service.”
My eyes were fixed upon hers in wonder, for I
had, on the instant I had seen her, recognised her
as the original of the newspaper photograph I had
locked away in my safe — the picture of Lady Let-
tice Lancaster!
She certainly had the air and manner of a lady,
and surely none would have suspected her to be a
convicted criminal. Notwithstanding her age she
was extremely well-preserved. She spoke low, and
with refinement, while her bearing was that of a
well-bred woman. Her smile, too, as she spoke to
me was good-humoured, almost fascinating.
“The fact is, Mr. Kemball,” she said as I seated
myself and bent towards her in attention, resolved
not to betray my knowledge of her identity; “I be-
CO


152
THE LOST MILLION
COV
lieve you were a friend of a very great friend of
mine."
“Who is that?" I asked quickly.
“Mr. Melvill Arnold."
Across my mind there flashed the recollection of
that threatening letter through which I had dis-
covered the truth concerning the ingenious Lady
Lettice.
“Yes. It is true that I knew Mr. Arnold,” I
said slowly.
" It is about him that I have ventured to call. I
live near Babylon, but I motored over to-day in the
hope of seeing you,” she said. “I heard from a
mutual friend that you were present at Mr.
Arnold's death — and that he entrusted you with
certain matters concerning his estate. It was an
honour, I assure you, for he trusted nobody."
Recollecting that strange letter threatening ven-
geance, I was not very communicative. She plied
me with many clever questions to which I carefully
avoided giving satisfactory answers. She was
“pumping" me, I knew. But I could see no mo-
tive. Hence I exercised every care in my replies.
Through what channel had she become aware of
my acquaintance with the man now dead? I had
believed that only Shaw and his daughter were
aware of it, but she denied any knowledge of them.


THE LOST MILLION
153
I, however, found myself compelled to describe
the circumstances of his death for, after carefully
reviewing the situation, I saw that the most diplo-
matic course was to profess frankness, and by so
doing I might be able to learn some further facts
concerning the man whose past was so completely
hidden.
I recognised that she was an exceedingly shrewd
and clever woman. The manner in which she put
her questions, her well-feigned carelessness, and
her deep regret at his death all showed marvellous
cunning. Yet, from that letter, it seemed to me
evident that the man about whose end she was now
so anxious had actually betrayed her into the hands
of the police.
And this refined, soft-spoken, elegant woman had
spent some months in prison! It seemed utterly
incredible.
Like Shaw, she seemed extremely anxious to
know if I were aware whether Arnold had made a
will. But I told her that as far as I knew there
was none and further, I was unaware of the name
of his lawyer.
"I fear that Mr. Arnold had no lawyers," she
said. “He would not trust them."
“Then who is in charge of the dead man's es-
tate ? " I asked, hoping for some information.
Some


154 THE LOST MILLION
“Ah! That's a complete mystery, Mr. Kem-
ball," was her reply. “That Mr. Arnold was
wealthy - tremendously wealthy — there is no
doubt. Yet he was as mysterious himself as was
the source of his enormous income. It was de-
rived in the East somewhere, but of its true source
no one is aware."
“He was a complete mystery in many ways.”
“In every way. I was one of his most intimate
friends, but I confess that I was most puzzled al-
ways. He lived in secret, and it appears that he
has died in secret," replied Mrs. Olliffe. “I had
hoped, Mr. Kemball, that you could perhaps throw
some light upon the manner in which he has dis-
posed of his property.”
“ Unfortunately, I know nothing," was my re-
ply. “He merely asked me to perform several
little services for him after his death, and having
done them, there my knowledge ends.”
She looked me steadily in the face for a few mo-
ments with her shrewd, deep-sunken eyes, and then
with a smile, said:
“I expect you think that I am hoping to benefit
under his will. But, on the contrary, I know full
well that I should not. All I can tell you, Mr.
Kemball, is that if you have accepted any trust of
Melvill Arnold's then only evil can result."
W
was


THE LOST MILLION
155
“Why?" I asked quickly, remembering the
character of the woman before me.
“Because Arnold was a worker of evil.”
“ Then you were not his friend, eh?”
“Yes, I was. Only I have warned you," was
her quick reply.
Curious that Harvey Shaw should have also
made a similar assertion. Had he not told
me that the bronze cylinder which reposed in
the safe just behind where she was seated had
brought evil upon those who had held it in their
possession.
I found Mrs. Olliffe distinctly interesting. As
I sat chatting with her I recollected the strange
stories printed about her in the newspapers, and of
her curiously romantic life. Now that she were
free she was, without doubt, again carrying on her
old game. Once a woman is an adventuress she
remains ever so until the grave.
Though she had denied all knowledge of Shaw
it seemed to me that only through him could she
have learnt of my existence and my acquaintance
with the dead man Arnold.
More and more it appeared plain that the man
who had died in that hotel in Forty-fourth Street
was possessed of great wealth, yet the source of it
was a mystery complete and profound. She had


156
THE LOST MILLION
known him intimately yet she would tell me very,
little concerning him.
le was, of course, very eccentric,” she de-
clared. “One of his fads was that he scarcely
ever slept in the same bed twice in succession. He
was constantly changing his address, and he pre-
ferred to present the appearance of being poor."
“Where did he live usually?" I asked.
“Half his time he was abroad — he was fre-
quently in South America. He lived also in Tunis,
Algeria and Egypt. He seemed extremely fond
of North Africa. Why, I could never discover.”
I tried to turn the conversation upon Shaw and
Asta, but she was far too wary to be drawn into an
admission that she knew them, and presently, after
she had taken tea with me, she left.
Upon her card I found her address, and resolved
to make a few inquiries concerning her. There-
fore, two days later, I took train to Babylon, and
found that she lived in a fine old mansion called
Ridgehill, about three miles out of the city.
At a little old-fashioned inn that I found near
her mansion I had tea in the best room, and began
to chat about the people in the neighbourhood.
"Ah, yes. Mrs. Olliffe's a widow," said the
stout, white-bearded landlord, when I mentioned
her name. “She's been here close on two years


THE LOST MILLION 157
now. Everybody likes her. Last year she kept a
host o company always, lots of well-known folk,
but this summer there haven't been very many vis-
itors. Scarcely anybody except Mr. Nicholson -
and he's always there, more or less."
“Nicholson!" I cried, startled at mention of
the name. “Was he Mr. Guy Nicholson, from
Mineola?"
“I don't know where he comes from, sir, but his
name is Guy, sir. He hasn't been here for a week
or two now. He often comes over on his motor-
cycle. Sometimes he calls in here, for I do all
the station-work for Mrs. Olliffe. He's a very nice,
affable young gentleman. I only wish there were
a few more of his sort about."
“He's a friend of Mrs. Olliffe's, you say? Has
he been coming here for long?”
“Ever since she's been here. They used to say
he came to see Miss Farquhar, a young lady who
was staying with Mrs. Olliffe. But he comes just
as much since she's left. Ah!” he added, “now
I recollect, only a week ago I took a parcel to the
station from Ridgehill addressed to Mr. Nichol-
son at Rose Court — near Mineola, I think it was.”
I asked the landlord to describe the young man
we were discussing, and he gave me an exact de-
scription of Guy himself.


158
THE LOST, MILLION
When it grew dark I trudged along the dusty
high road for a mile and obtained a good sight of
Ridgehill. It was, I found, a splendid old man.
sion, standing in a finely timbered park, and in full
view from the high road. Would the country-folk
have held its occupier in such high esteem had they
but known the curious truth?
While standing there gazing across the broad
park to the old gabled ivy-clad house with its
pointed roofs and twisted chimneys I heard the
hum of an approaching motor-car and I was only
just in time to draw back into a hedge. In it sat
Mrs. Olliffe herself.
But the discovery I had made had opened up an
entirely new train of thought. Guy had been that
undesirable woman's friend.
Was it possible that she had been implicated in
the poor fellow's mysterious end?
That night I lay awake in the hotel in Babylon
thinking - thinking very deeply.


CHAPTER XV
CONTAINS SOME FRESH FACTS
I was in New York again a few days later, and
Captain Cardew lunched with me at the club.
“You were poor Guy's intimate friend,” I re-
marked as we sat together. "Have you ever
heard him speak of a Mrs. Olliffe, who lives some-
where near Babylon?”
“Oh, yes," was his reply, as he sat twisting his
wine-glass by the stem. “He knew her. She had
a niece or something, a Miss Farquhar living with
her, and he was rather sweet on her at one time, I
believe."
“Have you ever met the widow ?” I asked.
“ Guy introduced me to them one night at the
Gotham.”
“Where is the young lady now?”
“Somewhere in India, I think. Her father's a
civilian out there."
“But this Mrs. Olliffe," I said. “Don't you
know anything about her?”
"Only that she is a widow, and very well off —
has some gay week-end parties.”
“ What was her husband?”
159


160 THE LOST MILLION
“I fancy he was a banker, or something."
I smiled within myself at his reply.
“She's evidently in rather a good set," Cardew
went on;" for I've often seen in the society papers
accounts of her parties which seem to include quite
a number of distinguished people."
“Well,” I said, “as you know, Cardew, I am
busy making my own inquiries. It is a slow, tedious
progress, but I am hopeful of success. I intend to
discover by what means poor Guy was killed.
Therefore his friends interest me — especially his
women friends. For that reason I am trying to
discover all I can concerning Mrs. Olliffe.”
He was silent for a moment. Then, bending
across the table to me, said:
" It has never occurred to me before, Kemball,
but somehow, now that I reflect I can see that Guy
appeared to be in fear of the lady we have just been
discussing."
“In fear of her?”
“Yes. One circumstance made it quite plain.
A little over a month ago Guy and I were staying
with some people in Babylon. Our time or visit
was really over Saturday and I begged him to come
with me to Manhattan Beach for the week-end, but
he told me he had an appointment on the Sunday
which he could not break. I urged him to go, but


THE LOST MILLION
161
he would not, and as a result we stayed on. That
Sunday night he went out about nine o'clock and
did not return until two in the morning. I chaffed
him next morning. But he was pale and haggard,
and his reply was significant. 'No, old chap,' he
said. “Sometimes a fellow gets into a bit of a hole.
I'm in one — a woman — as you can guess. And
I had to keep that appointment; I couldn't refuse
her, for we had some serious business to transact.
Ah,' he sighed, “if I could only think that I'd never
see her again — by Gad! — I'd be a different
man.'"
“And you guessed that he met the widow ?” I
said.
“I know that he did, for later that same morn-
ing he let a remark drop casually that he had to
see Mrs. Olliffe off on some trip.”
“Then she had some hold upon him?"
" Apparently so. But Guy was always very
close about his personal affair3."
“That was over a month ago, eh?”
"Perhaps six weeks."
I was silent. Was it possible that the tragedy
had been the outcome of that secret midnight meet-
ing in Babylon? Yet why should they meet in such
secrecy when he had been in the habit of going to
her house, Ridgehill, so openly? By the discovery


162 THE LOST MILLION
I had thus made mystery had been piled upon mys-
tery.
We dropped the subject, and took our coffee and
liqueurs in the big room which looked out upon the
Avenue and the Park. Then, when he had gone I
cast myself into an easy-chair in the silence-room
and pondered deeply.
I reviewed all the facts just as I had done a
thousand times through those long sleepless nights,
and came to the conclusion that Asta, loving the
dead man as she did, was the only person capable
of assisting me to bring the culprit to justice.
The stumbling-block was that I could form no
theory as to how Guy Nicholson had been killed,
such subtle means had been used in the accomplish-
ment of the crime.
Cardew expressed himself ready and eager to
assist me in my inquiries.
“ If you want any help, my dear Kemball, you
have only to wire to me. I'll get leave and come to
you, wherever you may be,” he said.
I thanked him, and soon afterwards I waved my
hand to him as he descended the steps of the club.
It occurred to me that I should attempt to be-
come on friendly terms with Mrs. Olliffe. By that
means I might, perhaps, learn something.
Therefore one afternoon a few days later I was


164 THE LOST MILLION
looking, clean-shaven man of forty-five entered,
and was introduced to me as her brother, George
King. As I bowed I wondered if this man were
the accomplice of whom the newspapers had
written — the husband, Earnshaw, who sometimes
posed as her brother, sometimes as her husband,
and sometimes as a servant!
As he seated himself near me and began to chat
I realised that he was just as clever and refined as
his alleged sister. He had just returned from six
months in Russia and the Caucasus he told me, and
described the pleasant time he had had.
When at last Mrs. Olliffe's visitors rose and
left I requested a word with her alone.
“Certainly,” she said, not, however, without a
slightly startled glance which I did not fail to
notice. “Come in here," and she led me through
to her own little sitting-room, a charming cosy
place very tastefully furnished and restful.
When we were seated I began without preamble:
“You will recollect, Mrs. Olliffe, that we had
some conversation concerning the late Melvill Ar-
nold. You were anxious to learn facts connected
with his death."
“Yes," she said, with a strange look upon her
handsome face. “My object, I may as well tell
you, Mr. Kemball, was to satisfy myself that he


THE LOST MILLION 165
died a natural death — that, well, that he was not
the victim of foul play.”
“Foul play!” I gasped, staring at her. "Do
you suspect that?”
She shrugged her well-shaped shoulders without
replying.
“Had he any enemies — any person who would
benefit by his death?" I asked quickly.
“ Yes."
“And you suspect them of —”
“I suspect nobody," she hastened to assure me.
“ Only his sudden and mysterious end is extremely
suspicious."
"Well, I can assure you that you need have no
suspicion," I said. “I was with him on board
ship when he was suddenly taken ill, and I remained
with him nearly the whole time until the end."
“Nearly. You were absent sometimes."
“Of course I was not with him both night and
day.”
“And therefore you can't speak with absolute
certainty that his enemies had no access to him,"
she said.
“But even if they had they can have profited
nothing," I said.
“How do you know? Melvill Arnold was ex-
tremely wealthy. Where is it all? Who knows


166
THE LOST MILLION
but that he was not robbed of it in secret and
death brought upon him in order to prevent the
truth from being revealed?”.
I shook my head and smiled.
“I fear, Mrs. Olliffe, that your imagination
has run just a trifle wild. Arnold died a natural
death, and the doctor gave a certificate to that ef-
fect.”
“I'll never believe it,” she declared. “If
there had not been foul play the whereabouts of
his great wealth would be known. He was a
friend — a great friend of mine, Mr. Kemball, so
please forgive me for speaking quite frankly."
“You are, of course, welcome to your own opin-
ions, but I who know the facts so well, and who
was present at his death, am able to state with
authority that his end was due to natural causes."
" It is curious that he should have trusted you —
a perfect stranger," she said with coolness. “You
did not explain the nature of your trust."
“ It was upon that very point, Mrs. Olliffe, that
I called to see you to-day," I said. “Mr. Arnold
gave me a letter addressed to a certain Mr. Alfred
Dawnay, and —"
“To Alfred Dawnay!" she gasped, starting to
her feet as all the colour faded from her face.
“He wrote to him?" she cried. “Then _"


THE LOST MILLION 167
She stopped short and with one hand clutching
her breast she grasped the edge of the table with
the other, for she swayed and would have fallen.
I saw that what I had told her revealed to her
something of which she had never dreamed —
something which upset all her previous calcula-
tions.
“Tell me, Mr. Kemball,” she explained at last
in a hard-strained voice, scarce above a whisper:
“ Tell me — what did he write?”.
"Ah! I do not know. I was merely the
bearer of the letter."
“You have no idea what Arnold told that man
— what he revealed to him?”
“I have no knowledge of anything further than,
after Arnold's death, I opened a packet and found
the letter addressed to Dawnay."
“To Dawnay! His worst enemy and his — !"
“Was Dawnay an enemy?" I asked. “I took
him, of course, to be the dead man's friend and
confidant."
The woman laughed bitterly as she stood there
before me with deep-knit brows, her mouth hard
and a determined look upon her cunning counte-
nance.
“ Poor fool, he believed Dawnay to be his
friend. Ah! what fatal folly to have written to


168 THE LOST MILLION
him to have placed trust in him. And yet is
not this my vengeance — after all these years,” she
laughed hysterically.
“Is this man Dawnay such a very undesirable
person?” I asked quietly.
“Undesirable!” she cried with flashing eyes.
“If Arnold had known but half the truth he would
never have reposed confidence in him.”
“But the letter may not, after all, have been one
of friendship,” I suggested.
" It was. I can see through it, now. Ah!
why did I not know a week or two ago! How
very differently I would then have acted," she
murmured in a tone of blank despair. Her face
was deadly pale and her lips were trembling.
“Was Dawnay aware of Arnold's identity ?"
I asked. It was upon the tip of my tongue to
speak of the mysterious cylinder of bronze, but I
hesitated, recollecting that this woman was not a
person to be trusted.
“How can I tell?” she said hoarsely. “Yet
from facts that have recently come to my knowl-
edge I now realise how Arnold must have fool-
ishly disclosed the secret to his worst enemy."
“What secret?” I demanded anxiously.
But she was distrustful and evasive.
“An amazing secret which, it is said, if revealed


THE LOST MILLION 169
to the public, would cause the whole world to stand
aghast,” replied the woman in a low, hollow voice.
Strange! Arnold, I recollected, had himself re-
ferred to the precious contents of that ancient cylin-
der in almost exactly the same terms!
What could that secret be?


CHAPTER XVI
THE SIGN OF THE HAND
The problem grew daily more intricate. Try how
I would I could obtain no knowledge of the iden-
tity of the man known to me as Melvill Arnold.
His name might be Edgcumbe, as it seemed from
the letter I found in his possession, yet in the
learned circles of Egyptologists he was un-
known.
Certain facts were, however, plain, I argued.
First, that he was wealthy was without doubt.
Perhaps those big bundles of bank-notes which he
had compelled me to destroy before his death con
stituted his fortune. Perhaps he preferred to de-
stroy them lest they fell into other hands.
Secondly, it seemed certain that the woman now
known as Mrs. Olliffe had been arrested and con-
victed through some revelation made by him.
Thirdly, this same woman was in active search of
the whereabouts of the dead man's riches and
fourthly, it was more than likely that Harvey
Shaw was really Arnold's friend and not his enemy
as the woman had alleged. Had not Arnold
written to him in secret? Ah! what would I not
170


THE LOST MILLION 171
have given for knowledge of the contents of that
letter!
I called at Edgewater several times, and was
gladly welcomed. Whatever Shaw might be, he
was with me perfectly candid and straightforward
and gradually I became on most friendly terms
with both him and Asta. Often they motored over
to Boxwood and lunched or dined with me, while
I, on my part, became a frequent visitor in those
long summer days. But I confess my friendship
had for its object the elucidation of the strange
mystery in which I found myself enveloped.
Asta was, alas! still inconsolable. Poor child!
Time, instead of healing the wound caused by
Guy's sudden end, only served to aggravate it.
She seemed to grow paler and more sad each day.
Sometimes I endeavoured to console her, but she
only shook her head in grief and silence.
To me she appeared unusually nervous and ap-
prehensive. The least sound seemed to cause
her to start and turn almost in terror. It appeared
as though she had something upon her conscience
- some secret which she feared moment by mo-
ment, might be betrayed.
One afternoon while sitting by the open win-
dow of the smoking-room at Edgewater I re-
marked upon her condition to Shaw.


172
THE LOST MILLION
“Yes,” he sighed," you are quite right, my dear
Kemball. I've noticed it too. Poor girl! It
was a terrible blow for her. She wants a change.
I urged her to go abroad long ago, but she would
not hear of it. Now, however, I've induced her
at last to go for a motor tour in France. We sail
next week - stay a few days in London - then
go by Folkestone to Boulogne, thence by Beau-
vais, and — avoiding the pavé of Paris — by
Versailles, Melun, Joigny, Chagny and Lyons
across to Aix-les-Bains. Have you ever been
there?”
“No. It must be a very fine run," I said.
“Then why don't you come with us?” he sug-
gested. “I'm taking the sixty, and there'll be
plenty of room.”
I reflected. The days were warm and bright,
and I loved motoring. My own car, being only a
fifteen was not capable of doing such a journey.
“Ah!” he laughed, noticing my indecision.
“Of course, you'll come. Asta will be delighted.
Do keep us company, my dear fellow."
“ Very well," I said, “ I'll come, if you really
mean that there'll be room.”
And so it was arranged.
When he told Asta a few minutes later her face
brightened, and she turned to me, saying:


THE LOST MILLION
173
“Well, this is really good news, Mr. Kemball!
Dad has often been in Europe with the car, but
he has never taken me before. He has thought
that the long runs might be too fatiguing."
"Anything, my dear, to get you out of this
place," he said with a laugh. “You must have
a change, or else you'll certainly be ill."
Later on, a young man and a girl called, and we
played tennis for an hour. Then when the vis-
itors had gone, I sat for a little while with Asta in
the drawing-room to get cool. She looked very
sweet in her simple lace blouse, short white skirt
and white shoes. Exertion had heightened the
tint of her cheeks, and something of the old ex-
pression had returned to her eyes.
As we sat chatting a peculiar low whistle sud-
denly reached our ears.
I listened. The call was repeated, and seemed
to come from the room above.
“It's Dad," the girl said. “Of late he seems
to have taken to whistling like that. Why, I
can't tell, for we have no dogs."
We listened again, and it was repeated a third
time, a short shrill call of a peculiar note. Ap-
parently he was in the room directly over the
drawing-room which was his bedroom — and
the window being open, we could hear distinctly.
ems


174 THE LOST MILLION
Again it was repeated, when Asta rose and go-
ing to the window, shouted up:
“Who are you calling, Dad?”
“Oh! nobody dear," was his reply. "I-I
didn't know you were there. I thought you were
with Mr. Kemball in the garden."
The incident held me speechless for a few mo-
ments, for I had suddenly recollected that after I
had encountered Shaw at Rose Court on the occa-
sion of the discovery of poor Guy I had heard
an exactly similar whistle. It was a peculiar note
which, once heard, was not quickly forgotten.
We met Shaw outside on the lawn a few min-
utes later when Asta exclaimed:
“Why have you got into the habit of whistling
so horribly, Dad? One could understand it if
we had dogs. But to whistle to nothing seems
so idiotic.”
"Ah! so it is, dear,” he replied, laughing.
"But I was not whistling to nothing. I was try-
ing to call Muir, the gardener, from the window.
I could see him at work over by the croquet lawn,
but the old fellow gets very deaf now-a-days.”
Such was Shaw's explanation. It was surely
not an unusual circumstance, yet it was full of
meaning when regarded in the light of what after-
wards transpired.


THE LOST MILLION
175
As I walked with him, and he discussed our
projected trip over those fine level roads of France
I could not help wondering why he had uttered
that peculiar call on that well-remembered morn-
ing at Rose Court.
A month later, in the crimson of the glorious
August afterglow, we swung down the hill into
the quaint old-world village of Arnay-le-Duc, in
the Côte d'Or, a quiet lethargic place built around
its great old château, now, alas ! in ruins since the
Huguenots gained their victory there under Col-
igny in 1570. Scarcely had we entered the silent
village street, the echoes of which were awakened
by our siren, when we pulled up before the long,
low-built Hôtel de la Poste, a building painted
grey, with jalousies of the same colour, and high
sloping roof of slate, like many of these ancient
hostelries one finds on the great highways of
France the posting houses of the days of Louis
Quatorze, which now-a-days bear the golden
double “A” of the Automobile Association.
We were quite a merry trio, for ever since
leaving England, Asta had become almost her old
self. The complete change of surroundings had
wrought in her a wonderful improvement, and she
looked sweet and dainty in her pale mauve motor-
bonnet and silk dust-coat. Shaw wore dark spec-


176 THE LOST MILLION
tacles, pleading that the whiteness of the roads
pained his eyes. But I had shrewd suspicion that
they were worn for disguise, for, curiously enough,
of an evening he never removed them.
What did he fear in France ?
That morning we had left Melun where we had
spent the night at the Grand Monarque, and after
driving through the delightful Forêt de Fontaine-
bleau, had lunched at the Hotel de l'Epée in busy
Auverre, and then spun away over the straight
wide route nationale through Vermenton, Avallon
and quiet old Saulieu, in the midst of the rich vine-
lands, until we had accomplished the steep hills
between that place and Arnay-le-Duc.
It was our intention to get on to Macon, a hun-
dred kilometres further that night, but while we
were sitting at dinner in the unpretentious little
salle-à-manger eating a tasty meal of trout and
cutlets washed down by an old and perfect bottle
of Beaune, Harris the chauffeur, who had been
hired for the tour because he knew the French
roads, came and informed us of a slight break-
down of the engine which would take him at least
a couple of hours or so to repair.
“Then we can't get on to Macon to-night -
that's very certain,” remarked Shaw.
“That's a pity, Dad,” exclaimed Asta, for I


THE LOST MILLION
177
wanted to spend a few hours there. I've heard
it is a wonderful place to buy antiques, and I want
some old crucifixes to add to my collection.”
“Never mind, dear," he said. “We will
lunch there to-morrow. We can't expect to go
through France without a single mishap. Very
well, Harris," he added, “we'll stay here to-
night."
Three travellers in the wine-trade, men who
tucked their serviettes into their collars and who
ate and drank heartily, were our table-companions
and soon we were all chatting merrily in French,
while Madame and her two daughters waited up-
on us.
The room was at the back, and looked out upon
the spacious old court-yard into which, in days by-
gone, the dusty Lyons mail used to rumble over
the cobbles. It was bare, with highly polished
oak floor, a mirror on the walls, and an old buffet
as is the style in French inns, while when we as-
cended to our rooms we found the same bareness
and cleanliness pervading.
My window looked out upon the village street.
The floor was carpetless and polished, the bed
an old-fashioned wooden one, and besides a chair
and a chest of drawers and a washstand the only
other furniture was a japanned iron stand of hooks


178 THE LOST MILLION
upon which to hang coats — that article which is
common in every hotel from Archangel to Reggio,
and from Ekaterinburg to Lisbon.
After a wash, we met below and strolled about
the village, which, three hundred kilometres dis-
tant from Paris, and two hundred from Lyons,
was, we found, a charming old-world place, once
important, but now, alas! decayed and forgotten
in the mad hurry of our modern world. In the
heart of the wine-country, with the vines in lines
with great regularity everywhere, it is still
a place with a certain amount of commerce, but
surely not so important or busy as in the days when
on an average two hundred travelling coaches
passed through daily.
We idled in the old court-yard watching Harris
making his repairs, and after a final smoke upon
the bench outside we all retired about ten o'clock,
at which hour the whole village seemed already in
profound slumber.
Shaw's room was, I found, next to mine, but
the communicating door was shut and bolted,
while Asta was at the further end of the corridor.
The long journey and the fresh air had caused a
great drowsiness to overcome me, and I was ex-
ceedingly glad to turn in. A peal of old bells
were clanging somewhere as I blew out my candle,


THE LOST MILLION
179
and a few moments later I must have dropped off
to sleep.
How long I slept I know not, but I awoke sud-
denly by feeling a strange touch upon my cheek,
soft, almost imperceptible, yet chilly — a peculiar
feeling that I cannot adequately describe. The
contact, whatever it was, thrilled me, and as I
opened my eyes I saw that the grey light of dawn
was just appearing. My face was towards the
window and as I looked, I saw distinctly upon my
pillow the silhouette of a dark and shadowy hand
- a hand with weird, claw-like fingers.
Startled, I sat up in bed, but when I looked it
had vanished.
It was as though the hand of the Angel of Death
himself had touched me! At that instant I rec-
ollected the words written by Melvill Arnold be-
fore he died.
Holding my breath, and wondering at first
whether I had not been dreaming, I looked about
me. But there was nothing - absolutely nothing.
My first impulse was to shout, alarm Shaw and
tell him of my uncanny experience, but I could hear
him snoring soundly in the adjoining room. So
I crept out of bed and examined the communica-
ting door. It was still bolted, just as I had left it.
Yet, I still recollected most distinctly that touch
om


CHAPTER XVII
A FURTHER PROBLEM
I HAD seen the sign of the Hand against which
Melvill Arnold had warned me with final effort
before he expired.
I could not close my eyes again. Thoroughly
awakened, I lay trying to convince myself that it
was but a bad dream. Yet so distinct had been
that touch, that I still felt the repulsive contact
that had thrilled me, and left upon me such a last-
ing impression.
In the uncertain light of early morning one's
brain is often full of weird fancies, and as I lay
there wondering, a thousand curious unreal con-
jectures floated through my mind.
I was not old, yet in my life I had probably
travelled more, and seen more, than most men of
my age. Of little love-affairs I had had, of
course, one or two. None of them had been seri-
ous none, until the present.
Yes, I may as well here confess it. I loved
Asta Saymour.
From the first moment that she had met me in
that lonely country road, and I had sat by her side
181


182 THE LOST MILLION
in the car, she had exercised over me a strange
and fatal fascination. I found myself beneath
the spell of her bewitching beauty.
I was drawn towards her by some strange irre-
sistible unknown power — drawn to her as the
moth is drawn towards the candle.
Fascinated alike by the mystery surrounding her
foster-father, and by her sweet pensive face I had
been constantly in her company. My thoughts
were ever of her, to the oblivion of all else in the
world. She was all in all to me, and I was now
involuntarily her slave, so entangled had I become
in the net of her sweet and wondrous charm. Ah,
yes! I loved her — loved her with all the strength
of my being, with all the passion of my soul.
But I had not spoken. My secret was, as yet,
my own.
Nevertheless, it was in order to be near her that
I had accepted Shaw's invitation; in order, also to
protect her for, knowing what I did of the man's
peril of arrest, I, like Nicholson, had been seized
by a strange presage of evil that might befall her.
I lay awake, listening to the clanging of the old
bells of a monastery near by, and thinking it all
over. Yes, in those few weeks I had grown to
love her even though she undoubtedly were in
possession of some strange if not guilty secret.


THE LOST MILLION 183
Yet how could I reveal my heart to her while
recollections of poor Guy still filled her mind?
No, I must wait and watch in patience, my heart
tortured constantly by the burning fires of un-
spoken love.
Thinking, reflecting, pondering, resolving, I still
lay there, when suddenly I became conscious that
my friend in the adjoining room was no longer
snoring.
I heard a curious sound. He gave a quick, loud
gasp, as though of alarm, followed by a murmured
growl. Was he speaking in his sleep? I lis-
tened attentively until my ears caught another
sound. He had risen and was moving about his
room.
I was rather pleased than otherwise, for it re-
lieved the tension and I breathed more freely.
The apparition of that claw-like hand before my
face had, I believe, somewhat upset my nerves.
“Is that you, Shaw?” I called out, but there
was no response.
All was quiet. The movement in the adjoin-
ing room had ceased.
Already I had satisfied myself that nobody could
enter my room, both doors being bolted on the in-
side, but I slipped again out of bed, and going to
the communicating door rapped upon it, crying:


184 THE LOST MILLION
“Shaw! Shaw! Are you asleep?”.
“Hulloa !” growled a sleepy voice. “Why,
what's up, eh?”
“Nothing," I laughed. “Are you still in
bed?"
“Of course I am, why? What's the matter?
Anything wrong?"
“No, nothing," I replied. “Only I heard you
groaning, that's all. Talking in your sleep, I ex-
pect.”
"I- I didn't know," he said. “Sorry, Ken-
ball, if I disturbed you."
“ All right," I laughed and then returned to bed
again.
I pondered over the fact that while he certainly
had been upon his feet - for I distinctly heard the
creaking of the beeswaxed boards — a moment
before I called, yet he made pretence of being
asleep. The only explanation was that, while
asleep, he had got out of bed, a no unusual cir-
cumstance with some people, and with that surmise
I had to be content.
Truly that night had been fraught with a
strange inexplicable terror. Though dawn spread
slowly, and from where I lay I could see the first
Alush of crimson in the sky heralding the sun's
coming, yet I could not rid myself of that phantom


THE LOST MILLION 185
hand, those thin skeleton fingers that had touched
my cheek and left a chilly impression upon it.
I rose and looked into the tiny oval toilet glass,
startled when I saw evidence that my experience
was an actual tangible one.
Upon my left cheek was a faint red mark, al-
most like a scratch, where the chilly Hand had
touched me!
Carefully I examined it, but there seemed no
abrasion of the skin. By the deadly contact it had
been irritated, inflamed — seared it seemed by the
chill finger of the dreaded Unknown.
Moving without a sound, so as not to attract
Shaw's attention, I made a minute survey of the
apartment, examining the walls to assure myself
of no hidden doorway such as are common in old
houses of that description. But there was none.
The only modes of ingress were both securely
locked and bolted.
Soon after six o'clock I dressed and went out.
I could remain in that chamber no longer. I wan-
dered through the quaint old village already agog,
for Arnay-le-Duc retires early and is astir with
the rising of the sun. Ascending the hill I had
a look at the round frowning towers of the ancient
stronghold of the Counts d'Arnay, now, alas! grey,
weather-beaten and ruined. In them a last stand


THE LOST MILLION
187
with a laugh. “You woke me up suddenly, and
I believed that you were unwell.”
“No," I said. “On the contrary, I was
awake, and I heard you sigh and groan, therefore
I believed you were ill.”
"You were awake!” he echoed, regarding me
sharply through his dark spectacles. “Then —
then I must have had the nightmare or something,
eh?"
"Probably you had,” I said. Then I added,
“I didn't pass a very good night myself.”.
“I hate sleeping in strange beds," Asta de-
clared.
“One has to get used to them on a motor-tour,"
remarked Shaw, leaning back again, his face set
straight before him.
I was half inclined to relate my weird experi-
ence, yet I felt that if I did Asta might only regard
me as a frightened fool.
Therefore the subject dropped when next mo-
ment as the road ran over the hillside, we burst
forth into admiration of the wide and magnificent
panorama with a splendid old château with num-
berless round slated turrets, perched upon a huge
rock rising from the valley in the foreground — a
huge mediæval fortress, yet still inhabited. Be-
low clustered the sloping roofs of a small village


188
THE LOST MILLION
ne
within the ponderous walls of the château, en-
trance to which was by two ancient gates with
guard-houses built above them - a place which
long ago had been the stronghold of one of the
robber-barons of the Yonne.
Truly the Lyons road is full of variety and pic-
turesqueness, running as it does through those rich
vine-lands and mountains of the Côte d'Or, before
descending to the valley where the broad Saone
flows south to join the mighty Rhone.
Passing through the beautiful Saussey forest
where the thick trees met in many places overhead,
we shot through Ivry village, and fifty kilometres
after leaving Arnay-le-Duc were compelled to slow
down on entering the busy agricultural town of
Chalons-sur-Soane. There we came to the river-
bank, following it through a number of villages
well-known in the wine-country, St. Loup, Beau-
mont, Tournus and Fleurville, until at last we
found ourselves passing slowly over the uneven
cobbles and among the curious high-gabled houses
of old-world Macon.
There, at the Hotel Terminus, we lunched, and
afterwards while Shaw sat smoking I went forth
with Asta to an antiquarian's to whom we were rec-
ommended in order to buy antique crosses.
In the musty old shop down in the older part of
the town, kept by a short, bald-headed but urbane
n on


THE LOST MILLION
189
m
Frenchman, we found several treasures, beautiful
old crucifixes of carved ivory and mother-of-pearl
which Asta purchased in great delight and at
moderate prices.
I bought an old thumb-ring and a couple of
other trifles, and having plenty of time at our dis-
posal we strolled into the old cathedral and had a
look round the market-place.
Ahl how delightful it was to be her escort; how
sweet to have her, even for one single hour alone.
As we retraced our way to the hotel with halting
steps I resolved to tell her of my weird experience
of the previous night.
“A curious thing happened to me last night -
or rather very early this morning,” I said, turning
to her as we walked.
She looked quickly into my face and her lips
were pressed together. But only for a second.
“What was that? Tell me," she said.
“Well. Do you see upon my left cheek a long
red mark? It's going away now, but it was very
plain this morning," I said.
“Yes,” she replied. “I noticed it when we
started. It hardly shows at all now.”
"Well, its cause is quite inexplicable — a mys-
tery,” I said. “I am in no way superstitious, and
I am no believer in the supernatural, but in that
inn at Arnay-le-Duc there is a Something — some-


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thing uncanny. I was sound asleep when, just
before night gave place to day a cold hand touched
my cheek - a phantom hand that left the mark
which you see!”
"A hand!” she gasped, staring at me, her lips
pale and cheeks suddenly blanched. “Explain it.
1- I can't understand.”
“I awoke quickly at the chill death-like contact
and saw the hand a few inches from my face —
thin, claw-like and yet a dark shadowy phantom
which disappeared in an instant, even before I, so
suddenly awakened, could realise what it actually
was. But it was a hand — of that I am absolutely
positive."
“Yes,” she said slowly, in a low hoarse voice,
nodding her head and pausing as though reflecting
deeply. “Yes, Mr. Kemball, you were not mis-
taken. I-I, too, strangely enough, had a very
similar experience some weeks ago, while staying
at Newport with Louise Oliver, an old school-
fellow of mine. I, too, saw the terrible Thing -
the Hand!”
“You!" I gasped, staring at her. “You have
seen it!"
In response she nodded, her eyes set straight
before her, but no word escaped her white pent-up
lips.


CHAPTER XVIII
I MAKE A DISCOVERY
The Terminus Hotel at Lyons is, as you know, a
large artistically-furnished place at the Perrache
Station, a hotel with a huge and garish restaurant
below decorated in the style known as art nouveau.
It is a busy spot, where rushing travellers are con-
tinuously going and coming, and where the excitable
Frenchman, fearing to lose his train, is seen at
his best.
It was there we arrived about six o'clock, and
at seven we sat together a merry trio at dinner.
The cooking was perfect, the wines excellent, and
after dinner, Shaw mentioned that he had letters
to write. Therefore I seized the opportunity to
stroll out with Asta, for it was pleasant to walk
after so many hours in the car.
She was dressed neatly in black coat and skirt,
and a small straw hat trimmed with black ribbon
- mourning for Guy Nicholson — and as we
wandered out our careless footsteps led us across
that wide square called the Cours du Midi, and
down upon the Quai de la Charité beside the
191


192
THE LOST MILLION
V
broad, swiftly-flowing Rhone, the water of which
ran crimson in the brilliant afterglow.
A hot, breathless evening in which half Lyons
seemed to be taking an airing along the quais of
that winding river-bank which traverses the hand-
some city. We had turned our back upon the
high railway bridge which spans the river, and set
our faces towards the centre of the city, when I
noticed that Asta seemed again very silent and
thoughtful.
I inquired the reason when she replied:
“I've been thinking over your curious ex-
perience of last night. I—I've been wonder-
ing.”
“Wondering what? ”
“I've been trying to discern what connection
your experience has had with my own in Newport,"
she said. “I saw the Hand distinctly — a thin,
scraggy hand, just as you saw it. But I have re-
mained silent because — well, because I could not
convince myself that such a thing were actually a
reality."
“Describe the whole circumstances," I urged.
“On the occasion when you saw it was the door
of your room locked?”
“Most certainly,” was her reply. “Louise
Oliver invited me up to stay a week with her at
er


THE LOST MILLION 193
Newport, and I went alone, Dad having gone to
New York. The house was on the cliffs, a big
grey house that faces the sea. The family con-
sisted only of Louise, her husband, three maids,
and myself as visitor. My room was on the sec-
ond floor, in the front facing the sea, and my ex-
perience was almost identical with that of your-
self last night. I was awakened just before dawn
by feeling a cold touch upon my cheek. And
opening my eyes I saw the hand - it seemed to
be the horrible hand of Death himself !”
“Most extraordinary," I ejaculated.
“Since then, Mr. Kemball, I have wondered
whether that touch was not sent as warning of im-
pending evil sent to forewarn me of the sudden
death of the man I loved!”.
I was silent. The circumstances so curiously
identical, were certainly alarming. Indeed, I
could see that the narration of my extraordinary
experience had terrified her. She seemed to have
become suddenly most solicitous regarding my wel.
fare, for after a slight pause, she exclaimed anx-
iously:
“Do, Mr. Kemball, take every precaution to
secure your own safety. Somehow I-I— well,
I don't know how it is but I felt that the Hand is
seen as warning, a warning against something
Iny-


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which threatens against some evil of which we
have no expectation, or —"
“It warned you of the terrible blow which so
soon afterwards fell upon you," I interrupted.
“And it has warned me - of what?"
She shook her head.
“How can we tell ?" she asked.
In a flash, the remembrance of that bronze
cylinder, and the dire misfortune which had be-
fallen every one of its possessors, occurred to me.
I recollected the ancient hieroglyphics upon the
scraps of brown crinkled papyri, and their transla-
tion. But surely the apparition of the Hand
could have no connection with what had been writ-
ten long ago — before our Christian era.
"Did you actually feel the cold touch of the
Hand?” I asked her in eagerness.
“Yes. It awakened me, just as it awakened
you."
“And there was no one else in the house but
the persons you named? I mean you are positive
that you were not a victim of any practical joke,
Miss Seymour?” I asked.
“Quite certain. The door of my room was
locked and bolted. It was at the head of the
stairs. There were four rooms on that floor,
but only mine was occupied.”
“ The window? If I recollect aright, some of


THE LOST MILLION 195
InOn
me
the houses on the cliffs at Newport have balconies,”
I remarked.
“Mine had a balcony, it is true, but both win-
dows were securely fastened. I recollected latch-
ing them before retiring, as is my habit.”
“Then nobody could possibly have entered
there!”
“Nobody. Yet I have a distinct recollection
of having been touched by, and having actually
seen the Hand being withdrawn from my pillow.
I rushed out of the room and alarmed the house.
In a few moments everyone came out of their
rooms, but when I told my story they laughed at
me in ridicule, and Louise took me back to bed,
declaring that I must have had a bad dream. But
I could sleep there no longer, and returned home
next day. I did not tell Dad, because I knew that
he would only poke fun at me."
For some moments I did not speak. Surely
ours was a strange conversation in that busy
thoroughfare, amid the café idlers seated out in
the roadway, and the lounging groups enjoying
the cool air from the river after the heat and bur-
den of the day.
Strange it was — very strange — that almost
the same inexplicable circumstance had occurred
to her as to me.
Had I been superstitious I certainly should have


196
THE LOST MILLION
Tidl.
been inclined to the belief that the uncanny hand
- which was so material that it had left its imprint
upon my flesh — was actually some evil connected
with the bronze cylinder — the Thing which the
papyri decreed shall not speak until the Day of
Awakening. Was not the curse of the Wolf-God
placed upon any who sought knowledge of the
contents of that cylinder which had been placed
for security in the tomb of the Great Merenptah,
King of Kings? Even contact with the human
hand was forbidden under pain of the wrath of
the Sun-God, and of Osiris the Eternal.
As I walked there I recalled the quaint decipher
of those ancient hieroglyphics.
Yes, the incident was the most weird and inex-
plicable that had ever happened to me. The
whole problem, indeed, defied solution.
I had not attempted to open the cylinder, nor
to seek knowledge of what was contained therein.
It still reposed in the safe in the library at Box-
wood together with that old newspaper, the
threatening letter, and the translation of the
papyri.
We wandered on along the quai, Asta appearing
unusually pale and pensive.
“I wonder you did not recount your strange
experience to your father," I exclaimed presently.


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197
“ It happened in the house of a friend, and not
at home. Therefore I resolved to say nothing.
Indeed, I had grown to believe that, after all, it
must have been mere imagination — until you de-
scribed what happened to you last night. That
has caused me to think — it has convinced me that
what I saw was material and real.”
“It's a mystery, Miss Seymour," I said, “one
which we must both endeavour to elucidate. Let
us say nothing — not even to your father. We
will keep our own counsel, and watch.”
When we returned to the hotel we found Shaw
awaiting us. Asta, being fatigued, retired to her
room, and afterwards he and I strolled down to
one of those big cafés in the Place Bellecour. A
string band was playing a waltz, and hundreds of
people were sitting out upon the pavement drink-
ing their bock or mazagran.
Darkness had fallen and with it the air became
fresher, welcome indeed after those long hours on
the white, dusty road of the Bourgogne. My
host, in the ease of straw hat and grey flannel suit,
still wore his dark glasses, and as we sat together
at one of the tin tables near the kerb a man and
a woman at the adjacent table rose and left, so
that we were comparatively alone and in the
shadow.
ro


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After we had been chattering merrily — for he
seemed in the best of spirits and full of admiration
of the way in which the French roads were kept
— he removed his spectacles and wiped them.
As he did so he laughed across at me, saying
in a low voice:
“It's a nuisance to be compelled to wear these
- but I suppose I must exercise caution. One
has always to bear the punishment of one's indis-
cretion."
“Why?”
He smiled grimly, but remained silent.
Even though he had admitted that he was not
what he represented himself to be; even though I
knew that he was an adventurer, and even though
the dead man Arnold had urged me not to trust
him implicitly, yet I somehow could not help liking
him. He was always so full of quiet humour,
and his small eyes twinkled merrily when those
quaint remarks and caustic criticisms fell from his
lips.
“I thought that the danger which existed that
evening in Beverly had passed,” I remarked.
"Only temporarily, I fear. Thanks to your
generous aid, Kemball. I was able to slip through
their fingers, as I have done on previous occasions.
But I fear that the meshes of the net may, one day,
ГО
S


THE LOST MILLION
199
be woven a trifle too closely. I shouldn't really
care very much, if it were not for Asta. You
know how devoted I am to her,” he added, leaning
his arms upon the small table and bending towards
me as he spoke.
“And if any little contretemps did happen to
you ?” I asked.
"Asta would, alas! be left alone,” he said in
a low hoarse voice. “Poor girl, I- I fear she
would find a great change in her circumstances.”
It was upon the tip of my tongue to acknowl-
edge to him how madly I loved her, and of my in-
tention of asking her to be my wife, yet somehow
I hesitated, fearing, I think, lest he might scorn
such a proposition, for I remembered how, after
all, she was his sole companion, and that, without
her, he would be lonely and helpless. She was
the one bright spot in his soured life, he had de-
clared to me more than once. Though scarcely
yet out of her teens, she directed the large house-
hold at Flushing with all the genius and economy
of an experienced housewife. Yes. Hers had
been a strange career, the adopted daughter of a
man who was so often compelled to go into hiding
in strange guises and in strange places.
“Let us hope nothing will happen," I said
cheerfully. “Why should it?"
orn


200
THE LOST MILLION
His face broadened into a meaning grin, and he
re-adjusted his hideous round spectacles and lit a
fresh cigar.
“Really, Mr. Shaw," I said, “ your dark fore-
bodings and your strange declarations puzzle me.
True, I have endeavoured to serve your interests
and I regard you as a friend, heedless of what I
cannot help suspecting. Yet you are never open
and frank with me concerning one thing — your
friendship with Melvill Arnold."
He started at mention of the name, a fact which
caused me to ponder.
“I hardly follow you."
“Well," I said, “shortly before leaving New
York I received a visit from a certain Mrs. Olliffe
a lady living near Babylon on Long Island. I
believe you know her.”
“Yes!” he gasped, grasping the edge of the
table, and half rising from his seat. “Then she
has seen you!” he cried. “What did she tell
een
you?”
"Several things," I replied. “She alleges that
you were not Arnold's friend — but his fiercest
enemy."
“She has told you that!” he cried bitterly.
“And what else has that woman said against
me?"


THE LOST MILLION
201
“Nothing much.”
“Come,” he exclaimed boldly. “Tell me,
Kemball, as man to man, all that woman has said.”
I saw that his manner had changed, his small eyes
were flashing with fire, while upon his pale cheeks
showed two scarlet patches.
Through my brain surged recollections of the
woman's allegations, but, seeing him in such anger,
I did not desire to irritate him further, therefore
I declared that whatever the lady had said was in
no way derogatory to him.
"You are not telling me the truth, Kemball,”
he declared, looking straight into my eyes. “I
know her too well. She has lied to you about
me.”
“Probably," was my reply. “I happen, by a
curious chance, to know the character of the lady,
and it is hardly such as would aspire me with con-
fidence."
“You know her, then!” he exclaimed, staring
at me hard.
“I know that at one time she passed as Lady
Lettice Lancaster, and was sentenced to penal
servitude as an adventuress.”
“Who told you that? How do you know
that?” he asked quickly.
“ It is surely common knowledge,” was my


202 THE LOST MILLION
reply. “Therefore please dismiss from your
mind that anything she might say to your detri-
ment would impair our friendship.”
“Ah, yes!” he cried suddenly, taking my hand
and wringing it warmly. “I know, Kemball, that
you, being my friend, will refuse to be influenced
in any way by evil report. That woman is, as
you rightly say, an unscrupulous adventuress. I
knew her once — before her conviction. But I
have since lost sight of her. Yet, I know she is
my enemy, and — well, if it were to her interest,
she would have no compunction in giving me away
to the New York police.”
“Then she is your enemy?”
“My worst enemy.”
“Ah! Then I understand the reason of her
allegations,” I said, and a moment later the sub-
ject dropped.
We returned to the hotel just before midnight
and I ascended in the lift to my room which was
on the floor above that where Shaw slept. Shaw
shook my hand and got out at his own floor, while
I continued above.
From my window I found that I commanded a
wide view of the great Place Carnot and the ad-
jacent streets, picturesque with their many lights.
I had not switched on my light, and was standing
as


THE LOST MILLION
203
gazing below when, of a sudden I distinguished
Shaw hurrying out of the hotel again and crossing
the Place towards the Pont du Midi, the iron
bridge on the right which spans the Rhone.
He had, in a moment, changed both hat and
coat, I noticed, therefore his sudden exit after
having led me to believe he was about to turn in,
struck me as curious. So, without hesitation, I,
too, slipped on another coat and putting on a golf
cap descended in the lift and was soon speeding
away in the direction he had taken.
When halfway across the bridge I saw him
walking slowly before me, therefore I held back
and watched. I followed him across the river
when he suddenly turned to the left along the Quai
Claude Bernard until at the foot of the next
bridge, the Guillotiere, he turned to the left along
the Cours Gambetta, until he came to a small
square, the Place du Pont.
There he suddenly halted beneath a lamp and
glanced at his watch. Then he idled across to the
corner of one of the half-dozen dark deserted
streets which converged there, as though awaiting
someone.
For a quarter of an hour he remained there,
calmly smoking and quite unsuspicious of my
proximity.


204 THE LOST MILLION
But his patience was at last rewarded because
from the shadow there emerged a female figure
in dark jacket and skirt to which, after a moment's
hesitation, he went forward with words of greet-
ing.
They met beneath the light of a street-lamp,
and from where I stood, hidden in a doorway, I
was sufficiently close to get a view of her counte-
nance.
I held my breath.
It was that of the woman who had stood in the
dock and been convicted of fraud — the woman
who now lived in such style at Ridgehill, near
Babylon, and who was known there as Mrs.
Olliffe.
For a moment they stood there in the night
their hands clasped, neither uttering a single word.
And yet Shaw had only an hour before declared
her to be his most bitter and dangerous enemy!


CHAPTER XIX
FALLING SHADOWS
I WATCHED Shaw strolling slowly with the woman
through the ill-lit back streets of Lyons, speaking
rapidly with her. She, however, appeared to lis-
ten in silent obstinacy.
He grew angry, yet she seemed to remain ob-
durate.
She was dressed plainly in tweed skirt and blouse
à la touriste, and wore a hat with a long veil in the
fashion so often adopted by American women
visiting Europe.
They traversed the working-class district on the
eastern side of the Rhone, where from behind the
dingy red blinds of the cafés, came the sounds of
music and laughter, and where many groups of
factory hands were idling about enjoying the cool
night air. It was a noisy bizarre district, which
favoured me, for I could watch the pair unob-
served.
At the corner of the Place Morand they halted
for a few moments while he emphasised his words
by striking his palm with his clenched fist, and she
stood listening, her gaze turned towards the
205


206
THE LOST MILLION
ground. Then, together, they crossed the big
square to the left and traversed the bridge, passing
beneath the deep shadows of the high handsome
Hôtel de Ville.
Though at times I was quite near them, yet I
could not, of course, catch a single word uttered
by either. Only by their actions and gesticulations
could I judge, and it appeared plain that she had
met him under compulsion, and was refusing to
act as he desired.
And yet he had only that very evening declared
the woman to be his worst and most dangerous
enemy!'
I reflected as I strode slowly on, keeping the two
dark figures in sight. Shaw, had, after all, never
concealed from me the fact that he was wanted
by the police for some offence. His sportsmanlike
attitude, combined with his deep devotion to Asta,
caused me involuntarily to like him. Perhaps it
was because I loved her and he was her foster-
father, always kind, indulgent and solicitous for
her welfare, that I really held him in esteem, even
though he might be an adventurer.
Yet why had this woman Olliffe -- as she now
called herself declared that Shaw had been
Arnold's bitterest enemy? Surely it had been
through my host himself that the woman knew of


THE LOST MILLION 207
ener
my existence, and my friendship with the dead
man of mystery!
But even while I watched them turn the corner
by the Hôtel de Ville and stroll up that broad, de-
serted thoroughfare — in day so busy with its
rows of fine shops, but now quiet and deserted —
towards the Place Bellecour, my thoughts reverted
to Asta she who had lost her lover, but whom
I had grown to love so truly and so well.
Suddenly I turned upon my heel and abandoned
pursuit of the pair. What mattered it to me?
Their affairs, whatever they might be, were their
own. I loved Asta. Indeed, because of my
deepening affection for her I had accompanied
them upon that tour which had for its object my
love's forgetfulness of the black tragedy which had
so suddenly overshadowed her young life.
Guy Nicholson had promised to reveal some-
thing to me in strictest confidence, but, alas! his
lips had been mysteriously closed before he had
had opportunity. Closed by whom?
I turned down upon the quais, and following
the Rhone bank, was soon back at the hotel.
I left my hat in my own room and on entering
our private sitting-room found, to my delight, that
Asta was still there. She had been reading, and
had just risen as I entered, for she stood by the


208
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pale-green curtains at the window, holding a fold
of them in her hand, and looking forth into the
starlit night, her slim young figure clearly outlined
against their dull soft green, a becoming rose-
flush upon her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, and
her eyes bewitchingly bright.
" I've been waiting for Dad, Mr. Kemball," she
said. “Do you know where he is ? "
“Out, I think," was my reply. “I suppose
he's smoking in one of the cafés. He believed
that you had gone to bed, I expect.”
And I threw myself lazily into a chair.
I thought that her eyes filled with tears as she
turned back towards the long open windows and
gazed out into the Place below. And I confess
that this surprised me.
“You are upset!” I said softly, rising and
standing at her side. “What's the matter,
Miss Seymour. Tell me, confide in me — your
friend."
"I — I hardly know," she faltered in a strange
hoarse voice. I took her hand and found it trem-
bling. “But—"
“But what?” I asked. Her face was turned
away from me towards the night.
“Well — ” she said after a long pause, as
though reluctant to tell me —“I fear that Dad
07
me


THE LOST MILLION
209
has gone out to meet someone. When we arrived
in this hotel I saw among his letters a handwriting
which I recognised.”
“The writing of a woman, eh?”
She started, turning to me quickly.
“How did you know?” she gasped.
“Well — I guessed," I laughed.
“You guessed correctly. And I have suspi-
cion that he has gone out to-night to meet her in
secret — to _"
I waited for her to conclude her sentence, but
her lips closed with a snap. The colour had left
her cheeks, while in her eyes was a strange wild
look of fear.
“In confidence, Miss Seymour, I may as well
tell you that I saw him half-an-hour ago walking
with a lady — a person who lives near Babylon
on Long Island, under the name of Olliffe.”
“Then my suspicions are correct!" she cried.
“That woman has regained her power over him!
My poor Dad! He has fallen into her clutches.
Ah! Mr. Kemball, if you only knew all," she added.
“If only I dare tell you."
“Why not tell me? Surely I am your friend!
You may trust me not to betray any secret,” I said
in deep earnestness.
“They have met to-night. There is some mis-


210
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yer
chief brewing. She is cruel, evil, unscrupulous."
“I know — and a convicted criminal.”
“You know her then?" she asked quickly, look-
ing into my eyes.
“Yes. I am acquainted with Lady Lettice
Lancaster, as she was once called, and I know that
she was sentenced in New Jersey for remarkably
ingenious frauds. Is she an associate of your
father's ?"
“She was once, I believe — before her sen-
tence," replied the girl. “She exercised over
him a strange incomprehensible fascination, as an
evil woman so often can over a man. He acted
at her bidding and — well, I know but little, Mr.
Kemball, but, alas! what I know is, in itself, too
much. I am surprised that Dad, knowing the
woman's character, should dare to again associate
himself with her.”
“She introduced me to her brother, George
King. Do you know him ? "
“ Yes; he sometimes passes as her brother and
sometimes as butler or chauffeur. But he is her
husband, Henry Earnshaw, sometimes known as
Hoare.”
“And your father assisted them in their frauds,
eh?”
“That is my supposition. I have no actual


THE LOST MILLION 211
knowledge, for it was several years ago, when I
was but a girl," was her reply.
“And you fear that the outcome of the meeting
to-night may be another mutual arrangement? ”
She nodded sadly in the affirmative.
“ The combination of Dad and these people
would, indeed, be a formidable one," she said.
“Ah! if he would only take my advice and end it
all. He has sufficient to live upon comfortably.
Why does he court disaster in this way? He has
always been so very good to me, ever since I was a
tiny child that I cannot help loving him."
I did not reply. What could I say? I longed
to speak frankly to her and take her out of that
atmosphere of evil. Yet what could I do? How
could I act?
“I have a suspicion that poor Mr. Arnold was
a friend of that woman," I said a few moments
later as she stood against the table before me.
“Yes," was her reply. “He was her friend
and benefactor, I believe. He did all he could
for her defence before the judge, but to no avail."
“Somebody betrayed her into the hands of the
police.”
" Dad told me so once. He believes it to have
been her own husband, the man Earnshaw."
I did not speak for a few moments. I was


212 THE LOST MILLION
thinking of that strange letter which had threat-
ened vengeance against the mysterious scholar,
Mr. Arnold. The latter had been accused of
what he had not done, yet that very accusation had
given me a clue to some very curious circumstances,
and had forewarned me as to the true character
of the wealthy widow from Babylon.
“Has your father any ground for declaring
the woman's conviction to be due to Earnshaw ? "
“Yes, I believe so. But he has never told any-
one, except myself.”
“But if he and Mrs. Olliffe become on friendly
terms again he will doubtless reveal what he
knows."
“Probably. Then the man Earnshaw will
turn against her — and against Dad also. In
that lies the great peril for Dad which I appre-
hend."
I realised how far-seeing she was, how carefully
she had weighed all the consequences and how anx-
ious she was for her father's safety. On the
other hand, however, Shaw was certainly not a
man to run any unnecessary risks. From what I
had seen of him he appeared full of craft and cun-
ning, as became one who lived upon his wits.
“Tell me what you know concerning Mr.
Arnold's association with this woman of a hundred


THE LOST MILLION
213
different names," I urged. “I have a reason for
my curiosity."
“I know but little. Once, when I was about
fifteen Dad and I travelled with Mr. Arnold
from Vienna to Territet, and met her at the Hotel
des Alpes there. She was very affable and nice
to me, and she told me what an excellent friend
Mr. Arnold had been to her. I recollect the in-
cident quite well, for on that day she bought me
a little chain bracelet as a present. I have it now.”
“Your father quarrelled with Arnold, I be-
lieve.”
“Yes,” she said. “They had some difference.
I never, however, ascertained the real facts. He
evidently wished to see me, for he wrote to me
making an appointment and when I went to the
hotel for that purpose, alas! learnt that he was
dead."
“Had he lived, his intention was to meet your
father in secret at Beverly in Massachusetts.
Why in secret, I wonder ?”
“That same question has been puzzling me for
a long time, Mr. Kemball,” she said quickly. “I
have arrived at the conclusion that he feared lest
Mrs. Olliffe might know of his arrival in New
York, and set someone to watch his movements.
He feared her.”


214
THE LOST MILLION
“Then there may have been some reason why
the woman desired that they should not meet,
woman
eh?”
“ Apparently so."
I reflected. Mrs. Olliffe now knew that I
had borne a message to Shaw from the dead man
who had destroyed a fortune. Did she fear its
result and was she, for that reason, holding out to
Shaw the olive branch of peace?
I suggested that to Asta, and she was inclined
to agree with me.
“We must do what we can to break off your
father's friendship with this woman," I declared.
“ It is distinctly dangerous for him.”
“Yes, Mr. Kemball,” she cried. “I only wish
we could. I only wish —”.
Her sentence was interrupted by a sound which
startled both of us. We listened, looked into
each other's serious face without uttering a word.
The sound emanated from the next room -
Shaw's bedroom — the door of which was closed.
It was that low peculiar whistle which I had
first heard on the morning I had visited Rose
Court after poor Guy's mysterious death, and had
heard on a second occasion when visiting at Edge-
water.
“There's Dad again!" she cried in a strained


THE LOST MILLION 215
voice. “He evidently doesn't know we are still
up."
The whistle was again repeated — a low, long-
drawn, peculiar sound in a high shrill note.
It was not the unconscious whistle of a man
thinking, but a sound full of meaning — a dis-
tinct call which even as we listened in silence, was
repeated a third time.


CHAPTER XX
THE MAN WITH THE CRIMSON BUTTON
Pale and startled she raised her finger in a ges-
ture of silence and we both stole noiselessly from
the room, closing the door behind us.
Upon the thick carpet of the corridor we crept
past Shaw's door and Asta disappeared into her
own chamber which adjoined, while I went on
to mine on the next floor.
I could not get that peculiar whistle out of my
ears. It seemed as though it were a signal to
somebody, yet though I went back to Shaw's door
and listened there for a full hour, I heard no sound
of any movement. The room was in darkness,
and he was, no doubt, already asleep.
When I turned in, I lay a long time thinking
over the reason of Shaw's friendship with the
woman Olliffe. What Asta had told me only
seemed to increase the mystery, rather than di-
minish it.
I must have dropped off to sleep about two
o'clock, puzzled and fagged out by the long hours
on the road, when I was suddenly awakened by
hearing a loud, shrill scream.
216


218 THE LOST MILLION
“I felt a cold rough contact upon my cheek and
waking saw the Hand again! I burn a night-light
- as you see," and she pointed across to a child's
night-light in a saucer upon the wash-stand.
"And it vanished as before?”
“Instantly. I thought I heard a slight sound
afterwards but I must have been mistaken.”
“Yes,” I said, making a quick examination of
the room, and looking beneath the bed. “There
is certainly nothing here."
I noted that the communicating door between
her room and her father's was still secured by the
small brass bolt.
“Well," I declared, “it is utterly inexplicable."
My voice evidently awakened Shaw, for we
heard him tap at the door and ask in a deep drowsy
voice:
“What's the matter in there, Asta ?”
“Oh, nothing at all, Dad,” was the girl's reply.
“Only I fancy there must be a rat in my room -
and Mr. Kemball is looking for it."
“ Didn't you scream?” he asked wearily.
“Yes," I said, as she unbolted the door and her
father entered. “Miss Seymour's scream woke
me up."
“Did you see the rat?” Shaw asked me.
“No," I laughed, in an endeavour to conceal


THE LOST MILLION 219
our rear. “I expect if there is one it has got
away down its hole. I've searched but can find
nothing.”
“Ah!” growled the man awakened from his
sleep. “That's the worst of these confounded
Continental hotels. Most of them are over-run
with vermin. I've often had rats in my room.
Well, dear,” he added, turning to Asta, "go to
bed again, and leave your electric light on. They
won't come out then.”
The girl and I exchanged glances, and after a
hearty laugh at the frightened spectacle we all three
presented, we again parted and I returned to my
room.
What was the meaning of that inexplicable ap-
parition of the Hand? Why had the dying man
warned me of it?
I could quite see Asta's reluctance to tell her
father what she had seen, knowing well how he,
plain, matter-of-fact man, would laugh at her, and
declare that she had been dreaming.
But it was no dream. I myself had seen the
Thing with my own eyes, while my own cheek only
a few hours before had borne witness to its actual
existence.
I saw how horrified she was at its re-appearance,
and what a terrible impression it had produced


220 THE LOST MILLION
upon her already overwrought nerves. I knew
that she would not again retire that night, and in-
deed, feeling that some unknown evil were pres-
ent, I slipped on my clothes and spent the remain-
der of the night reading a French novel in an arm-
chair.
Dawn came at last and as soon as the sun rose I
descended, and went out for a long invigorating
walk beside the Rhone.
On my return I met Asta strolling alone under
the trees in the Place near the hotel, and referred
to the weird incident of the night.
“Ah! Mr. Kemball, please do not recall it!”
she implored. “It is too horrible! 1-I can't
make out what it can be — except that it is a sign
to us of impending evil.”
“A sign to us both," I said. “But whom are
we to fear?"
“Perhaps that woman.”
"Is she still in Lyons, I wonder?"
“ Probably. About seven o'clock this morning
Dad sent an express message to somebody. He
called a waiter, and I heard him give him the letter
with instructions that it was to be sent at once.”
I said nothing, but half an hour later, by the
judicious application of half-a-louis to the floor
waiter, I ascertained that the note had been sent


THE LOST MILLION 221
CC6
to a Madame Trelawnay, at the Hôtel du Globe,
in the Place Bellecour.
Trelawnay was, I recollected, one of the names
used by the pseudo Lady Lettice Lancaster.
Therefore, after my café-au-lait, I excused myself,
stepped over to the hotel, and there ascertained
that Madame, who had been there for two days,
had received the note, packed hurriedly, and an
hour later had left the Perrache Station by the
Paris express.
On returning I told Asta this and at eleven
o'clock we were again on the white, dusty highway,
that beautiful road through deep valleys and over
blue mountains, the Route d'Italie which runs from
Lyons, through quiet old Chambery to Modane
and the Alpine frontier. In Chambery, however,
we turned to the left, and ere long found ourselves
in that scrupulously-clean and picturesque summer
resort of the wealthy, Aix-les-Bains.
Shaw, who was in the best of spirits, had laughed
heartily over Asta's adventure with the rat, and
as we arrived at our destination he turned to me,
expressing a hope that we all three would enjoy “a
real good time.”
I had been in Aix several years before, and knew
the life — the bains, the Casino, the Villa des
Fleurs, the fêtes and the boating on the Lac du


THE LOST MILLION
223
OU
As we sat on the verandah of the hotel to take
our coffee afterwards I glanced at her. Never had
I seen her looking so charming. She was entirely
in cream serge relieved with the slightest touches
of pale blue, with a large white hat, long white
gloves and white shoes — the personification of
Summer itself. Ah! Yes, she was exquisite, I
told myself. Yet how strange that she should be
the adopted daughter of a man who, though actu-
ally a judge in one of the courts was, nevertheless,
an undesirable.
Time after time had I tried to induce her to
reveal to me the reason why Shaw went in such
terror of arrest. But she would not betray his
secret. For that I admired her, for was she not
devoted to him ? Did she not owe everything to
his kindness and his generosity ? Like many
another man, I suppose, he had been fooled
or tricked by a woman, and had in conse-
quence, to lead a celibate life. In order to
bring brightness and youth into his otherwise
dull home he had adopted little Asta as his
daughter.
We had been speaking of a forthcoming fête on
the following day when, of a sudden, she turned in
her chair towards me, and with a calm serious look
upon her face, said:


224
THE LOST MILLION
“Do you know, Mr. Kemball, I am greatly
worried?"
“Over what?" I asked quickly.
“Well, this morning when I was walking back
from the milliner's I saw Earnshaw, that woman's
husband. Fortunately he did not see me. But
she is, I suspect, here in Aix-les-Bains.”
“Why should you fear even if she is ? ” I asked.
“I — well, I really do not know," she faltered.
“Only - to tell you in confidence, I believe some
evil work is in progress — some base conspiracy."
“What causes you to suspect that? You do not
believe that your father is implicated in it?”
“How can I tell ? ” she exclaimed in a hoarse
whisper. “I am filled with fear always — know-
ing in what peril he continually exists."
“I know," I said. “Why he does not act more
judiciously I cannot think. At home, at Edge-
water, he is surely unsuspected and in security.”
“I am always telling him so, but, alas! he will
not listen."
"You said that he is now under the influence of
that woman.”
“I fear so," was her low reply, as she sighed
despairingly.
We rose and strolled out together to the car
which was waiting to take us for a run over the
ore


THE LOST MILLION
225
.
hills and among the mountains by the Pont de la
Caille to Geneva, seventy kilometres distant. The
afternoon was glorious, and as we sat side by side
we chatted and laughed merrily, both of us for-
getting all our apprehensions and our cares.
Ah! yes, those days were truly idyllic days, for
I loved her devotedly and each hour I passed in
her society the bond became stronger and more
firmly forged.
But could she reciprocate my affection ? Ay,
that was the great and crucial question. I had
asked myself, yea, a thousand times. I dared not
yet reveal to her the secret of my heart, for even
· still she thought and spoke of that honest, upright
fellow whose untimely end was so enshrouded in
mystery.
We dined at Geneva, in the huge salle-à-manger
of the Beau Rivage which overlooked the beautiful
lake, tranquil and golden in the sunset, with Mont
Blanc towering and snow-capped showing opposite
against the clear evening sky. We strolled for
half an hour on the terrace where the English and
American tourists were taking their coffee after
dinner, and then in the fading twilight Harris
drove us back again to Aix where we arrived about
ten o'clock after a day to be long remembered.
Asta held my hand for a moment in the hall,


THE LOST MILLION 227
“That is my name," I replied.
“I have something of importance to communi-
cate to Monsieur," he said very politely, holding
his grey felt hat in his hand and glancing quickly
around. “May I speak with you privately?"
“ Certainly," I replied, and recollecting a small
salon off the hall on the left, led the way thither,
and switched on the light.
Then, when he had carefully closed the door and
we were alone, he said with a pleasant smile:
“I had perhaps better at once introduce myself
to monsieur. I am Victor Tramu, inspector of the
first division of the brigade mobile of Paris, and I
have called at risk of inconveniencing you to put a
few questions concerning two associates of yours
living in this hotel, namely Monsieur Harvey
Shaw and Mademoiselle Asta Seymour.”
“Associates !” I echoed, resentfully. “They
are my friends!”
The police officer smiled as he caressed his silky
brown beard — a habit of his.
“Excellent. Then certainly you will be able
to give me the information I require."
“Of what?”
“Of their recent movements, and more espe-
cially of their place of residence."
I was silent, recollecting Asta's injunctions to


228
THE LOST MILLION
know nothing, but the man stood regarding me
with calm, searching impudent glance.
“By what right, pray, do you subject me to this
cross-examination?” I demanded in French, full
of resentment, as I stood in the centre of the room,
facing him.
"Ah! so monsieur is disinclined to betray his
friends — eh?” laughed Tramu, whom I after-
wards found out to be one of the most famous de-
tectives in France. “You arrived en automobile
from Lyons together and previously from Ver-
sailles,” he remarked. “In Lyons, your friend
Shaw met other of his associates and again here -
yesterday at the Villa Reyssac. You see I know
a good deal of what has transpired and what is
just now in progress. Indeed I travelled from
Paris for that purpose.”
"Well, it surely does not concern me!" I ex-
claimed.
“Pardon. I must differ from m'sieur," he said,
bowing slightly, his hands behind his back. “I
desire to know something concerning these persons
- of where they live."
“You had better ask them yourself," I replied.
“ It is scarcely likely that I shall give information
to the police concerning my friends," I added in
defiance.
sons


THE LOST MILLION 229
1
.
“ Bien! Then shall I be frank with you
m'sieur? The fact is that we have suspicions, very
grave ones, but we are not absolutely certain of
their identity."
“Then why trouble me?”
“Because you can so easily establish it beyond a
doubt."
"Well, Monsieur Tramu, I flatly refuse to sat-
isfy your curiosity, or assist you against my
friends," I replied, and turned abruptly upon my
heel to leave the room.
“Then it is to be regretted. In that case, Mon-
sieur Kemball, you must please consider yourself
under arrest as an accomplice and associate of the
two individuals in question," he said very coolly
but determinedly, and as he uttered the words two
men, police-officers in plain-clothes who had evi-
dently been listening without, opened the door un-
ceremoniously and entered the apartment.
The situation was both startling and unexpected.
I was now faced with a most difficult problem. I
was under arrest; my silence had cost me my lib-
erty!
Asta and her step-father must also have both
already fallen into the hands of the police, for
were they not upstairs ? Truly the coup had been
very swiftly and cleverly effected, as it seemed were
as


230 THE LOST MILLION
all coups made by the renowned Tramu, the
trusted lieutenant of Monsieur Hamard of the
Sûreté in Paris.
The misfortune so long dreaded by Asta, has,
alas! fallen.
What must the result be? Ay, what in-
deed!
What could be the charge against them?


CHAPTER XXI
MORE MYSTERY
IGNORANT of the fate of my friends, I was un-
ceremoniously bundled into a fiacre and driven to
the police-bureau, where for nearly three hours, I
was closely questioned regarding my own identity,
and my knowledge of Harvey Shaw.
Aix-les-Bains being a gambling centre, it attracts
half the eserocs in Europe, hence stationed there
are several of the smartest and shrewdest police-
officials which France possesses. At the hands of
Victor Tramu, and two of his colleagues I was
subjected to the closest interrogation in a small
bare room with threadbare carpet and walls
painted dark green, the headquarters of the Sûreté
in that district. The population of Aix in sum-
mer is much the same as that of Monte Carlo in
winter, a heterogeneous cosmopolitan collection of
wealthy pigeons and hawks of both sexes and all
nationalities.
From the thousand-and-one questions with which
I fenced I tried to gather the nature of the of-
fence of which Harvey Shaw was culpable, but all
to no avail. I asked Tramu point-blank if he and
231


232 THE LOST MILLION
his foster-daughter had been arrested, but no in-
formation would he give.
“I am asking questions — not you, m'sieur,"
was his cold reply.
All the interrogation seemed directed towards
ascertaining the hiding-place of Shaw in the United
States.
“You knew him in America,” remarked Tramu,
seated at a table upon which was a telephone-in-
strument, while I stood between the two agents of
police who had arrested me. “Where did you
first meet him?"
“At a railway station.”
“Under what circumstances ? "
“I had a message to deliver — a letter from a
dead friend.”
Tramu smiled incredulously, as did also the two
other officials at his side.
“And this dead friend — who was he?" asked
the renowned detective.
“A man whom I had met on a steamer between
Rio and New York. He was a stranger to me,
but being taken ill on board, I tried to do what I
could for him. He died in New York soon after
our arrival."
“His name.”
“Melvill Arnold.”


THE LOST MILLION
233
Victor Tramu stroked his brown beard.
“ Arnold! Arnold!” he repeated. “Melvill
Arnold — an English name. He was an Amer-
ican?"
“ Certainly."
“ Arnold! Arnold!” he repeated, gazing
blankly across the room. “And he was a friend
of the suspect Shaw, eh?”
“I presume so."
“ Arnold !” he again repeated reflectively, as
though the name recalled something to his memory.
“Was he an elderly grey-haired man who had
lived a great deal in Egypt and was an expert in
Egyptology, eh?”.
“He was."
Tramu sprang to his feet staring at me, utterly
amazed.
“And is he dead, you say?"
“He is — he died in my presence."
“ Arnold!” he cried, turning to his colleagues.
“Ah, yes, I remember now. I recollect - a most
remarkable and mysterious man. Dieu! what a
colossal brain. What knowledge; what a staunch
friend, and what a formidable enemy! And he is,
alas! deadl Describe to me the circumstances in
which he died, Monsieur Kemball," he added in a
voice full of regret and sympathy,


THE LOST MILLION
235
replied. “But now he is dead, let his memory as
a very remarkable man rest in peace. Our pres-
ent action concerns the man Shaw. Where did you
visit him in America ?”
“He visited me at my house on Long Island.”
“And you did not visit him?”.
“I saw him twice at different hotels in New
York."
“And you declare that you have no knowledge
of his offences?” asked the official shrewdly.
“If I had, I certainly should not have accepted
his invitation to come here on a motor-tour," was
my quick reply.
“And the girl? You mean to say that you have
no suspicion of her offence?”.
“Her offence!” I cried. “Tell me - I beg
of you to tell me what allegation there is against
her."
"Ah! my dear m'sieur, of that you will know
soon enough,” replied the detective, again strok-
ing his beard. “I fear that if your ignorance of
the truth is not feigned that the revelations forth-
coming will — well, greatly astonish you."
“But surely mademoiselle is not a criminal!”
I cried, staring at him in dismay.
“Wait and hear the evidence against her.”
“I will not believe it."


236
THE LOST MILLION
II
“Ah! because you are enamoured of her, eh,
Monsieur Kemball !” exclaimed the great detect-
ive with a shrewd twinkle in his large brown eyes.
“A man is always loth to believe that his well-be-
loved can do wrong. Bien! I urge you to wait
and see what the revelations bring forth — to
carefully weigh over the hideous story before giv-
ing further thought to her.”
“I need no advice, monsieur,” I protested an-
grily. “If you make allegations, you should
surely tell me their nature.”
“That is for you to discover," he answered, with
a crafty smile. "You have refused to assist me,
therefore I, in turn, refuse to satisfy your curi-
osity.”
“You have arrested me because I happen to be
on friendly terms with this man and his daughter.
Therefore, surely I may be told the offence alleged
against them!” I protested in anger.
“ The fact you have revealed, namely that Shaw
and Melvill Arnold were friends, is quite sufficient
to prove what I really suspected. The man's iden-
tity is made entirely plain, even though you refused
to give me information."
“They are my friends,” I remarked resent-
fully.
“ Perhaps they will be so no longer, when you
re
ren
resen


238 THE LOST MILLION
But he only smiled incredulously, replying:
“Monsieur is enamoured of mademoiselle; I
have watched you both for two days past, and I
know that you are aware of her address in New
York.”
This man had actually been watching us while
we had been all unconscious of espionage! Fierce
anger again rose within me. I admitted to my-
self that I had acted foolishly in associating with
a man whom I knew to be a fugitive from justice.
But it certainly never occurred to me that I might
be submitted to such an ordeal as that I was un-
dergoing.
Alternately threatening, coaxing, warning and
gesticulating, Tramu, a past-master in the art of
interrogation, cross-examined me until the first rose-
flush of dawn showed through the window. But
he obtained nothing more from me. I told him
frankly that as he refused to give me any informa-
tion, I, on my part, would remain dumb.
His annoyance was apparent. He had expected
me to meekly relate all I knew, but instead he
found that I could be as evasive in my answers as
he was clever in putting his questions. In turn
quite half a dozen police officials entered the room
and regarded me with considerable curiosity, until
in anger I cried:


THE LOST MILLION 239
“This action of yours, Monsieur Tramu is dis-
graceful! I know this is your abominable French
police system, but I demand that word of my ar-
rest be sent to the American Consul, with whom I
shall lodge complaint.”
“My dear m'sieur," laughed the man with the
tiny red button in his lapel, “ that will be quite
unnecessary. I think at this late hour we may now
dispense with your further presence. You are
free to go," and addressing a man in uniform, he
added: “Bring in the chauffeur."
I turned upon my heel and left the room, but as
I went along the corridor I saw at the further end
Harris seated between two uniformed officers.
Surely they would obtain no information from
him, for he had only been engaged for the tour,
and knew nothing further of Harvey Shaw or of
Asta, except - ah! he might know their address
on Long Island.
So I shouted along the corridor to him:
“Harris !” I cried. “Don't tell them Mr.
Shaw's address in the United States, whatever you
do.”
“ Right you are, sir," he replied cheerily.
“This is a funny job, ain't it, sir? They arrested
me in bed!”
“ Where's Mr. Shaw ? "


240 THE LOST MILLION
"Don't know, sir. I suppose he and Miss Asta
are in here somewhere,” was his reply as they
ushered him into the room where the great Tramu
awaited him.
On my return to the hotel the sleepy night-porter
admitted me.
No, he had seen nothing of Monsieur Shaw, or
of mademoiselle.
Hastily I ascended the stairs to our suite of
apartments, but they were not there. The beds
had not been slept in, but their baggage had been
piled up — evidently by the police in readiness for
removal and examination. The drawers and
wardrobes had evidently been searched after their
arrest, for the rooms were in great disorder.
In my own room, during my absence, everything
had ben turned topsy-turvy; the lock of my steel
despatch-box had been broken and its contents
turned out upon the bed. In France, when the po-
lice make a domiciliary visit, they certainly do it
most thoroughly.
Was it possible that in examining the effects of
Shaw and Asta, the police had ascertained the ad-
dress of their hiding-place in the United States!
I stood in the centre of the room gazing at the
heap of papers and letters upon the bed, appre-
hensive and bewildered.


THE LOST MILLION
241
augu:
Returning below I induced the big Swiss night-
porter to rouse the manager, and some ten min-
utes later the latter came to me in trousers and coat,
evidently not in a very good humour at being dis-
turbed.
He seemed surprised to see me there, and I said
with a laugh:
“I suppose you believed I had been arrested."
“Well," he replied, “the police took you away."
“For interrogation only," I replied. “But I
am in search of my friends."
“And the police are in search of them also, I
believe," he replied abruptly. “It does no good
to the reputation of the hotel to have such visitors,
m'sieur."
“Then they have not been arrested!” I cried
in delight.
“No. Mademoiselle, I believe, must have rec-
ognised the inspector of the Sûreté from Paris as
she was coming downstairs. She rushed back and
told her father and hastily seizing her dressing-case
while he took a small bag they both descended
the service-stairs and made their exit by the back
premises. There was a door below which is al-
ways kept locked, but Monsieur Shaw had some-
how provided himself with a key in case of emer-
gency, for we found it in the lock. When the po-


242
THE LOST MILLION
lice, after arresting you, went upstairs to take the
pair they found they had already flown. They
must have rushed down to the station and caught
the Paris night-express which was due just about
the time they would arrive there."
“And the police are furious," I said. “They
must be."
“They have, I believe, just missed a most im-
portant capture.”
“What was the charge against them?” I in-
quired.
“Ah, they would not tell me," was his reply.
“ They seemed to be acting with great caution and
secrecy. They made a careful examination of
everything, and only left about three quarters of
an hour ago."
And with that, I was compelled to remain satis-
se
fied.


244
THE LOST MILLION
had, incising caution thout delay. I, and askine
in London, and duly arrived at the Plaza in New
York. There I found a batch of letters sent on
to me from Boxwood and among them was a for.
mal letter from the law firm of Napier & Norman,
stating that they were acting for the late Mr. Guy
Nicholson, of Rose Court, Roslyn, and asking me
to call upon them without delay.
Exercising caution lest I should be watched, I
had, immediately on arrival, telephoned from my
hotel bedroom to Edgewater, but the response
came back in a woman's voice that “the master"
and Miss Asta were still abroad. Therefore about
noon on the morning following my return, I went
round to the address given, 129 Nassau Street, in a
taxi, and was quickly shown into the sombre pri-
vate room of an elderly, quiet-spoken man, Mr.
George Napier, head of the firm.
“I'm extremely glad you have called, Mr. Kem-
ball,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “I
believe you were present at Rose Court very soon
after the unfortunate death of our client, Mr. Guy
Nicholson. Indeed, I remember now, that we met
at the inquest. Well, Mr. Nicholson, with his
father and grandfather before him, entrusted his
affairs in our hands, and naturally after his decease
we searched his effects for any papers that were
relative to his estate, or any private papers which


THE LOST MILLION 245
should not fall into anybody's hands. Among
them, we found this letter, sealed, just as you see,
and addressed to you. He evidently put it aside,
intending to post it in the morning, but expired in
the night.”
And taking a letter from a drawer in his writing-
table, he handed it across to me.
I glanced at the superscription and saw that it
was addressed ready for the post, and that a stamp
was already upon it.
“Poor Nicholson's death was a most myste-
rious one,” I exclaimed, looking the solicitor full
in the face; “I don't believe that he died from
natural causes.”
“Well. I fear we cannot get away from the
medical evidence,” replied the matter-of-fact, grey-
faced man, peering through his spectacles. “Of
course the locked door was a most curious circum-
stance — yet it may be accounted for by one of the
servants, in passing before retiring, turning the
key. Or, as you suggested at the inquest, the
servant who entered the library in the morning may
have thought the door was locked. It might have
caught somehow, as locks sometimes do."
I shook my head dubiously, and with eager fin-
gers tore open the message from the dead.
From its date it had evidently only been written


246 THE LOST MILLION
a few hours prior to his untimely end, and it read:
“STRICTLY PRIVATE
“Dear Mr. Kemball,
“I fear, owing to the fact that I have prom-
ised Asta to take her motoring on Sunday, that
I may not be able to keep my appointment with
you. Since my confidential conversation with
you I have watched and discovered certain
things at Edgewater, which cause me the keen-
est apprehension. Shaw is not what he pre-
tends to be, and many of his movements are
most mysterious. By dint of constant watch-
ing, both while I have been guest there, and also
by night when they have believed me to be safely
at home, I have ascertained several very re-
markable facts.
“First: In secret and unknown to any, even
to his gardeners, he sets clever traps for small
birds, which he visits periodically at night and
takes away the unfortunate creatures he finds
therein.
“Secondly: He is in the habit of going
forth in the night and walking through the
woods to a spot at the corner of the road lead-
ing to Jamaica, and there meeting a middle-


THE LOST MILLION 2:47
zer-
aged man who frequently stops at an inn in
Flushing. Once, I followed them and over-
heard some of their conversation. They were
planning something but what I could not
make out. However, I feel sure that they both
discovered my presence and hence he seems in
fear of me and annoyed whenever I visit Edge-
water.
“Thirdly: In his bedroom there is a cup-
board beside the fireplace. The door is en-
amelled white and at first is not distinguishable
from the rest of the panelling. Examine it,
and you will see that it is secured by two of the
most expensive and most complicated of mod-
ern locks. What does that cupboard contain?
The contents are not plate, or valuables, for
there is a large fireproof safe downstairs. Some
mystery lies there.
“Fourthly: Though he makes most clever
pretences of devotion to Asta, he hates her.
Poor girl, she loves him and cannot see those
black covert looks he so often gives her when
her back is turned. But I have seen them, and
I know. At least I have guessed the reason.
“Fifthly: If you are a frequent guest there
you will hear him sometimes utter a strange
shrill whistle for no apparent purpose, as


248
THE LOST MILLION
though he does it quite unknowingly. But it is
with a purpose. What purpose ?
“I feel that Asta is in danger, and it is there-
fore my duty to protect her and elucidate the
mystery of the strange conspiracy which I feel
convinced is now in progress. It is to discuss
these matters and to combine to keep vigilant
watch, that I am anxious to spend a few hours
with you. Think carefully over these five
points, and if I am unable to come on Sunday,
I will motor over on Monday about eleven in
the morning.
"Meanwhile, be careful to show that you
neither know nor suspect anything. I know
Shaw suspects me, and therefore by some means
I must remove his suspicions.
“That, however, will be a matter for us to
discuss seriously when we meet.
“Asta has told me of a strange and extremely
weird incident which occurred to her one night
a little while ago in the house of a friend -
the apparition of a black shadowy hand. I be-
lieve I have the solution of the mystery - a
most remarkable and terrible one.
“I ask your assistance in this affair, and am
eager to meet you to fully discuss it. Kindly
destroy this letter.
“ Yours very sincerely, Guy Nicholson.”


250 THE LOST MILLION
lieved that it might contain something important,
and for that reason hesitated to send it through the
post."
“Yes," I said meaningly. “It does contain
something important — very important, Mr. Na-
pier. Had this been placed in my hand in time
my poor friend's life might have been saved."
“ What do you mean?” he asked quickly, star.
ing at me across the table.
“ Have you evidence — evidence of foul play?"
“No evidence, but I find a distinct motive."
“Anything upon which we could work in order
· to bring the culprit to justice — if Mr. Nicholson
did not really die a natural death?”
“I tell you he did not!” I cried angrily. “The
village jury were impressed by the medical evi-
dence, as all rustic juries are. Your client, Mr.
Napier, discovered another man's secret, and the
latter took steps to close his lips."
" But can you prove this? Can you name the
man?”
“Yes," I said, “I can name the man. And
one day I shall prove it."
“You can! Why not place the matter in the
hands of the police, together with what is revealed
in that letter ?” he suggested. “Allow me to
act."


THE LOST MILLION 251
“I shall act myself. At present it is not a mat-
ter for the police. Certain facts have come to my
knowledge which, if told to the New York police,
would not be believed. Therefore, at present, I in-
tend to keep my knowledge strictly to myself," and
replacing the deed man's message in its envelope,
I put it safely into my breast pocket and taking
leave of the lawyer, was soon in my taxi whirling
along the downtown streets.
Why had Nicholson suspected that Shaw's af-
fection for his foster-daughter was only feigned?
Why did he allege that Shaw hated her? Why
was he in such mortal terror lest some evil should
befall her?
Perhaps, after all, in watching so closely he
had, as is so easy, discovered certain circumstances
and misjudged them, for certainly as far as I could
see, Shaw was entirely devoted to the girl who had
been his constant companion ever since her child-
hood days. Nevertheless, that strange letter,
penned by the man whose intention it had been to
reveal to me the secret of the weird shadow of the
night, had caused me to determine to continue the
vigil which had been so abruptly ended.
1, too, would watch closely as soon as I learnt
of their hiding-place, as closely as the dead man
had done. If Asta were in actual peril, then I


252
THE LOST MILLION
would stand as her protector in place of the upright,
honest young fellow, who, it seemed, had lost his
life in the attempt.
But the days, nay weeks, went on, September
ended and October came with rain and chilly
winds, and though I returned to Boxwood, and
frequently made inquiry over the telephone to
Edgewater, though I wrote to the New York Post
Office, yet I could learn no news of them. They
had descended those back stairs of the hotel at
Aix, and disappeared as completely as though the
earth had swallowed them up.
One day, in the middle of October, with sudden
resolve to carry out Nicholson's injunction to in-
vestigate, I drove over to Edgewater and on ar-
rival, about noon, found all smart and well-kept, as
though its owner were in residence.
I told a rather lame story to the housekeeper,
who knowing me, came to me in the long, chintz-
covered drawing-room, the blinds of which were
down. She had not heard from her master for
some time, the pleasant-faced woman explained.
He was then in Aix. I said that I had left him
there, and returned to America, and was now anx-
ious to discover where he was.
Then, after a brief chat, I exhibited my left fore-
finger enveloped in an old glove, and told her that


THE LOST MILLION
253
on my way I had some engine-trouble and had hurt
my finger.
“I believe Mr. Shaw keeps up in his room a
small medicine chest,” I said, for I recollected that
he once told me that he kept one there. “I won-
der if I might go up and try and find a piece of
bandage.”
“Certainly,” replied Mrs. Howard, and she led
me upstairs to the apartment over the drawing-
room, which I had come there for the express pur-
pose of examining. It was a large, airy and well-
furnished room, with a big book-case at one end
and a canary in a cage at the window.
Without much difficulty she discovered the small
black japanned box containing various surgical
drugs and bandages, and I at once sent her down
to obtain a small bowl of warm water.
Then, the instant she had gone, I sought for the
cupboard indicated by the dead man's letter.
Yes, it was there, a long, narrow cupboard be-
side the fireplace, secured by two large locks of a
complicated character such as one finds on safe or
strong-room doors.
I bent and examined them thoroughly.
The bed, I noticed, was set so that the eyes of
anyone lying in it would be upon that door.
What secret could be concealed there? What
had the dead man suspected. Ay, what indeed?


CHAPTER XXIII
“A FOREIGNER "
I REMAINED a long time attending to my damaged
finger — which in reality had been injured a week
before — at the same time thoroughly investigat-
ing the missing man's apartment. Except for the
cupboard secured so mysteriously by those combina-
tion-locks, there was nothing extraordinary about
it. The outlook was pleasant across the wide un-
dulating park, and the chairs with soft cushions
and couch showed plainly that Harvey Shaw loved
to take his ease.
In no hurry to depart, I chatted affably to Mrs.
Howard, wandering about the big old-fashioned
home, into regions I had never been before.
“Poor Mr. Nicholson used to stay here some-
times, didn't he?" I inquired presently in a casual
way.
“Oh, yes, sir, the master used to delight in
having the poor young gentleman here, sir. He
used to have the blue room, nearly opposite Mr.
Shaw's — the one which looks out over the front
drive. Poor Mr. Nicholson! We all liked him
so much. Wasn't it sad, sir?"
- 254


THE LOST MILLION
2:55
“ Very sad, indeed," I said. “The blow must
nearly have broken Miss Asta's heart."
“Ah! It did, sir. At first I thought the poor
child would have gone out of her mind. She was
so devoted to him. Mr. Shaw was also very fond
of him, I know, for I once heard him say that he
was the only man he would choose as Miss Asta's
husband.”
“When did he say that?".
“He was sitting in the smoking-room with a
friend of his — Judge Campbell — one evening
after dinner about a fortnight before the poor
young gentleman died. I happened to be passing,
and overheard his words.”
I pondered for a moment. Either Shaw was a
past-master in the art of preparing a coup, or else
Guy's surmises were wrong. Here, in the inti-
macy of the family, it was declared that Shaw
was devoted to Asta. Certainly my own obser-
vations went to confirm that supposition.
“I wonder who knows Mr. Shaw's where-
abouts !” I said presently. "I want to communi-
cate with him upon a very important matter."
“Well, sir, it's very funny that he hasn't writ-
ten to me. He's never been silent so long be-
fore."
“How long have you been with him?"
mmuni.


258 THE LOST MILLION
cheap bull's eye lantern with two cylinders con-
taining gas and some other paraphernalia, show-
ing that the thieves were men of scientific method,
for their intention had, I saw, been to use the oxy-
hydrogen blow-pipe. The heads of some of the
rivets had been removed and a small hole drilled
through the chilled steel three-quarters of an inch
thick.
All had gone well until they touched the handle
of the safe-door, which had sent off the alarm, the
existence of which they had never suspected.
Then their only safety lay in flight, and they had
escaped, leaving behind them the objects I have
enumerated.
Adams telephoned for the police, while Tucker
came up from the lodge and I let loose the dogs
and went outside into the drive. But unfortu-
nately the thieves were already safely away, and
were not likely to be caught, for in response to
the telephonic message I was told that the rural
constable was out on his beat, and was not ex-
pected back for another couple of hours.
We three men, with several of the maid-serv-
ants, stood outside on the lawn discussing the
affair with bated breath in the dead stillness of the
night when, of a sudden, we distinctly heard in the
far distance down in the valley the starting of a


THE LOST MILLION 259
motor-car, and the gradual faintness of the sound
as it receded along the high-road.
“There they go!” I cried. “They came in a
car, and it was awaiting them at the foot of the
hill near the crossways."
Then I rushed to the telephone-instrument and
called up the police-station in Roslyn, asking them
to stop any car approaching from my house, in-
forming them what had occurred.
But half an hour later he rang up to tell me
that no car had entered the town from any direc-
tion; therefore it was apparent that in preference
to passing through Roslyn it had been turned into
one of the side-roads and taken a cross-country
route to some unknown destination.
I said nothing, but to me it was quite apparent
that the object of the attempt upon my safe was
the mysterious bronze cylinder, which I held in
trust from Melvill Arnold.
When alone in the room I opened the safe with
my key, and to my satisfaction saw the battered
ancient object still reposing there, together with
the letters and the translation of the hieroglyphics.
Once again I took out the heavy cylinder, the
greatest treasure of the strange old fellow who
had deliberately destroyed a fortune, and held it
in my hand filled with wonder and bewilderment.
ize


260 THE LOST MILLION
What could it contain that would astonish the
world? Surely nothing nowadays astonishes this
matter-of-fact world of ours. We have become
used to the demonstrations of wonders, from the
use of steam to the development of aviation, the
telephonic discovery and the application of wire-
less telegraphy.
How I longed to call in a blacksmith, cut
through the metal and ascertain what was therein
contained. But I did not dare. I held the thing
in trust for some unknown person who, on Thurs-
day, the third day of November, would come to me
and demand its possession.
All that I had been told of the misfortunes
which had fallen upon its possessor, and the mys-
terious fate which would overtake any who at-
tempted to tamper with it, flashed through my
brain. Indeed, in such train did my thoughts run
that I began to wonder if possession of the thing
had any connection with the appearance of that
mysterious hand.
Presently, however, I put the cylinder back in-
to its place and re-locked the safe, for a policeman
from Roslyn had arrived and I bade him enter.
He made a minute examination of the room and
took possession of the objects left behind by the
intruders, but upon them no finger-prints could be


262 THE LOST MILLION
a clock in the latter town it was a quarter past
four, and some miles further on, I stopped to ex-
amine the rear tyre. It had, as I expected, a
puncture. Whereupon I leisurely repaired it and
with not a few miles before me drove slowly out
upon the old high-road exchanging greetings now
and then with farmers along the way.
There is a certain weird charm in motoring at
night, when every town and village is dark and
in slumber. Yet it is surprising how many peo-
ple are out at an early hour. Even ere the first
flush of dawn one finds sturdy men going to work
with their day's food in tin cans, and teams of
horses being driven to the fields.
It was nearly half-past five when I sped down
the last slight incline and slipping along in sight
of the sea, found myself on the road leading di-
rectly into Babylon.
“At six I was once again at the leading hotel
and after a wash, went for an early morning stroll
in the town. Then, after breakfast, I took my
hat and stick and strolled out for nearly three
miles along the road to the little inn, where I
called for a glass of ale and sat down to chat with
the white-bearded landlord, who at once recog-
nised me as having been a customer on a previous
occasion.


THE LOST MILLION
263
For a long time, as I sat in the cosy little par-
lour, the table of which was dark and polished
with the ale of generations spilt upon it, we chat-
ted about the weather, the prospects of harvest
and the latest iniquity of taxation, until in a care-
less way, I remarked:
"I suppose in summer you have lots of visitors
down from New York? I mean the people who
have big houses about here entertain a lot.”
“Oh, I dunno!” replied the old fellow, sipping
his glass which he was taking with me. “The
Joiceys do have a lot o' visitors, and so do the
Strongs, but Mrs. Olliffe's been away, an' has only
just come back.”
“And Mr. King?"
"He's been away too. Ridgehill's been shut
up, and half the servants away on 'oliday.”
“And they are back now?"
“Yes, Mrs. Olliffe's been abroad — so the butler
told me yesterday. But there —" and his lips
closed suddenly, as though he had something to
say, but feared to utter it.
“ Rather a funny lot - so I've heard, eh?" I
remarked.
“Yes. Nobody can quite make 'em out — to
tell the truth. Only the night before last, or
rather about a quarter to five in the morning, Mrs.


264 THE LOST MILLION
Olliffe, her brother and another gentleman went
by 'ere in the car on their way home. They'd
been out all night, so the chauffeur told me yester-
day. Mr. King drove the car."
“Out all night!" I echoed in sudden wonder.
“Yes. And they'd been a long way, judging
from the appearance of the car. I happened to
get up to see the time, and looked out o' my win-
dow just as they came past. It isn't the first time
either that they've been out all night. The vil-
lage knows it, and everyone is asking where they
go to, and what takes 'em out o' their beds like
that."
“Who was the gentleman with them?” I in-
quired eagerly.
“Ah! I couldn't see him very well. He was
in a big frieze coat and wore a black and white
check cap. I didn't catch his face, but, by his
clothes, he was a stranger to me.”
“You've only seen him on that occasion ?”
“Only that once, sir. The chauffeur told me,
however, that he isn't staying at Ridgehill, and
that nobody saw him. So he must have got out
after passing through the village. Perhaps it
was somebody they were givin' a lift to. I've
seen Mrs. Olliffe a takin' notice of some queer
people sometimes. And funnily enough, only


THE LOST MILLION 265
yesterday a gentleman came in here and was mak-
ing a lot of inquiries after her. He was a for-
eigner - a Frenchman, I think."
“A Frenchman!” I cried. “What was he
like?”
“Oh! Like most Frenchmen. He 'ad fini-
kin ways, was middle-aged, with a brown beard
which he seemed always a-strokin'. He 'ad lunch
here, and stayed all the afternoon smokin' ciga-
rettes and lookin' through this window as though
he hoped to see 'er pass. He was so inquisitive
that I was glad when he'd gone. I suppose," the
man added, “he's somebody she's met abroad,
eh?”
But I knew the truth. His inquisitive visitor
was Victor Tramu!


THE LOST MILLION
· LOST MILLION 267
“Nothing else, Tucker?”.
“No, sir. That's all the lady said. She
seemed very anxious indeed to speak to you."
“ All right, Tucker. I'll be back in a day or
two. By the way, send on my letters to the Gar-
den City Hotel.”
“Very well, sir."
“And tell the police not to worry any further
over the burglary. Tell them I will see the in-
spector in Roslyn on my return."
“ All right, sir."
And then I hung up the receiver and rang off.
Asta was at Garden City! My first impulse
was to start at once to see her, but recollecting the
reason I had come there to Babylon, I managed
to curb my impatience, eat my dinner in the quiet,
old-fashioned coffee-room, and afterwards wait
until darkness fell.
I had no fixed plans, except to approach Ridge-
hill, Mrs. Olliffe's house, unobserved. I longed
to call boldly upon the woman whom I knew to be
an adventuress, but I could not see what benefit
would accrue from it. If any conspiracy were in
progress she would, of course, deny all knowledge
of Shaw's whereabouts.
Therefore I bought some cigars, which I placed
in my case, and when the autumn twilight had
Tea


268
THE LOST MILLION
deepened into night I put on my motor-cap, and
taking my stick, set out again to cover the three
miles or so which lay between the hotel and the
residence of the wealthy widow.
I did not hurry, and as I approached the village
and passed the inn with the red blinds I kept a
wary eye, fearing lest Tramu might be in the
vicinity.
That it was he who had been making inquiry
of the landlord there was no doubt. In what man-
ner the French police had gained knowledge of the
woman Olliffe's address I knew not, and why he
was in the United States watching her, was equally
a mystery. One fact was evident, namely that
the Paris Sûreté had some serious charge against
her, and further, that she must be all unconscious
of the presence of the renowned police-agent.
Should I discover anything, or gain anything,
by giving her warning I asked myself.
No. She was far too clever for that. If, as
I had suspected, she had had any hand in poor
Guy's death, then it was only right that the in-
quiries and action of the police should not be in-
terfered with. Again, was it not a highly sus-
picious circumstance that, with her husband — the
man King who posed as her brother — together
with a stranger, she had returned home at that


THE LOST MILLION 269
early hour in a car — a few hours after a car had
left a point not half a mile from my own house !
I passed through the village unobserved, and
out again up a hill until I came to that low
wall behind which lay the park surrounding Ridge-
hill, that same wall from which a few weeks be-
fore I had obtained my first sight of the house of
the adventuress. Fortunately the night had become
cloudy, threatening rain, and the moon was hidden.
So, mounting the wall, I entered the park and
walked across, towards the broad lawn in front
of the manor. A dry ditch separated the lawn
from the park to prevent cattle from approaching,
and this I presently negotiated, at last standing
upon the lawn itself. Near by, I saw a weeping
ash, and beneath its bell-like branches I passed, and
there waited.
From where I stood I could see into the big
lighted drawing-room, the blinds of which were
up, but there was no one within, though the French
windows stood open.
I could hear voices — of the servants most
probably — and the clatter of dishes being washed
after dinner. But the night was very still, not a
leaf stirred in the dark belt of firs which lay on
my left, and which presently afforded me better
shelter, allowing me to approach nearer the house.


270
THE LOST MILLION
re
The night-mists were rising, and the air had
become chilly. Certainly this woman of many
adventures, even though she be a convicted crim-
inal, managed to live amid delightful surround-
ings.
As the evening wore on I caught a glimpse of
her crossing the room in a black low-cut dinner
dress edged with silver, a truly handsome gown.
She swept to the piano, and next moment there fell
upon my ear the music of one of the latest waltzes
of musical comedy.
Then her husband, cigar in hand, and in well-
cut evening-dress, came to the French window,
looked out upon the night and retired again.
But after that I saw nothing until an hour later,
when the butler closed the window carefully and
bolted it, and then, one by one, the lights in the
lower portion of the fine mansion disappeared and
those upstairs were lit. Two windows, evidently
the double windows of a corner-room opposite me,
were lit brilliantly behind a green holland blind,
but half an hour later they also were extin-
guished.
I glanced at my watch. It was then half-past
eleven, and the house was in total darkness. Yet
I still waited, wondering vaguely if Tramu were
still in the vicinity.


272 THE LOST MILLION
its dark clump of trees, I quickly followed with
noiseless tread over the dewy grass.
She had evidently signalled to somebody, un-
known to her husband!
Straight across the wide grass-lands I followed
until she gained a spot where a stile gave entrance
to a dark wood on the opposite side of the park.
There she halted, and I was only just in time to
draw back into the shadow and hide myself.
I watched, and a few minutes later I was startled
at hearing that peculiar whistle of Shaw's, and
next moment he emerged from the wood and
joined her.
“Well, what's the fear?” I heard him ask her
quickly. “I had your wire this morning, and got
to Babylon by the last train. Couldn't you have
written?"
“No; it was highly dangerous," was her low
response, and then she uttered some quick explana-
tion which I could not catch.
Was it possible that she had learnt of Tramu's
visit, for I distinctly heard him cry:
“You fool! Why did you bring me here?
Why weren't you more wary?”
But in her reply she turned her back upon me,
so that I could not distinguish her words.
They stood close together in the darkness con-
WO


THE LOST MILLION
273
versing in low tones, as though in earnest consulta-
tion, while I, holding my breath, strove in vain to
catch their words.
The only other sound was the mournful hooting
of an owl in the trees above, for the dead stillness
of the night was now upon everything.
"Exactly," I heard the woman say. “My
own opinion is that he suspects. Therefore you
must act quickly — as before."
“I am hesitating," the man's voice replied.
"I can't bring myself to do it. I really can't!"
“ Bosh! Then leave it to me," she urged in
a hard rasping voice. “You're becoming timid
— chicken-hearted. It isn't like you, surely."
" I'm not timid,” he protested. “Only I fore-
see danger — great danger."
"So do 1 — if you don't act promptly. Get
her away from Garden City. Go anywhere else
you like."
They were speaking of Asta! I strained my
ears, but her further words were inaudible.
In a moment, however, I became conscious
of a slight stealthy movement in the bushes
near where I was standing, and turned my head
quickly.
The next second I realised that only a few
yards distant from me, the dark figure of a man


CHAPTER XXV.
IN THE NIGHT
FEARING lest his quick eye should detect my pres-
ence, I stood there motionless as a statue.
The pair, in earnest conversation, suddenly
strolled away over the fallen leaves at the edge of
the wood, whereupon Tramu emerged silently
from his hiding-place and crept after them, I be-
ing compelled to remain where I was.
So the French police had traced Shaw to his
place of concealment!
I longed to give him warning, but was unable.
What should I do? How should I act?
Asta was at the Hotel at Garden City. At
least I could ring her up on the telephone, and tell
her what I had seen! So the watcher and the
watched having disappeared, I hurried across the
park until at length I gained the main-road and
went on at a brisk pace till I was back again at my
hotel.
It took me a full hour to get Garden City on the
telephone, and after long delay I at last heard
Asta's sweet well-remembered voice at the instru-
ment.
275


THE LOST MILLION 277.
smiling me a welcome greeting. She looked dainty
in a blue serge skirt, muslin blouse, and there being
no one else in the place at that early hour, the idlers
not yet having arrived to read their papers and
novels, we sat together in a corner to chat.
By the pallor of her soft delicate countenance,
I saw that she was nervous and troubled, though
she showed a brave front, and affected a gay light-
heartedness that was only feigned.
“Tell me, Miss Seymour," I said presently,
bending to her very seriously, “what happened
to you on that night in Aix?”.
“Happened!” she echoed, her dark eyes open-
ing widely. “Ah! it was, indeed, a narrow es-
cape. Had Dad not provided himself with a key
to the back-stairs in readiness for emergencies we
should have both been arrested — just as you
were."
“Yes," I smiled. “But I was released. But
tell me, how did you know Tramu was in Aix?”.
“I did not know for certain, but that evening
as I was ascending in the lift I thought I saw him
talking to the hotel manager as we passed the first
floor. Dad had once pointed him out to me at
Monte Carlo. Of course I suspected the reason of
his visit so I scribbled you a note of warning which
I sent the moment my suspicion was confirmed."


278 THE LOST MILLION
“ Please go on — you caught the night ex-
press ?”
“Oh! what a terrible night ride that was!"
she exclaimed. “It was terrible — awful — Mr.
Kemball, but we escaped!”
After waiting a moment she went on, still ex-
citedly:
“ It seems that Dad had been warned of trouble
before I saw the French detective from the lift."
“By whom?"
“By a man named Surridge — a man who never
allows his identity to be known, but who acts as our
watch-dog to give us warning of any unwelcome
watchers. This Surridge, unknown to you, fol-
lowed us everywhere we went in England and
France. He always drove his own car and it was
his Buick that we found waiting for us after we
dashed down the back stairs and opened the door
of the service exit. In a second we were aboard
and flying through the streets of Aix. Dad drove
like a fiend, for we had to catch the Paris night ex-
press at a point forty miles away. We did it with
a few seconds to spare, but of course had to aban-
don the car. Then, fearing that our flight had
· been telegraphed to Paris, we changed trains at
some station which I have forgotten and went to
Strasburg by way of Troyes and Nancy. Once in
al


THE LOST MILLION
279
Germany we could of course escape Tramu's at-
tentions,” and she smiled.
“And from Germany ?”
“We remained a week in Berlin, thence we went
to Copenhagen by Kiel and Korsov, and ten
days ago crossed from Hamburg to Harwich —
and then home again in New York.”
“Your father is certainly extremely clever in
evading the police," I said with a laugh.
“Our only fear was for you,” she said,
“ whether they would learn anything by watching
you."
“They learned nothing, even though they sub-
mitted me to a very close examination. But for
what reason is Tramu so anxious to secure your
arrest?” I asked, looking straight into her face.”
“Cannot you tell me the truth, Miss Seymour ?
Remember that I am your friend," I added ear-
nestly.
“Please do not ask me," she urged. “I can-
not betray the man who has been father to me all
these years,” she added in a low, pained voice.
“But are you quite certain that he is as devoted
to you as he professes ? ” I asked very gravely.
“ Absolutely. Am I not the only real friend
he has ? ”
I recollected that letter written by the man who


THE LOST MILLION 281
and is extremely eager to get possession of it. Is
not that so ?”
She was silent. Her lips moved nervously.
Her undecision to speak told me the truth. We
were friends, therefore she could not deliberately
lie to me.
A faint smile overspread her pale, refined fea-
tures. That was all, but it told its own tale.
“Well,” I said. “The burglars, whoever they
were, were experts and only the electric alarm pre-
vented the theft. What the ancient cylinder really
contains I cannot imagine. Indeed, I am filled
with anxiety and impatience for the dawn of Nov-
ember the third, when, without doubt, I shall learn
the truth."
“Yes, no doubt," she said in a slow, tremulous
tone. “And the truth will surely be a stranger
one than you have ever dreamed."
Our tête-à-tête was suddenly interrupted by a
woman entering the room, therefore, as Asta had
her hat and coat with her, I suggested that we
should walk about the grounds, an idea which she
readily adopted.
Then, when there was no one to overhear, I
told her of my adventure in the night, of Tramu's
inquiries in the neighbourhood of Ridgehill and of


282 THE LOST MILLION
his surveillance of the movements of Mrs. Olliffe
and her father.
“Tramu!" she gasped, her face white as death.
“ Then he has found poor Dad! Why didn't you
tell me this before?".
“Because I had no wish to alarm you unduly,
Miss Seymour," I said very quietly.
“But Dad may be arrested!" she cried. “Ah!
how fatal to associate again with that accursed
woman.”
“She is certainly no friend of yours."
“But she makes great pretence of friendship.
I have often been her guest.”
“For the last time, I trust."
“Yes. But what can we do? How can I warn
Dad?” she asked in deep anxiety.
“Ah! Miss Seymour," I said, after a brief si-
lence. “I fear that you think a little too much of
your foster-father, and too little of your own self.”
“Why?” she asked quickly, with some resent-
ment.
Again I hesitated. We were wandering about
the grounds, but it was, as yet, early, and few peo-
ple were about.
“Let us sit here a moment," I suggested at last.
" It is pleasant in the sunshine. I have something
to show you."
me res


THE LOST MILLION 283
Without a word she seated herself where I sug-
gested, and then I drew from my pocket the letter
which Guy Nicholson had written to me on the
night of his tragic death, and handed it to her.
I watched her sweet face so pale and anxious.
In an instant she recognised the writing of the
hand now dead, and read it through eagerly from
end to end.
I explained how it had come so tardily into my
possession, whereupon she said:
“ It is true. He disliked Dad for some inex-
plicable reason.”
" Apparently he had become aware of some ex-
traordinary truth. It was that truth which he had
intended to explain to me but, poor fellow, he
was prevented from doing so by his sudden death."
Sight of that letter had recalled to her visions
of the man whom she had loved so fondly, and
next instant I hated myself for having acted in-
judiciously in showing her the curious missive.
Ah! how deeply, how devotedly I loved her,
and yet I dared not utter one single word of affec-
tion. That calm sweet countenance with those big,
wonderful eyes, was ever before me, sleeping or
waking, and yet I knew not from hour to hour
that she might not be arrested and placed in a crimi-
nal dock as accomplice of that arch-adventurer
W


286
THE LOST MILLION
all, save to the person who shall dare break it open
and examine it."
"And dare you break it open, Miss Seymour ?”
I asked.
“No- a thousand times,' no!” she cried,
alarmed at the very suggestion. “I would rather
see it taken up and cast deep into the sea. Why
don't you do that, Mr. Kemball? Take it out in a
boat and sink it deep in the waters, where no man
- not even divers, could ever recover it. Sink it
deeply," she urged, “ so that all fears may be dis-
pelled and peace and love may reign."
But I shook my head, expressing regret at my
utter inability to accede to her desire.
And then, very slowly, we retraced our steps
back to the hotel where some hours later an unex-
pected surprise was awaiting us.


CHAPTER XXVI
CONTAINS AN OMINOUS MESSAGE
As we came out from luncheon, the hall-porter
gave Asta a telegram which she tore open hastily
and read, afterwards handing it to me in silence.
To my surprise I found it to be from Shaw, in-
forming her that he was on his way home to Edge-
water, and asking her to return home that day.
The message had been handed in at the Babylon
railway-station, therefore it appeared that he was
already on his way.
“ Is there not danger — distinct danger in this,
Mr. Kemball?” she queried, in great anxiety.
“ If Tramu were watching last night, then he will
be followed home!”
“I don't see how we can prevent him from go-
-ing to Edgewater now," I said. “We have no
address where a telegram would reach him.”
Truly the situation was a critical one. Harvey
Shaw, all unconscious of being watched, was actu-
ally returning to his highly respectable home!
"Oh! if I could only warn him!” Asta cried,
wringing her hands. Yet personally, I was not
thinking of the man's peril so much as hers. If
287


288
THE LOST MILLION
she went to Edgewater would not she also fall into
the drag-net of the police ?
Yet what was the mysterious charge against her
- the charge which the French police had refused
to reveal to me?
While she changed her dress and packed her
small trunk, I had a look around my engine, and
two hours later, with her sitting beside me, we were
buzzing along the Mineola road.
It was delightful to have her as companion
through those sunny hours on the road, and she
looked inexpressibly dainty in her close-fitting little
bonnet, fur-coat and gauntlet gloves.
Yet though she charmed me by her voice;
though her sweet beauty filled my whole being
and intoxicated my senses, nevertheless I, some-
how, experienced a strange presage of evil.
Had Harvey Shaw once again exercised those
precautions against disaster and managed to elude
the vigilance of the great French police-agent?
That was the main question in my mind as I drove
the car. If Shaw had been unsuspicious, what
more natural than that he should be followed by
Tramu to that hiding-place where he assumed the
rôle of county-gentleman.
The autumn afternoon wore on, and I could
not help noticing the pallor and anxious look


THE LOST MILLION 289
on the face of the girl at my side. And I
loved her, ah! yes, I loved her more than my pen
has power to describe. She possessed me body
and soul. She was all in all to me.
That she was reflecting upon the letter penned
by Guy almost immediately before his death, I
knew by her several references to it.
“I wonder what is the solution of that shadowy
hand which we both have seen, Mr. Kemball ? "
she exclaimed suddenly, after sitting in silence for
some time, her eyes fixed upon the muddy road that
lay before us.
“You mean the solution at which Nicholson
apparently arrived,” I said.
“ Yes."
“How can we tell? He evidently discovered
something — something of extreme importance
which he wished to communicate to me."
"I wonder why he makes those extraordinary
statements about Dad — and the locked cupboard
in his room.”
“I don't know. Have you ever seen inside
that cupboard?" I asked quickly, my eyes still
upon the road.
“Never. But poor Guy seems to have re-
garded it as a kind of Bluebeard's cupboard -
didn't he?”


290 THE LOST MILLION
Wh
“He seemed to entertain some curious suspicion
concerning your father," I admitted. “Of course
he did not know half that I know."
“Of course not,” she sighed. “He simply be-
lieved, as others do, that he is a county gentleman.
And he would have been if —"
“If what?"
“If — if it had not been for that terrible
woman,” she added, in a low, hard voice. “Ah!
Mr. Kemball, if only you could know the truth
if only I dare tell you. But I can't — I can't be-
tray the man who has been so good and kind to me
all my life.”
“But could I not, if I knew the actual truth, be
of service to him?" I suggested. “ Could I not
be of service to him for your sake?” I added in a
low, earnest tone, my eyes fixed upon her pale
troubled countenance.
She looked at me in sharp, startled surprise.
Her cheeks flushed slightly. Then, lowering her
eyes, she turned her glance away, straight before
her again, and in pretence that she had not under-
stood my meaning, replied simply:
“If the heavy hand of disaster falls upon him,
then I fear it must fall upon me also.”
How sweet she looked; how serious and pensive
her beautiful countenance.


294 THE LOST MILLION
al
Was this actually the man who had made the
attempt to break open my safe and secure the
bronze cylinder of Melvill Arnold?
No. I could not believe it. He was an ad-
venturer, without a doubt, but men of his stamp
are invariably loyal to those who show them
friendship. What, I wondered, had caused Guy
Nicholson to doubt his affection for Asta? I cer-
tainly could dectect nothing to cause me to arrive
at such conclusion.
The girl entered the room to obtain a book,
whereupon, removing his cigar from his mouth, he
said in a low voice:
" Come and sit here, dear. I haven't been with
you lately. I fear you must have found Garden
City dreadfully dull."
“Well, I did rather. Mr. Kemball's unex-
pected arrival was most welcome, I assure you,"
she declared, sinking into a chair, and placing both
hands behind her beautiful head as she leaned back
upon the yellow silk cushion.
“I confess I had no suspicion that Mr. Kemball
was in Babylon," declared her father with a smile.
Then, turning to me, he added: “I feared to
communicate with you, lest Tramu might be watch-
ing your correspondence. He is one of the few
ds


THE LOST MILLION 295
no
really intelligent police-officials that France pos-
sesses."
“He is evidently extremely anxious to make
your acquaintance," I laughed.
“I believe so. And I am equally anxious to
avoid him. While I remain here, however, I am
quite unsuspected and safe. It is really surpris-
ing," he added, "what an air of respectability a lit-
tle profuse charity gives to one in a country dis-
trict. Become a churchwarden, get appointed a
justice of the peace, sit upon the board of guard-
ians, give a few teas and school-treats, and sub-
scribe to the church funds, and though you may be
an entire outsider, you can do no wrong in the eyes
of the country folk. I know it from experience."
“Ah! you are a little too reckless sometimes,
Dad,” exclaimed the girl, shaking her head. “Re-
member that when you've not taken Surridge's ad-
vice you've run into danger."
But the man with the small shrewd eyes only
smiled at the girl's words of wisdom.
Again and again there recurred to me those
strange expressions in the letters of poor Guy.
Ahl if he only had lived! And yet if he were still
alive my love for the girl before me must have
been a hopeless one. Only in those last weeks


296 THE LOST MILLION
had she abandoned her deep black. That she
often sat for hours plunged in bitter memories I
knew full well. Would she ever sufficiently for-
get to allow me to take his place in her young
heart.
Knowing her nature, her honest, true, open-
hearted disposition, I sometimes experienced a
strange heart-sinking that after all she could never
reciprocate my love. Yet now, as the weeks had
gone on, my affection had become stronger and
stronger until I was now seized by a passion akin
to madness. I loved her with all my soul, as truly
and as well as ever man has loved a woman through
all the ages.
Yet, for what reason I cannot even now de-
termine, I felt a strange foreboding that evil was
pursuing her. I experienced exactly the same feel.
ing that Guy Nicholson had felt when he penned
that letter to me, the delivery of which was, alas!
so long delayed.
Presently, when Asta had risen again and left
the room, Shaw turned to me, and said:
"Poor girl, Guy's death was a great blow to
her, but she is gradually getting over it — don't
you think so? I should never have risked going
to the Continent had it not been for her sake — in
order to give her change. But in these last few


THE LOST MILLION
297.
weeks we've had sufficient change, in all conscience.
She's always so cool and level-headed that I feel
lost without her, Kemball.”
His words were surely not those of an enemy.
No, more then ever was I convinced of his devo-
tion to the girl who, as a tiny child, he had adopted
as his own daughter.
Mention of Nicholson, however, afforded me op-
portunity to tell him how tardily I had received a
letter from the dead man.
“ It was written only an hour before he died,"
I added.
“Written, I suppose, after his guests had left,
eh?” asked Shaw, his face a little hard and changed
I thought. “He mentioned me. What did he
say? What did he tell you?”
“Nothing," I replied, sorry that I had spoken
so injudiciously.
"Poor Guy didn't like me, I fear," declared
my host quietly. “He didn't know what you
know, hence he viewed me with suspicion. I
couldn't very well tell him the truth — or he would
have cast poor little Asta aside."
“I quite understand," I said.
“Well, what did he say against me?” he asked,
looking at me strangely with those small, myste-
rious eyes of his.


298
THE LOST MILLION
U SO
“Nothing whatever."
“You're deceiving me. I know what he has
told you. He has revealed to you something -
something — "
“He has revealed nothing," I declared.
“ Why would he?”
But the man lying back in his chair drew at his
cigar hard and contemplatively, a strange smile
overspreading his broad features. I saw that he
was unconvinced, and that upon his countenance
was a curious dark expression such as I had never
before seen.
Yet it was only for an instant, for next moment,
he was smiling and invited me to pass the night with
them.
I, however, declined, for I expected some im-
portant business letters at home, and was com-
pelled therefore to return to Boxwood towards
which destination I set forth about ten
o'clock.
I had travelled not a few miles when, three miles
this side of Roslyn, a double calamity befell me.
Not only did one of my back tyres burst, but some-
thing went wrong with my magneto. Hence in
the darkness, and with rain beginning to fall, I
was brought to a complete standstill.
Midnight passed. I was several miles from


THE LOST MILLION 299
as
anywhere and magnetos are tricky things. I must,
I suppose, have been pottering about for some
hours, and not a soul had passed me in either direc-
tion. The distant chimes of a church somewhere
had struck three or four times when, just as I was
about to give up the attempt to re-adjust the mag-
neto, I suddenly heard the sound of a galloping
horse approaching in the darkness.
As it came up I saw it was ridden by a youth,
and I was just about to hail him and ask him to
fetch assistance when, with the perversity of such
instruments, the magneto started again quite mer-
rily. Therefore I once again mounted at the
wheel and flashing past the lonely horseman, pushed
on through the rain over the remaining miles till
I at last reached my own home.
Next morning, before it was light I heard the
sound of a horse's hoofs on the drive, and to my
great surprise recognised the same young horse-
man, muddy and wearied. Throwing something
over my pajamas I went forth to meet him, when
he handed me a note saying:
“Miss Seymour, of Edgewater, asked me to
bring this at once, sir. It is very important. I've
been riding all night.”
“Yes," I cried. “Why, I remember I passed
you in my car!”.


CHAPTER XXVII
IN THE BALANCE
“How did you get this?” I asked the youth.
“Who are you?"
“I'm John May, sir," was his answer. “I
work in the gardens at Edgewater, an' last night
as I was a-comin' home late from Flushing I met
Miss Asta out in the drive. She was like a mad
thing. She 'ad the letter, and wanted it delivered
at once. So I went to the stables and sayin' noth-
ink, came away.”
“Then she had written this note, and gone out
in the hope of finding someone to deliver it?" I
exclaimed, glancing at his horse, and noticing that
it was absolutely done up after an all-night ride.
“I didn't know it was you, sir, that passed me
in a motor-car," the young gardener went on.
"No," I said, re-reading the mysterious sum-
mons for help. “But you and your horse must re-
main here and rest. I shall return to Edgewater
in the car."
Full of anxiety I put on my mackintosh and cap,
for it was raining steadily, but again my machine
gave me more trouble and it was some time before
301


302 THE LOST MILLION
I was on my way along the autumn-tinted roads.
The morning was that of the first of November.
Regardless of speed-limits, or of police traps, I
tore along until I again pulled up at the old stone
porch of the mansion.
A maid-servant opened the door and I eagerly
inquired for Miss Seymour.
“She's very ill, sir," was the girl's reply. “Mr.
Shaw's been called on the Bench this morning, but
he'll be back in an hour. Doctor Redwood is here,
sir.”
“Redwood! Then what's the matter?” I
gasped. .
“I hardly know, sir. But here's Mrs. How-
ard!” and looking along the wide hall I saw the
grave-faced woman in black standing out of the
light.
“Oh, Mrs. Howard!” I cried, walking up to
her. “What's happened to Miss Asta? Tell
me. Is she ill ?”
“ Very, I'm afraid, sir," replied the house-
keeper in a low voice. "The doctor is upstairs
with her. What happened in the night was most
extraordinary and mysterious."
“Tell me — tell me all, I beg of you," I cried
quickly.
"Well, sir, it was like this," said the woman.


304
THE LOST MILLION
foot of the bed. She was still crying hysterically
and quivering with fear from head to foot. I bent,
and taking her in my arms asked her what was the
matter, for as we had entered, somebody had
switched on the electric-light. For a moment, she
looked at me fixedly with a strange, intense expres-
sion, as though she did not recognise me. Then
she gasped the words: 'Death! - hand! -
hand!' That was all. Next moment, she fell
back in my arms and I thought her dead. Mr.
Shaw was beside himself with grief. He helped
to lift her on to her bed and tried all he could to
restore her with brandy and sal volatile, but
without avail. In the meanwhile I had telephoned
to Doctor Redwood, who arrived about half an
hour later, and he's been here ever since."
“And how is Miss Asta now?" I inquired
eagerly.
“Still unconscious. The doctor has, I fear, but
little hope of her recovery, sir. She has, he de-
clared, received some great and terrible shock
which has affected her heart."
The circumstances were strangely parallel with
those of Guy Nicholson's mysterious end!
“No one has formed any conclusion of what
caused the shock?”
“No, sir. None of us, not even the doctor,
ver


THE LOST MILLION 307
I examined the lock of the door. The key was
still on the inside, while the hasp was broken,
and the hasp of a small brass safety-bolt above
had also been forced off. Hence the door must
have been both locked and bolted. Certainly
there could have been no intruder in that room.
One object caused me curiosity and my heart beat
quickly. Upon the mantel-shelf was a little
framed snap-shot of myself and her father, which
she had one day taken outside the Casino at Aix.
But what had she seen within that room to cause
her such shock — nay, to produce upon her almost
exactly the same symptoms which in the case of
Guy Nicholson terminated fatally?
I heard a footstep in the corridor, and emerging
from the room came face to face with the fussy old
doctor in his rough tweeds.
My unexpected appearance caused him to utter
an exclamation of surprise, but when I asked
breathlessly for news of his patient, he looked very
grave and said:
“A weak heart, and brain trouble, my dear Mr.
Kemball. To tell you frankly, alas! I fear the
worst."
" Come here a moment," I said, taking him by
the arm and pulling him into the disordered bed-
room. “Now," I added as I pushed the door to


THE LOST MILLION 309
mind, or I should attribute the affair to some hal-
lucination.”
" It was more than hallucination," I assured
him, recollecting my own experience, yet deter-
mined not to assist him towards the elucidation of
the mystery. The dead man had evidently made
a discovery immediately before his fatal seizure.
I recollected that brief urgent note of Asta's.
Had she, too, made a similar discovery?
Yes. There could be no evasion of the fact.
The two cases were in every way identical.
For nearly a quarter of an hour I stood discuss-
ing the amazing affair with Redwood. I could
see that he was both mystified and suspicious, there-
fore I extracted from him a pledge of secrecy, and
promised to assist him towards a solution of the ex-
traordinary problem. I made no mention to any-
body of Asta's message to me, which I intended
should remain a secret.
At my earnest appeal he allowed me to creep on
tiptoe into the darkened chamber, wherein still lay
unconscious the woman I loved so profoundly —
she who was all the world to me.
I bent over the poor white face that presented
the waxen transparency of death, and touched the
thin, soft hand that lay outside the coverlet.
Then, with eyes filled with tears, and half choked


310 THE LOST MILLION
by the sob which I was powerless to restrain, I
turned away and left the room.
“Will she recover ? " I managed to ask the doc-
tor. But he merely raised his thick eyebrows in
blank uncertainty.
What devil's work has been accomplished within
that locked room? Ay, what indeed?
Against the man Shaw who had so cleverly mis-
led her into the honest belief that he adored her,
there arose within me a deep and angry hatred.
Why was he not there, knowing Asta's precarious
condition? His excuse of enforced attendance at
the courtroom was, no doubt, an ingenious one.
Little did he dream that, before the occurrence,
Asta had summoned me, and for that reason I was
there at her side.
So strange had been all the circumstances from
that moment when the man of mystery — Melvill
Arnold — had breathed his last, that I had become
utterly bewildered. And this amazing occurrence
in the night now staggered me. Only one person
had solved the mystery of the shadowy hand, and
he, alas! had not lived to reveal what, no doubt,
was a terrible truth.
In the corridor I stood discussing my beloved's
condition in low, bated whispers with the fussy
country practitioner. He had already telephoned


THE LOST MILLION
311
come
for Doctor Petherbridge, in Garden City, to come
for consultation, and was now expecting him to
come over in his car.
“I have done all I can, Mr. Kemball," he said.
“But as we don't know the cause, the exact remedy
is rather difficult to determine. Every symptom is
of brain trouble through fright."
"Exactly the same symptoms as those you ob-
served in Nicholson!” I remarked. Whereat he
slowly nodded in the affirmative and again stroked
his rosy, clean-shaven chin.
"Well, doctor,” I said, “I intend to make it
my business to investigate the cause of this peculiar
phenomenon."
And I sat down and wrote an urgent telegram to
Cardew, who was, I knew, now stationed at New-
port.


CHAPTER XXVIII
ANOTHER REVELATION
The dark, anxious hours of that dismal autumn
morning went slowly by.
Doctor Petherbridge arrived in hot haste from
Garden City, and had long and earnest consulta-
tion with Redwood. Both men were greatly
puzzled. I met them when, after a long and eager
wait they emerged in silence from the sick room.
“We are doing all we can, Mr. Kemball,” de-
clared Petherbridge. “The young lady is, I re-
gret to say, in a most precarious condition - in
fact in a state of collapse."
I begged him to remain, and he did so. For
several hours they were constantly at her bedside,
while Mrs. Howard, anxious and solicitous for the
welfare of her young mistress, expressed surprise
that Mr. Shaw did not return.
My own suspicion was that he had already fled,
yet it proved ungrounded, for at half-past two he
arrived in eager haste, in a hired carriage, his car
having broken down. Both doctors came forward
and explained that the condition of Miss Asta had
in no way improved. She was suffering from some
SC
CV
312


THE LOST MILLION 313
obscure malady which they had diagnosed as af.
fecting both heart and brain.
“ Poor girl! Poor girl!” he cried, tears welling
in his eyes. “Do your best for her, I pray of you
both,” he added. “She's all the world to me.
Can we summon a specialist?”
“Dr. Mortimer, in Fifty-fourth Street, might
see her,” remarked the doctor from Garden
City.
“Let's wire to him at once,” urged Shaw
eagerly. “I accept your diagnosis entirely, yet I
would like to have a specialist's opinion.”
Both medical men acquiesced, and a telegram
was despatched to the great specialist on brain
trouble.
As Redwood, seated at the library-table, wrote
the telegram his close-set eyes met mine. The
glance we exchanged was significant.
“How did you know of this terrible affair, Kem-
ball ? ” asked Shaw abruptly, a little time after-
wards.
"I came over to invite you both to dine next
Wednesday," I said, of course concealing the secret
message I had received from the woman I had
grown to love.
In response, he gave a grunt of dissatisfaction,
and walked down the hall in hasty impatience.


314 THE LOST MILLION
.
Was his impatience an eagerness to hear of the poor
girl's end?
Surely that could not be, for was he not so ut-
terly devoted to her. And yet her seizure and
her symptoms were exactly similar to those of poor
Guy Nicholson!
The whole day I remained there, watching
closely Shaw's demeanour and his movements.
Once, when he found me alone looking forth
from the window of the morning-room, he came up
beside me and looking at me with those small,
quick eyes of his, said:
“ This is a terrible blow for me, Kemball. I
have been quite frank with you. Therefore be
frank with me. I've not been blind. I've noticed
that you've been in love with the poor child, and
- well, to tell the truth, I secretly hoped that one
day you would propose marriage to her. My own
position is, as you know, one of hourly insecurity,
and my keenest wish was to see her happily settled
before — before the crisis."
"You guessed the truth," was my reply. “I
do love her - I love her more than I can tell."
He sighed deeply, a sigh that echoed through
the big silent room.
“Well," he said. “Our grief must be mutual,
was


THE LOST MILLION
315
CIT
I fear. Petherbridge has just told me that they do
not believe she can live another hour."
Hardly had those words left his mouth when
Mrs. Howard ushered in a tall, thin, white-haired
man, the eminent specialist, Dr. Mortimer.
Without delay, he was taken to the poor girl's
room, and then a long period of anxious waiting
while the trio of medical men remained with the
door closed.
I suppose it must have been about an hour after-
wards when, on passing along the carpeted corri-
dor near Shaw's room, next that of Asta I saw that
the door was shut, but as I passed I heard him utter
that peculiar whistle, yet so very low that it was
only just audible. Twice I heard it and halting,
found myself involuntarily copying him. He was
whistling so softly that it could scarcely be over-
heard beyond the walls of his own room.
What was the meaning of that sound? Prob-
ably it only escaped his lips when deep in thought.
Some men invariably whistle softly, or hum tunes,
while dressing. Yet in any case it was curious that
he should do this while Asta lay dying!
All was chaos and disorder in that usually calm,
well-ordered household. Just about seven o'clock
Redwood came to me and called me to one of the


THE LOST MILLION
317
- nov
“A little mystery!” I echoed. “Ah, Dr. Mor-
timer, there is a very great mystery, one which I
intend at all hazards to investigate — now that
Asta has fallen a victim."
But as I spoke the door was unceremoniously
pushed open and Shaw, who had put on a dark blue
suit, and who looked unusually pale and haggard,
entered and inquired for the latest bulletin of the
patient.
“I'm glad to tell you, Mr. Shaw, that she will
probably recover,” replied the eminent man. “In
an hour, we hope to have her conscious again, and
then she will, I trust, tell us what happened — what
she indicated when in her fright she made men-
tion of this mysterious hand.”
The Hand! I recollected those written words
of Melvill Arnold.
“She was delirious, I suppose, poor girl!”
Shaw said. “But this is real good news that she
* is getting better! You are quite sure that she will
not be taken from us?”.
“I hope not. I have treated similar cases."
“Ah! then there is nothing abnormal in this !"
he cried eagerly.
“I cannot exactly say that, Mr. Shaw. When
the poor young lady recovers she will be able
to tell us what really occurred to cause her


320
THE LOST MILLION
tinued unconsciousness, and had expressed a desire
not to be disturbed. As I passed the door I heard
him speaking over the telephone to someone. All
I heard was the number — the number of the
woman Olliffe! I tried to gather what he said,
but was unable. He was purposely speaking in a
low tone — so as not to be overheard.
When the long old grandfather's clock in the
hall had chimed eleven, I ascended the wide stair-
case with Cardew, and with an electric torch, which
I had several hours ago found in the library, we
gained the landing.
Redwood brushed past in haste, and in reply to
my question gave but little hope of my poor love's
recovery. “Mortimer is about to make a last ef-
fort with another injection," he said. “But I fear,
Mr. Kemball, that we must now abandon all
hope."
My heart stood still. His words fell upon me
as though he had struck me a blow.
"No hope!” I managed to gasp.
“No, none, Mr. Kemball," replied the doctor,
and he hurried away to fetch something from the
servants' quarters.
I made no further remark. Mere words failed
me. If Asta were lost to me, then it was my duty
to avenge her death. Therefore I drew Cardew


THE LOST MILLION 321
into the dark bedroom in which the dying girl had
witnessed the hideous apparition of the Hand, and
then, with difficulty — for one hinge was broken
- I closed the door.
Afterwards, I switched on the electric light and
we made a minute and careful examination of the
apartment. But we discovered nothing. Before
entering there I noticed that the door of Shaw's
room adjoining was closed, for he was still down-
stairs writing.
Presently, when we had satisfied ourselves that
in the room was nothing suspicious, I pointed out
to my friend that if we remained quietly in the
darkness, without speaking, no one would suspect
us of being there.
“Now," I added, " I'm going to lie on that
bed, while you sit in yonder arm-chair in the cor-
ner; you take the torch and at sign of the slightest
movement flash on a light at anything you may see.
Don't hesitate, for — well, perhaps my life may be
in danger, like Guy's, who knows?”
I had taken from the corner Asta's small ash
walking stick which she sometimes used when
tramping about the country and with this in my
hand I lay down upon the pillow fully dressed as
I was.
Then Cardew, breathless with excitement


322 THE LOST MILLION
switched off the electric light, plunging the room in
darkness.
Gradually, when our eyes became used to it, we
could distinguish a faint grey light from the win-
dow, but it was not sufficient for me to distinguish
my friend, seated as he was in the corner with light
and weapon ready.
An hour passed, but nothing happened. We
were waiting there, every nerve strained to the ut-
most tension, but in vain.
At last a sudden suggestion crossed my mind,
and leaving Cardew in the room with his torch
ready, I went next door into Shaw's room which
was still dark, and having closed the door, imitated
that peculiar whistle of his. Three or four times
I whistled, surprised that I could imitate him so
exactly. Then I waited, listening intently.
I could hear nothing.
So I crept back again to the bed in Asta's room,
for I think Cardew was now becoming impatient.
Then, while lying upon the bed, I cautioned him to
be very careful.
"Open your light at the slightest sound, remem-
ber."
I held my breath and could hear my own heart
beating in the dead silence. Then, after the lapse
of a few moments — for we were both listening to


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323
the hum of a receding motor-car, and wondering
whose it was, I suddenly gave vent to that low,
curious whistle.
Once, twice, thrice I repeated it, low and cau-
tious, so that anyone passing the door might not
be attracted by it.
Then I listened again with bated breath.
A few seconds went by — seconds of intense
anxiety.
Then, of a sudden, my quick ears caught a curi-
ous, ticking sound, and next moment a flood of
white light fell upon the bed-clothes close to my
head.
I sprang up with a shriek for there — close to
me — I saw something — the terrible claw-like
Hand!


CHAPTER XXIX
DISCLOSES SHAW's Secret
O
The Thing was ugly, hairy and horrible — a
huge dark brown tarantula, the size of a man's
palm which, the instant it was discovered, turned,
sped across the bed-clothes, and disappeared in the
darkness.
Cardew had jumped to his feet with a wild
startled ejaculation of horror, having switched on
the light, but though we rapidly searched the room
high and low, yet nowhere could we find the hor-
rible arachnid. But the secret was out! The re-
volting hairy thing which had, on that night in
Arnay-le-Duc, appeared to me like a weird hand
was that huge venomous spider whose bite was as
fatal as that of a cobra!
Armed with sticks, Cardew and I groped into
every hole and corner of that room, but it had
vanished so suddenly that we could not decide in
which direction it had gone.
“Well!” gasped my friend, amazed. “ By
Gad! I never expected that!".
"Neither did I,” was my breathless reply.
“But the reason of poor Guy's death is now viv-
e
324


THE LOST MILLION 325
idly apparent. He was bitten by that arachnid,
which Shaw, in all probability, purposely left in his
young friend's library, prior to returning home on
that fatal night. I think I realise the truth!” I
cried. “This particular species of lycosa taran-
tula is, I have read, found in the primeval forests
of Peru, and will only attack human beings when
they are motionless or asleep. Its bite is most
deadly. It causes stupor, followed by coma or
paralysis, and the victim rapidly dies. Yet if the
mark of its bite be concealed and unsuspected, as it
may easily be in the hair, then the symptoms are
identical with those of inflammation of the brain -
the disease from which poor Guy is supposed to
have died!"
“ Then you suspect Shaw of having kept the
horrible thing as a pet — eh?” he gasped, staring
at me amazed.
“Both as a pet, and as an instrument of mur-
der," I replied. “The thing being nocturnal in
its habits would, if introduced into a room, remain
carefully hidden all day, and only attack the vic-
tim at night while he is sleeping. I had a narrow
escape while motoring in France with Shaw"; and
then in a few words I described my own experi-
ence, and also Asta's previous sight of what had
appeared to both of us as a weird, uncanny hand.


326 THE LOST MILLION
“ Then this scoundrel Shaw evidently intended
that you should die!” he exclaimed. “By Jove!
old chap, you have had a narrow escape!”
“Yes. He must have carried his dangerous pet
in secret in a box, I suppose, and he must have
taken it away with him when he fled from Aix."
Then, suddenly recollecting that curious whistle
of his, I realised how Shaw had used it in order to
recall the great spider.
“Put out the light, Cardew," I said. “Have
your torch ready. I have an idea.”
“But — "he hesitated in apprehension.
“Have no fear. We want to see the hideous
thing again — and to kill it," I said.
Next second the room was once more in dark-
ness, and after a few moments I began to imitate
softly that peculiar whistle that I had learnt from
Shaw.
Then we waited in breathless silence, not moving
a muscle.
Again and again I whistled, but we could hear
no movement. The huge spider was, we felt as-
sured, somewhere in the room, but where, we could
not discover.
"Switch on the light," I cried at last, and in a
second the place became illuminated again, when to
our surprise, half-way down the pink and white


328
THE LOST MILLION
and restoratives, and by dawn he came to me with
the joyful news that she had taken a turn for the
better. Our knowledge of the real cause of the
ailment had only been gained in the very nick of
time.
Further examination of the walls of Asta's room
resulted in the amazing discovery that the door of
a cupboard in the wall beside the fireplace was
warped and when closed left a space of an inch
open at the bottom. The cupboard was lined in-
side with wood panelling, and in one panel at the
back a tiny trap-door about four inches square had
been cut, so that it could be removed from within
the corresponding cupboard which was in Shaw's
room adjoining.
Investigation showed that the cupboard in ques-
tion was the one secured by those two patent locks,
and on breaking it open we found that in it Shaw
had kept the venomous spider, for both water and
food were there, as well as a thick india-rubber
glove which he no doubt used when he wished to
handle his hideous pet and a small wire cage in
which it could be carried.
In order to release it into Asta's room he had
only to move the small piece of cut panel in the
back of its place of imprisonment and, glad to es-
cape, the thing would pass through, as no doubt it


330
THE LOST MILLION
I had, at least, solved two points in that amaz.
ing mystery of avarice and cunning. I had dis-
covered the cruel ingenious manner in which Guy
Nicholson had been killed because of the knowledge
he had accidentally gained, and I had also estab-
lished the fact that Shaw intended that poor Asta
should succumb.
But what was the motive of this double crime?
That point was, in itself, the most puzzling point
of all.


CHAPTER XXX
THE THIRD OF NOVEMBER
THROUGH the whole of the following day I re-
mained at Edgewater, but as may be imagined
the consternation was great when it became known
to the servants, and through them to the country-
side, that Mr. Harvey Shaw, the eminently re-
spectable county-magistrate, was being searched for
by the police.
Curious how quickly popularity disappears at
the first breath of scandal. The very persons who
had been loudest in Shaw's praises were now the
first to hint at dark things, and declare that they
had all along suspected him of leading a double
life.
Dr. Mortimer remained, but the two local prac-
titioners went forth to do their daily rounds. Asta
had greatly improved, and though ordered not to
refer to the tragic events of the past few hours, I.
was allowed to see her for five minutes about seven
o'clock.
Wan and very pale, she was in a blue silk dress-
ing-jacket, propped up with pillows. As I en-
tered, she put out her small white hand and a
331


332
THE LOST MILLION
single trembling word, my name, escaped her
lips.
I saw in the shaded light that her big eyes were
filled with tears — tears of joy by which mine were
also dimmed.
“I've — I've had such a bad dream!” she man-
aged to say. “But oh! Mr. Kemball, how glad
I am that it is only a dream, and that the doctor
says I am getting better."
“I hope, Miss Seymour, that you'll be quite
right and about again within a week,” exclaimed
Dr. Mortimer cheerily.
And hearing those words she turned her won-
derful eyes full to mine.
What words of sympathy and congratulation I
uttered I scarcely know. How can I remember?
I only recollect when the great specialist touched
me upon the shoulder as sign to leave her bedside,
that I bent and kissed her soft white hand.
All through the day and all that evening I re-
mained, eagerly expecting to hear news of Shaw's
arrest. Yet, knowing what a past-master he was
in the art of evading the police, I despaired that
he would ever be caught and brought up for punish-
ment.
As I sat smoking in his arm-chair in the big
morning-room I reflected deeply, and saw with


THE LOST MILLION
335
tell you something — something very important —
when we are alone.”
“No, not now, Miss Seymour," interrupted Dr.
Mortimer, shaking his finger at his patient, and
laughing. “ Later on — a little later on. You
must not excite yourself to-day.”
And so, with a pretty pout, she was compelled
to remain silent at the doctor's orders.
I suppose I must have been there a full quarter
of an hour, though the time passed so rapidly that
it only appeared like a few moments. Then I
bade her be of good cheer and went forth
again.
She had made no mention of the man who was a
fugitive.
The only poignant remark she had made was a
warning.
"Be careful when you go into my bedroom.
There is something in there," she had said. But
I had only laughed and promised her that I would
not intrude.
About eleven o'clock Redwood arrived, and as
he met me in the hall he pushed a copy of that day's
Times under my nose, asking:
" Seen this, Mr. Kemball? It concerns you, I
fancy. That's the name you mentioned yesterday
- isn't it?"
nce


336
THE LOST MILLION
Eagerly I scanned the lines which he indicated.
It was an advertisement, which read:
"re Melvill Arnold. Will the gentleman to whom
Mr. Melvill Arnold has entrusted a certain ancient ob-
ject in bronze kindly deliver it according to promise, first
communicating with Messrs. Fryer & Davidson, Attor-
neys at Law, 1296 Broad St., New York.”
tops
Pload Se fryer &
I read it again and again.
Then, of a sudden, I recollected that it was the
third of November. On that day I had instruc-
tions to deliver the bronze cylinder to the first per.
son who made application for it!
The low, soft-spoken words of the dying man
as he had handed me the heavy cylinder, bidding
me to keep it in safe custody, recurred to me as I
stood there with the newspaper in my hand. So
I resolved to go at once to New York, and call
upon the firm who had advertised.
Soon after three o'clock therefore, I entered
the swing-doors of Messrs. Fryer & Davidson.
When asked by the clerk for my name I gave a
card, adding that I had called in response to the
advertisement, and a few moments later found
myself in a comfortable private room with a thin,
clean-shaven, thin-faced, alert-looking man of mid-


THE LOST MILLION
337
dle-age, who introduced himself as Mr. Cyril
Fryer, head of the firm.
After thanking me for my call, he said:
“ Perhaps, Mr. Kemball, I may tell you briefly
what I know of our client, Mr. Melvill Arnold's
rather eccentric action. He lived mostly abroad
in recent years for certain private reasons, and one
day early this year, we received from him a some-
what curious letter upon the notepaper of the St.
Regis Hotel, saying that he had returned to New
York unexpectedly, and that he had entrusted a
certain bronze cylinder containing something very
important, to the care of a friend. That friend
was, curiously enough, not named, but he instructed
us to advertise to-day — the third of November.
We made inquiry at the St. Regis, but he was un-
known there. To-day we have advertised, ac-
cording to our client's instructions, and you are here
in response.”
“There is considerable mystery surrounding this
affair, Mr. Fryer," I exclaimed in reply.
"I do not doubt it. Our client, whom I have
known a good many years, was a very reserved
and mysterious man,” replied the lawyer, leaning
back in his padded chair.
"Well,” I said, “I met him on board ship be-
tween Rio and New York," and then in detail


338
THE LOST MILLION
described his sudden illness and how he had induced
me to accept the trust, and his death, a narrative
to which Mr. Fryer listened with greatest interest.
“Then the letter must have been written on the
afternoon of his arrival in New York. He prob-
ably wrote it in the writing-room of the St. Regis.
But why he should seek to mislead us, I cannot im-
agine," exclaimed the solicitor.
“I recollect," I said. “I was with him in a
taxi, when he stopped at the St. Regis and went
inside, asking me to wait. I did so, and he re-
turned in about a quarter of an hour. In the
meantime he must have written to you. He was
very ill then, and that same evening he died."
“He did not mention us?”
“He made no mention whatever of any friends,
save one — a Mr. Dawnay to whom I afterwards
delivered a note.”
"Dawnay?” repeated Mr. Fryer. “You mean
Harvey Shaw?"
"Exactly. So you know him, eh?"
The lawyer nodded in the affirmative, the deep
lines upon his thin face becoming more accentuated.
I then told him of his client's wilful destruction
of a large quantity of American and English bank-
notes which he had compelled me to burn, whereat
the man seated at his table laughed grimly, saying:


THE LOST MILLION
339
“I do not think we need regret their destruc-
tion. They were better burnt."
" Why?”
“ Well — because they were not genuine ones.”
“ But surely — your client was not a forger!”
I cried.
“ Certainly not. He was a great man. Cruelly
misjudged by the public he was compelled in re-
cent years to hide his real identity beneath an-
other name, and live in strictest retirement. His
actions were put down as eccentricities, but he was
a great thinker, a wonderful organiser, marvel-
lously modern among modern men, a man whose
financial schemes brought millions into the pockets
of those associated with him, yet whose knowledge
of ancient Egypt and dry-as-dust Egyptology was
perhaps unique. But above all he was ever honest,
upright and just.”
“He was a complete enigma to me,” I de-
clared.
“As he was to most people. I, who have been
his legal adviser and friend through much ad-
versity, alone understood him. I was not even
aware of his death. If he took a liking to you I
shall not be surprised to find that he has left you
a substantial legacy."
“He gave me a present before he died," I said,


340
THE LOST MILLION
se
and told him of the banknotes I had found in the
envelope, and also that I held the cylinder in the
security of the Safe Deposit Company's vaults in
Wall Street.
Finding the lawyer was perfectly frank and open
with me, I related the curious and startling cir-
cumstances which had occurred within my knowl-
edge since I had made the acquaintance of Mr.
Harvey Shaw. As I sat in the fading light of that
November afternoon I narrated the facts in their
proper sequence — just as I have herein set them
down in the foregoing pages of this personal his-
tory.
The man before me sat with folded arms in al-
most complete silence, listening intently to every
word. The twilight faded and darkness fell
quickly, as it does in November in New York. He
had given orders that we were not to be disturbed,
and he sat silent, so transfixed by my strange story
that he did not rise to switch on the light.
I told him all, everything — until I described to
him the discovery of that venomous tarantula in
Asta's bedroom. Then, he suddenly struck his
table with his fist, and sprang to his feet, crying:
"Ah! I've been expecting to hear of this all
along. The scoundrel meant to kill the poor girl!
There were reasons — very strong reasons for do-
ing so."


CHAPTER XXXI
THE TRUTH CONCERNING ARNOLD
“The real name of your friend was — as you
have guessed from the threatening letter addressed
to him at the New York Post Office — Arnold
Edgcumbe," the lawyer commenced, leaning his el-
bows upon his table and looking me straight in the
face. “My firm acted for his father — a wealthy
manufacturer in Lynn, Mass., who upon his death,
left his son an ample fortune. Twenty years ago
he married an extremely pretty English woman —
one of two sisters who had lived nearly all their
lives in Lynn. It was purely a love-match, and
one daughter was born. Six months after that
event, however, poor little Mrs. Edgcumbe died
of phthisis, and her husband was inconsolable over
his loss. He was devoted to his wife, and the blow
proved a terrible one. Soon, in order to occupy
his mind, he turned his attention to financial affairs
in this city, and went into partnership with a man
named Henry Harford.”
“Harford!" I ejaculated. “Why, that was
the man against whom he warned me! The words
he wrote down are still in my possession."
342


THE LOST MILLION
343
SUC
“He had strong reasons for doing so," went
on the man sitting at his table. “The combination
of the pair — both of whom were fearless and
successful speculators — soon raised the firm to
the position of one of the best-known financial
houses in New York. They dealt in millions, as
others deal in thousands and both men, in the
course of a few years, amassed great fortunes.
Suddenly, when just in the zenith of their pros-
perity, a great and terrible exposure was made.
It was found that they had, by promoting certain
bogus companies, which had been largely taken up,
netted huge profits. The shareholders, numbering
many thousands of widows, clergymen, retired of-
ficers, and such-like persons, who are ever ready to
swallow the bait of a well-written prospectus, be-
came furious, and the Public Prosecutor took up
the matter actively. Though my client was, I as-
sure you, utterly blameless in the matter and af-
terwards paid back every penny he had received
from the transaction, nevertheless such public out-
cry was made against him, as a swindler, that, vic-
tim of circumstances, he was compelled to fly the
country. Trusting implicitly to his partner Har-
ford — who, by a very shrewd move, cleared him-
self, although he was, no doubt, the actual culprit
- he, on the night of his flight, placed his little


346 THE LOST MILLION
“Of that I know very little, except that, before
meeting Edgcumbe, he had lived for many years
in Ecuador and Peru where he had been engaged in
the adventurous pursuit of collecting orchids and
natural-history specimens. Probably, while there,
he knew of the giant venomous tarantula, and had
trained one to answer to his call," was Mr. Fryer's
reply. “ Apparently from what you have told
me concerning the threatening letter, Edgcumbe's
sister-in-law suspected him of betraying her to the
police, and after serving her sentence for swin-
dling, she and her husband again became on friendly
terms with Harford, who in the name of Harvey
Shaw, was then posing as a county magnate, de-
riving his income partly from the proceeds of his
financial transactions, and partly from the pass-
ing at various banks on the Continent the bogus
notes printed in secret in a room at Ridgehill. It
was for that reason the police of Europe, as well as
our own, have for the last ten years been in search
of Harford — the American police because of the
charges against him in this city and the European
police because he has defrauded hundreds of bur-
eaux-de-change all over the Continent by exchang-
ing thousands of his marvellous imitations of Bank
of England notes for foreign notes or gold. Yet
being a man of such colossal ideas, such a splendid


THE LOST MILLION
347
linguist, and possessing such marvellous powers of
invention and clever evasion, he acted so boldly
and sustained his rôle of American or English
gentleman so well, that he often passed beneath
the very noses of those in active search of
him.”
“Then Edgcumbe was in entire ignorance of
the true character of his late partner?” I ex-
claimed.
“ Absolutely — until too late. He only became
convinced on the day of his death. He wished
you to assist him but warned you against him. Ap-
parently by slow degrees, during his rare visits to
New York, he had become cognisant of Harford's
criminal instincts, and of the fact that he was in
possession of that venomous pet spider which the
man had once, I believe, boastingly described as
his “Hand,” yet Edgcumbe was diplomatic
enough not to quarrel with him. Asta, ignorant
of her parentage, looked upon Harford as her
father, and held him in highest esteem. For Edg-
cumbe to denounce him, would be to disillusion the
girl in whom all his hopes were centred, and who
regarded him not as father, but as a very dear
friend. On arrival in New York he seems to
have written immediately to her, urging her to
meet him unknown to Harford — yet when she


350 THE LOST MILLION
wa
der as to what it can contain ever since the receipt
of the letter asking us to advertise on the third of
November for an unknown person — yourself, Mr.
Kemball. Whatever were the actions of the late
Mr. Edgcumbe we must not lose sight of the
main fact that the death of his wife, whom he
adored, caused in him certain eccentricities. He
ed to his little daughter Asta, and in
order that she should never know that her father
had been accused and compelled to fly from justice,
he induced his partner to adopt her — only to dis-
cover afterwards that he was a criminal and un-
scrupulous, and was, moreover, in association with
a man and woman who were undoubtedly criminals.
Yet having taken the step he had done, ten years
before, he could not well draw back. I advised
him, as soon as exposure came, to stay and face
the music. But the death of his wife had utterly
broken him, and his only reply was to say that he
was tired of an active business life, and preferred
obscurity and study abroad. Yes, Mr. Kemball,"
added the man at my side, “ Arnold Edgcumbe
was a decidedly remarkable man – a man of great
talent and attainments, of wondrous perception,
and honest as few men in this city of New York
are honest nowadays. He knew that Harford's
arrest would bring disgrace upon Asta, and for that


THE LOST MILLION
351
reason urged you to become his friend. The situa-
tion was indeed unique.”
On arrival at the Safe Deposit vaults we found
unfortunately that they had been closed a quarter
of an hour, therefore, there was nothing to do but
to wait till next morning.
So, after some final words with Fryer, I left him,
promising to return on the morrow, and then drove
straight to the Pennsylvania station, and went
down to Edgewater, arriving there soon after nine
o'clock.
Asta was, I found, so much better that she had
been left in charge of a nurse whom Dr. Mortimer
had summoned from New York that day. And
at my request she allowed me to see her patient
alone.
As I stood beside her bed our hands clasped in
meaning silence, I saw that she smiled gladly at my
arrival.
Then presently, when she had motioned me to
a chair and I had congratulated her upon her rapid
progress towards recovery I related in as quiet a
voice as I could all that I had learned that day in
New York.
“Mr. Arnold was my father!” she cried, look-
ing at me amazed and stupefied. “I never knew
that—1—I can't believe it — and yet how kind


354
THE LOST MILLION
me and tell me what he had discovered, cost him
his life."
“Ah! no!” she cried, “ do not recall that. It
is all too terrible — too terrible!”.
“I know what a blow it was for you," I went on
madly. “I suffered all your poignant grief, be-
cause I loved you —".
“No, no!"
“Let me finish — let me tell you, Asta, now,
once and for all, what I feel and what is in my
heart. I knew that, with memories of poor Guy
still upon you, that you could care nothing for me
— perhaps barely like me. I know that at first
you almost felt you hated me, yet I have kept my
secret to myself, and I have loved you, Asta —
loved you better than mere words of mine can tell."
And I bent and drew her gently to me.
She made no response. Only she looked at me
swiftly, and a long sigh escaped her lips.
" In all my life I never loved any woman but
you — so long as I live I never shall,” I declared
in a low fervent voice. “If you are not my wife,
Asta, then no other woman will ever be. I could
not speak before — I dare not. I could not think
that you even liked me, and I should have to take
time to teach you the sweet lesson I longed to teach
you. But to-night, my beloved, I have thrown
OICC.


THE LOST MILLION
355
hesitation to the winds. Now that you are to live,
I have told you — I ask you, my love, to be my
wife!"
“And I – I thought —"
“Yes," I said, tightening my hold upon her
hand and placing my arm softly about her
neck.
“I— I never thought that you loved me," she
said suddenly. But the look in her splendid eyes,
the tone of her voice, the rare sweet smile which
parted her lips in sheer gladness unconsciously
shown at my confession, told me more than a whole
volume of words could have told me.
And slowly my lips met hers in a long kiss —
a long, long kiss of ecstatic love — a kiss that
changed my whole life from that moment.
"I love you, dearest. I love you with all my
soul," I said, looking down at the pale, thin little
face that rested upon my shoulder as she lay.
“You love me?” Her words were scarcely a
breath, but I heard them clearly enough in the si-
lence of the room.
"I love you," I repeated with fervour and sim-
plicity. “I love you, Asta, as I have never loved,
and as I shall never love again. But you — it is
of you that I have had the doubt; it is your love
that I have feared I might not yet have won.


356
THE LOST MILLION
Have you nothing to say to me? You rest here in
my arms. You have let me kiss your lips —".
Through the room there sounded a half-laugh,
half-sob, that silenced me. Two soft arms wound
themselves about my throat and lay softly there;
two sweet tear-dimmed eyes looked straight into
mine with something in their depths that held me
silent for sheer joy; and two warm lips lifted to
mine gave me back, shyly, one out of my many
caresses.
“Yes, Lionel, I do love you," she said at last,
so low that I had to bring my ear close to her lips
to catch the words. “And — and if you really
mean that you want me for your wife —".
“Really mean it!" I echoed. “My dear love,
cannot you understand that I live for you alone —
only you — that for you to be my wife is the great-
est, almost the only wish of my life?".
" Then it shall be as you wish," she said softly,
while in her grave yet lovable mood, she rubbed
her soft cheek tenderly against my hand.
What passionate words escaped me I do not re-
member. All I know is that our lips met again
and again many, many times and we sat in each
other's embraces childishly blissful in our new-born
happiness.
For a long time, indeed, no further word was


CHAPTER XXXIII
PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT
In New York next day I met Mr. Fryer by ap-
pointment at half-past eleven at Delmonico's, the
restaurant being near Wall Street, and together we
went to the Safe Deposit Company's vaults, where
we obtained the ancient cylinder from the strong
box in which I had placed it.
Our next step was to obtain a locksmith, and
take him with us to Fryer's office. This was ac-
complished without much difficulty and he brought
with him some tools, but when he seated himself
and examined the mysterious cylinder he shook his
head, remarking:
“This'll be a pretty tough job. It's been very
well welded together. I'll have to file it off!”.
“Is it ancient welding?" I asked.
“Oh, no, sir. It's a very ancient bit o' bronze,
but the top's been off of late, and when welded on
it's been painted over green to imitate the patina
of the old bronze. Whoever did it was one of
those fakers of antiques, I should say."
“Well," said the lawyer, “make a start on it,
and get it open."
358


360 THE LOST MILLION
shaw and his wife, they killed him by a method
which fully bears out my estimate of the craft and
cunning of my client's late partner. Edgcumbe,
not long before his death, had somehow become
aware of the existence of the huge spider, kept as
a pet, and having suspicions as to what use it might
be put to, warned you of it with his last effort.
Nicholson, against whom it is more than probable
an unsuccessful attempt was made one night while
sleeping at the Hall, also discovered Harford's
secret. He intended to reveal it to you, but was
attacked and succumbed before he could call upon
you. Harford next feared lest you might propose
marriage to his ward, hence the fact that he car-
ried his pet to the Continent with him, and you
saw the terrible ‘Hand' and narrowly escaped its
fatal grip on that night in the old French inn.
Yes, Mr. Kemball,” Fryer added, “ depend upon
it that Harford played his last card when he al-
lowed the terrible spider to pass into Miss Asta's
bedroom. He intended that she should die and
that Arnold Edgcumbe's fortune should be his —
a plot which would, alas ! have been successfully ac-
complished had your suspicions not been providen-
tially aroused.
A sudden call from the locksmith caused us to
return hastily to Fryer's room and there we saw


THE LOST MILLION
361
that the top of the ancient cylinder had been filed
entirely off. :
“There's something inside, sir," said the man,
addressing the lawyer. “Perhaps you'd like to
take it out yourself.”
And Mr. Fryer drew forth a portion of an an-
cient leather thong attached to which was a large
old seal of clay with an ancient Egyptian cartouch
impressed upon it.


THE LOST MILLION 365
“He had a motive, no doubt — but it imperilled
Asta. Yet if he had not sent it you would never
have met the young lady, or been instrumental in
exposing the clever and ingenious plot from which
she has so narrowly escaped with her life,” the
solicitor remarked.
The locksmith had been paid and retired. So
we were again alone together.
“The wording of this latest will is peculiar,"
Mr. Fryer went on. “It refers to all that may
accrue from the enclosed knowledge. What en-
closed knowledge, I wonder?”.
And taking up the cylinder he looked again into
it.
“Why, there's something else here!” he ex-
claimed, and inserting a long steel letter-opener he
succeeded in drawing forth a small roll of ancient
brown papyri which, very tender and crumbling,
was covered by puzzling Egyptian hierogly-
phics.
“This, in all probability,” he exclaimed, "is
what the cylinder originally contained when he dis-
covered it in the tomb of the Great Merenptah.
We must obtain a translation.”
“Yes,” I cried eagerly. “Let us take it to
the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Professor
Smythe will be able to decipher it at once."


THE LOST MILLION 367
geous life led by this most brilliant Queen of
Queens; of the wealth and favours she lavished
upon Antony and his captains, and of how she
built her tomb near the temple of Isis Lochais, at
the eastern end of the harbour where Fort Silsileh
stands to-day. All this is most intensely interest-
ing, coming as it does from the hand of the Queen's
trusted favourite, but there is something more —
something which certainly arouses our curiosity,
and which must be investigated. Listen, and I
will read just the most important extracts.”
Then again he paused for a few moments and
halfway down the crinkled papyri he read a dis-
jointed decipher as follows:
SS
“ The Horus, life of births, lord of crowns,
life of births, king of Upper and Lower Egypt,
Kheper — ha — ra, son of the Sun, Amen-em-
hat, ever living into eternity. Order for those
who read. Behold this order of the Queen is
sent to thee to instruct thee of her will. . . .
“ Cleopatra, whose ruling passion was to be a
monarch of a greater Egypt, and to enlarge the
borders of the South, remained in the Palace of
her fathers, but Antony was valiantly defend-
ing the fortress of Pelusium against Octavian.
In dead of night I was called by the Lord Stew-
ard unto the pearl-chamber of the Queen and


368
THE LOST MILLION
se
she, reclining upon her bed of pearl and gold
with censers of sweet perfumes burning, com-
manded me to silence, and sent away her slaves.
She had received Neb-ka-n-ra as messenger
from Antony telling her of Octavian's strength.
. . . She therefore commanded me with my
captains User-ref and Hordedef to repair unto
the treasury of the white house and take posses-
sion of the greatest of her jewels and place them
in a place of safety, lest the accursed Octavian
conquering, the Palace be attacked.
“In obedience, I called my two most-trusted
captains and went in secret unto the white house
and opening it with the Queen's own key, ob-
tained therefrom much gold and precious stones
. .. with the great jewels of Soter of
Euegates, and of Rud-didet. . . and the
sacred sapphires of Amenemhat ... and
next night we concealed them. Five times did
we journey, under cover of night, unto the treas-
ury and in baskets of green tamarisk took there-
from ... strings of emeralds and of
pearls and electrum and new malachite . . .
the hundred rubies the size of pigeons' eggs
... the goblets of gold and stones and the
great bowls of gold encrusted with jewels which
were served at the banquet to Antony ...


THE LOST MILLION 369
Know ye that fifteen basketsful of precious
stones of Ka statues in gold, breast ornaments
of emeralds, beads of lazuli and pearls of great
price did we take and conceal in the place where
Octavian — whose name be accursed — should
not know.
“... And at dawn, when our work was
completed, I went again unto the Queen, and
kneeling told her of the place where we had hid-
den them. And Ra had spread fear over the
land; his terrors in every place, and the Queen
was greatly pleased and rewarded me with fifty
talents. And she commanded me to write this
record and to place it where it should remain
through the ages, so that, if death consumed her,
the whereabouts of her treasure shall not be ut-
terly lost unto the world.
"Know therefore ye who dareth to open this
tube of bronze which she gave unto me, and to
face the wrath of the Sun-God, and of Osiris —
the Eternal, that the pit where we have dug
... and wherein we have concealed the
great treasure, and gold and lazuli and heart-
scarabs and khalal stones, set in gold of our
Queen Cleopatra the Magnificent, lieth three
hundred cubits and seven towards the sunrise
from the eastern angle of the Temple of Den-


370
THE LOST MILLION
derah which our queen hath founded and which
beareth her image graven by Uba-aner upon its
wall. With thy back unto the eye of her image
pace three hundred cubits and seven and the
gold and jewels which our queen secured for An-
tony . . . shall there be found hid-
den. . . .
“I Sanehat, make this record lest the great
treasure of Cleopatra be lost for all time. I
write this so that he, beloved of Ra, of Horus
and of Hathon, who readeth this my message,
may seek and may find ... for Antony
fought well, and went from battle unto death by
his own hand because he heard falsely that his
Queen was already dead. Yea, in their splen-
dour but one moon ago they founded the syna-
pothanoumenoi (the people who are about to
die together) and so Antony took his life when
he heard that his Queen was dead.
“Two suns have not set since User-ref and
Hordedef my loyal and well-beloved captains
were put to death by the Queen's orders, the
month Paophi ... the seventh day the
god entered his horizon ... so that they
may not betray the hiding-place of her jewels,
and I have fled here unto Thebes, for, alas! her
hand is now uplifted against me for the same
cause . . . and this written record will I
ORIZON


CHAPTER XXXV
CONCLUSION
Twelve months have passed.
The days have slipped away rapidly since that
well-remembered morning when I stood beside Pro-
fessor Smythe and watched him, peering through
his glasses, decipher those puzzling hieroglyphics
which Sanehat had penned two thousand years be-
fore.
No doubt you read the newspapers, and of
course have seen the interesting results of the exca-
vations made and being still continued by the Egypt
Exploration Fund, under the auspices of the Egyp-
tian Government, with whom Mr. Fryer, as the
late Arnold Edgcumbe's executor, came to a mu-
tual arrangement.
Professor Smythe has, for some months past,
been out at the Temple of Denderah, that cyclo-
pean pile which Cleopatra built for herself, and
though from time to time vague reports have
found their way into the papers of important dis-
coveries close to that famous edifice, yet truth to
tell, we are endeavouring to keep the actual extent
of the discoveries as private as possible for the
373


374 THE LOST MILLION
present. All I can say is that ancient jewels worth
many thousands of pounds taken from the spot
have already reached New York — jewels, orna-
ments and heart-scarabs which once adorned the
person of Egypt's most gorgeous queen.
But it is of my own sweet-faced queen that I
think the most — she who sits here in silent love
beside me at Boxwood as I now pen these final
lines. We have already been man and wife for
eight months, and after a delightful honeymoon
spent beside the Nile, during which we paid a visit
of course, to Cleopatra's temple where Professor
Smythe was superintending operations, have re-
turned home and settled down in peace and hap-
piness — a rural bliss, perfect and entire, that will
last always.
The hated name of Harvey Shaw is never men-
tioned between us. And little wonder, indeed.
Within a month after his flight from Edgewater
to England, two men, one a foreigner, called at
night at a lonely cottage near Hexworthy, far away
on wild Dartmoor, and asked to see the tenant, a
gentleman who had recently taken the place fur-
nished.
The broad-speaking old Devon housekeeper,
went upstairs to inform her master of his visitors,
but she found the door locked. Shaw, for it was
a ru
ime
ever men-


THE LOST MILLION 375
rth.
he, had recognised the voice of Victor Tramu, and
knew instantly that he had at last been run to
earth.
The second visitor, a well-known officer from
New Scotland Yard, rushed upstairs and called
upon the accused to open the door, but on doing so
they heard the report of a revolver, and bursting
in, found the assassin of poor Guy Nicholson lying
shot through the head and quite dead.
It appeared, too, that on the day following Har-
ford's flight Ridgehill, the widow Olliffe's house
near Babylon, was found by the police to be tenant-
less, and Earnshaw and his clever wife have not
yet been found. The police, however, are confi-
dent that, possessing only slight funds, they must
be heard of again ere long at their old game of
passing forged notes.
Asta, instead of existing upon the charity of a
criminal and unwittingly exchanging forged notes
for genuine ones and gold, as she had done so
many times, is now wealthy in her own right, while
Mr. Fryer has received a very handsome legacy
as executor. Cardew, fond of adventure, got six
months' leave to assist in the excavations in Egypt,
and recently on his return, has been here at Box-
wood on a visit, and has told us much of interest
concerning what has of late been found there.
conceri


376 THE LOST MILLION
And as evidence of the genuineness of that half-
faded record — penned by the trusted general of
Cleopatra whom she afterwards desired to kill in
order to protect the secret of her treasure, and
preserved for so long in that bronze cylinder —
there stand before me with the gold statuette of
Osiris, beneath domes of glass upon a side-table
in the library wherein I am this evening writing,
a canopic jar of alabaster and four ancient golden
goblets varying from seven to ten inches in height
thickly encrusted with magnificent rubies, sap-
phires and emeralds — the actual cups which
once held the wine drunk at those gorgeous
bacchanalian feasts which the great queen gave
to Antony, over whom she exercised that fatal
fascination.
They represent but a specimen of what has al-
ready been recovered and is later on to be divided
between the Egyptian Government, the Metropoli-
tan Museum of Art, and Asta herself. Though we
are extremely careful to conceal the real facts from
the papers, extensive works of examination are at
this moment in progress, for it seems that the
queen's gorgeous and enormous wealth was buried
hurriedly beneath stones in a watercourse which has
ages ago dried up. The action of the water scat-
tered the loose gems, as from the sifting of the


THE LOST MILLION
377
rn
sand each day, precious stones, cut and uncut, are
now being recovered.
Never in these our modern days of progress and
discovery has such a flutter of excitement been
caused in archæological circles, and certainly never
has such a magnificent and authentic treasure —
the lost million of Cleopatra — been located.
Arnold Edgcumbe, always attracted to the
study of Egyptian archæology had devoted the last
seventeen years of his broken life to studies in
Upper Egypt, and truly the discovery he made in
the tomb of Merenptah has resulted in the re-
covery of great numbers of the gems and orna-
ments actually worn by Cleopatra herself.
Every national museum in Europe has eagerly
offered to purchase specimens, hence the estate of
the late Arnold Edgcumbe, the man so cruelly mis-
judged and hunted down by the investing public,
will be greatly enriched by the remarkable dis-
covery, which, on that evening of his death, he pre-
dicted to me would astound this, our prosaic mod-
ern world.
Often have I congratulated myself upon my
narrow escape from a sudden end on that night in
the old French inn, for surely the cunning in-
genuity and truly devilish resourcefulness of Asta's
foster-father from the moment when he so suc-



ASSE