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* ºn 3 ºr ºt 328 ſº
Mºscºs tº sº sº. Association ' '/*
Nº Y Jº K CITY
THE HEAD OF PASHT
BY |
WILLIS BOYD ALLEN
4. * * * *
AUTHOR of “NAvy BLUE, cº For Action,” Etc.
*ERCANILE LIBRARY
NEW YORK.
\ . . * ~,
; , ; 3.57%) ; 2
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
31 WEst Twenty-third STREET
190o
* , ,
1 : -
º


---
THE NEW YORK
º, C.L.E.RAR
ASTOR, LENOX AND
ºf ILDEN FOUNDATIONS
R 1927 L
!--- -
CopyRIGHT, 1900
BY
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
º * c c -
the knickerbocher press, Rew lpork
~ * * *- - -
* , , -
w º
cº


CONTENTS.
SHAPTER
I. THE BARNSWORTH MYSTERY -
II. A THIEF AT SCHOOL
III. THE DETECTIVE's BLUNDER
*W. I OBTAIN A clue
W. WHERE Is THE Book 2
VI.
VII.
REGINALD's BURGLAR . -
THAT SILKEN HAIR
* THE HARDwick case
* A visit to the country.
* BARNEY AND THE SALVATION ARMY .
* THE AFFAIR of the Lost will
* “NUMBER 1523" - - -
* A side trip
* Foust at Last .
XV
• *HANksgiving DAY AT oAKFIELD
xvi.
* MEMORABLE criME . -
x GALE AND ITS RESULTS .
IX. T
*** Lion of GIBRALTAR . -
XX. -
^ DAY IN cAIRo
XXI. B.
* River AND DESERT . -
XXII
... O
N THE MokAttaM HILL
XXIII. A NI
- GHT WATCH
xxiv. RUN
*Yv . . TO EARTH .
*v. *enty-NINE–seveN"
‘‘’Neilusion - - -
iii
PAGE
- I
34
52
62
82
95
IO6
II 7
I3 I
I46
183
I95
2I2
. 218
234
. 250





The story of “Number 1523 " originally appeared in
Aarper's Magazine. Acknowledgments are due to
Messrs. Harper & Bros. for their kind consent to its use
ºn Chapter XII of this book.
- W. B. A.





MFPCANILE LIBRARY,
NEW YORK.
THE HEAD OF PASHT.
CHAPTER I.
THE BARNSWORTH MYSTERY.
| WAS awakened by a queer sound outside my
window, which, with its small, old-fashioned
P*S, showed as a dim, oblong patch of light be-
Yond the foot of the bed. In the confusion of
half-sleep I imagined some one was sweeping the
*Pboards with Aunt Salvation's broom; nor was I,
being indeed but a child of four, very much aston-
*d or frightened. I lay quietly in my bed, blink.
"8 drowsily at the patch of light, not sufficiently
*ke to reason that the long, straggling shoots of
the *ose-bush just below my window must have been
Violently disturbed by some unseen force, and so
*hed against the side of the house; and doubtless
**uld have at once returned to dreamland had
* the dim light been suddenly—no, not suddenly;
...tº seemed to grow slowly out of the
*ess—had not the small panes, I say, been
I


2 The Head of Pasht.
blocked by something which assumed the shape,
vaguely, of the head and shoulders of a man or
woman, peering in at me.
I do not know why I did not scream with terror.
It is a fact that I still gazed toward the window
without the slightest feeling of fright. I suppose I
was now hardly half awake, for, murmuring, “Come
in, Aunt Salvy,” I turned on my side, snuggled up
to the pillows, and in five seconds was sound asleep.
One more incident, and I must turn from my own
recollection to the memory and reports of others. I
did not wake again until morning. The one im-
portant event of the night, the scratching of boughs
upon the clapboards, the apparition at the window,
had melted into my childish dreams, not to be re-
called for long years after. On jumping out of bed,
however, and capering over to bathe in the broad
flood of sunlight now pouring in through the glass,
my eye caught something bright lying upon the
floor. It was a brass button, of peculiar, oblong
shape, and embossed with what looked like a cat's
head, and a motto in strange characters.
As I stooped for the button, I picked up with it
a long silky hair, which glistened like red gold in
the sunlight. The pretty, shining thing with queer
markings on it I threw into a bureau drawer, to be
examined and played with at my leisure; the single
hair I drew over my childish fingers delightedly;


The Barnsworth Mystery. 3
then, moved by some freak I never could explain,
I placed it carefully between the leaves of an old,
leather-bound book which my father must have
accidentally left there the day before.
The volume was closed and tossed back on the
bureau. The sound of my Aunt Salvation stirring
briskly about in the kitchen, just on the other side
of my bedroom door, recalled me to the duty of
dressing and the anticipation of breakfast. Button
and hair were as completely forgotten as the mid-
night visitor; and there, too, closes the book of my
memory, not to disclose any further records for
many months. For what had really occurred on
that eventful night, which bore such far-reaching
results in my future, I must depend, as I have said,
upon hearsay.
My father, John Graham, was one of those quiet,
scholarly, refined men whose lives seem to make no
impress on the outside world. He had worked his
way through college and graduated with high
honors, but at that point his energy seemed to
vanish entirely. I believe he could never make up
his mind whether to study for the ministry or for
law or medicine. Month after month, year after
year rolled by, and still he vacillated between the
learned professions, in any one of which I am con-
fident he could have distinguished himself by a little
outlay of the persistence with which he had mastered


4 The Head of Pasht.
the classics and mathematics in his university
COurSe.
The same indecision prevented his marrying until
he was nearly forty, when he met my mother, then
a pretty schoolgirl of seventeen, and shortly after-
ward brought her home as his bride. I say “home,”
but the only home he had was the old country place
where he had been born, and where his sister, my
Aunt Salvation, kept house for him.
He loved my girlish little mother devotedly, and
when she died, a few days after my birth, the last
remnants of ambition seemed to leave him. He
shut himself up in his study, pacing the floor or
poring over his books, while the weeks and months
flew by unheeded until I was nearly four years old.
Meanwhile the finances of the establishment were
running low. “Aunt Salvy,” as I called her, man-
aged the household as economically as possible, but
it was nearly all a question of outgo and very little
income. My father had, I believe, about fifty thou-
sand dollars when he left college, but he made in-
considerate investments and gave free rein to his one
extravagance—book-buying; so that when the bank
suspended, the stock of which had seemed his sole
really good investment, and the subsequent liquida-
tion returned to him barely twenty per cent. of the
capital originally put in, he was left nearly penniless.
Barnsworth, where we lived, was an excellent


The Barnsworth Mystery. 5
“school for scandal,” and although the telephone
was as yet unknown, the news of my father's loss
flashed through the village like wildfire. I am
afraid he was not much pitied, for his stern demeanor
and “hifalutin’” ways had made him in a measure
unpopular with his townsmen. Some of our neigh-
bors, it is true, showed their sympathy, at this crisis,
with tact and kindness; but others, and they were
not in the minority, questioned, commented, and
sneered in a manner that must have tormented the
poor, sensitive man not a little.
“Guess ye 'd better sell some o' them books,
Squire, hed n't ye ’’’
“Wall, I d' 'no' but I'll take two or three on 'em
cheap. Goin' to let anything else go 2 "
“What's Miss Salvation say ? She got enough
for ye all to live on 2 Better bring up that young
one to some solid work. Too much schoolin' 's
been a bad thing for ye, Squire!”
Such remarks as these would drive my father back
to his book-lined study in a hurry. I 've heard
Aunt Salvy tell how he would come home with an
awful, hunted, desperate look in his face; and how
he would strike his clenched fists together (a peculiar
gesture he had), and groan out, “Oh, if I had some
money! All this gold in the world and not a cent for
me!”
“Land sakes!” Aunt Salvy would say, flying


6 The Head of Pasht.
briskly about the room, “there 's better things in
the world than money-making, John Graham, and
wuss things than losin' it. I've got enough laid
by, an' to spare, for all of us. Think on your
marcies and draw me a pail o' water while you 're
doin’ it ! ”
As for myself, I knew nothing of all these
troubles, but lived in a child-world of my own with
imaginary playmates, all of whom I knew by name,
and who resided in various portions of the vast
realm under the stern but beneficent sway of my
aunt. I remember one family, in particular, who
lived in the corner of the sitting-room, behind the
old haircloth sofa. There was “Joey B.” (I must
have heard somebody reading or quoting from Dom-
bey and Son), “Susy B.,’’ and a number of other
relatives with whom I was intimate; and, looking
back to that dim period of my life, those phantoms
of my imagination are quite as real to me as the
flesh-and-blood people who walked to and fro over
the braided rugs and uneven, painted floors of the
old house.
On the afternoon of a certain bleak day in early
autumn an incident occurred which intensified my
father's discontent and longings. One of our neigh-
bors, a certain David Dinsmore, had taken a trip to
the city for the sole purpose of selling a thousand-
dollar bond for gold. He might have accomplished


The Barnsworth Mystery. 7
his purpose without going so far, but he had become
possessed with the idea that no reliance could be
placed in country banks, and that to make sure of
receiving his full payment in genuine coin he must
attend to the matter personally at the office of the
corporation whose securities he held. At any rate
go he did, and on this fateful afternoon, preceding
the night on which my story opens, he arrived safely
at Colville Junction, and took the stage to Barns-
worth, which he reached just before dusk. The air
was chilly, and the open door of the “Walton
House,” at which the stage journey came to an end,
was inviting. Hailed by two or three of his friends,
who were accustomed to gather there at this hour
to scan any new arrivals and receive the evening
papers, he dismounted stiffly and made his way into
the office, where a cheerful fire was blazing and a
further welcome awaited him from the landlord.
“Well, Mr. Dinsmore, get your gold all right 2''
The returned traveller drew from his pocket a
small canvas bag and let it fall heavily on the
counter, for reply. No thought of robbery or
treachery in that peaceful town entered his head or
that of any of the bystanders, who crowded around
to see the yellow coin, so rare was it in the country
districts at that date, a few years after our Civil
War. -
Dinsmore, having warmed his fingers at the fire,


8 The Head of Pasht.
fumbled at the string and opened the bag, letting a
few of the pieces slide out. They lay, glistening,
a glorious heap, on the counter.
“Fresh from the mint,” explained Dinsmore,
fairly smacking his lips with satisfaction. “ They
told me they got 'em from the Sub-Treasury only
two days ago.”
“Sho, so they be ” said Sol Fairfield, a lank,
long-legged fellow, picking up a double-eagle.
“There 's the date—it 's this year; an' so 's that,
an' that— they 're all hot cakes right out o' the
oven, Dave!”
With all the interest shown by the men in their
neighbor's exhibited treasure, only one pair of eyes
shone with greed. Alas! they were my father's;
for he, too, had joined the group. He was no friend
of Dinsmore's, though there had never been an
open quarrel between them. Intensely practical,
shrewd, and industrious himself, economical to nig-
gardliness, it was Dinsmore who most openly sneered
at the penniless scholar, until it was remarked that
my father would cross the road or even turn in his
tracks to avoid meeting this man, whose galling
comments were pointed by the fact that he repre-
sented in his person the worldly success which the
other had failed of attaining. It was common talk
in Barnsworth that Dinsmore and Graham “hated
each other wuss 'n pison ''; and I am afraid report
-


The Barnsworth Mystery. 9
spoke truly, of my father's feelings at least. I will
not attempt to disguise this fact, nor the pain it
gives me to acknowledge it, affecting as it does the
fair memory of one of the gentlest, sweetest, and,
to me, dearest of men. Disappointment and pov-
erty sowed this rank weed in the carefully ordered
garden of his life. He did hate the man who was
insolent to him; who stood, in his insolence, for the
prosperity, the success, the ease, which had slipped
from the other's grasp: and from this hateful envy
arose the terrible event that made the next few
hours so memorable in my father's life and mine.
More than one of the idlers at the hotel noticed
the greed in those eyes so dear to me; those eyes
that had always looked upon me with naught in
their clear depths but love. More than one marked
the scowl of mingled triumph and contempt with
which Dinsmore met my father's devouring gaze, as
he gathered up the cursed, glittering coins, tied the
string around the mouth of the bag, and dropped it
into his capacious pocket.
Perhaps some hint of what was to come, some
strange premonition of danger, made the richer man
hesitate to start on his solitary walk to his home,
half a mile away. Would that he had hurried off
at once, leaving the hotel viands untasted, its hos-
pitality rejected
“Come, Dave,” said the jolly landlord, clapping


IO The Head of Pasht.
him on the back; “you 've had a long, cold ride.
Take something hot before you go.”
The man yielded, and it was an hour later when
he started homeward. My father, meanwhile, had
long ago taken himself off, after the exchange of a
curt word or two with his friends. Those nearest
him said afterward that his fists were clenched and
his eyes had a strange fire in them as he turned
away and hastened out into the fast-gathering twi-
light.
“Why, John " '' exclaimed my aunt, when he
reached home. “Where have you been so long 2
We 've been waitin' supper for you sence sun-
down.”
Father was even more than usually silent. He
had come in, breathing hard, and at once went to
his study, shutting the door behind him. In a few
moments he returned, but he would not yet sit
down at the table. He must wash his hands, scrub-
bing them over and over with the towel, until it was
fairly torn in halves. He raised the lid of the stove
and thrust the cloth into the fire.
“John One o' my best towels' Are you crazy!”
screamed Aunt Salvation, starting to her feet.
“'T was all rags,” said my father, now taking his
place gloomily, and beginning to tap the table with
his knife and fork.


The Barnsworth Mystery. I I
Aunt Salvy sniffed indignantly as she sat down
opposite him.
“I d' 'no' what you 'll do next, John — an' we
* >
so short o' money, too. I declare, I wish
“Never mind,” my father broke in with a kind
of unnatural boisterousness. “I'm going away to-
morrow and get some kind of work in—in the city.
You 'll have enough money soon.”
“Well, I hope so. Eat your supper, John, and
don't set there playin' with your knife. An' when
you get up, do change your boots. See the tracks
on my nice floor! You 've been walkin' down by
92
the river an'
Here my father gave a violent start, overturning
his teacup; and while his sister hastened to repair
the damage, he rose abruptly and went to his room,
leaving the supper untasted and not showing him-
self again that night.
The next morning (following my midnight vision)
he proclaimed in good earnest that he was going to
the city; and, indeed, his valise was all packed and
locked, as if for an early start.
Aunt Salvy could make nothing of his sudden
resolution, and set her lips firmly to keep from
asking questions. Her brother put on his hat and
coat immediately after breakfast, kissed me tenderly,
holding me close in his arms while I clung to him
with all my might and clamored to go too. Then


I 2 The Head of Pasht.
he put me down, saying, “Good-by, little son,”
and turning to Aunt Salvy, handed her a bright,
new gold piece.
“Land " '' exclaimed my aunt, “where'd you get
that, John I d' 'no' when I've seen any gold be-
fore | "
“I—I just picked it up,” said my father, hastily.
“You can use it for expenses till I send you some
more, which I hope will be soon. Good-by, Salva-
tion.”
My aunt told me, years afterward, that there was
a terrible look in his face as he said those two
words—as if they had a deeper meaning that was
griping his very life; as if he were saying good-by
to hope and joy forever.
In a moment he was gone, and Aunt Salvy,
having laid the coin on the kitchen table where we
had breakfasted, sank down in a chair, sobbing in
her apron. I, not knowing why, buried my face in
her lap and cried too; while our gaunt “help,”
Eliza, strode to and fro between table and closet,
wiping her eyes at every step.
Half an hour later there came a sharp knock at
the door. I knew the man who entered, though I
did not guess his vocation. He was the sheriff, and
two men were with him. I immediately ran to
him, forgetting my bereavement, and would have
plunged my hands into his coat pocket for candy or


The Barnsworth Mystery. I 3
nuts, according to my wont; but for the first time
he put me away, though not with an ungentle hand,
and spoke to my aunt.
“Bad business, bad business, Miss Salvation,”
said he, with a very grave look on his broad, jovial
features, as he glanced about the room and into the
study, the door of which stood open as my father
had left it. “Mr. Dinsmore has disappeared, and
it ’s believed he has been— ” here he lowered his
voice, out of regard for childish ears; but I heard
him, and never forgot the hiss of the whispered
word—“ murdered ' "
My aunt turned pale and trembled, but did not
speak.
“He left the hotel at seven o'clock to walk home
alone, with a large sum of money in his pocket.
He never reached his house. They're dragging the
river now, and—where did you get that gold 2 " His
eye had fallen upon the shining coin as he spoke.
He picked it up and looked at the date. Then he
beckoned to his deputies.
“Search the premises,” he said, briefly. After
one sympathetic glance at my aunt, who sat as if
petrified, he became an officer of the law from head
to foot.
“We'll begin at the cellar and garret.” And he
dove down the cellar stairs while the two men as-
cended to the upper rooms.


I 4 The Head of Pasht.
Aunt Salvy remained dumb and motionless until
they disappeared. Then she flew to a little closet
opening from my father's room, caught up a muddy
pair of boots, and thrust them into the stove, replac-
ing the lid just as Sheriff Bull returned from the
cellar. He heard the rattle of the iron, and had the
lid off and the boots out in a twinkling, beating off
the live coals and surveying his prize eagerly; while
poor Aunt Salvy, for the first and only time in her
life, I think, fainted dead away.
I need not prolong the painful story, most of
which I repeat as I have often heard it from others;
my own recollection, as I have said, totally failing
me except as to that one fearful word—“mur-
dered ” -
My father, not being found in the house, was
overtaken on his way to the railroad station, and
arrested. He yielded at once, merely saying that
he was absolutely innocent of the crime charged
upon him.
At the trial, which attracted spectators as well as
legal lights from the extreme limits of the county,
the preliminary facts were testified to as I have
stated them, though with strong coloring on the
part of most of the witnesses, who, to a man, be-
lieved the prisoner guilty. It was further shown
that the grass and bushes at a certain spot beside
the river, along which Dinsmore's path had lain,
}


.The Barnsworth Mystery. I 5
were found in the morning trampled and torn, giving
plain evidence of a terrible struggle on the bank.
The stream was dragged, but no trace of Dinsmore
was found, nor a single coin from that canvas bag,
save the gold piece in Aunt Salvy's possession,
though the old house was ransacked from cellar to
chimney-top in the search for the missing treasure.
My father's defence was of the weakest. His
resolution to seek new fortunes in the city had been
brought to a head by the sight of Dinsmore's gold
on the hotel counter, and he had walked along the
river bank that night, brooding over his misfortunes,
and trying to plan for the change of life which, at
his age, bewildered and saddened him. He definitely
decided, in the evening, to apply to the city news-
papers for work, and do his best to amass at least a
small fortune to support the son of his old age.
As for the five-dollar gold piece, he testified on
oath that he had never seen it until five minutes be-
fore he gave it to my aunt. Glistening on the floor
near the head of his bed, it had caught his eye just
as he was leaving the room. His mind was too full
of other thoughts to try to account for its presence
other than as an estray from some former remittance,
and he had handed it to Miss Salvation half mechani-
cally, not for a moment connecting it with the treas-
ure he had gazed upon the night before.
This, with testimony as to his previous good


I6 The Head of Pasht.
character, was his sole defence. The government
attorney made an eloquent speech, quoting from
Eugene Aram, and making my father out a sort of
wehr-wolf in sheep's clothing; the judge charged
heavily against the prisoner, and the jury, after only
twenty minutes' consultation, returned a verdict of
Guilty of Murder in the First Degree, with a recom-
mendation to the mercy of the court.
The sentence was Imprisonment for Life.


CHAPTER II.
A THIEF AT SCHOOL.
Y aunt found it impossible to continue living
in the old house, and with a desire to escape
from its associations, as well as contact with the
townspeople, decided to remove from Barnsworth.
She was considerate, too, of my welfare, and wished
to bring me up with no knowledge of my father's
disgrace. To this end she gave me to understand,
at first, that my father had “gone away.” As I
grew older he was to me as one who had died in my
infancy; nor did my aunt correct this impression.
She herself, unknown to me, visited the State prison
at long intervals, and so kept him informed of my
welfare and education; but not one message was
sent to the little son, although I know his dear
heart yearned over me. -
A few weeks after the trial we left Barnsworth
with all our belongings, and took up quarters in the
city, a hundred miles and more distant from the
scenes of my childhood. The old house was not
sold, but let to tenants at a small yearly rent. Our
new home was in a narrow cross-street in an
2
17


18 The Head of Pasht.
unfashionable quarter of the city, and there I spent
the next five or six years of my life without any
experience or incident worth recording.
When I was eleven years old I was sent to the
grammar school, and there occurred an event which
doubtless had a marked influence on my subsequent
career. It was in January, I think, of my third year
at the school—at any rate it was at some time dur-
ing the midwinter term — when several complaints
were made by boys in my room that articles belong-
ing to them were missing. One had lost a knife,
another a small sum of money, a third a good pair
of mittens, and so on. The teacher called us up—
there were thirty or more in the room—one by one
and questioned us closely, but without avail. The
thefts (the disappearance of so many articles could -
not be ascribed to any other cause) continued, until
each fellow looked upon the rest with distrust, and
nobody knew, from day to day, where the next blow
would fall.
Matters were in this state when one morning a
new boy entered the class. He was from the
country, we heard, and we waited eagerly for recess
in order to take his measure, as boys do in such
CaSCS.
“What's your name 2" asked one, as we crowded
around him, in the schoolyard.
He was a dark-haired, swarthy fellow, and his


A Thief at School. I9
black eyes blazed at the questioner, whose tones
were none too gentle. However, he controlled
himself, and answered, “ Ali Toscani.” His voice
had a slightly foreign accent, but anybody could
have guessed at once from his looks that he was
not of American parentage.
“Ho!” shouted Nat Bacon, the boy who had first
spoken. “What lingo 's that ? South African 2"
“Turco-Italian ' " suggested another, with a
laugh. “Say, Ali, where 'd you come from,
anyway ?”
The new boy turned fiercely on the speaker.
“It 's not your business!” said he, sharply.
“Why do you all look at me this way ? Is it your
welcome to a stranger ?” And he threw out his
delicate, olive-tinted hands with a queer, foreign
gesture. “I want no trouble with any,” he went
on, still excitedly. “I come here to learn and to
be a friend to you all. Can you not leave me in
peace 2 " .
We felt rather ashamed at our rudeness, and fell
back a little, making a pretence of gathering hand-
fuls of snow for balls; but there was something
fascinating about this graceful, dark-skinned fellow,
and we wanted to learn more about him.
Looking up suddenly, I found his black eyes fixed
upon me, with a strange, contemptuous expression
in them. At the same moment he spoke.


2O The Head of Pasht
“You !” he cried, pointing a long, slim finger at
me. “You question me Have you told them
who you are 7 Who and what your father is ’’
“My father is dead,” I said, hotly, “and I won't
hear anything against him.” -
“Dead 7" The newcomer shrugged his shoulders
like a Frenchman, and, turning away, was allowed
to depart for that time. A dozen voices asked him
what he meant about Graham ; but he walked
off and up into the schoolhouse without deigning
another word.
A buzz of voices arose around me. “It 's a
shame!—A mean thing to hint things about a fel-.
low !—And his father, too!—Pay him up for it,
Graham, after school " '' were the shouts that fol-
lowed the retreating form of Toscani.
I was simply bewildered. “I have n’t the least
idea what he 's talking about, fellows,” said I,
mechanically moulding a snowball in my hands.
“My father died when I was a little chap, up in the
country. I can just remember him as being awfully
kind and good to me. I never heard anything
against him in my life.”
The sympathizing boy cries broke out again, with
bangings of my shoulders and other tokens of good
will; in the midst of which demonstrations the bell
rang and we trooped in to our lessons.
As soon as school was over I stayed for no


A Thief at School. 2 I
recriminations with the young foreigner, but hurried
home and burst in upon my aunt excitedly. The
story was soon told, and I saw that she was deeply
moved.
“What did he mean, Aunt Salvy ''
My aunt was an old lady now, and her hair was
silvery white. Her face turned ashen pale, her lips
quivered, and to my dismay her eyes, which looked
upon me in a piteous, beseeching way, filled with
tears. -
“Aunt—did he—did he do anything disgraceful
before he died ?”
“Don’t ask me, Archie!” she whispered, draw-
ing my head down to her lap with shaking hands,
as I knelt by her side. “Don’t ask me, don't try
y y
to know, to find out
“I must find out, Aunt Salvy Tell me!”
“He loves you, my boy, with all his heart!”
The silence was broken at last, and a part of the
terrible secret, so long and so faithfully kept, was
out. She clapped her hand over her lips, but it
was too late. I had caught the sibilant s, which
meant the difference between death and life.
“Loves me! Then he is not dead 2 ''
She did not answer, but sobbed convulsively, her
tears trickling through her withered hands and fall-
ing upon mine.
“Auntie, tell me!”


22 The Head of Pasht.
“Oh, Archie,” she managed to reply, “has the
time come at last, after all these years 7 I hoped—
I hoped— ”
I shivered with the dread of what was coming,
but I knew I must meet it, and I repeated my
question, trembling for the answer. -
“Archie, my dear, dear boy, he is not dead!”
My brain whirled. This vague, idealized form of
my father; this half-dream of a bearded face bend-
ing tenderly over me; this childish vision — was a
reality. My father was alive, and I felt born again,
into a new world. I longed, all in a moment, to
put my arms around his neck, to lay my head upon
his shoulder, to feel his loving clasp, to hear his
voice. It was as if he had come back from heaven
itself, with new glory of fatherhood and love.
“Oh, Aunt Salvy' " I cried, with a rush of tears,
‘‘ where is he Where is he 7 ''
How she ever forced herself to tell me the truth I
do not know. I only remember that we sat in her
little room for hours, as the wintry afternoon dark-
ened, holding closely to each other; she yearning
over me, with the old wound in her own life all re-
opened; and I, with my boyish heart full well-nigh
to breaking, trying to realize that I had a living,
breathing father only a few miles away, and that he
was a convicted murderer.
“ Trying " to realize, I say. Thank God, I did


A Thief at School. 23
not wholly succeed. That my father was alive, I
could not but believe; but at the end of that dreary
afternoon, when the twilight had deepened and the
rays of the street lamps fell upon our strained, tear-
wet faces and upon the familiar, homely walls of the
little room, my father had received the “new trial "
his counsel had in vain pleaded for, eight years be-
fore. In his son's heart he had been tried afresh,
and—again I say, most humbly and reverently, thank
God!—the verdict was clear and strong, NOT GUILTY.
At the same time there was born in that boyish
heart a firm resolve which never afterward faltered.
“Aunt Salvy,” I said, rising stiffly to my feet and
laying one hand gently over her shoulder, “my
father did not commit that crime; and I shall spend
my life, my whole life, if necessary, in hunting for
the wicked man who should stand in his place in
that prison, and in proving my father's innocence.”
No wonder my poor old aunt looked up at me in
amazement. I had spoken as if I myself were a
man, instead of a schoolboy. But she recognized
the true ring in my voice, and I think hope sprang
up in her heart for the first time in those long years
of shadow, and while she was silent, her lips were
moving dumbly, in prayer.
Ten minutes later I was a boy again, with a vora-
cious appetite for supper, and a hundred wild
schemes for obtaining my father's release. My


24 The Head of Pasht.
aunt ate but little, being content with seeing me
once more my usual self; and sat opposite me at
table, half pleased, half touched by my childish
enthusiasm and my impracticable plans.
On entering the schoolyard next morning I
dreaded meeting my classmates, and, as it turned
out, not without reason. I joined a group of merry
talkers, trying to appear unconscious that any
change had taken place in my standing among
them. Instantly, however, I noticed a difference
in their manner toward me. Their greetings were
constrained, they eyed me curiously, and two or
three moved off. It was but too evident that Tos-
cani had completed the work he had begun the day
before. At this very minute I spied him in earnest
conversation, on the school steps, with a little circle
that had gathered about him.
Even the teacher seemed to me to eye me coldly
that morning, though I now think that this slight
was imaginary,+and the forenoon was, to one pupil
at least, well-nigh interminable. At recess I got
hold of one of my sturdiest friends, jolly, good-
natured, impulsive Nat Bacon, and asked him
squarely what the fellows said about me. He tried
to evade the question, and flushed deeply, poor
boy, as I cornered him, but I insisted on an answer.
“Well, I 'll tell you, Arch,” he said at length,
& 4
seeing that there was no escape, “that new chap,


A Thief at School. 25
Ali, has put it into their heads that — Oh, bother,
I don't want to talk about it ! Come out and
snowball.”
He tried to slip past me, but I kept him in the
COrner.
“What was it, Nat I ought to know, and you
and I are chums, are n’t we ?”
“Well, I guess!” and he gave me a playfully
affectionate punch. “That fellow, that languid
brunette of an Arab, with Italian trimmings, says–
says your father—your father—— ”
“Committed a crime—an awful crime 2 ''
“Yes,” said Nat, “ but I don't believe a word of
it, Arch.”
“And that he is in State prison for it now 7"
Nat nodded lugubriously.
“Is that all 2 " I was going to let him off, but
something in his face stopped me.
“He 's got it into the heads of some of the fel-
lows that you — well,” concluded Nat, desperately,
“ that you 've had a hand in the disappearance of
the knives and things about here lately.”
There, it was all out now. A murderer's son
would naturally be a thief. What more probable
solution of the problem that had been perplexing
the room for six weeks 2
I confess this was a staggering blow, but I rallied,
the more quickly that I saw the friendly sympathy


26 The Head of Pasht.
in the eyes of my boy friend. I swallowed a sob,
dashed a tear or two from my own lashes, and
straightened up.
“As to my father, Nat,” said I, “it is true that
he is in prison, because they found a verdict that he
had—had done a dreadful thing.”
Nat’s face fell.
“But,” I went on quickly, “I want you to stand
up for him, with me, in believing him innocent. I
Ánow he must be innocent, Nat! Why, he was my
father ' "
My boy friend, bless him, accepted my statement
on the spot, as if it were the triumphant conclusion
of an irresistible logical argument. His face bright-
ened and broadened again.
“Of course he's innocent,” he said, triumphantly.
“Did n't I say so "
“And as for the other thing—— ”
Oh, nonsense, Arch,” interrupted Nat; “we
need n't talk about that. I 'd like to kick that
fellow out of the schoolyard for even hinting such a
thing.”
I was satisfied that I had at least one loyal friend,
and I felt better. We at once put our heads to-
gether, and laid plans — which were really my own
—for discovering the true culprit whose misdoings
had been laid at my door.
In the first place it was necessary to know what


A Thief at School. 27
articles had been stolen, in order to determine the
motive of the thief. Nat's duty was to make in-
quiries, and he did this so well that before recess
was over, a practically complete list of missing goods
was placed in my hands. I have that list now among
my papers, and will copy it here.
I silver watch.
I five-bladed penknife.
I two- “ 4 4
I pair woollen mittens.
I “ fur ear-muffs.
I silver pencil-case (returned).
I pocket match-box.
Small sums of money, amounting to 69 cents.
There were a few other small articles, Nat thought,
that were not included in the list, the owners being
absent that day. The “silver pencil-case" incident
had puzzled us already. It was stolen on a certain
Saturday, and on Tuesday morning the rightful
owner, Dick Colburn, found it in his desk.
I took the list home with me that afternoon, and
gave it the closest study of which I was capable,
letting physical geography and mathematics take
their chances.
In good season the next morning Nat called for
me, by appointment, and we walked down together,
talking busily, for I had several points yet to be
cleared up in regard to the stolen articles. Just


28 The Head of Pasht.
outside the gate we were met by Jack Houston.
His was one of the hardest cases, and headed our
list. He had often shown us with pride a big, old-
fashioned silver watch which he told us had been in
his family for three generations. He had left it in
his desk one day while he ran out for a snowball
fight, and when he returned it was gone. It did
seem foolish for him to leave his property so care-
lessly, but it was exactly like him to do so—a great,
stupid, untidy fellow, whom nobody particularly
liked or disliked. His new misfortune, however,
won him considerable sympathy.
I turned the whole matter of the thefts over in
my mind that day,+it was Friday,+and on Satur-
day morning, when the school was in session, I rose
and held up my hand.
“What is it, Grahan, ?” asked the teacher, in his
sharp, incisive tones.
“I have found out the thief who has been steal-
ing our things, sir. Shall I name him 7”
The sensation among the boys could have been
no greater if I had announced that the building
was on fire. For three days I had been almost
completely tabooed in that small school-world;
most of my classmates taking it for granted that,
coming of the “criminal classes,” I was the guilty
Olle.
Without waiting for Mr. Burns's answer, I turned


A Thief at School. 29
quickly and pointed my finger straight at Houston,
with the words, “You did it, Jack!”
For a moment there was complete silence in the
room, for my accusation of the very last one to be
suspected came like a thunderclap out of a clear sky.
I confess my own heart stood still, there being a
slightest possible chance that all my deductions
were wrong. The boys began to move nervously,
and Toscani led in a sneering titter that rose and
gained every moment. Two things put a stop to
that ugly laughter: Mr. Burns's ruler came down on
his desk with a resounding Smack, and at the same
moment the sound of a heavy fall was heard in the
corner of the room where Houston sat. The boy
had fainted.
All was confusion as I took my seat, breathless
from mingled suspense and relief. To my mind,
the faint was confession; and so it proved. Half a
dozen fellows sprang to Houston's side and raised
him from the floor. At the teacher's direction they
carried him into the coat-room, where, in the
draught from an open window, he shortly revived.
Mr. Burns then went in, and having set us to work
and sent out the expectant group of helpers, shut
the door behind him.
I never knew what passed between teacher and
pupil, but ten minutes later both came back to the
recitation room. Poor Jack, with head hanging,


3O The Head of Pasht.
shambled over to his desk and, taking the few
books and papers belonging to him, passed out of
the schoolhouse, which he was never to re-enter.
Mr. Burns, looking a little pale and excited,
rapped us sharply to order.
“Graham was right,” he said, briefly. “Hous-
ton has been the culprit who has stolen various
articles from you, and I am sorry to say that, with
few exceptions, they cannot be restored. Mitchell,
here is your match-box, and Haskins's mittens will
be found in Houston's desk. There is nothing
more to be said concerning this painful business,
save that your classmate confessed everything, said
that he was driven to it by poverty, and was very
sorry. First division in algebra, take your places !”
I held a sort of reception after school that day. I
always, until recently, had been well liked by the
fellows, and now whatever popularity I had enjoyed
seemed increased tenfold. They crowded about
me, shaking my hands, poking me affectionately,
and trying in every way to show their restored con-
fidence. Toscani walked off proudly, followed only
by one or two who had attached themselves to him
from the first.
Nat Bacon of course walked home with me, wild
with delight at the turn affairs had taken.
“How did you ever find out, old fellow 7" he
cried, as soon as we were by ourselves, “I know


A Thief at School. 3 I
we made lots of plans, but we concluded that none
of them would work. You 're a regular detective,
Arch 1”
I never forgot those words, and years afterward,
when I was known as one of the most active of
the detective force in my part of the State, I often
recalled them with a smile.
“Why, Nat,” I said, as we hurried along the
snowy streets, “I looked first of all for a motive in
the thefts. The list gave me that at once. Every-
thing stolen was an article of some money value,
except possibly the mittens and ear-muffs. It was
not, then, a rich boy who was doing the work; prob-
ably a very poor one. This narrowed the possible
culprits down to half a dozen at the outset. You
remember that the pencil-case which you put down
as ‘silver' was mysteriously returned to the owner.
I borrowed that pencil-case yesterday and took it to
a jeweller's. It was not silver at all, but an imita-
tion, clever but worthless; so the thief, who, being
a boy, had some sort of a conscience, gave it back
as soon as he found out his mistake. Of the six
poor boys, only two could have done anything with
the mittens. One was Billy Downs and the other
was Jack. Billy has a good warm pair of gloves,
which he told me, when I asked him, his mother
knit for him last Christmas. Jack always comes
to school bare-handed. As he was going home


32 The Head of Pasht.
yesterday I followed him at a distance, and saw him
stop before long, pull a pair of mittens out of his
pocket, and put them on. Before I could reach
him he had started on a run, and I lost him in the
crowd (I don't know where he lives); but I was
morally sure that those mittens were the stolen
pair. This morning his pockets were bulged out,
and he had an anxious look and a sort of sheepish
air when he met us at the gate—don't you remem-
ber 2—which made me still more certain that I was
right.”
“Pretty slim evidence, after all,” remarked Nat,
dubiously. “I don't see how you dared to get up
and name him that way.”
I was unable to explain further why my convic-
tion of the identity of the thief had been so fixed.
Indeed, on looking back over the last few hours, I
realized how weak my case had been, and what a
risk I had taken in denouncing Jack. But I now
believe my certainty arose not only from the mere
facts in the matter, but also from a certain percep-
tion amounting almost to intuition which marks the
expert detective, which has often helped me in my
professional work since those days, and which, un.
recognized by myself, helped me then.
I had some compunctions that evening for the
part I had taken in exposing poor Jack Houston's
ill-doing, and Aunt even shed tears over him; but


A Thief at School. 33
so long as he was undetected we all were more or
less under suspicion, and in convicting the true
criminal I had freed every other boy in the room
from odium. It was the right thing to do, aside
from my own personal motives in the matter, and I
am glad now that I did it.
Jack was not prosecuted. He never returned to
school, but obtained a situation, shortly after these
events, in a large shoe-factory near-by, where he
earned a good reputation for honest, steady work.
It was years before I saw him again.
2


CHAPTER III.
THE DETECTIVE'S BLUNDER.
T the age of sixteen I graduated from school.
What had happened during the three years
since the solution of the Houston thefts Very
little which would interest the public at large. As
soon as I had proved my own innocence and my
g
classmate's complicity in the “schoolhouse mys-
tery,” I was all eagerness to visit the prison where
my father was confined. Aunt Salvation, however,
would not hear of this. She said it would grieve
and worry him beyond belief to learn that I had
been told his history. His one comfort, he had
often told her, was the thought that his son did not
know of his disgrace. Why burden the boy with
that terrible load to carry through life 2
So it was settled, much against my will, that I
should not see my father, nor hold communication
with him, during my minority; that is, unless I
should have made such progress in my investigation
of the crime for which he had been sentenced that
it became absolutely necessary for me to consult
with him.
34


The Detective's Blunder. 35
As months and years passed I never wavered in
my determination to devote my life to clearing my
father. I went about my school tasks doggedly,
but in many ways which I need not detail I pre-
pared myself for my future work. Fortunately I
could not, or at any rate did not, gain access to
many works of the Newgate Calendar description,
such as my enthusiasm for the detection of crime
led me to seek out and devour. From this abnor-
mal and unwholesome class of literature I was kept
by the demands of my regular lessons and other
duties, as well as the influence of my aunt, which
was always pure and sweet.
I confess that I did, however, cultivate the ac-
quaintance of several police officers, and so gradually
became accustomed to stories of crime in its ordi-
nary aspects, and of the detection and arrest of
criminals. I often spent a half-hour in the court-
room, and so familiarized myself with the process of
criminal trials and the sifting of evidence by counsel.
During my last year at the high school I made
the acquaintance of a reporter on the Daily Bulletin,
named Fred Larkin. He was very young for the
work—not much older than myself—but extremely
active and efficient, and a fellow of fine, upright
principles, though he was always ready to laugh off
with a joke any reference to higher motives on his
part than desire for fame and money.


36 The Head of Pasht.
In the course of my companionship with Larkin I
learned much of the under side of city life. We
often went together into places where a man could
hardly venture alone with safety, and the interior of
police stations became as familiar to me as Aunt
Salvy's kitchen. -
The time was drawing near when I could enter
upon practical research into my father's case. To
do this, however, I must have money, and I felt,
too, that I ought to begin to repay my aunt in some
degree for her care of me from childhood, and to
take my place as the head of the family until, as I
fondly hoped, I should yield it to my father.
For nearly five years more, therefore, I directed
my energies to earning money, endeavoring to keep
my work as far as possible within the lines of the
profession I had marked out for myself and such as
should still further serve to prepare me for it. I
connected myself with a large detective agency,
being irregularly paid for my services in proportion
to their value and results in each case. Of course
nothing of importance, no capital cases or matters
involving large sums of money, were entrusted to
me; but I succeeded in convincing my employers
that I had some special qualifications for the work,
and I was soon conscious of their increasing reliance
upon me.
At the same time I wrote short pieces for the


The Detective's Blunder. 37
dailies, being greatly helped therein by Larkin;
and managed to get one or two more important
contributions into a magazine of some standing in
New York. The editors need not have warned me,
as they did in their printed slips, of the impractic-
ability of a “personal interview.” The last thing
I wanted was to be seen and recognized as a mere
youth just out of school. A fair handwriting and
perhaps a certain assurance in my composition, both
of articles and letters, probably helped my cause
and led the managers to believe they were dealing
with a contributor of far more experience and years
than I possessed. In all these matters my good
friend Larkin was, as I have intimated, of the
greatest assistance to mp, dropping many hints, the
results of his shrewd common-sense and his active
service on the staff of the Bulletin.
. In these honest though devious walks of life I
managed to pick up a considerable sum each week,
and by careful economy not only paid my aunt
something more than the equivalent of my board,
but laid up a constantly increasing sum in the
savings-bank, for future needs.
Another acquaintance which I made at this time
was that of Samuel Heintz, the well-known detective,
whose successful work in ferreting out difficult cases
has given him such a solid reputation in this city.
He was then connected with the regular police force,


38 The Head of Pasht.
but has subsequently set up an office of his own,
deputing all minor matters to assistants, but taking
as keen a personal interest as ever in complicated
problems. I had not, at that time, read the ficti-
tious adventures and exploits of “Sherlock Holmes”
or the similarity of methods in the work of the two
men would have struck me forcibly, as it now does.
The resemblance, however, stopped there. In out-
ward appearance Sam Heintz was a bluff, rather
stout, frank-faced fellow, not in the least like the
popular conception of a detective, who must be
beetle-browed, hatchet-faced, and eccentric to a de-
gree. Of course Sam had a smooth chin and upper
lip in order to present as little facial peculiarity as
possible, and at the same time to be ready to assume
the disguise of a false beard and wig–for which, be
it said in passing, there is rarely a call in practical
detective work. Sam's courage was as unfailing as
his perception was keen, and he had that absolute
obstinacy of perseverance in every case he under-
took which is one of the prime qualities of men of
his class.
Before entering upon the details of my own great
search for proof of my father's innocence, I must
give one example of Sam Heintz's indefatigability
which resulted in success when the whole affair in
which he had been engaged had long blown over. I
will narrate it as nearly as possible in his own words.


The Detective's Blunder. 39
“Did I ever tell you about the biggest blunder
of my life, Graham : " he asked one night, as he
filled his pipe and stretched out his feet to the blaz-
ing fire before which we were sitting at his lodgings.
“Never, Sam ” (we all called him that). “Let's
have it now.”
The pipe was lighted, and Sam began.
“It was only last year, Archie, and was a matter
of a robbery of a fairly large sum. The city where
the crime was committed was celebrating its one
hundredth anniversary. The streets were crowded
with strangers as well as citizens, and we on the
force knew a big harvest would be reaped, in spite
of us, by pickpockets. About two dozen men were
detailed, half relieving half twice a day, to look out
for occurrences of this sort, and, in particular, to
watch for any well-known gentlemen of talent from
New York, Baltimore, and other cities, who would
naturally attend the celebration. We all knew the
“Rogue' photographs pretty well, and could pick
our man out of the crowd, run him into the nearest
station, and ship him to foreign parts before he fairly
knew he was identified. When the three days'
celebration was half over we had rounded up and
“warned off ' a dozen pickpockets and sneaks in this
way.
“It was the afternoon of the third day, notable
for its great procession, to be followed by fireworks


4O The Head of Pasht.
at night. I had taken my stand on the curbstone in
a large square where the crowd was the thickest.
A uniformed officer was stationed at the ropes about
ten feet away on my right. The head of the pro-
cession had passed, and everybody was eagerly
watching the New York Sixth, that followed,— that
is, everybody except those whose business it was to
watch the watchers, when a commotion arose close
beside me.
“A young fellow with a heavy blond mustache
was talking to the policeman with frantic gesticula-
tions, as I elbowed my way toward him.
“‘It had eight hundred dollars in it,” he was say-
ing, ‘ all in a roll not as big as my fist.’
“‘Where was it 7” asked the officer.
“‘ In my left inside pocket—here !”
“As he pulled out the pocket, I saw a long cut
on one side of it, corresponding with the one I at
once noticed in the outer part of the coat.
“‘ It 's the old trick,' I said, nodding to the
officer. ‘The fellow that did that can’t be far
away. Look out for your watches, friends!'
“A fumbling of pockets and buttoning up of
coats, together with a good many timid and sus-
picious glances, were the immediate result of my
words. I did not believe the thief could have forced
his way out of the crowd without my noticing him.
He was probably under my eye that moment, I


The Detective's Blunder. 4 I
judged, but of course it was impossible to pick him
out. Certainly no familiar ‘rogue' was within a
radius of twenty feet. -
“Suddenly the man who had been robbed was
interrupted by a cry from a young girl who was
tightly wedged in against the ropes like the rest,
and at whom I confess I had been stealing occasional
glances — quite unprofessional — for the last half-
hour.
“She was very pretty, with a refined face, soft
brown hair, and blue eyes that now were bright
with tears.
“‘Oh! Oh!' she moaned, “it 's gone ! My
purse, with all my money and my steamer ticket!
I had it tight in my hand [Oh, these women'] just a
moment ago. Some one has taken it! Oh, can't
you find it º'
“She looked up at the perplexed policeman with
tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, and clasped
her little gloved hands in a way that made me feel
savage. Of course she did not know that I, being
in plain clothes, was an officer.
“‘Take them over to No. Five, can't you, Sam 7'
said the policeman. “I must stay here where the
Cap. stationed me. He 's one of us, Miss," he
added, in a lower tone.
“She looked up at me with a ray of relief in her
pretty eyes.


42 The Head of Pasht.
“‘Oh, do help me, sir!' she exclaimed. ‘I
know I ought not to have left the hotel to-day, but
I wanted to see the procession.’
“I had already passed my hand under her arm,
and saying to the young fellow who was still be-
moaning his loss that he 'd best come along, too, I
started for clear ground. Not a step had I taken
when a new voice brought me to a standstill.
“‘See here, mister, are you a p'liceman º' I
looked at the speaker in some irritation, for I
wanted to get my pretty charge safely and speedily
out of the crowd.
“‘Yes,' I said, briefly. “If you want to see me,
come along.’
‘‘ He followed me without a word. He was a
big, burly man of fifty or more, dressed in thick, ill-
fitting clothes, and evidently from the country. He
was tanned brown as an Indian, and carried with
him a faint odor of the farmyard.
“‘ Now,' I said, as soon as we were out of the
press, ‘what is it Speak quick, for I 'm in a
hurry.'
“‘I’ve had my pocket picked jest now in that
crowd,” said he, shutting his mouth firmly, but I
could see his big, knotted hands shake. ‘’T was a
watch, a silver one I've hed sence before the war.
I looked at it to see what time ’t was, jest as the
band went along, and in another minute 't was gone,


The Detective's Blunder. 43
an' only this left ' ' He showed me the end of an
old leather guard, hanging from his button-hole.
It was neatly cut, of course.
“‘I’d like to git my hand on the feller that 's
got that watch !' he added, his big, hairy fists shut-
ting.
“‘Well,” said I, tired of this ‘carnival of crime,’
as the reporters called it next morning, ‘ I must re-
port at the station, and we'll do what we can for all
of you.’
“I hailed a hack that was passing, showed my
badge when the driver wanted to keep on to fill an
engagement, and handed the young lady in.
“‘I—I don't believe I'll go,' said Blond Mus-
tache, after a minute's hesitation. “You know
what 't is I've lost—just a roll of bills with nine
hundred dollars in it.' He was turning away, when
I called to him, sharply:
“‘Hold on, friend | You said eight hundred just
now !'
“‘Did I ?” rather nervously. ‘Well, there was
nine hundred, anyway.'
“‘You 'd better come with us,’ said I, shortly,
‘ and give an exact description of what you 've lost.
Get in, please.’
“. He stood irresolute a minute, then entered the
hack, taking his seat beside the girl. The old
farmer followed, and I got in last, telling the


44 The Head of Pasht.
hackman to drive to Station Five. I had passed one
of our men, I ought to add, and had given him a tip
as to what had taken place; so that I left him on
the watch.
“Well, I'm making my case longer than I meant
to. Each of the three told pretty much the same
story as the others, at the station. The old man
proved to be from a small town not far away, from
which he had come up to see the celebration. We
took his name and address, as well as that of the
other two. The young fellow claimed Indianapolis
as his home, and gave the number of the street
where he was at present boarding.
“Miss Rose Whitney — that was her name — was
on the point of going to Europe. She was stopping
with an aunt at the Grand Hotel, waiting for the
steamer, which was to sail at seven the next morn-
ing. She had started out for a short walk without
her chaperon, and had heedlessly followed the
stream of sightseers to the square where the pro-
cession was soon to pass. Once in the crowd she
could not get out, she added, her lip trembling
piteously.
“‘And, oh, sir!' she said, “please don't let my
name get into the papers. I'd almost rather lose
the money [there was about seventy-five dollars in
the pocketbook, besides her passage ticket] than
have that happen. Mother would never get over
:


The Detective's Blunder. 45
the mortification. I know my aunt will lend me
enough for the passage, and I can get another ticket
by hurrying. The stateroom is all engaged in her
name. If you find the thief, and recover anything,
please write or cable to me in care of Baring
Brothers, London.'
“I took her to the hotel in the carriage I had
kept waiting, and when she had thanked me prettily
and gone up in the elevator, I turned to the clerk
and asked him the name of the lady Miss Whitney
was with. He glanced at the register, and said it
was Mrs. Ambrose Winter.
““She's her aunt, I believe,” he added, sociably.
“They 're from Cleveland, and sail on the Georgia
to-morrow morning.’
“I thanked him and went back to the station.
The two men had already gone, and I lingered a
minute to ask the sergeant at the desk what he
thought of the matter.
“‘I don't know, Sam,' said he, frowning a little.
‘The farmer 's all right, fast enough, and so 's the
girl y
‘‘ But the other ?' I interrupted. “I did n't like
his looks.’
“‘Nor I. He wanted to get away the minute he
came in here. To tell the truth, Sam,' said the
sergeant, ‘ I took him into the other room and made
him turn out his pockets. There was nothing of


46 The Head of Pasht.
consequence in them, and there was the slash in the
coat to speak for itself.'
“‘Anyway,’ said I, putting on my hat, “I’m
going to look up No. 62 Corinth Street, where he
says he boards, and see if that part of the story is
straight. I'll report here on time, at six o'clock.’
“I stopped on the way to telegraph, as a last
precaution, to the address given by the old man,
directing that the answer should be sent to the
station. Then I went to Corinth Street, only to find
that a vacant lot extended from No. 48 to No. 74.
‘‘I need n't add that I was convinced that we had
made a bad blunder at Station Five. It was now
plain enough. The young fellow had robbed the
old man of his watch, as well as the girl of her
purse, and had shrewdly got out of the crowd and
diverted suspicion from himself (having passed the
stolen property to a pal) by feigning that he had
been a victim. It was an old trick, and I was dis-
gusted with myself and with Sergeant B., to whom
I duly reported the result of my search. Men were
stationed at every depot to watch the outgoing
trains that night and the next day, but the thief
was evidently too knowing a bird to walk into a net.
He had a face that was easily disguised, and we
could only send descriptions of him to the chiefs in
half a dozen other cities, with the faint hope of
catching him.


The Detective's Blunder. 47
“The answer to my telegram, by the way, had
arrived that same evening. The old man was all
right, and accounted for. His name and descrip-
tion came over the wire. He had been absent all
day, and was expected home that evening. Poor
old fellow ! I pitied him on his return to his family,
robbed and crestfallen.
“As for Miss Rose and her aunt, I saw their
names on the list of steamer passengers the next
morning, and was glad to know that the pretty
young lady's loss had not spoiled her trip.
“My story would have ended right here, had not
a curious incident occurred about three weeks ago,
furnishing a sequel to my foolish blunder.
“Tom Munroe and myself were detailed for duty,
in plain clothes as usual, at an uptown variety
theatre, where a light-fingered gang had been work-
ing successfully for two or three evenings. We
bought aisle seats, one of which I occupied, about
in the centre of the orchestra, the other, for Tom,
farther back. Every half-hour or so we were to
saunter about the corridors, keeping our eyes open
for any shady work that might be going on.
“I had not been in my seat five minutes when I
caught sight of a familiar head, about a dozen rows
in front of me: a girl's head, with soft, curly brown
hair. Soon she half turned to speak with her com-
panion, a tall, fine-looking gentleman; and I knew


48 The Head of Pasht.
I was not mistaken. It was Miss Rose Whitney,
prettier than ever, and far more vivacious than when
I saw her last. I wondered at her quick return from
the Continent, and I was conscious of some small
amount of envy of her escort.
“For some time I watched the girl, feeling the
same attraction I had felt when she looked at me so
piteously in the crowd, and I hardly noticed the
farce that was being played upon the stage.
“The curtain dropped, the lights in the audi-
torium were lowered, and the crowd waited eagerly
for the biograph views, which were to be given for
the first time in that house.
“The first was a great success — a view of a fire-
engine on its way to a fire. It was a wonderful
affair, the horses galloping straight toward you, the
smoke rolling from the stack, children scattering
right and left. You've seen those ‘moving pictures,’
Archie, and know how vivid they are. Next came
a railroad train, picking up water at full speed;
then a children's pillow-fight.
“I was thinking I ought to take my turn out,
when the view changed. It was now a public
square, densely packed with a crowd watching a
procession as it passed. After an instant I recog-
nized it—the very scene of the robbery two months
before. Now I caught sight of my friend the police-
man—then of myself—and now—my heart almost


The Detective's Blunder. 49
stood still—there were the three alleged victims of
the pickpocket. In five seconds more I had viewed
the whole crime, reproduced with what terrible and
unerring evidence before my eyes! The veritable
thief, the sweet, tremulous, confiding girl, Rose
Whitney herself, in that ‘living picture,' drew her
hand across the young man's coat with a swift
downward motion which I instantly recognized as
a true pickpocket’s ‘cut,’ abstracted the roll of bills,
and passed them to the old farmer, whose hand was
ready for them, but who never took his eyes from
the band, which passed with tossing plumes—Presto!
and the picture gave place to a blank sheet, pre-
pared for the next view.
“In another moment I caught sight of two figures
moving quietly up the aisle through the semi-dark-
ness of the theatre; but I was out before them,
bringing Tom to my side with a touch as I passed.
“In the brilliantly lighted corridor the girl looked
pale, and her eyes shone like stars.
“I stepped up to her side, passing my arm
quickly through hers as I did so.
“‘You must come with me—,' I began; but I
got no further.
“‘What do you mean by this insolence 2' hissed
her escort between his teeth.
“Even as the weapon he had carried in his pocket
descended on my head, I recognized the voice. It
4


50 The Head of Pasht.
was that of the burly farmer, now metamorphosed
into an elegant man-about-town.
“Well, it was lucky for me and my reputation
that Tom was close behind and saw it all. He
shouted for help, caught the girl with one hand,
jerked the man backward by his collar with the other,
and held on to both till an officer came. I was lying
insensible on the matting, meanwhile, and have n’t
fairly got over the wound yet.
“The young fellow who had made all the trouble
by carrying nine hundred dollars in his coat pocket
called at the station, they tell me, the day after the
two prisoners were taken. He explained, sheepishly
enough, that he had given a false name and address
because the money was not his own; it had been
temporarily entrusted to him by a friend. He felt
that he had been almost criminally careless, and
hoped to recover it without figuring in the papers as
the victim. As it was, he got back nearly half the
money, or the equivalent of it in jewelry.
“The thieves, it seemed, had worked up the
whole business with great shrewdness and care, as-
suming the names and characters of real people,
of whom one lived at a distance, and the other was
about to start for Europe. My terse despatch to
the country town had given the local authorities no
inkling of the facts in the case, and it is probable
that the news has n't reached there to this day.


The Detective's Blunder. 5 I
“The case will come up soon, Graham, and
unless the accused plead guilty, that biograph will
be the government's most important witness.”


CHAPTER IV.
I OBTAIN A CLUE.
WAS now nearly twenty-one years old, broad-
shouldered and tall for my age, and in posses-
sion of an assured if irregular income. I felt that
the time had come for my fight for the right; that
is, for my father's freedom and good name.
My first move, naturally, was to see my father.
It was a day of intense excitement for me, and my
aunt was no less nervously wrought up as we sped
across the State toward the city where he was im-
prisoned.
I shall not describe that interview; it was too
painful and too sacred for any eye or ear but those
of the three people whom it most nearly concerned.
Suffice it to say that, Miss Salvation having gone
ahead and prepared the way, I saw my dear father,
and when he was able to speak, and I to listen, I
heard from his own lips the account of that fateful
night and day on which my story opens. He needed
no repeated assurance from me that I believed him
innocent. The look in my eyes, the clasp of my
arms about his neck, were sufficient.
52


I Obtain a Clue. 53
I made copious notes, taking down names, dates,
and localities carefully As I did so, in the quiet
professional manner I had already acquired, my heart
was gladdened to catch the dawn of hope in the dear
face I had for so many years seen in my day-dreams.
“Courage, father,” I said, as I rose to go. “If
the true criminal lives on earth I will find him,
though I should have to hunt from pole to pole;
and set him here, in this very cell, in your place.”
It was rather grandiloquent, but I was young, and
hardly yet realized the magnitude of the task before
me—to pick out one man from the thousand million
of the earth's population, and that man bending his
whole being to conceal himself from justice.
I stretched my arms in through the iron bars once
more and embraced my father, pressing my face to
his and whispering “Courage ' " over and over; for
my very heart was wrung by the sight of his hope-
less bearing and thin hair now nearly white. Aunt
Salvation followed me out of the prison with her
handkerchief to her eyes, and so we returned home.
The raw November day had opened with a misty
rain, which changed to sleet before dusk. How
well I remember how it beat upon the car windows,
as, with my brain still whirling from the excitement
and strain of the recent interview, I watched the
rivulets wandering down the glass—sometimes paus-
ing, then collecting their little might and plunging


54 The Head of Pasht.
downward again until they reached the sash or were
dashed off by the wind and the onward rush of the
train. I noticed at the top of the pane one drop
which, from contact with the soot or sparks from
the locomotive, was of a grimy hue; it occurred to
my fancy to fix upon another, at the opposite upper
corner, and to identify these two with myself and
the real murderer, on whose trail I was now to start.
The black, evil-looking little drop moved slowly
downward; and, in a slightly converging line, my
own representative. They drew nearer together.
I began to watch their course with an absurd in-
terest. A sudden jar shook them toward each
other as the train went round a sharp curve. Then,
as if the sooty stream saw and dreaded the approach
of the other, it started off at an angle. The clearer
drop followed. Swiftly, more swiftly they moved,
but the detective gained until—“ Hurrah!” I cried
aloud, to the astonishment of my aunt, as the pur-
suer overtook the fugitive and swept it away like a
little elemental Nemesis, out of sight.
That evening Miss Salvation and I sat in her little
front room, on opposite sides of the small, open
grate in which — her one extravagance — a Sydney
coal fire was blazing and purring in perfect harmony
with the large Maltese cat, the progeny of a Barns-
worth ancestor. Outside, the storm had reached
its height, and the northeast gale was driving the


I Obtain a Clue. 55
snow against the windows in a not unpleasant under-
tone of accompaniment to the two purring creatures
—one seeming hardly less animate than the other—
in the fireplace and before it.
“Aunt,” said I, reaching down to give the cat a
long stroke from nose to tail-tip, “is it possible that
I knew nothing of all the trouble that came that
night, seventeen years ago It seems to me I was
old enough to understand something of it.”
“Oh, you were too young to care much for any-
thing but your food and playthings and Bettina's
grandmother [Bettina was the cat]. You were
put to bed early and slept through it all, till almost
breakfast-time. I almost always had to go in and
wake you, even then.”
“Where did I sleep " I asked abstractedly, still
stroking Bettina, who was trying to decide whether
to lie still on the rug, or to get up so as to enjoy the
stroking more.
“In the little bedroom off the kitchen. When
there was company, you had to go off up in the
garret; but generally you had the little bedroom.
3 *
It was small, but had an east window
“Where the sun came in in the morning, and—
wait! Was there a large, very old sort of bureau
opposite the foot of the bed 7”
Aunt Salvation glanced up in surprise at my tone.
“Certainly there was, Archie, an old buffet


I Obtain a Clue. 57
I had turned over the collection of small articles
—string, spools, bits of silk — and held in my hand
a brass button. Then it all came back to me, and
with it, wonderful to say, my vision of the night
before.
“Aunt, Aunt,” I cried excitedly, “I’ve got a
clue ! A clue !”
Aunt Salvation looked at me as if I were de-
mented, and I have no doubt I hardly appeared
sane at that moment, shouting and waving that
button wildly over my head.
I turned off the gas and led her down to the fire-lit
room we had left a few minutes before. How I
treasured that button, which I now scrutinized care-
fully, and then displayed to Miss Salvation' It
was, as I have said, of brass, tarnished by long
lapse of time, but showing plainly on the flat sur-
face its feline head and the inscription.
The inscription running around the circle was in
characters which I rightly guessed to be Arabic.
As I carried the button to an eminent scholar and
linguist a day or two later, and learned the exact
wording of this inscription. In English characters
it would read:
“Ala má mahrub lais hahumá Khatar.”
Which being translated signifies:
“Why should we flee ? There is no danger here.”


58 The Head of Pasht.
The same gentleman assured me that the central
design represented Pasht, a deity of the ancient
Egyptians, with a human body and the head of a
cat. From its name probably is derived our word
“puss.”
On the under side of the button were two letters,
“F. T.,” which I had not seen before. When my
aunt had examined the button through her spec-
tacles, she exclaimed, “I remember finding that
button in the drawer years ago when I was clearing
up the “bow-fat,’ and wondering where it came
from. Do you mean to say you know anything
about it, Archie P”
I then told her how I had awakened at midnight
and seen the strange figure at the window. Even
now I should have supposed it a dream had I not
found the button on the floor next morning.
“And, Aunt,” I cried, “there was something
else! There was a long, silky hair, shining like
gold, entangled in the loop of the button. I took
it off and put it—and put it—— ”
I struck my hand against my forehead in my
frantic endeavor to remember. -
“I have it!” I shouted, so suddenly and loudly
that Bettina rose, stretched her claws upon the rug,
and selected a new place for repose under the table.
“I placed it in a book, a great brown book that lay
on the bureau.”


I Obtain a Clue. 59
Aunt Salvation shook her head.
“Most of your father's books were sold when we
left home,” she said. “I'm afraid that clue's lost,
Archie.”
“Can't you guess what book it was, Aunt I
think it had red edges, and the cover was smooth
and light brown. It probably was bound in sheep
or old calf. Allowing for a child's exaggerated
estimate of size, it must have been about so big ’’;
and I indicated a moderate-sized octavo with my
hands. “It 's likely that father had been reading
y -
it, and
“I know!” exclaimed my aunt, beginning to
share my own excitement. “John had taken it
out into the kitchen after dinner that day, because
his room was cold. It was one of them Latin [be-
coming ungrammatical in her eagerness] or Greek .
things he was always reading. ‘T was poetry, too,
for I remember looking over his shoulder; and I
have a faint recollection of seeing a word like
‘ephods ' at the top of the page, and asking him if
they had anything to do with the ephods in the Old
Testament. He laughed and said “Hardly' Pretty
soon afterward he grew solemn again, and got up to
go to the post-office for his mail; and—yes, he must
have left the book in his chair or on the table, and
I just put it in on the bedroom “bow-fat,’ when I set
the table for supper. I should n’t wonder if— ”
>


6O The Head of Pasht.
“Epodes! It was Horace's Epodes!” I inter-
rupted. I had hardly heard her last words, for I
was running over the few Latin authors of whose
names and works I had studied in my Roman his-
tory class. Of course I could not read a word of
Latin, but I remembered the title, Odes and Epodes
of Horace, and I was sure I was on the right track.
“Now, Aunt, who bought the books ''
“Let me see—I 've got the old memorandum
somewhere. It 's in that same “bow-fat.’”
I was sorry to give her the trouble, but I felt that
I could not afford to lose the slightest shadow of a
clue in this case which so far outweighed in import-
ance all others in which I was or could be profes-
sionally engaged.
After an absence of several minutes, during which
I pored over the inscription on the button, and
listened to the wailing of the storm, by turns, my
aunt returned with a yellowish bit of paper in her
hands.
“Here it is,” said she, smoothing it out on her
lap and adjusting her spectacles. “‘Bought of
John Graham's heirs [that had a gruesome sound;
but I knew that my father was “civilly dead,” as the
law puts it] five hundred and sixteen miscellaneous
books, for three hundred dollars.-MARTIN L.
STONE.' ''
“They must have been worth a great deal more


I Obtain a Clue. 6 I
than that,” I exclaimed indignantly. “You have
often told me what a fine old library he had.”
“Well, it was the best I could do,” said Aunt
Salvation with a reminiscent sigh.
“I know where Stone's place is. It 's a small
second-hand bookstore on A Street. I'll go there
to-morrow and try to learn something about that
Horace. I should n’t wonder if it turned out to be
a very valuable book, and the dealer may have kept
track of it.”
“How do you account for the button and the
hair being on your floor that morning, Archibald 2 ''
“I think they were left behind by some one who
got in at my window; probably the button was just
hanging by a thread and was rubbed off on the sash
or sill. And I have n't any doubt that the new
gold piece was purposely left by the same person,
to throw the blame for the robbery on father.
Aunt Salvation, before the eyes of that Egyptian
cat was once enacted a dreadful scene; for the man
who wore the button and who looked in upon me
that night was the man who robbed and murdered
David Dinsmore ’’


CHAPTER V.
WHERE IS THE BOOK ?
HE very next day I was as good as my word,
and called at the old book-dealer's. It was a
stuffy little store, the entrance to which was down
half a dozen steps from the street-level. I found
Stone a rather undersized, irascible man, who knew
or cared little beyond the money he made on the
purchase and resale of his dusty wares. When he
was at last made to understand what I wanted,
he turned to his journals and ledgers with many
grumblings, and after considerable search came upon
the record of the transaction. -
“Now, what I want to find out, Mr. Stone, is
whether you have any of those books left. Miss
Graham's brother was a friend of mine, and I 'd
like to buy something of his as a keepsake.”
The man led the way to an alcove in a remote
part of his underground shop, where books were
stacked up, on grimy shelves and in untidy heaps,
by the hundreds.
“Let me see, let me see,” he muttered to him-
self. “Graham lot—mostly classics and biography.”
62


Where Is the Book 2 63
He pulled out a volume from a lower shelf and beat
the dust from it. “Here's a fine little A Kempis,
how 'll that do P”
My eyes filled with tears as I opened the book
and read the familiar name on the blank leaf-
“John Graham, Harvard College, Class of '6–.”
“This may do for one,” I said hastily, pretend-
ing to wipe the dust from my eyes. “Have n't
you one of the classics—something, say, in Latin—
Horace, for instance 2''
“There was a fine Horace in the collection,” he
grumbled; “but that went within a week.”
“Ah,” I replied, trying not to show my emotion.
“Who bought it ”
“How should I know? I don't ask every pur-
chaser his name, and I could n’t remember it if I
did.”
My heart fell. The book, then, was irretrievably
lost!
“Come to think of it, though, I do know who
bought that Horace,” continued the dealer slowly,
as if he grudged the information. “”T was a rich
stockbroker in Chicago, who had an agent in the
city picking up a library for him. Guess he could n’t
read so far 's the title-page when he 'd got it!”
The dealer chuckled grimly, and was for renewing
his search when I stopped him.
“This is all I want now, thank you.”


64 The Head of Pasht.
I paid the small price demanded for the A Kempis,
obtained the name and address of the Chicago
broker, and left the shop.
Within an hour I had written to Chicago, asking
whether the owner of the Horace was willing to part
with it to an old friend of a former owner. My
letter was never answered, nor could I obtain any
information from the police or post-office authori-
ties of the broker's whereabouts.
Balked in this direction I ran down to Barnsworth,
obtained permission of the occupants to enter the
old house, and made careful drawings and measure-
ments of the ground floor and of my window, inside
and out. I found that the sill was only about
three and a half feet above the ground, so that a
man might easily enter from without.
Having fixed these points in my mind and made
all needful memoranda, I next secured the aid of a
middle-aged lounger from the piazza of the Walton
House, and was conducted (without disclosing my
identity) to the spot where the memorable murder
of 187— was supposed to have occurred. Of this
place I secured several good photographs with a
small pocket-kodak; and having looked the locality
well over, returned to my city home.
At about this time I had exacting duties in the
line of my regular work, which left me little leisure
for the Dinsmore case. It was absolutely necessary


Where Is the Book 2 65
for me to increase my funds before undertaking ex-
clusively the affair nearest my heart. It will lighten
my narrative if I occasionally digress in order to
give accounts of peculiar cases which came under
my direct notice, or within the experience of my
mates, and this I shall do, at whatever risk of seem-
ing discursiveness. Such was the pickpocket case
already related, and noted for its subsequent trial,
when the jury, against the objection of the counsel
for the prisoners, were taken to view the biograph
exhibition, and a verdict of “guilty" was found,
and sustained, on the sole evidence (corroborated
somewhat by circumstantial details) of that instru-
ment and its photographs.
Such, too, was the De Peyster case, which re-
ceived scant notice in the papers at the time, but
which was so remarkable in certain features that it
deserves permanent record. I was put to work on
the case, but utterly failed to find a clue. It still
remains an unsolved problem in detective annals.
Such leisure as I could wring from pauses in out-
side work I devoted to my great task. Every
evening when I was at home I took out the button
and gazed on the engraved head, which possessed
an increasing fascination for me.
“Those eyes,” I would say to myself, “beheld
the crime which resulted indirectly in my father's
conviction. Ah, if you could only speak, if you
5


66 The Head of Pasht.
could whisper your secret to me!” But, inscrutable
as its ancient prototype in far-off Egypt, the impas-
sive face gave no sign.
So the weeks and months wore away until it was
summer again. Then occurred the De Peyster
affair, and I was busy enough for several days.
Fred Larkin, too, was greatly interested in the
case, and it is to his assiduity in interviewing one
of the principal actors in this comedy, which might
so easily have become tragedy, namely, Reginald
de Peyster himself, that I owe my possession of
many of the detailed facts.


CHAPTER VI.
REGINALD'S BURGLAR.
T was a sultry night in midsummer.
The crowd that poured out of the Gayety
Varieties expressed their appreciation of the tem-
perature within the theatre and without in diverse
ways. The upper gallery took off its coat and was
good-naturedly profane; the family circle mopped
its brows vigorously; the orchestra stalls merely
sighed, the masculine portion, indeed, going so far
as to lift its hat slightly to allow the evening air to
circulate under the silk brim.
Mr. Reginald de Peyster, who had shared a box
with a party of friends, cleared himself rather im-
patiently from the crowd, and, lighting a cigarette,
loitered across the Common and Public Garden to-
ward the great, empty house on the Avenue, where
he was lodging for a couple of nights, between the
Adirondacks and Bar Harbor. The Avenue was de-
serted at that hour by all but the grizzly-bearded
policeman, who touched his hat to De Peyster re-
spectfully, but smiled grimly behind his back when
the young man had passed into the shadows of the
next tree.
67


68 The Head of Pasht.
“Swell to his boot heels,” reflected the guardian
of the peace, “like his father before him. Good for
nothing but to wear out silk hats, smoke cigarettes,
and help support the horse show.”
Reginald flicked off a suspicion of dust from the
aforesaid boots as he stood a moment on the broad
freestone landing of his home.
The parlor windows were hidden by broad shut-
ters, and the stately house, in common with its aris-
tocratic neighbors, looked deserted and lonely
enough in the flare of the street electric globe; but
there was a dim light in the front hall, and De
Peyster, having admitted himself by a pass-key
and snapped the latch of the two doors, proceeded
to hang up his hat and mount the stairs to his cham-
ber, putting out the light by a touch upon the
automatic switch button as he passed.
His mother and sisters were at Bar Harbor, and
the great house had for its occupants this sultry
night only the butler, who slept and smoked innu-
merable pipes in the basement wing, and his young
master in the luxurious bachelor apartments at the
top of the house.
Entering his parlor, or “study,” as his friends
were accustomed to term it, with a certain element
of facetiousness, Reginald drew off his shoes, donned
a light dressing-gown of flowered silk, and a pair of
slippers, and having touched the electric bell knob,


Reginald's Burglar. 69
sank down languidly upon the cushions of the
rattan divan near the open window.
“Thomson,” said he to the butler, who, rather
out of breath and redolent of cut plug, appeared at
the door, “bring up a bit of lunch, will you ?”
“W'at will you please to 'ave, sir?” (The gen-
uine elision of the aspirate was worth a dollar a
week extra to Thomson. He cultivated its neglect
assiduously.)
“Oh, I don't care so long as it 's cold. No wine.
Knock up some lemonade, with plenty of ice.
Ah-h-h!” And the young aristocrat yawned and sank
back as if enervated anew by the effort he had made.
“Thanks. Everything locked up 2 Good-night.
Don't smoke too much, Thomson. It 'll hurt your
color.’’
“Good-night, sir. 'Ere 's your cigarettes.”
There was no touch of irony in the servant's tone
as he deposited the box of imported Turkish cigar-
ettes beside the tray, glistening with cut glass, and
withdrew.
De Peyster roused himself enough to pour out a
tumbler of lemonade from the tinkling Bohemian
pitcher, and sipped it. Then he took a bit of angel
cake — presumably procured from the Industrial
Union near by, for his especial benefit, Thomson not
being up to that sort of thing, though “grilling a
steak" was one of his accomplishments.


70 The Head of Pasht.
Overcome by heat and the expenditure of force
necessitated by an evening at the theatre, Reginald
turned with a shudder from a dainty Dresden platter
of cold meats and, having carefully dipped his white
finger tips in a bowl and wiped them with a delicate
napkin, he threw himself down for the third time at
full length on the divan.
A breath of south wind crept in through the
screened windows; the Avenue was as quiet as a
country lane; a faint, far-off “four-ply” locomotive
whistle as the New York express passed a grade
crossing only emphasized present comfort, and the
young man, not being concerned with stocks or ward
politics, and having, temporarily at least, a fairly
quiet conscience, dropped into a series of light naps,
which, joining their drops, soon became a heavy sleep.
“Wake up, but don't ye move nor say a word ' ''
It was a considerably more unceremonious sum-
mons than that of Thomson announcing the bath,
to which De Peyster was accustomed.
He obediently woke up, and disregarded the
hoarse, half-whispered command only so far as to
turn his eyes toward the speaker.
The electric lights in the room had been turned
out, but the street lamps sent enough scattered rays
through the windows to enable him to make out a
tall figure standing beside him and holding a pistol
pointed directly at his head.


72 The Head of Pasht.
“You can shoot, but I shall fire at the same time,”
continued the reclining man, rapidly. “That little
bunch under my gown — no, under the big yellow
rose, there — is the muzzle of a revolver. It is
aimed, as nearly as I can calculate, at your heart.
If you utter one word, or move your pistol a
quarter of an inch, I shall fire, whether you do or
not. If you kill me and are caught, it 's murder
in the first degree. If I kill you, it 's self-de-
fence.’’
The figure wavered, and the pistol dropped in his
hand.
“You fool!” said Reginald, raising himself
slowly, and throwing the soft silken folds aside from
the gleaming little “bulldog '' in his right hand,
“ did n't you know any better than to give me that
coat Now, drop your pistol on the lounge,
quick!”
There was something in the young fellow's tone
that cowed the burglar. With an oath he dropped
his weapon where the other's daintily clad feet had
rested a moment before.
“Now hold up your hands and back off a bit.
That'll do. I can reach you with two shots before
you get to the door, and give you another on the
stairs. It 's self-cocking, you know. That 's right
—keep them up!”
He took up the pistol and backed slowly to the


Reginald's Burglar. 73
side of the room, keeping the ugly-looking little
revolver levelled at the intruder.
A sudden blaze of light from half a dozen electric
burners illuminated the whole apartment.
The burglar started, and swore again.
De Peyster listened to his voice, and eyed him
keenly from head to foot.
“Not much capital for a man in your business,”
said he, contemptuously. “Why, man, if I had
you—” but he refrained from boasting over a
fallen enemy; nor did that burglar know until long
afterward that his intended victim had recently
pulled No. 2 in a victorious university crew, and
was the finest all-round athlete in the city club of
amateurs.
The burglar, on the other hand, seemed to have
but little stamina. The other's experienced eye
dwelt on his narrow shoulders, his slight form, the
thin, bony wrists that showed below the extended
gloves. He was breathing heavily, and coughed a
little as he stood there completely cowed.
“Put down one hand, and turn inside out all the
pockets you can reach,” said De Peyster, after de-
liberating a minute as to the best method of dealing
with his prisoner. He would have called the butler,
but he wanted to enjoy his victory first, and began
to have vague notions of marching the man unaided
to Station Twelve.


74 The Head of Pasht.
The burglar did as he was requested. Nothing
resulted but the appearance of three coins—a nickel
and two coppers.
“H'm Now, up again and try the other. Ah,
you don't like that! Got a knife, perhaps, my
friend, or another pistol 1 '' º
The man shook his head, but still hesitated.
“Turn them out,” said De Peyster, savagely.
“No tricks, or it 'll be the worse for you.’
The other's left hand came down slowly and
turned the breast pocket of his short jumper wrong
side out.
“Empty? Well, now, the other!!”
The thin-gloved hand shook a little as it fumbled
in the trousers pocket. Then it came out, slowly
withdrawing—a baby's rubber rattle!
De Peyster gasped. “What on earth—look
here, old chap, you 're down on your luck, are n't
you ?”
The man nodded.
“Drop your hands, and sit down in that chair.
Now, then, before I hand you over to the police, I
want to ask you one or two questions. You
need n't answer unless you want to, and you
need n't speak anyway. Then I should n't remem-
ber your voice if I did n’t want to. Is that all the
money you 've got about you ?” pointing to the
seven cents on the floor.


Reginald's Burglar. 75
The discomfited criminal nodded.
“Got more at home, I suppose ?”
A decided shake of the head.
‘‘ Married man P’’
Another nod.
“Children P.'”
The guilty head nodded again, and drooped a little.
De Peyster reflected, and was evidently having
some sort of a struggle with himself. He was look-
ing at the rattle, which the man still retained in his
gloved hand—a travesty upon the murderous weapon
which had gleamed there a few minutes before.
“Look here,” said De Peyster, a sudden thought
striking him, “are there any more of your sort in
the house just now * ''
The same mute denial.
“I’ll just turn the key, all the same, to guard
against interruption,” suiting the action to the
word. “Not that I doubt what you say,” he
added apologetically as he resumed his seat.
Another silence. The affair was becoming em-
barrassing.
“Say, old chap,” Reginald broke out at length,
glancing at the thin wrists, “it occurs to me that
it 's just barely possible that you 're not a regular
hand at this sort of thing, and are driven into it by
hard times 2 ”
A pair of dark eyes, through the mask, seemed to


76 The Head of Pasht.
meet his with a pleading expression, as their owner
assented to his captor's suggestion.
“You might be even, well, say hungry ''
Another nod, more vigorous than before.
“Sit right up to that table and finish off my
lunch, then,” exclaimed the young man, with a
rush of generous emotion he could not resist.
“I’ll trust you with the—well, I know you 'll act
on the square, won't you ?”
There was no mistake about the earnestness of
the assent this time. As the man rose and walked
across the floor, De Peyster noticed that he limped
slightly, and looked feebler than ever.
“Don’t take your gloves nor your mask off if you
can get along as you are,” said the host. “Luckily
it 's a domino, so you can eat under the flap.”
The burglar devoured the food ravenously and in
silence.
“Sorry I've got nothing up here stronger than
lemonade,” continued Reginald, regretfully, as he
poured out a glass of the lukewarm beverage. “I
> y
could have some wine brought up
A very decided shake of the head.
“Oh, hang it, I forgot,” added the host, with
ludicrous haste.
“Well, had enough Yes P Finish it right up,
you know, if you want to. No 2 Then we 'll be
moving.”


78 The Head of Pasht.
Thomson as his master came down to breakfast next
morning. “I was feared you would n’t like the
meat, sir, 't was such a 'ot night.”
“Ah, yes, Thomson,’
“The meat was very good, very good indeed. You
y
said Reginald, languidly.
need n’t bring any to-night, though. The cake will
be quite enough.”
As he was smoothing his silk hat just before
leaving the house, Thomson again put his well-
ordered English self in evidence.
“Hi was a-looking over your room just now, sir, -
and found this hunder the table. Is it hanythink
you want, sir?”
The absolute immobility of his broad, red coun-
tenance was perfect as he handed the object to his
master.
It was a baby's rattle.
“No–yes—” said Reginald, hastily. “It was
left—that is, I took it by mistake from a friend of
y
mine. Leave it in my room when you go up again,
will you ?” And he made his escape.
As ten o'clock drew near the young lawyer — for
such was his profession — sat in his office, playing
rather nervously with his ruler. The office clock
said 9.45, but he could not verify the time, as he
had no watch. The burglar had inadvertently
retained that article.
“Lucky I was having my repeater repaired,” said


Reginald's Burglar. 79
De Peyster. “The old silver thing he took was n't
worth a twenty-dollar bill. But he 'll bring it back,
he 'll bring it back. He must be honest!”
He glanced at the clock. The hand crept slowly
around to ten, but no burglar appeared. Five
minutes, ten, a quarter past.
There was a knock at the door, and a woman ap-
peared, apparently a client—about as astonishing an
apparition in his newly-opened office as a burglar.
“Take a seat, madam,” said Reginald, rising
politely and motioning to a chair. “What can I
do for you ?”
The woman, who was very tall and angular, ad-
vanced, limping slightly as she did so. She did not
sit down.
“Here 's some property of yours I wish to re-
store, sir,” she said.
Reginald started at the sound of her voice as if he
had been shot.
“What—what do you mean ’’ he stammered,
springing to his feet, and eying her in blank amaze.
“I’m sorry I took it,” she went on steadily, in
queer, hoarse tones, laying down his watch as she
spoke. “You did n’t know it was a woman you
were treating so kindly, sir, did you ?” -
Reginald was too taken aback to speak. He
simply stared. There was no mistaking her sex
now, though he could see that her tall, spare figure


8O The Head of Pasht.
could be easily disguised in loose-fitting masculine
attire. Her hair, too, was cut short.
“I 'd never have done it, sir, if it had n’t been
for the children,” she went on, tremulously. “My
husband was sent up for five years last winter. I
know just how he always worked, and I thought
your house was empty, all but the man who sleeps
downstairs. Then when I saw you, and you looked
smaller than I was, something put it into my head
to scare you and get some money. There was no
silver in the dining-room or pantry,” she added,
with a momentarily sly look; which, however, in-
stantly disappeared, and was replaced by the former
expression of gratitude and pleading in the great
dark eyes.
“No,” gasped Reginald, “it 's all in the music-
room safe. And to think that you were a woman—
I can’t realize it!”
“I must go now, sir; thanking you a thousand
times for your kindness. I 'll never take to that
line again. You 've saved me from a life of crime,
and the children had a good breakfast this morning.”
“But can’t I do something to help you ?’’ stam-
mered Reginald, still bewildered by the sudden turn
affairs had taken.
“Thank you, sir; I've been out already, and got
some sewing to do. I've got new courage now to
earn an honest living, and I can do it if I try.”


Reginald's Burglar. - 8 I
Ten days later, Reginald, lounging on the piazza
of the West End, at Bar Harbor, was handed a tele-
gram from the chief of police in his own city. It
was to the effect that his house had been entered
the night before, the safe forced, and valuables to
the amount of $2OOO or $3000 taken, according to
the estimate of Jacob Thomson, the butler.
Reginald resignedly packed his valise for the
evening train, and duly started for home. In his
pocket he carried a letter which had been delivered
to him at the West End in the afternoon mail. Its
contents were as follows:
“DERE SIR,--I make bold to rite you and tell you i am sorryi was
oblige to visit your house wunse moar, and this Time i had beter
luck. Sue plade it well in your Offis, dident she? She got Onto
my limp and fuled you good and is a Creddit to her perfeshun. The
watch was N G. i wud have brot it to you myself, but i thot you
mite go Back on yore word and hav me run in and Sue wanted to see
how you luked. Menny thanks for the grub and the ten. Yores
truely,
“BLACK MASK.
“PS–i hav took that kids rattle away agen. i picked it up in
the slºt, thinkin i cud fill it with shot and it mite cum handy.”


CHAPTER VII.
THAT SILKEN HAIR.
HE excitement concerning the De Peyster affair
had hardly blown over when I scored my first
success in the Graham-Dinsmore case, an event
which, trifling though it may seem, gave me a new
fund of courage to pursue what slight clues I had in
my possession. In a word, I discovered the Chicago
broker.
I had been despatched to Wilmington, Delaware,
to procure some important papers, and as I was
passing along the street with my grip-sack, on the
way from the railroad station to the hotel, I caught
sight of a familiar name over the door of a small,
meanly furnished restaurant. For a moment I
could not recall the circumstances under which I
had known it; then it all flashed upon me. J. E.
Barkington was the man who had bought the
precious, long-lost Horace; the sign before me read
“J. Ellsworth Barkington—Meals at all hours.”
It might possibly be the same man, as the name was
not a common one. Stranger things have hap-
pened in the stock market than the descent of a
82


That Silken Hair. 83
“plunger’’ millionaire to the proprietorship of a
lunch-counter.
I entered the shop, accosted a man in his shirt-
sleeves, ladling out soup at the farther end of the
establishment, and by a question or two obtained
the information I wanted. I was addressing the
veritable purchaser of my father's book.
“Have you the Horace now 7" I asked, covering
my anxiety with as much of an air of professional in-
difference as I could assume.
“Dear me, no!” said Barkington, who seemed to
take his reverses cheerfully enough. “I gave that
volume, with a lot of others, to a public library,
which was named for me, in X.” He referred to a
small town in northern Vermont, which need not be
more specifically mentioned here.
“I was born there,” he said with a jolly laugh,
“and felt a little pride in the matter. That was
when a few thousands more or less were nothing to
me. I gave them the building, and perhaps, in all,
seven or eight hundred books, including several
which my agent bought from Stone. Your father's
book was among them. I remember it well, for his
name was the only word I could read in it, from
cover to cover!” The good-natured ex-broker and
speculator shook with laughter as he filled another
plate with “mulligatawny.”
I thanked him cordially for his information, and


84 The Head of Pasht.
went on my way with a light heart. My business
finished, I returned home and took the first train,
the very next day, to X. The “Barkington
y
Library" was closed, but I had no difficulty in
hunting up the librarian, a sweet-faced, gentle girl
of about my own age, and she willingly let me in,
tripping across the village road with the key, and
opening the panelled oak door with genuine pride.
At my request, she took down the old, calf-bound
Horace, which I recognized at once, although it was
not half as large as by the estimate of my childish
eyes. Yes, there was my father's name, and the
date when he had bought it.
I made an excuse to take it to the window, and,
opening it, ran the edges of the leaves under my
trembling fingers. I could hardly repress a shout as
I reached the fourth “Carmen '' of the Third Book.
There lay the beautiful, red-golden hair, snugly
coiled between the leaves, just as my boyish hands
had placed it, over seventeen years before. I had
it out in a moment, and in the pocket of my diary.
Then I turned and restored the book to the hands
of my hostess, who little knew the important part
she had played in the quest of justice. I praised
the building and the books; in my excess of good
spirits I may have said something complimentary to
the young lady herself, for she was blushing and
very busy with the key when I raised my hat and


86 The Head of Pasht.
fastened upon the strangers when the crime was
noised abroad. No hint of such a presence had ap-
peared in evidence at the trial. After all, what had
I accomplished by my recovery of the dumb, brazen
cat and the golden thread of hair I was more at
a loss than ever to connect them with the occur-
rences of that fateful night.
If I had learned anything in my brief career as a
detective, it was the quality that proves so valuable
to every sort of hunter—patience. I believed I held
in my hand the end of the thread which would lead
me out of the maze, and result in the establishment
of my father's innocence. With but slight experi-
ence or influence in my profession, and too little
wealth to employ help, or even to spend much of my
own time in the pursuit of my self-imposed task, I
waited.
Miss Salvation found the city heat very oppres-
sive, and resolved to visit a relative in New
Hampshire. His name was Isaiah Stapleton, but
everybody called him “Uncle Ise.” Leaving my
address with the managers of the Bureau, with the
p
understanding that I was on call on any day and
hour, I accompanied my aunt to the country, our
accommodation having been arranged by corre-
spondence.
It was at Mr. Stapleton's farm that I had
the pleasure of meeting Barney McGrath. The


That Silken Hair. 87
acquaintance has lasted up to the present day, and
many is the time that Barney has been of practical
assistance to me in tracking a fugitive through the
slums of a great city.
We, my aunt and I, had been at Oakfield about
three days when Barney arrived. I came in from a
ramble, to find her seriously discomposed.
“What in the world,” said she, wiping her
spectacles energetically, “Isaiah Stapleton ever
wanted to bring that little scaramouch up here for,
I don't see! ”
At the kitchen table sat a boy of twelve or thir-
teen, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his
pockets.
“Any more comin’?” he asked, as he met my
eye.
I glanced at his plate, which bore traces of a gen-
erous repast of chicken and potato.
“Massy, has he eat that already!” ejaculated
Miss Salvation, as I brought my report. “I de-
clare, these city boys are hollow, 'way down to their
boots! ”
“Oh, give him a piece of that apple-pie, Sairy,”
said good-natured Mrs. Stapleton. “It 's on the
second shelf of the butt'ry—a good, big piece!”
I had already discovered that our hostess had the
softest heart in the household ; nor was I at all
astonished when I heard that “ Uncle Ise '' had


88 The Head of Pasht.
5.
driven up from the depot with Barney McGrath on
the front seat.
The boy had been sent into the country for a
week by the City Mission; but one farmhouse proved
to be full, and at another there was sickness, and so
on; the result being that Barney was on the point
of being “returned with thanks,” like a particularly
dirty and ungrammatical manuscript, when Mr.
Stapleton, happening along with the wagon, came
to the rescue.
Barney himself, I am afraid, was already rather
homesick, and looked after the dwindling end of
the rear car, as the train puffed away cityward, with
real regret.
“Say, what 's the use o' my stayin' ' " he de-
manded. “I don’t want to make no trouble.’’
And he again turned to view longingly the puff of
smoke drifting through the distant pines that lined
the railroad.
“Oh, jump in, jump in,” Uncle Ise had said,
good-naturedly. “There 's a good dinner waitin'
for ye, I'll be bound ’’; and this had turned the
scale.
During the next few days Aunt Salvation's
patience was tried to its utmost. The little street
Arab who had descended in our midst developed a
talent for mischief that was simply appalling. He
drove the cows at full gallop around the pasture,


That Silken Hair. 89
and even rode on the back of one until he was pulled
off by our irate “help,” Tom Simpkins, who vowed
he 'd duck the boy in the pond if he caught him at
such tricks again; whereupon Barney poured forth
such a volley of North End vituperation that Tom
fairly fled before it.
“I declare to man,” he remarked that night (not
to “man,” but to Mrs. Stapleton), “I never heerd
sich talk. That boy's bound for the gallus, he is!”
Barney seemed to have forgotten all about his
display of temper — if temper it really was, and not
fun — when he came in to supper, breathless from
chasing a rooster who had just retired to dignified
repose for the night. Tom frowned at him, but the
boy's appetite seemed to have lost nothing, and one
hot biscuit after another disappeared with marvel-
lous rapidity.
The rest of us, with one exception, Barney treated
with respect, if no more. This, I suspect, was for
policy's sake. Now that he had become somewhat
accustomed to country stillness, and the absence of
the bustling crowds, in the midst of which he had
been brought up, he throve wonderfully on fresh air
and wholesome food. His skin grew fairer, and
my aunt declared she could actually see him “fill
out '' from day to day. His week was drawing to
an end, and he no longer desired to cut it short,
even by an hour; so he never so far forgot himself


90 The Head of Pasht.
as to swear in our presence, or to answer insolently
when he was checked or reproved in his mischief.
Respect, and no more. Not a gleam of affection
ever seemed to light his shrewd face or his keen,
restless eyes as he met our own.
“With one exception,” I said. This was little
Mintie, whose name had been petted and prettified
down from “Araminta Isabella.” Mintie was six
years old, an orphaned grandchild left to the care
of Uncle Ise when her young mother followed her
father into the far land. She was a dear little thing
—I always felt as if she were a part of a story-book
— with big blue eyes and light hair that was often
in a tangle before noon. She was allowed to do
pretty much as she pleased on the farm. Every-
body obeyed her, and after one brief struggle Barney
took the oath of allegiance like the rest. No mat-
ter what impish plan he had on foot, Mintie's word
was law, and everything had to be, and was, given
up to do her royal pleasure.
How well I remember that hot July afternoon!
When Uncle Ise came in at noon, wiping his fore-
head, the sun was shining brightly, but the old
gentleman said it “felt like thunder,” and Tom re-
marked that “he 'd never seen it so scorchin' hot
sence forty-seven, when the wells all dried up, an'
he had to go down to the spring in the fore field for
water.”


That Silken Hair. 9 I
At about two o'clock the clouds began to gather
in the north, great snowy heaps like wool showing
above the pines. Not long afterward I heard my
hostess calling, “ Mintie! Mintie! Wherever 's
that child 2 ''
I glanced out toward the barn, where I had last
seen her. Barney was tumbling about on a heap of
new-mown hay, but Mintie's golden head was no-
where in sight.
“Barney, where 's Mintie 2 " I called.
‘‘ Dunno.”
“It 's going to rain, and she ought to come right
in,” said Mrs. Stapleton, stepping out into the yard,
and calling again, shrilly, “Mintie! Mintie!”
No answer and no sign of the child.
“Seems to me I saw her startin' off that way,”
remarked Tom, from the top of a huge load of hay
just up from the meadows.
“I know !” said Barney, suddenly. “She said
somethin’ about goin' fer flowers fer her doll.”
“Flowers! What kind o' flowers ?” inquired
Aunt Salvation, who had come out to see what the
commotion was about.
“ Lemme see—lilies, I b'lieve.”
Lilies! We knew instantly what she meant.
Tom had pointed along the path that led to Two-
Acre Pond, a sullen little pool in the woods, about
half a mile from the house. The only beautiful


92 The Head of Pasht.
thing about it was its store of pond-lilies, which
grew there in abundance. We had made a trip to
the pond a day before Barney's arrival, and Tom,
with the aid of a clumsy raft, had gathered an arm-
ful of the lovely, long-stemmed blossoms for us.
“Quick, Barney, Tom, come!” I cried, flying
down the path. “She 's gone to Two-Acre Pond.
I'm afraid she 'll be drowned ' ''
The clouds had risen rapidly meanwhile, and their
shadows deepened about us as we ran. Barney was
foremost. He had caught the significance of my
words, and once on the path outstripped us all, dis-
appearing in the forest before we were half-way
across the intervening field.
Now we heard him shouting : “Mintie! Mintie!
Come ashore!'"
We could not hear her answer, but he called
again: “ Push the raft this way! That 's right!”
As we reached the shore of the pond where the
boy was already standing, a sharp flash of lightning
quivered through the pine tops. Mintie was away
out in the middle of the pond, standing on the raft,
pushing at the pole with all her little strength, and
sobbing as she tugged. On the wet planks at her
feet lay one pond-lily, broken short off.
The lightning lit up the black surface of the pond
and the tiny, golden-haired figure an instant; then
we all screamed. Startled by the flash, Mintie


That Silken Hair. 93
stepped backward, lost her balance, and, throwing
up her little arms, disappeared in the gloomy waters.
The whole picture was photographed on my brain,
even to the circles on the pond made by the big,
scattering drops of rain that now began to fall.
“Oh, I can't—” began Tom, wading helplessly
knee-deep into the water. But before the words
had left his mouth, Barney was in, head first, with
a great rolling splash like a Newfoundland dog.
Thank God for the free city bath-houses that had
made the street ragamuffin at home in this terrible
pool! Neither Tom nor I could swim a stroke.
One minute more and Barney was beside the raft,
then he turned in the water, kicked his feet into the
air, and disappeared.
“He ‘s got her He 's got her ’’ cried Tom,
splashing about in the mud in his helpless longing
to go to the rescue, the tears running down over his
wrinkled cheeks.
Barney made short work of it. He lifted Mintie
up on the raft, and clambered after her. A few
vigorous pushes at the pole, and they were within
reach, and Mintie was in my arms, strangling and
sobbing.
The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, and the
rain came down in torrents as we made our way back
to the house; but what did we care Mrs. Staple-
ton met us at the door, and soon had the little girl


94 The Head of Pasht.
in warm blankets, while Barney, forgotten in the
flurry, shivered and dripped beside the kitchen fire.
“Land, where's that boy, bless his heart!” cried
Aunt Salvation, as she hurried into the kitchen
after hot water.
“Say,” remarked Barney, “give her that, will
yer She left it on the raft.”
It was the short-stemmed lily,
y


CHAPTER VIII.
THE HARD WICK CASE.
Sºon after the exciting incident described in the
last chapter, I was summoned home by my
chief, to work up a case of theft. It was not a com-
plicated affair, and I soon ran down the man — or
*y, rather, for he was hardly older than I — who,
I was morally certain, had committed the crime.
The **Se, however, made some little stir at the
* and as I am now in possession of several facts
"own to me at the time of the arrest, I can
throw Some light on the trial and its almost farcical
conclusion.
To begin, then, with an evening early in the pre-
*ing March. Rodney Hardwick (the accused)
WaS *Pending a leisure hour with his old friend
"terward counsel for the defence) Thomas A.
tº: one of our most promising young city
trial *S. Larkin introduced me to him after the
is. *nd I am glad to count him my friend, in
4 : S later days.
d º 's all very well for you to philosophize about
*ny saved ’ and “slow and sure,' and the rest
95


96 - The Head of Pasht.
of it, Tom Rowan. If you knew what it was to be
poor, you 'd sing another song.”
Hardwick ground his heel bitterly into a soft
Turkish rug as he spoke. Why was it that Rowan
had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and
he, Rodney Hardwick, should be merely the son of
“poor but honest parents " ?
As long as they were in the public school together
the poorer boy had hardly noticed the difference.
Tom was never stuck up; he played right-guard to
Rodney's centre-rush on the football team, and the
two were close friends.
Tom, who was three years older than Rodney,
went to college, while his chum was put to work to
help support the family, his father being a shipper
in a large bookstore at twelve dollars a week. Years
rolled by, and Tom finished his college and law
course, and, a few months before this story opens,
had been admitted to the bar.
Rodney's salary had been raised from three to
eight dollars a week, but his father was ailing and
shiftless, a discouraged man, and lost so much time
that the family depended largely upon the boy's
earnings, which were barely sufficient to make both
ends meet.
The old friendship still existed, but the two
schoolmates had drifted apart. In response to a
warm invitation from the young lawyer, Rodney


The Hardwick Case. 97
was, as I have said, spending the evening at the
former's luxurious home.
“I want to be rich, I tell you,” repeated Rodney,
with savage emphasis.
“I know, old fellow,” said Tom, gently. “And
it 's just because I want you to be rich that I tell
you not to spoil your chances by hurrying too
much. Of course, your work is hard—— ”
“Work! What do you know about work ’’
growled Rodney, glancing around the comfortably
furnished room.
“Perhaps I know a little about it,” said the
other, with a smile. “A fellow can't slide into the
bar without some trifling work, in these days.”
“Tom, give me a cigar. When I 'm out of sorts
I must have a smoke.''
“Have n’t got one, old fellow. I don't smoke.”
“You don't Why not ?” Rodney's eyes
opened wide.
“Can't afford it, for one reason.’’
‘‘ Nonsense ! ”
“No, really, Rod. Look here, I never do things
by halves. If I smoked at all, it would cost me at
least half a dollar a day, which is the interest on
three thousand dollars. Because I 've got a fair
amount of money to spend, it does n’t follow that
I'm going to use it up at that rate—or, in the ver-
nacular, that I 've ‘got it to burn' ' ''
7 -


98 The Head of Pasht.
“Oh, well,” exclaimed Rodney, with a discon-
tented fling from the sofa where he had been sitting,
“it is n’t the five and ten cents here and there that
count. It 's the large sums, and I mean to get
them somehow.”
A shadow of anxiety crossed the other's face.
“Look here, Rod,” he said, throwing his arm
affectionately over the boy's shoulder, “don’t do
anything hasty. It is the hard work, and it is the
dime or the nickel, here and there, that counts.
That 's the only way to lay a solid and honorable
foundation— ”
“Oh, come off!” retorted Rodney, but not ill-
naturedly. “You think you know it all, Tom; but
just wait till you ’re poor! Well, good-night;
you'll hear from me before long.” And he hurried
off into the night.
Months passed, and Tom did hear of his old
friend, with sincere sorrow. Rodney was seen
speculating, in a small way, in a low-class broker's
shop. He neglected his work at the store, smoked
a good deal, was less careful than of old about his
language, and spent most of his evenings with a
club of young fellows who, with the slightest pos-
sible knowledge of the subject, discussed socialism
and railed against the rich — whose places, with
strange inconsistency, they aspired to take.
All this did Rodney no good. He soon showed


The Hardwick Case. 99
the effects of his reckless life in his face, the very
expression of which seemed to alter from day to
day. At length the climax was reached.
Hurrying home from his office one night in July,
Tom found me waiting for him, with a message
from his old chum. Rodney had been arrested, by
my directions, for stealing, and begged to see Tom
at the prison in which he was temporarily confined.
Tom went at once, had a long and painful inter-
view with the prisoner, and finally agreed to under-
take his defence. As an immediate measure of
relief he gave bail for Rodney's temporary release.
The trial came on a few weeks later. Rodney
was brought into the court-room by an officer, and
the case was at once opened by the prosecuting at-
torney of the State. It was, briefly, as follows:
The prisoner had been sent to the residence of a
certain wealthy gentleman in Fairfax Street to de-
liver a set of books which had been purchased that
morning at the store where young Hardwick was
employed. The gentleman, Colonel Fairfax by
name, took out his pocketbook to pay for them,
when he was suddenly called to the telephone, and
rushed out of the room, telling the prisoner to wait
till he returned. Three minutes later he re-entered
the room, rather disturbed by the sudden recollec-
tion that he had left his pocketbook on the table
in his hurry to answer the call. The messenger,
§ .* • ...Yº


IOO The Head of Pasht.
namely, the prisoner at the bar, was waiting, but
the pocketbook was gone. Colonel Fairfax had
sharply interrogated the young man, who appeared
greatly confused.
Here the judge interrupted.
“Perhaps we 'd better wait for the evidence on
those little details,” he said, with a smile. “They
are hardly necessary to the opening.”
The prosecuting attorney bowed blandly, and pro-
ceeded with his remarks. When he concluded and
called the first witness, Colonel Fairfax himself, the
case certainly looked complete against the young
prisoner. One of the younger members of his em-
ployer's firm, who was present to testify to the boy's
previous good character, shook his head sadly at
hearing the government's case so forcibly presented.
Rodney himself, looking pale and worn from sus-
pense and a sense of the open disgrace of his posi-
tion, sat motionless at the end of the long table, his
eyes fixed on the judge.
Colonel Fairfax told a straightforward story, cor-
roborating the account of the attorney, and his
direct examination was soon finished.
“How much money did you say was in your
pocketbook, Colonel ?” asked Tom, rising to cross-
examine the witness.
“Between three hundred and fifty and four hun-
dred dollars.”


The Hardwick Case. IOI
“In large bills or small 7"
“Large. There were three hundred-dollar bills
and a fifty, and I think two or three tens.”
“How large was the pocketbook ''
The witness folded a piece of paper to indicate
the size.
“Ah,” said Tom, blinking through his glasses in
a funny, solemn way which Rodney could remem-
4 4.
ber he had in school a dozen years before, “rather
a small one. Were the bills new, do you remem-
ber 2 ''
“They were, sir. I had received them from the
bank the day before to take on a journey. That
was the reason I intended to pay for the books at
once, instead of having them charged.”
“And being folded neatly—I see you are a care-
ful man, Colonel, by the way in which you folded
that bit of paper,” Tom continued, holding it up
for the jury to see.
“There 's no evidence of that, your honor,”
exclaimed the other lawyer, rising.
“Well, well, without pressing that point, I will
ask you if the bills were not so placed in the pocket-
book that they filled it out very little 7"
“That is so,” said the witness, frankly. “I
never roll bills, and the pocketbook was small and
pretty flat — considering the amount of money in
it.” -


I O2 The Head of Pasht.
“I understood you to say you never found
it, either on the person of the prisoner or else-
where P’’
“Never. We searched everywhere. The boy
2 y
must have thrown it
“Pardon me!” said Tom, quickly, raising his
hand. “No conclusions, please, Colonel. Just
answer my questions.”
After a few more queries the witness was allowed
to step down from the box. -
Others followed, testifying to the prisoner's char-
acter for the six months previous to his arrest. Two
or three of his fellow-employés reluctantly admitted
that they had heard him assert that he would be a
rich man before Christmas, and that they had seen
him in a bucket-shop, apparently speculating, though
(on cross-examination) he might have been merely
looking on.
The officer who made the arrest testified to Rod-
ney's resistance and attempt to escape on the way
to the station, and to his hardened manner when
accused of the crime.
The junior partner shook his head again, and
Rodney flushed dark red at the revelations of his
recent conduct. The prosecuting attorney's face
was triumphant as he remarked, “That is the gov-
’’ and took his seat.
Some of the jurymen looked compassionately at the
ernment's case, your honor,


The Hardwick Case. IO3
young fellow, with his long prison term ahead of
him; some appeared weary, some indifferent.
Tom Rowan's face alone was perfectly unmoved.
He sat blinking amiably at the judge and jury and
opposing counsel, as if he had not the slightest
doubt of his client's acquittal. An old lawyer
sitting as a spectator within the bar watched Tom
sharply, nodded approval, and presently made a
memorandum to employ him as junior in a compli-
cated case then on his docket.
A recess was now taken, after which Tom opened
the case for the defence. He claimed that the
government's case was faulty from the start, in
that they had not shown that the pocketbook was
stolen at all. It all rested on Colonel Fairfax's
memory. In any case the wallet was a small, thin
affair, and, supposing the colonel did take it out of
his pocket, it might easily have fallen down the
register or have been lost in any of a hundred ways.
Here the eloquent young counsel was stopped in
his turn, and reminded that he must n’t argue his
case in his opening.
The first witness was poor Rodney himself, whose
testimony was straightforward enough, but whose
appearance evidently did not impress court or jury
favorably. He seemed like a boy with his spirit
completely broken, and his denial of his guilt counted
for little.


io, The Head of Pasht.
Several witnesses, including the kind - hearted
junior partner, testified to his previous character
for integrity.
The case was all in except one small point on
which Tom, still keeping up a brave appearance,
begged permission to recall one of the government
witnesses, Colonel Fairfax.
That portly gentleman willingly took the stand,
and Tom, referring to his notes, was about to ques-
tion him, when a singular change took place in the
witness's face. He flushed to the roots of his hair,
clapped his hand to his vest, and, to the amazement
of everybody present, evidently including himself,
drew forth from an inner pocket a small, flat wallet.
“Ah,” said Tom, calmly, blinking at him through
his glasses, “that is the pocketbook, I believe,
Colonel ?”
A ripple of interest and amusement ran over the
court-room. The explanation was made in a
minute. The colonel admitted that, although he
had no recollection of doing so, he must have thrust
the wallet in that rarely used pocket when he ran to
the telephone. The bills were all there, neatly
folded.
Two minutes later the foreman of the jury, having
hastily gone through the form of consulting with his
fellows, without their leaving their seats, rose in his
place and announced the verdict, “NOT GUILTY.”


The Hardwick Case. IO5
I ought to add that the accusation and trial had
their effect on young Hardwick, and that, assisted
by Colonel Fairfax, who felt much remorse over his
part in the affair, he has turned out well, after all.
Tom Rowan keeps an eye on him, I understand.


A Visit to the Country. 107
these evening conversations that the man was not
only shrewd and sarcastic, as I have heretofore de-
scribed him, but that he was somewhat eccentric in
his manner of living. Up to the date of his disap-
pearance, he occupied a large, old-fashioned square
house, such as have survived Colonial days, and are
still found in many parts of New England. Al-
though the building was capable of accommodating
a dozen or more dwellers, he was entirely alone,
with the exception of a tall, angular, rather sour-
tempered woman-of-all-work, who, though snappish
with every one, including her master himself, was
an extremely efficient “manager,” and absolutely
devoted to Dinsmore. She had been in his family
from childhood, and when his parents, wife, and
children died, one by one, she remained faithful to
the sole survivor, who, grim and sardonic as herself,
continued to thrive and hoard, and to occupy his
old bed-chamber in the gloomy house. When the
neighbors suggested thieves, he would show his
teeth in what was rather a snarl than a smile, and
remark that he had a shot-gun ready for the first
comer' He relied, moreover, on the fierce watch-
fulness of a huge boar-hound, of whom all the
children of the village were in mortal terror, but
who, so far as I could learn, had never proceeded
beyond a deep growl or a display of white fangs,
when intruders approached.


IO8 The Head of Pasht.
“What became of “Old Molly' (as she was
called),” I asked, “after the murder ''
“She stayed 'round a week or two, I believe,”
said my aunt, knitting vigorously at a stocking for
a sailor's “comfort-bag,” “and then she shut the
house, nailed up the doors, and went off, nobody
knows where; to some relations in Canada, folks
said.’’
“And the dog "
“He did n't live as long as his master. Let me
see — it must ha’ been a month or six weeks before
—yes, ’t was in hot weather — when he took sick,
and showed such signs that Dinsmore he was sure
the dog was goin' mad, so he had him shot.”
I remarked, after a
pause, “I can't reconcile Dinsmore's stopping at
9
“From all you tell me,’
the hotel and showing that bag of gold to every-
body, with what you say about him.”
“No more could I,’” said Aunt Salvation, drop-
ping her work in her lap at the recurrence of the
thought. “”T wa'n't a bit like the man. He
was a stingy, close-mouthed creetur; saying little
to anybody, and, as a rule, nothing about his own
affairs. An' there he was, showin' off all that
money! ”T wa'n't a bit like him, says I then, and
so I say still.”
“He was known to be well off 2 ''
“Oh, everybody said he was awfully rich — had


A Visit to the Country. IO9
forty or fifty thousand dollars in coupon bonds hid
away somewhere in his house. They never found
any, though.”
“He must have had some property. What be-
came of it 2 ''
“I declare I don't know. I heard that the court
app'inted a-what do you call it 2 ''
‘‘ Administrator 2 ''
“That's it. There being no relations—at any
rate, none ever turned up, 's far 's I know — the
court had to app'int the administrator, who did n't
find much of anything to administer.”
“Why, there was the house and land '''
“Yes, but they were mortgaged for so much that
they did n't bring a cent beyond the debts, when
they were put up at auction. The house was struck
by lightning not long afterwards, and half burned
down. I guess nobody 's touched it since the fire.
They 'd taken all the furniture away—precious little
there was, too—right after the sale.”
A few days later I got Fred Larkin to run down
to Barnsworth with me, and visit the ruins of the
Dinsmore house. I had at first intended to keep
the whole affair to myself, but on mature delibera-
tion concluded to enlist the friendly advice and
services of three friends: Larkin, Heintz, and Bar-
ney McGrath. Barney was a true “street Arab,”
and perhaps it was some whimsical association of


1 IO The Head of Pasht.
his character with the Arabic inscription that led
me to take him into my confidence. He swore un-
swerving secrecy and loyalty to my cause, which
had appealed to him immensely. To get a man
out of the clutches of the law—he asked no greater
satisfaction than that! So I told him the story as
we rode up to the city together, shortly after his
rescue of dear little Mintie, and he promised to look
out for the wearer of any such buttons as that in
my possession, and to keep his eyes open and ears
pricked for any allusion to the Barnsworth murder,
among the rough characters with whom he came in
daily contact. Without much trouble, I got him a
position as messenger boy on the District Tele-
graph, and he soon had a little adventure of his
own, which I will relate in another chapter.
To return to our Barnsworth expedition. Fred
was in a rollicking mood, conversing with every-
body that came along, exchanging jokes with pretty
telegraph girls at the various stations — he seemed
to know them all — now and then taking a hasty
note in short-hand, and, in general, giving our trip
the air of a picnic excursion.
Leaving the train at the little station nearest
Barnsworth, we engaged a team and drove over to
the village, not passing the hotel, but skirting the
more thickly settled part of the town by a back
road described to me by Miss Salvation.


A Visit to the Country. I I I
It was a pretty road, with ridges of turf between
the ruts, and scarlet-dotted raspberry bushes in
tangled masses heaped over the bordering walls of
gray rock. Here and there was a farmhouse,
exactly the color of the rocks, and beside and
around them the place of raspberry bushes was sup-
plied by apple trees loaded with ruddy fruit. Once
we crossed an amber brook, not using the bridge,
but driving the horse down the travelled way at
one side and letting him drink.
As we waited, enjoying his satisfaction in the
cool draught, Larkin glanced over his shoulder.
“Ah,” said the young reporter, quietly, “we
have n’t shaken him off, have we ?”
“Who—what do you mean *"
“That fellow with the dark hair and melting
eyes—a sort of general Dago look about him—that
watched us all the way up on the train, got off at
our station, and hired a team at the same stable
where we got ours.”
“Fred—you ought to be a detective ’’
I spoke below my breath, for the fellow had over-
taken us, and was compelled to pass on the bridge.
He whipped up his horse as he did so, and turned
his head away, but not before I had obtained a
glimpse of his profile. Where had I seen it before ?
The black hair, olive complexion, strange, feminine-
looking brown eyes; surely they were familiar to


I 12 The Head of Pasht.
me. I was still puzzling over the problem when
Fred chirruped to our horse, who splashed slowly
through the running stream and climbed the steep
ascent to the main road.
“Ever see him before ?''
“I believe I have, but I can't for the life of me
tell where, Fred. To tell the truth, I had n’t
noticed him at all till you spoke.”
Larkin laughed. “We reporters have to be up
to a little of everything, including your specialty,”
said he, flicking a fly from Dobbin's back with his
whip. “I lay a red apple to a raspberry that he 's
on to our little game, Arch, and wants to see what
we 'll make of it. Is n’t in such a hurry, just now,
is he 7 You noticed that his horse had been driven
hard P’’
So much I had noticed, and I confess the
stranger's tactics, as well as his perplexing per-
sonality, made me uneasy. His horse was now
walking, about a quarter of a mile ahead of us.
Presently, however, the team turned down a side
road, and was lost to sight in a heavy growth of pines.
We knew we must be very near the Dinsmore
place, and within five minutes we reached it.
There was no mistaking the house. More than
half of the roof had fallen in, and the charred
timbers and dead, shrivelled trees whose boughs
had once shadowed it told their own story. On


A Visit to the Country. I 13
each side of the front door rose a clump of lilac
bushes, which, strange to say, had survived the
fire; indeed, the front of the house was “as good
as new,” as my friend remarked, and, standing in
the grass-grown walk of the little garden as we did,
one could not guess the devastation and ruin in the
rear of the place, or the emptiness of the half-
burned shell that had been the home of generations
of stern, close-fisted Dinsmores.
The front door and windows were boarded up,
and we made our way around to the south side of
the mansion, where we easily gained entrance. We
accomplished nothing, however, by this exploit.
Searchers had been before us, and the very planks
of the floor were torn up in places, where gold
might have been stored.
I had been kneeling in the chimney corner of the
big front room, looking for hiding-places, when a
shadow fell on the floor beside me. Knowing that
Larkin was upstairs, I glanced swiftly toward the
window, in time to recognize a sinister face looking
in upon me. The stranger in the buggy was a
mystery no longer; I saw now, and only wondered
at my previous blindness, that it was the swarthy
countenance of the schoolfellow who had denounced
me as the son of a felon, and falsely accused me of
theft, years before. His face now had coarser lines,
and the clear southern complexion had roughened


I I4 The Head of Pasht.
in our New England climate; but I knew it at once.
I sprang to my feet, as the well-known figure
disappeared from view, and shouted, “Toscani!
Wait! I want to see you!”
When I reached the window, he was not in sight,
and the rattle of wheels down the road told me that
the spy had escaped.
Larkin came bounding down the curving stair-
case with eyes round as saucers.
“What is it, old fellow '' he cried. “Seen a
ghost 7”
I pointed silently to the cloud of dust rising
beyond the lilacs.
“Ah, our interesting friend from the tropics!”
exclaimed Fred, jumping immediately at the right
conclusion. “What did he have to offer P’’
“Not a word; but he was watching me while I
hunted, down there by the fireplace; and, Fred, I
know now who he is ”
“Well ?”
I told Larkin the story, which he had not before
heard, of my schoolboy troubles, and the part Tos-
cani had played in them.
The reporter listened eagerly. “It 's perfectly
clear,” said he, with conviction, when I had finished,
“ that that fellow has some connection with the
Dinsmore affair. You ought to have looked him
up before, Archie!”


I IG The Head of Pasht.
The lady of the golden hair could n’t have been
much of a housewife, or she 'd have sewn 'em on
tighter! ” Fred laughed delightedly. “Now we’ll
have one apiece, for ready reference. Come ahead,
and Dobbin shall make tracks for the station " ''
The train arrived when due, but although we
went through it several times, from locomotive to
rear platform, we saw no trace of Ali. Whether he
had driven over to the Junction, fifteen miles away,
to catch a night train, or had gone in the opposite
direction, or remained in Barnsworth, we could not
find out. Fred, to tell the truth, was deeply chag-
rined, and blamed himself for allowing the fellow
to evade us; but there was nothing to be done.
I had an appointment the next day with Barney
McGrath, but he did not put in an appearance, for
the very good reason that he was at that moment
lying in a cot with a bandaged head. How this
happened will be seen in the next chapter.


CHAPTER X.
BARNEY AND THE SALVATION ARMY.
E had found the weather on our northward
journey rather oppressive from the heat,
although, saving the time we spent in the old house,
we had not really suffered. But they told me, on
my return to the city in the evening, that the day
had been a “ scorcher.’’
The sun that morning rose in a clear sky.
In the country the cattle gathered beneath the
canopy of drooping willow boughs beside the
stream, or stood knee-deep in the water, lazily
switching their tails and ruminating after the man-
ner of their kind. Mountains were veiled in blue
haze, grasshoppers and locusts chirped shrilly and
monotonously, the air was full of dreamy, delicious
languor.
But in the city, encased like a victim of the In-
quisition in its heated armor; in the city, where foul
odors were bred of the filth and heavy sultriness,
and hung like miasma over the narrow streets
of the poor; in the city where, according to
the “Social Gossip ’’ column of the newspaper,
II 7


I 18 The Head of Pasht.
“everybody was away,” and where in reality nobody
was away but a handful of wealthy folk and a slightly
larger number of those whom pestilence and poverty
had taken from the squalor of the North End to
the still waters and green pastures of Paradise; in
the city, this hot, sultry, August day, life seemed
hardly worth living.
Barney McGrath did not quote that popular
phrase to himself as he panted to and fro along the
shady sides of streets with despatches from District
Telegraph Station A; he merely ejaculated from
time to time: “Whew, ain't this a scorcher! I'm
melted intirely l’’
But his sturdy footsteps lagged in the afternoon,
and glad enough was the boy when six o'clock came
and his relay took his place in the office.
“Take this message to 14 South Wharf Street,”
said the operator, carelessly. “There 's no answer,
and you can go round that way home as well as not.”
Barney accepted the yellow envelope and the
extra half-mile walk with inward wrath, but no out-
ward expression of his injured feelings. “Places”
were too scarce that year to be risked by an angry
retort.
“Besides,” soliloquized the messenger boy,
trudging toward the water-side, “it 's too hot to
git mad, anyway.”
South Wharf Street was one of those narrow and


Barney and the Salvation Army. I 19
ill-ventilated thoroughfares which thread the lower
part of the city, and are thronged with the poorest
and least civilized portion of the community.
Barney knew it well, but was surprised to find the
doorway of No. 14 decked with flags, American and
(out of deference to the neighborhood) Italian.
The appearance of a quiet young girl in navy
blue, answering Barney's ring, explained matters.
“Salvash'n Army' " he thought, with some-
thing of amusement in his black eyes. The Army
was at that time considered fair game by the urchins,
big and little, of North End. But he only re-
marked, respectfully enough, “ Message, mum,
paid. Please sign here. Any answer ”
The little woman, who could hardly have been
over seventeen, smiled and shook her head. Barney
pocketed his book and turned to go, but she stopped
him.
“Come in a minute. It 's dreadfully hot, and
you 've been running all day.” (“Running!”
thought Barney, with a grin. “Guess not ' '')
“Come in and rest before you go back.”
He followed the navy blue gown up a narrow
flight of stairs and into a small front room. The
floor and woodwork were scrupulously clean. In
the windows were boxes of geraniums and a blaze
of scarlet nasturtiums. The furniture was of the
plainest, but clean as the floor, the window-panes,


I 2G) The Head of Pasht.
and the guide herself. On the wall were two or
three framed texts: “Washed in the Blood,”
“Salvation 's Free,” and the like.
Barney sat down at the invitation of the “sister,”
and fanned himself with his cap, contemplating his
surroundings with a mixture of amusement and
admiration.
Presently he heard a clink, and lo! a pitcher of
iced lemonade. How delicious it was . The sister
stood by, filling his glass and enjoying his satisfac-
tion.
“Say, I can’t pay for this!” remarked the boy
suddenly, reddening a little under his freckles. “To-
morrow 's pay-day, and I'm broke.”
“Oh, that 's all right, Barney.” (She read his
name, conspicuously printed on the lining of his
cap.) “Don’t think about that. Did you ever go
to a rally — an Army meeting, I mean * '' as he
looked puzzled.
“No — yes 'm,” Barney answered, reddening
again. He had attended such a gathering, and
added his voice to the shouts and catcalls that had
almost drowned the hymns of the Army.
“Well, there 's one here to-night, and I'd be
glad to have you come. I shall be sure to see you.
- Bring anybody you like.”
* On his way home Barney decided to accept the
invitation. His ideas of the Salvation Army had


Barney and the Salvation Army. 121
undergone a change. “What 's the matter with
'em 2 " he said aloud; “they 're all right!”
“What 's up now, McGrath 2 '' demanded a
coarse voice at his elbow. “Who 's all right 2 ''
“Oh, nothin’,” said Barney, recognizing the big
fellow who had joined him, and resolving to keep
his own counsel. “I was feelin' good, that 's all.
Ain't it been tough to-day, Bill !”
“You better believe it! I would n’t run errands
for no five dollars a week this weather. Le' 's git
somethin' wet,” as they reached an open saloon
door.
“Can't stop,” said Barney. “I ain't thirsty;
I'm hungry ‘’’; and he hurried on before the other
could stop him. Bill Flannigan was never a congen-
ial companion, and in contrast to his recent hostess
he seemed unusually rough and dirty. Bill was the
leader of the anti-Salvation forces in that district.
Home at last ! Mrs. McGrath, a widow with two
children besides Barney, kept a boarding-house in
one of the aforesaid narrow streets, and leased a
small shop in the basement to a dealer in coal,
wood, and miscellaneous wares. There was a
saloon next door, and several of the same kind in
the opposite block.
The kitchen to which Barney betook himself was
hot and Smoky; but it was home, and the stout,
red-faced woman bending over the stove was mother.


I 2.2 The Head of Pasht.
“Glad to see yez home,” she called to him. “Git
yer hot coat off, my b'y, and go into the front room
where it 's cooler. Sure ye 'll be roasted here, at
the same time wid the mate l’’
Barney removed and carefully hung up his natty
blue coat with its brass buttons, but he stayed with
his mother long enough to tell her about his ad-
venture on the way home.
“Sure, it 's jist angels some o' thim sisters are,”
commented Mrs. McGrath, turning the sputtering
steak and wiping the perspiration from her broad
crimson face with her apron. “On'y last week
one o' thim nursed Mrs. Cassidy's baby through
a fit o' sickness, and cleaned up her room for
her ivery mornin’. An' when the baby died, Mrs.
Cassidy jist sat moanin' an' wringin' her hands,
and would n’t look at no one nor shpake, till that
sister she went and bought some little bits av
socks and shoes, and put 'em on the little dead
baby wid her own hands. An' then the mother
breaks down an' cries, an’ the sister comforts
her up. Ah, they 're a blessin' in trouble, I can
tell ye, Barney, fer all they 're Protestants, poor
darlints' ''
Barney, deeply impressed with this story, went
into the front room and tended his own baby brother
till the boarders came in and supper was ready.
Twilight had just fallen upon the great weary


I 24 The Head of Pasht.
“Say,” remarked Barney, reinforcing himself
with the thought of his own brass buttons in the
closet at home, “there 's going to be a meetin' of
the Salvash'n Army to-night at 14 South Wharf
Street.’’
“Well, what o' that ?” asked the stout officer,
easing his belt a little, and smiling grimly down at
the boy's sharp, earnest features.
“Look out fer the fellers! They 're goin’ to
break it up.”
“Who are they ”—but Barney was gone. His
character of protector of the Salvation Army did
not at present include that of informer.
The policeman swung his club reflectively for a
moment, then turned and walked slowly in the
direction Barney had taken.
When the boy turned the corner of South Wharf
Street he had no difficulty in locating the advertised
meeting of the Salvation Army. In front of No. 14
was a crowd of people, and from its midst arose
the sounds of a brass drum, tambourine, and women's
voices. One of these last, clear and sweet, Barney
thought he recognized. He wriggled in among the
sweltering Italians, Irish, and Germans, till he
caught sight of her face. Yes, it was she the
girl who had befriended him that afternoon. He
felt a sort of proprietorship in her, and was proud
of her sweet voice, rising like a bird's above the rest.


Barney and the Salvation Army. 125
Presently, there was a movement in the crowd.
The Army squad were entering their barracks.
Barney's friend lingered a moment above the rest to
invite all who wished to follow and attend the
meeting.
When the music ceased and the performers dis-
appeared through the narrow doorway, a hum of
voices arose in the street. Some rude laughs and
curses were heard, but not many. The people were
beginning to know the Salvation Army better,
whether they understood their religious views or not.
Barney drifted in with the crowd, and the large
front room upstairs, with another opening out of it
toward the rear, was speedily filled. As he took
his seat on one of the benches, some one started a
hymn, in which a good many of the motley congre-
gation joined. Then a man in uniform rose and
prayed earnestly.
As Barney listened, with a kind of vague wonder-
ment, he could hear the rumble of wheels on dis-
tant pavements, still hot from the sunshine of the
long August day. The wailing of weary and suffer-
ing babies came from nearer at hand. Now and
then came a shriek of laughter or an angry voice
from the dark street, thronged with people gasping
for air that sultry night. In spite of the wide-open
windows, the air of the small rooms was hot and
stifling.


I 26 The Head of Pasht.
After the prayer a tall woman, in the regulation
uniform, rose and addressed the people. As she
urged them earnestly to lay aside their sins and
begin a better life, the other members of the Army
would wave their arms and cry out: “Glory to
God!” “I 'm saved ” “Yes, it 's good, I 've
tried it! ” “ Amen Amen ''
As the speaker proceeded, apparently encouraged
by these loud interruptions, Barney, who was seated
by the opening between the two rooms, noticed an
uneasy shuffling of feet near the door which led to
the stairs. Instantly he was on the alert, peering
with his keen eyes between and over the interven-
ing heads. -
Presently he caught sight of an ugly face he knew
well. It was Bill, followed by his “gang,” who
proceeded to force their way into the room, shoving
right and left and swearing noisily.
Barney sprang to his feet, but the soldiers of the
Army, accustomed as they were to rude treatment
in the city streets, seemed to take no notice of the
disturbance. The tall woman ceased her exhorta-
tions, and there was a moment's pause. Then
Barney's friend, the sweet “Hallelujah Lassie,”
advanced a little and began to sing. Hardly had
the first notes rung out when, with a coarse shout
of derision, Bill let fly a missile which broke and
scattered its foul contents over the whitewashed wall.


Barney and the Salvation Army. 127
At the same instant Barney leaped upon him,
striking the big fellow fair in the face. Flannigan
staggered and brandished a terrible little weapon
& 4
known as a “slung shot.” Down it came upon
Barney’s head. The boy dropped where he stood.
Half a dozen men sprang to his aid. Bill's followers
cheered hoarsely. Women screamed. Stones flew
across the room.
Then there was a loud cry raised in the street and
entry: “Cops! Cops!” The gang of roughs let
their fists fall and made for the door, but were met
by a burly figure in blue, his brass buttons shining
as Barney had seen them shine an hour before.
“Stand ' '.' called the officer, sternly.
Bill started toward him with an oath, but the
policeman, first rapping sharply on the door-frame
with his club, seized the rough by the collar,
wrenched him out of the crowd into the entry, and
had steel cuffs upon his hands before the ugly fellow
knew where he was.
Three officers in blue bounded up the staircase,
and two more arrests were made, the rest of the
evil-doers escaping through a rear window to the
roof of a shed below. The prisoners were marched
to the corner of the street, where the rattle of the
patrol-wagon wheels over the pavements soon an-
nounced their departure for the station-house.
Meanwhile, a little group in the barracks had


128 The Head of Pasht.
gathered about a silent figure on the floor of the
hall where the interrupted “ rally ” had been held.
The crowd had gone to witness the arrival of the
wagon and the removal of the three captured men.
Alice Bent, the lassie who had given the tired
telegraph boy a glass of lemonade that afternoon,
now held his unconscious head in her lap. A
bruised cheek showed that she had not escaped the
violence of the peace-breakers, but she gave no heed
to her own pain as she bent anxiously over her
young defender, down whose forehead the blood
was trickling. -
The other members of the Army detachment
joined the officer who had remained behind in rec-
ommending that Barney should at once be sent to
the Emergency Hospital.
“No,” said Alice, energetically; “he took that
blow for my sake, and I shall nurse him through his
trouble. Do you know where he lives 7 '' to the
policeman.
“Yes 'm. He 's the McGrath boy. I know
his mother. He gave me warning of this trouble
to-night, or you might have come off worse,” re-
marked the blue-coat grimly, playing with the
handle of his club. “Well, I'll notify Mrs. Mc-
Grath, and you can keep him here, if you like. He
is n't badly hurt, I guess. See, he 's coming to
now ! ”


I 3O The Head of Pasht.
poking fun at him; until she explained the honor
the title implied.
Then he had to hear about the Knights of the
Round Table and the days of chivalry; which Alice
Bent, being a Devonshire maid of fair education,
was glad to tell him.
He sent for me that afternoon, and I heard the
whole story. Larkin got wind of it, interviewed
the policeman, and wrote it up for the Bulletin.
Taking it altogether, I was really afraid that Bar-
ney's head would be turned with the praise he re-
ceived. But he was not hurt by it a bit, as was
proved by subsequent events.
I called several times before Barney left the
“barracks,” and became well acquainted with Alice.


I 32 The Head of Pasht.
We talked all this over as I had opportunities, in
accompanying her in her many ministrations to the
poor; and before long, as I have intimated, we be-
came good comrades. She told me of her home life
in the little English village beyond seas, of the
queer, uphill streets of Clovelly, of the wide moors
and uplands once haunted and harassed by the
Doones. Her blue eyes would sparkle and her
fresh, sweet country face glow as she talked of
these things and, later on, of her hopes and aspira-
tions.
On my part, I told her of my early New England
home, and of the great object of my life. She was
all enthusiasm at once, and begged me to consider
her an addition to our little corps of voluntary detec-
tives in the Barnsworth affair. As she, like Barney,
knew the slums of the city thoroughly, I felt that
her offer of assistance was not to be slighted.
About a fortnight after Barney's injury, Aunt
Salvation came home. I had been running down
into the country once a week, to spend Sundays
with her, and was heartily glad to have her open our
little city house once more; life at a cheap boarding-
house having proved tedious enough. As soon as
our own home was “ in commission,” Alice called
on my aunt, who was greatly taken with her, and
of her own accord hinted that the young girl could
not do better than take up her quarters with us,


The Affair of the Lost Will. I 33
when she should leave the Army barracks. Alice
dimpled with delight at the suggestion, and the
matter was considered settled, much to my own
satisfaction. Aunt Salvation and the cat were good
company, to be sure, but the prospect of having in
the house a lively girl comrade of about my own
age was most attractive. I was too young to think
of being “in love '’ with her; it was simply that I
thoroughly enjoyed her company, and, I believed,
she enjoyed mine.
Early in September, the little Hallelujah Lassie
laid aside her blue cloak and poke bonnet, and pre-
sented herself, one fine afternoon, at our front door,
with a big carpet-bag which she had brought from
England, and which contained all her personal
estate, save the clothes she wore.
“I’ve obtained a situation in a milliner's shop,”
she explained joyfully, “and, you see, I've come
to you, as I promised. I hope it is n’t too extrava-
gant to live in so nice a house ! It 's much finer
than the barracks!”
Aunt Salvy received her with open arms.
“Your 're my “Salvation Army' now,” she said,
putting her arms right round the girl's neck. “Don’t
talk about the expense, my dear. I never took
boarders yet; and I have n’t the least idea what to
charge you, -but I guess we sha’n’t quarrel over it!”
Bettina now advanced, purring graciously, and


I 34 The Head of Pasht.
sidled up against Alice's gown. It was all very
domestic and jolly, and I thanked my stars that I
had procured that situation for Barney McGrath,
which had resulted in my acquaintance with this
sonsie British maiden.
“Come right up, and lay off your things,” con-
tinued my aunt, leading the way to the little bed-
room which the girl was to occupy. The sound of
their voices was very pleasant in my ears as they
bustled about upstairs; and the fresh young laugh-
ter was good to hear.
“Bettina,” I remarked, stretching myself out in
the armchair by the sitting-room window—it was a
half-holiday in my business—“this is a great day
for the country ”
Bettina lingered a moment near the stairs, in an
aimless and abstracted way; then stalked across the
room, looked up at me and, crouching, sprang upon
my knee, purring loudly.
I was sitting there, stroking the cat, when the
bell rang, and Fred Larkin came bounding up the
front stairs, as was his wont, two steps at a time.
Bettina disappeared under the sofa, displeased at
her abrupt dismissal from my knee as I rose.
“How are you, old fellow : '' asked Fred, drop-
ping into a chair. “Anything lately in my line ''
“Nothing special. The best news is that Miss
Bent has come.’’


The Affair of the Lost Will. I 35
I had told him about her, but it had happened
that he never had met her.
“Good enough She 'll wake you all up, and
strike the loud cymbals when you ’re dull, eh?”
laughed Fred.
“Don’t make fun of her Army experience,” I
began, “for she-here she comes now!”
Fred jumped up, and was duly presented. He
tried to be dignified and proper, but it was of no
use. In two minutes he was chaffing my aunt, and
she was answering him back, while Alice and I en-
joyed the fun. -
Aunt Salvy insisted that Fred should stay to tea,
and the roguish young reporter, after making an
elaborate protest, of course allowed himself to be
persuaded.
We had a merry meal of it, and afterward gath-
ered around the evening lamp (it was too warm for
a fire) in the sitting-room, talking and laughing
gayly. After a while, the conversation drifted,
naturally enough, into topics in line with Fred's
profession and mine.
“I tell you, Archie,” said the young reporter,
with a whiff from the fragrant cigar which my aunt
insisted upon his smoking, “we 've just had a
pretty case that beats anything I 've seen lately
for oddity. Your cat's-head button — or Bettina,
here — reminded me of it.”


136 The Head of Pasht.
We were all eagerness to hear, for Fred's experi-
ences were as amusing and interesting as they were
multifarious.
Larkin leaned back comfortably in his armchair
(an old one of my father's), and reflected for a mo-
ment.
“I don't see what harm it can do to tell you,”
said he, “provided the story does n’t go any
farther. It concerns one or two of the best families
in town — regular Brahmins.”
“Of course we won't tell,” said Miss Salvation,
her knitting-needles clicking lightly as she spoke.
“Our Brahmin acquaintance is n't so large that you
need be afeard of our gossiping at sewing-circle.
Go on, Mr. Larkin.”
Thus adjured and assured, Fred began.
“You probably noticed the report of the death
of old Mr. — well, I'll call him Mr. Blank, and you
can guess well enough who it is — in the papers a
month or two ago A triple millionaire who lived
alone, with only a cat for a companion ?”
My aunt and I nodded assent.
“His name always came high up in the list of
tax-payers, and it was generally understood that he
did a great deal of good, in a quiet way; was a
regular philanthropist, although he was a crusty old
chap to deal with. I've tried two or three times
to interview him, and I ought to know.


The Affair of the Lost Will. I 37
Fred shrugged his shoulders at the unpleasant
recollection, and resumed :
“Well, old Blank had one son, Richard C. He
did n’t turn out well, and for the last year or so
had been on the Continent, keeping fast company,
and overrunning his allowance pretty liberally. It
was generally known among the old man's friends
that the young fellow would be cut off with a shil-
ling, so to speak, and his father's millions would go
to various charitable institutions in the city, there
being no other near relatives. In fact, Mr. Blank
told a friend last spring that he had made a will
leaving such and such big sums to missionary and
other societies.
“Now, as soon as the old gentleman has a shock,
which occurs in May, home comes Richard C., full
of remorse for his unfilial conduct, and good resolu-
tions for the future.''
Here my aunt gave a vigorous sniff, and knit very
rapidly.
“Within a week of his return he was installed in
his father's house, and virtually (if not virtuously)
master of it. Blank's friends nodded wisely, and
foresaw the result. The old man died, and, lo and
behold, no will !
“The nearest friends of the deceased, including
the cat, searched high and low for the document,
which it was now known had been drawn up only a


138 The Head of Pasht.
few weeks before the arrival of the son; for Banks
& Weeks, the lawyers, announced the fact. Their
client, they said, had shown his usual eccentricity
in refusing to allow them to take charge of the will,
or even to make a copy of it, preferring to keep it in
his own possession. Furthermore, he had exacted
a promise from his counsel that they would not
divulge a word of the contents of the paper before
its publication and due presentation for probate.”
“What do you mean by the cat's joining in the
search 2 '' inquired Alice, with a laugh.
“That 's where the extreme novelty of the case
comes in,” said the reporter, puffing at his cigar
with great satisfaction, and bending down to stroke
Bettina, to whom, as to the rest of us, this element
of the story appeared to bring fresh interest.
“The cat, who (I must say ‘who’ instead of
‘which,' considering the wonderful outcome of the
case) had been the old man's inseparable companion
in life, could not be driven from the house after his
death and burial. As often as she was shut out, she
managed to enter through the cold-air shaft, or an
open window, and haunted, not the room where her
master had spent his last days, but his study, where
he was wont to sit before the fire in his dressing-
gown, playing with her and her kittens.
“The property was so large that great interest
was taken in the disposition of it. Several benevolent


The Affair of the Lost Will. I 39
societies, who had counted on fine bequests,
sent representatives to the house, and Richard
joined them zealously in the search for the missing
will; the cat following at their heels, mewing and
Sniffing about as if she understood what was wanted,
and could solve the mystery easily enough if she
could but speak our tongue. -
“It was inevitable that suspicion should rest on
the young man, who, in the absence of the will,
became sole heir to this immense property. He
seemed tireless in hunting for the document, but his
very zeal convinced the disappointed boards of the
institutions referred to that he could well afford to
give them every facility for their search; in other
words, it was plain to them, as the days went by,
and their perseverance remained unrewarded, that
he had taken advantage of his father's weakness
and had destroyed the will.
“A maid employed in the house told one of these
gentlemen that, on entering Mr. Richard's room,
the morning after the funeral, she had encountered
a strong odor of burned paper, and had found his
fireplace littered with ashes that could have had no
other source. The next day the maid had disap-
peared – left suddenly, Richard said, and had gone
West, he believed.
“At this, the benevolent gentlemen took another
step. They conferred with professional friends, and


I4O The Head of Pasht.
two hours later Sam Heintz entered the front door
of the big Broad Avenue house. No, I don’t think,
Miss Salvation, he announced that he was a detec-
tive. He just appeared, with his jolly, good-
natured, innocent face, as an agent of the charitable
society which was believed to be the most interested
in the discovery of a will.
“Richard C. received him suavely, as he had all
the rest, and led the way up-stairs. How do I
know * Because I was there already. The Bulletin
had got word that spicy developments were to be
expected, and I had the assignment. I had taken
a look for myself, before Sam arrived, and I con-
fess I was considerably put out by the actions of
that cat. She kept so close at my heels that I
actually bumped her nose once, in taking a sudden
step.
“Sam came in with that easy, don't-care-much-
about-it-anyhow air he can put on, nodded care-
lessly to me as if I were a mere chance acquaintance,
and, settling down in an armchair, began to talk
with the wealthy heir. In five minutes I could see
that the young fellow was entirely off his guard.
He spoke with the utmost frankness, apparently, of
his father's lonely life, and of his own misdoings.
“‘ I really don't deserve a cent of dad's money,”
he said, with candor; ‘ but if the dear old man
did n’t make any will, or destroyed it before his


The Affair of the Lost Will. I4 I
death, why, I must take the property and its re-
sponsibilities. God knows,’ he added with a feeling
that seemed even to me must be genuine, ‘I’d give
up every cent of it to have him back again!’
“‘You—er—er— made it up with your father,
then 2' queried Sam, glancing about the room, and
taking in all its details, as well as every quiver of
the young man's features.
“‘ I did,” said Richard, ‘the night I came home.
I was sick of my bad ways, and I told him so. He
took me in his arms, bless him, and forgave me at
the first word. That last week showed me what my
life might have been if I had stayed at home and
behaved myself, instead of—— '
“He turned away abruptly, and looked out of the
window. Heintz met my eye with a gleam that I
could not read. Did he believe in the sincerity of
all this sudden repentance, or not
“The detective puffed away a minute at his cigar
— for this was bachelor's hall, and he had at once
obtained permission to smoke—and then turned the
conversation. He was stroking the cat as he spoke.
“‘Tell me about your father's manner during his
last days,’ he said. ‘Did he have full possession
of his faculties 7'
“What the answer would have been I do not
know, for the attention of us both (Richard was still
standing at the window) was at this minute attracted


I42 The Head of Pasht.
by the strange behavior of the cat. She had caught
the end of Sam's coat in her mouth, and seemed to
be actually trying to pull him out of his chair. The
movement was too pronounced and peculiar to
escape the detective's alert wit. He rose quietly,
and suffered himself to be drawn over to an old
mahogany secretary which stood on one side of the
fireplace.
“The cat now stood up on her hind paws, and
began scratching eagerly at the piece of furniture,
pausing now and then to look up into Sam's face,
and mew piteously.
“The detective turned toward his host.
“‘I suppose, Mr. Blank, this fine old stand of
drawers is an heirloom ?' he said carelessly.
“The young man had mastered his emotion, and
advanced toward us.
“‘Yes. It has been in our family for genera-
tions, I believe. It probably came over from Eng-
land in the seventeenth century.’
“‘Did your father keep any of his papers here 2'
“‘Nothing important, so far as I know,' returned
Richard. ‘I need not say that every drawer has
already been ransacked, but you are free to look for
yourself.'
“‘Well, as a matter of form,” rejoined Sam,
easily; ‘though, of course, as you say, any further
search is really useless,’


The Affair of the Lost Will. I43
“He was pulling out the drawers one at a time,
and I was surprised to see what a superficial examina-
tion he gave their contents.
“‘Well made, well made,’ he said admiringly,
placing two of the drawers side by side, and seeming
far more interested in the construction and antiquity
of the aged cabinet than in any paper which might
have found lodgment there.
“He kept on pulling out drawers—with a view, I
supposed, to looking behind them for any document
that might have fallen there—when suddenly he was
interrupted by the cat, who bounded into the vacant
place before occupied by a large central drawer, and
began smelling and scratching fiercely in its farthest
ſeCeSSes. -
“Sam watched her a minute, then calmly ex-
tracted her from the cavity and handed her over to
her master.
“‘Useful cat,' said he. ‘Will you hold her a
minute while I investigate the probable mouse-hole?'
“But there was no mouse-hole there, nor any
cause perceptible, to touch or sight, for the cat's
behavior.
“Sam looked puzzled, and again surveyed care-
fully the two drawers he had last taken out. Fol-
lowing his glance, I now noticed that they were
not of exactly the same length. One was perhaps
half an inch longer than the other.


I44 The Head of Pasht.
“Sam was still feeling about the inside of the cabi-
net, when he stopped abruptly, and began to sniff at
the cavity, putting his head in as far as he could,
and looking absurd enough in the act, I can tell you.
“‘Come here, Larkin, and see if you can smell
anything in there.”
“There was something new in his tone, and a
professional glitter in his eye, which I knew well, as
you do, Archie.
“I thrust in my head, where the longer drawer
had been, and instantly detected a queer odor,
which somehow carried me back to my boyhood in
Brookfield. For a moment I could not identify it.
Then I withdrew my head and exclaimed, ‘Catnip,
as I live ' '
“‘Which accounts for our feline friend's eager-
ness,' remarked Heintz, while young Blank, looking
on in amazement, and holding the struggling cat,
was silent.
“‘The next question is, where is it 2 '
“Once more the detective's sensitive finger tips
passed over the smooth surface of the wood; result,
as before, failure to find the slightest irregularity
which might indicate a secret spring.
“Sam now played his last card, short of hacking
the secretary to pieces — which I verily believe he
was ready to do!
“He took from his pocket a small but (as I


The Affair of the Lost Will. I45
afterward found) extremely powerful little horseshoe
magnet, tied a string to it, and held it suspended at
the farther end of the drawer space. We waited
breathlessly. One, two, three localities, and no
movement in the little instrument was perceptible.
A fourth — and the magnet swerved. Half an inch
nearer the side, and it darted with a sharp click
against the wooden lining.
“Instantly Sam's finger pressed the spot. The
wood yielded slightly to his touch. Keeping the
pressure uniform with his left hand, the detective
gave a sharp pull to the partition between the two
drawers, and out it came, just three quarters of an
inch. It took but a moment to reach in beyond it
and draw out sideways a small, thin drawer, which,
as we eagerly carried it to the light, emitted a strong
odor of catnip.
“Sure enough, there was a small package of the
fragrant herb, and beside it— ”
“The lost will !” we all three exclaimed at once.
“Nothing whatever,” said Fred, rising and
throwing the stub of his cigar into the fireplace.
“The will never has been found; and the young
man, whose reformation seems sincere enough, will
undoubtedly enjoy his heritage, and, in his turn,
figure near the top of the list of tax-payers. Good-
night, all!”
And the scamp was gone.


CHAPTER XII.
“NUMBER 1523.”
HAVE spoken of some slight measure of success
which I had obtained in literary work, and of
the remuneration, welcome though small, by which
I thereby added to my slender income. One of
the pleasantest features of this work was the in-
timacy with half a dozen bright men and women
to which it gave rise.
One of these friends was the editor of a family
magazine of the better sort, called the Home Fire-
side. It has since been swallowed up by a richer
periodical, and its very name is unknown to the
present generation of young people. The editor,
Matthew Radson, was an exceedingly pleasant fel-
low; to whom, perhaps, I was the more attracted
because he always praised and accepted my humble
contributions, and insisted that fame and fortune
were within my grasp if I would but abandon my
profession and devote my talents (so he was pleased
to term them) entirely to literature. Many a pleas-
ant chat I had with Radson by his office grate, and
I46


“Number 1523.” I47
many a queer story he told me of his experiences
with “cranky'' contributors.
One of these anecdotes was so striking that I
begged him to write it out for me, and at the same
time lend me the singular manuscript—perhaps the
strangest that was ever penned by a sane contribu-
tor— which had given rise to our conversation.
Radson was too busy to comply fully with my re-
quest, but did send me the manuscript, which I
shall give in full, together with the editor's own
comments, as nearly as I can recollect them or
gather them from a subsequent letter or two which
passed between us on the subject.
“On a certain sultry afternoon last August,” said
Radson, “I was sitting in my editorial easy-chair,
with a pile of accumulated manuscripts on the desk
beside me.
“The first half-dozen effusions I disposed of in
short order, with the usual printed blank (we pride
ourselves upon the courtesy of our rejections in the
Aſſome Fireside office) setting forth our regrets at the
necessity of returning the manuscript kindly sub-
mitted, the utter absence of any flavor of literary
criticism in our decision, and our unhesitating belief
that our gifted correspondent would find a ready
market for his or her (usually her) production else-
where.
“In that rather reckless mood and desire for more


148 The Head of Pasht.
slaughter which grow upon me at such times, I
caught up the next package, tore off the brown
covering with just enough of a glance at the address
to notice the feminine delicacy of the handwriting,
and, mentally anathematizing the writer for omitting
to enclose return stamps, settled myself for that
inevitable, even if hasty, reading from which the
editorial conscience, morbidly exigent in this one
particular, will not let us off.
º “To my own intense surprise, I found myself,
hardened as I was to the attempts of novices in
literature, interested at the very outset in a tale
which bore undoubted marks of an inexperienced
pen. There were three elements in its composition
which at once arrested my attention. First, the
opening paragraph indicated that the writer was not
a woman, unless disguising her sex; second, the
strange narrative purported to be true in such pas-
sionately earnest language that I could not, for the
life of me, doubt the author's veracity; and, third,
there was no name, address, or personal direction
of any kind appended to the manuscript. If a pla-
giarism, the writer could certainly expect no material
emolument for the fraud.
“I read page after page of the close, dainty chiro-
graphy, which I soon found was more ornamental
than easy to decipher. When I turned under
the last sheet, and rubbed my eyes, as much from


“Number 1523 I49
bewilderment as weariness, the office boy was dis-
tractedly rattling chairs, and even making ostenta-
tious preparations to light the gas, as a hint that
the hour for closing had long ago passed.
“In a state of curious perplexity and indecision,
I left the office. In the same untoward mental
condition I went to bed that night. The next
morning, in the march-land between departing sleep
and approaching duty, I made up my mind. The
story, or statement, or whatever you may call my
queer correspondent's effusion, should be retained
by me until certain investigations were made — as
shall appear hereafter — and it should then be
printed, not in the comparatively small edition and
limited field of Home Fireside, but in one of the
largest and most popular magazines of the day, if
I could induce its editor to take the view which I
myself firmly held of the following story of
“NUMBER 1523.”
I have always been a modest man. It is ten to
one that the editor who reads these lines took up
the manuscript with the impression, arising from
the handwriting, that I was a woman. Since my
earliest boyhood, I have been haunted with an
abnormal shyness.
Why, then, do I thrust myself and my strange
experience upon a public which cares nothing, knows


15O The Head of Pasht.
nothing, of me 2 Because I am pursued by that
same Nemesis which gripes a murderer and compels
him to disclose his dreadful secret; which made
Louis Wagner, on the afternoon succeeding the
dreadful affair at the Isles of Shoals, twenty years
ago, enter a cobbler's shop in Boston, and say, with
ghastly grimace, “I have seen a woman lie as still
as that boot on the floor — because, in a word, I
am a murderer. I have murdered, not the physical
frame of man or woman, but an Identity.
I was born in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, a pros-
perous town in Clinton County, on the west branch
of the Susquehanna. My father was foreman, with
good wages, in one of the lumber mills there. He
was an Englishman who, two weeks after his mar-
riage with my mother, had emigrated to this country
immediately after the war to seek his fortune. His
mechanical skill soon procured him his position at
Lock Haven, and for a year and a half no home in
America, I truly believe, was happier. At the end
of that time, my mother, a frail, gentle girl from
the Scottish Lowlands, died in giving birth to the
miserable writer of this autobiography. Half crazed
with grief, the other half of insanity was bound
upon my poor father by drink. A wild debauch, a
late return homeward, a misstep by the river bank,
and the unhappy soul was blotted out from this
world—as mine soon may be—by the dark waters.


“Number 1523.” I5 I
The orphaned baby was cared for by charitable
hands. At the age of fifteen I had received a fairly
good grammar-school education, and, with the sole
inheritance of my father's turn for mechanics and
my mother's shyness, I faced the world.
Ready employment was found in the mill—and I
soon proved an adept. On attaining my majority
I was promoted, over the heads of older men, to my
father's position, and given a confidence which,
alas, I have basely betrayed.
About three months ago, an important business
matter, relating to a large combination, or “trust,”
in the business of our managers, required that a
representative from our firm should meet several
other mill-owners at a certain hotel in an Eastern
city. The choice fell upon me. Filled with pride
at the commission, and an earnest desire to carry
out its purposes successfully, I travelled eastward
through New York, Fall River, and Boston, stop-
ping over a day or two at each of these cities to
confer with the agents of the combination.
One bright spring afternoon, I entered the
smoking-car of a northward-bound train. I rarely
make acquaintances under such circumstances, as
my ungovernable shyness keeps at a distance all
comradery with my fellow-passengers. On this
occasion, however, I had hardly taken my seat
when a young fellow entered the car with a face so


I52 The Head of Pasht.
bright and frank that I looked up with an involun-
tary smile, and made room for him.
He met me more than half-way, and, as the
journey proceeded, our acquaintance grew. The
stranger's face, in its contour, was not unlike my
own. We trimmed our beards in the same way,
and his eyes were gray, like mine, only merrier.
Even his voice was like mine. I had a queer sensa-
tion of looking into a mirror every time his glance
met mine.
Frank Hastings—for so he introduced himself—
soon began telling me about himself; and, as con-
fidence begets confidence, and it was impossible not
to be won by his honest face, I found myself ex-
changing biographies with him. My own you
know. Hastings's was, in brief, as follows:
“My father is president of a New York bank,”
he said, “ and director of half a dozen institutions.
Between you and me, he is fairly well off, and I
started life with a not very large—say a silver cof-
fee – spoon in my mouth. After a regular school
course I went through Yale, and graduated in the
Class of ’8–. Are you a college man 2"
I flushed a little and said: “No. I had picked
up what little education I had, as some locomotives
pick up water, on the run.”
The figure seemed to please him and he clapped
me on the knee,


I54 The Head of Pasht.
He held up the photograph of a young girl, and
the jesting manner left him.
“Heavens!” was my first muttered thought,
“ where have I seen that sweet face before ?”
Even now, as I look back, I cannot make it new to
me. We all know what it is to see a face in a
crowded street, in a railroad station, at a theatre,
and carry away the impress of it upon our memories
as plainly as if we had known the person for years;
perhaps with that strange added sensation of inti-
mate companionship in a pre-existent state that
lurks in the dimmest, most shadowy recesses of our
consciousness.
How can I describe her ? How not, when every
feature was, and is, as plainly before me as if she
had been nearest and dearest from all time 2 Dark
hair, almost black, flowing back in soft, simple
waves from a white brow that was at once innocent
and womanly; great, grave brown eyes, that met
your own frankly and yet questioningly; sweet,
sensitive lips, that could grieve or smile at a cruel
or gentle word—such was the face (yet how poorly
have I succeeded in conveying the image I see so
plainly ) that looked at me from the card my fellow-
passenger took from an inner pocket and held
before me.
“Alice Marlowe,” he said softly, “is to be my
wife next Christmas day. It was on Christmas Eve


“Number 1523.” I 55
a year and a half ago that she promised. Am I not
a happy fellow 7"
“Do not say happy—blessed, rather,” or some-
thing like that, I must have answered, for he smiled
into my eyes before he spoke again, half to himself:
“She is in Berlin, with her parents and my
father, by this time. They went abroad (my
mother is not living) nearly a year ago. They're
coming home in June. See, here is her last let-
ter!” and he showed me the corner of an envelope,
with its German stamp. “Curiously enough,” he
went on, with his former air of gayety, “not one
of my own family, nor hers, is at home this month.
The Marlowes are in Germany, except an aunt, who
is in California, I believe. My father is abroad,
combining pleasure with an important business
matter in Berlin. And I alone remain to tell the
story !” Another pause, while we looked out of the
windows of the fast-flying train at the dim outlines
of hill and valley. “Alice would laugh if she should
see me now. My face was smooth when she left
home; and behold the disguise I have assumed since
then ”
He turned his face toward me, and solemnly
stroked his short brown beard, so like my own.
“Well,” he laughed; “I 've written her about it,
so she 'll be prepared, anyway.”
He made a motion as if to replace the photograph


156 The Head of Pasht.
and letter, when he changed his mind, and dropped
them into the outside pocket of his overcoat, which
lay over the back of the seat. Plunging his hand
into the inner breast pocket of which I have spoken,
he drew out a little plate, or tag, apparently of
silver, and handed it to me with a laugh.
“There 's my latest investment,” said he.
“Ridiculous; and rather ghastly too, is n’t it 2
There's a company organized in Philadelphia which
carries on the business, and insures, not your life,
but your identity, so to speak, for a trifle.”
I took the badge in my hand and read the in-
scription:
“If Unconscious or Dead, telegraph this number 1523 to the
Invincible Identifying Company, Philadelphia, at its Expense, and
it will notify my friends.”
“First clause a little indefinite,” laughed Frank,
as I scrutinized the shining bit of metal. “Gram-
mar sacrificed to brevity. They claim that it can't
be melted under six hundred degrees of Fahrenheit.
At the Philadelphia office I've left a full descrip-
tion— ”
The sentence was never finished. The car lurched
dizzily. There was a crash like thunder, rending of
solid timbers, blows right and left, hideous, sudden
darkness, the hiss of steam and its scalding breath,
shrieks of agony.
I cannot tell, even after this brief lapse of


“Number 1523.” 157
time, how or when I first regained consciousness.
Vaguely I began to realize a wall before me, covered
with old-fashioned flowered wall-paper; soft pillows
under my head; a curious patchwork quilt on which
rested my hands, looking white and thin, as I had
never seen them before. Then a face seemed to
gather itself out of the mists that enveloped me — a
woman's face; a kind, motherly face, bending over
my bed and looking at me with pitiful eyes.
“Poor dear!” I heard her say to herself; and the
words comforted me inexpressibly.
But with sight and hearing came a returning sense
of pain—pain in every muscle, bone, and fibre, as if
I had been caught in the belting of my own Lock
Haven mill and beaten against the floor. I moaned
and tried vainly to move.
Little by little I realized that I was in a farm-
house, to which I had been carried from the scene
of the accident; that I had been delirious or uncon-
scious for forty-eight hours, by reason of a blow
upon the head, my other bruises and sprains being
of a far less serious character; that I had been at-
tended by the local country doctor, and by a
surgeon of note who had arrived on the wrecking
train a few hours after the accident. Little by
little I was told the cause of the catastrophe – the
falsely constructed bridge, its iron rods and girders
parting like withes under the weight of the train,


I 58 The Head of Pasht.
which plunged twenty feet downward into the
country road below; the awful scenes after the ac-
cident; the appalling loss of life; the pitying
throng of country people; the ready help and hos-
pitality volunteered by them on all sides. My own
hostess, it seemed, was a widow, and the well-to-do
mother of a large family, the eldest boy, aged
about twenty, managing the farm. Mrs. Penhallow
(that was her name) had refused the aid of nurses
from outside, preferring to minister with her own
motherly hands to the wants of this young stranger,
so suddenly and strangely brought to her door.
There was one thing that puzzled me not a little
in my weak state. Two or three times, in speaking
with the local physician, who now had charge of the
case, she referred to me as having been brought up
in the city, not knowing the hardships of work, etc.;
and once she spoke of my “Philadelphia friends.”
“What do you mean by ‘Philadelphia friends,’
Mrs. Penhallow 2 " I asked feebly.
“Dear me, dear me!” she said softly, patting
my hand. “There, there; don't worry about it
now. You've had some queer fancies since you've
been hurt.”
“Have you written to Lock Haven " was my
next question, faint enough. “Perhaps you don’t
know the address. It is “ The -— Mills.’”
An odd look, as if of wonder and pity, came into


“Number 1523.” I59
the good woman's face. She rose at once and,
without answering my question, left the room in
some confusion.
Too weak to reason over her conduct or to care
whether my employers had been notified of my
mishap, I fell asleep.
When I awoke, the afternoon sun was shining
through the window of the little bedroom upon the
flowery wall-paper. A low purring called my atten-
tion to a small Maltese kitten curled up on the quilt
beside me and regarding me with a patronizing air.
Seeing my eyes open, she rose slowly, stretched
herself a little, walked over me, and, with great
gravity, placed one soft gray paw on my eyelids.
“Oh, kittie, kittie,” whispered a childish voice
close by, “you 've waked him up! I must take
you right down.”
I managed to turn my head slightly, so as to com-
mand a view of the speaker, a shy-faced little girl
of nine or ten, who was standing beside me and
anxiously regarding Miss Puss and myself.
“She did n't wake me, dear,” I said, as the kitten
jumped down to the floor in search of new amuse-
ment. “Will you tell me your name 7"
“Polly Penhallow. Mother said I could sit with
you while she ran over to Aunt Hester's to get the
paper. They keep store at the corner, you know.”
I did n’t know, but I told Polly she was a nice


16O The Head of Pasht.
little nurse; as indeed she was, standing there so
prim and quiet, with her white pinafore, her grave
face, her brown curls falling over her shoulders, and
a half-mended blue stocking in her hands.
The ice being broken, we soon were well ac-
quainted, and got on famously.
The kitten, meanwhile, had found a plaything,
and was rolling over and over, biting and kicking in
a small whirlwind of gray fur and flying paws, when
Polly noticed and pounced upon her.
“. Kittie, kittie! what mischief will you do next 2
See, Mr. Hastings, it 's that pretty silver thing you
had in your hand when they found you.”
She rescued the shining bit of metal and held it
up to me. A thousand lights danced before my
eyes. My brain whirled. The name, which the
child pronounced so easily — that fatal number,
gleaming out in weird distinctness, I 523—in a flash
of thought I saw what had happened. The bright,
merry fellow I had learned to love in four short
hours had been hurled out of existence by the ter-
rible shock of that night; while I, with no dear ones
to mourn had I died, homeless, almost friendless—
I had survived; and, strange, unheard-of error, sur-
vived in his likeness and name, “identified " by the
lying badge which should have pointed out his life-
less form to those who loved it best!
The strain was too great. Again all visible and


“Number 1523.” I6 I
sensible things faded away, and for hours I again
lay unconscious or raving of the old days on the
banks of the Susquehanna.
My first effort, on regaining consciousness, was to
clear up the misunderstanding in regard to Hastings
and myself. I saw clearly enough the trouble that
must already have been caused, and the conse-
quences following, almost hourly, by the error.
Whatever anguish the disclosure of the truth must
bring to the bereaved parent and friends, the sooner
it should be made the better.
For one desolate moment the thought flashed
across my mind — what happiness would be mine
were the metamorphosis real! Wealth, luxury,
education, social prospects, home, friends, the love
of that gentle, dark-eyed girl! But I resolutely
put aside reflections.
“Mrs. Penhallow,” I began brokenly, “I must
tell you of a discovery that I have just made—no,
please don't go! My head is perfectly clear now
and I shall not faint again.”
“Polly told me,” said my companion, soothingly.
“Don’t trouble about it now.”
What did the woman mean *
“You don't understand me, I am afraid,” I said
brokenly. “I am here under false pretences. I
am not the man you think I am. Frank Hastings
yy
Was
II


I62 The Head of Pasht.
“Yes, yes, no doubt. But you really ought to
sleep now, Mr. Hastings.” -
“I can't sleep. I must talk. I am not Frank
Hastings at all. There was a mistake made by the
men who found me. It was Frank Hastings who
had the badge No. 1523. He lent it to me just be-
fore the accident happened, and Polly says it was
found in my hand. Don't you see ?” I closed my
eyes wearily, for the strain was again telling upon
me.
Mrs. Penhallow remained silent, convinced and
shocked, as I supposed.
“You should telegraph at once to his friends
abroad,” I continued, “ and try to find just what
became of him. Perhaps he is quite safe and un-
hurt.”
Still my nurse said nothing in reply. I opened
my eyes and looked at her with the insistence of an
invalid.
“Do promise to send word at once,” I said; “and
report my condition to the firm of — —— & Co.,
Lock Haven, Pennsylvania.” And I gave her my
own real name. “If you don't speak and assure
me of this I shall grow worse instead of better!"
Against her will, the good woman spoke, laying
her hand upon mine to quiet me.
“Mr. Hastings,” she said very softly, “for I
must still call you by that name—it is you who are


I64 The Head of Pasht.
They 're on the way now. So you must get well
as fast as you can for the young lady.”
She rose hastily. This time she would not be
stayed.
“I’ll be right in the kitchen,” she said, “getting
supper. You just call if you want anything.”
I lay still, trying to grasp the situation. Here I
was, not only in Frank Hastings's place, bearing
his name, but, through an unheard-of combination
of circumstances, with the exchange of identities
actually thrust upon me! The more I should insist
upon the matter, the crazier I should be considered
and the more I should be pitied. While I was try-
ing to see my way out of the labyrinth, I fell asleep
from sheer exhaustion.
The next day I made another attempt to set my
friends right.
“Bring me my clothes,” I asked—“the ones I
wore when the accident happened.”
Polly ran out, eager to do me a service, and re-
turned with—Hastings's coat.
“This was all crumpled up in the seat beside
you,” Mrs. Penhallow explained. “Your other
clothes were so torn and burned and stained that
the doctors took charge of them and carried them
off when I was n’t round. They were nothing but
rags, they said; but I'd have saved them anyway.
We shall have to fit you out, all but an overcoat,


166 The Head of Pasht.
morning when I should be borne from the dreamy
splendors of the palace to the rough realities of my
own life.
It was, perhaps, in such a moment that the great
Temptation for the first time assailed me. I asked
Polly to look in the pockets of the coat and see if
there was a rather large, flat envelope there.
“Oh, yes,” she said frankly;
everything, to see if we could find out who you
were. Here it is. It 's a picture of a young lady.”
Again I gazed into the sweet eyes of Alice Mar-
we looked at
lowe. Again I was strangely drawn to that fair
young face. What agony must I bring into it
when she should learn from me, or others, the fatal
mistake She, of all the world, would know that
Number 1523 had proved false. I fancied her reel-
ing backward under the sudden blow, her face
growing white and drawn, a look of wild aversion to
the innocent impersonator of the man she loved
coming into those beautiful eyes.
The coat still lay by me on the bed. Almost
without my volition, my hand caught the breast
pocket, and half drew forth her letter. Thank God,
there was some decency left in me ! I did honor
thus far to the dead and the living. I thrust back
the letter, unread, unseen; and there it remains
to-day.
But what if – if – (the thought would intrude


“Number 1523.” 167
itself upon me, in the long hours of night, when I
lay there listening to the slow, monotonous ticking
of the old clock on the corner shelf) — what if, by
the rarest, strangest, most improbable possibility,
she should be deceived, like the college classmate
and the doctor 2 I recollected Hastings's words
about his beard and changed looks. In a shaded
room, speaking but little, acting a part which I had
hitherto repelled, could I—bewildering thought—so
continue the deception as to include even the girl
he loved; his very betrothed 2 Weakly I pictured
to myself such a meeting, and its result. I was
swept on by my imagination; I dwelt upon Alice's
looks, her fond, trembling anxiety, until I found
myself unable to tear her from my thoughts. Hor-
ror-stricken at myself, yet unable to resist the flood
of happiness the very idea suggested, I discovered
an attachment for this absent girl springing up in
my heart, taking utter possession of me. The fleet-
ing impression I had received, at first sight of her
face, of some former accidental meeting, deepened
the sensation of having long known and, yes, loved
her. For the first time in my life — wounded,
weak, perplexed man — I was truly and profoundly
in love.
Feeling but too sure of the speedy termination of
this new happiness, I gave it full sway, and it filled
my heart with the great joy that only a lover knows,


I68 The Head of Pasht.
even in the face of the almost certain disappoint-
ment to follow. Those were happy days for me, in
the old farmhouse.
The whole family were eager to please me, and
great was Jed's delight when I called for his “spare
suit,” and, having clad myself in it, “received '' in
the front room where I saw domiciled. But the
end was near.
One bright April morning I was sitting in the old
armchair which had been devoted to my special
use. As I looked from the window I could see the
first tinge of green creeping over the southern slope
of the orchard, even while snow-banks lingered be-
hind the straggling stone wall that bounded the
road. On the fence before the house a bluebird
plaintively “shifted his light load of song " from
post to post.
At that moment little Nat, the second son, came
running up from the direction of the railroad station,
waving an envelope in his hand. A glance, and a
sick feeling of dread told me it was a telegram.
The boy saw me at the window and motioned to
have it raised. I took the despatch, thanking the
little bearer, who called out joyfully: “It 's for
you, Mr. Hastings!”
I closed the window, and tearing open the brown
envelope with a thrust of my finger, as telegrams
always are opened, I read these words:



“Number 1523.” 169
“NEw York, April 13.
“Am on my way to you. Shall arrive to-morrow night. Dear
love.
** ALICE.”
It was now the morning of the 14th. “In a few
hours,” I found myself saying, “my destiny will
be decided.” -
Yes, I had given up the struggle. If, by what
should seem hardly less than a miracle, Alice
should, like the rest, believe me to be Frank Hast-
ings, I no longer had strength of will to put this be-
wildering happiness from me. The real lover was
dead, and could not be harmed, nor could he return
to mar my future.
Half unconsciously, during the past week, I had
practised various little mannerisms, slight tricks of
gesture which I remembered in my travelling com-
panion. I had even imitated his handwriting, a line
of which was on the back of the photograph now
in my possession.
The long hours of that April day dragged out
their weary length, each an eternity. I had in-
formed the family in the house of the probable
arrival of Miss Marlowe, and they were prepared to
greet her with enthusiasm.
At a little before eight we heard the rattle of
wheels on the bridge over the trout brook, a quarter
of a mile away. Then the evening was still again.
A long, sandy hill intervened between the brook


17o The Head of Pasht.
and the edge of the orchard. I drew my breath
hard and waited. Again the sound of wheels,
mingled with hoof-beats, and two voices, one rough
and loud, the other so sweet and low that I could
scarcely catch its accents.
Nearer and nearer. Now the road was left and
the wagon had turned in upon the little turfed
space before the house. It stopped with a loud
“Whoa " '' and “She 's come, Mother!” from the
driver.
A light rustle of garments, a girlish figure in the
doorway. In a moment it was kneeling beside my
chair. In a moment those dear arms were around
my neck, soft, trembling lips pressed to my own.
Over and over again she was murmuring his name
with infinite tenderness, laying her head on my
shoulder, her cheek against mine, stroking my hair,
showing me by a hundred soft caresses, like a
mother over her child, how dear to her was the
man who had vanished from the face of the earth,
whom I, wretched being that I was, was falsely im-
personating. I could not bear it. I whispered,
“Alice—my darling!” again and again, sobbing
weakly the while, in an ecstasy of mingled joy and
self-contempt.
From innate delicacy the family had at first with-
drawn to another part of the house. They now
came in and hovered about the new arrival.


“Number 1523.” 171
“Come right up-stairs, dear,” said Mrs. Pen-
hallow, hospitably, “to your own room. Supper is
almost ready.”
Alice rose to her feet, stooped to leave a light
kiss upon my guilty forehead, and followed our
hostess from the room.
I was stunned by the turn affairs had taken; for
in reality I had not been able to convince myself
that her woman's heart could mistake, even in the
dim, unlighted room, and without hearing a dis-
tinctly spoken word from me. But I cared not.
There was but one thought — to hold the wealth of
love she had brought with her across the broad
ocean; to gather it to myself. I was deliriously
happy. Some time, when I should be carried to the
scenes familiar to the daily life of Hastings; when
his old friends should greet me; when I should be
called upon to take a position in the bank, of the
duties of which I knew nothing; when the father of
the dead should return from Europe; nay, when Alice
herself, with the old surroundings, and in broad day-
light, should look into my face—the end must surely
come, and my proud castle in Spain crumble to dust.
Meanwhile, I deliberately resolved to avail myself
of every expedient to favor the delusion under
which all my friends had thus far labored. I would
protract my stay in the country to the last possible
day. Alice would become accustomed to me, and


172 The Head of Pasht.
when weeks or months thence she should learn of
the deception, at first innocent, afterward arising
from the honest love I bore her, she might—she
might—ah, who could tell what might happen?
She came to me again that night, and, I having
suggested that no lights be brought, sat with me
and Polly and her mother for a long time, listening
to the story of the wreck, in which I made myself
play the part of Frank, picturing my real self as a
stranger whom I had joined. “And, Alice,” I
said, “I showed him your picture " ''
“Ah, Frank,” she exclaimed, shaking her pretty
head at me, “how could you do that? What must
he think—but, oh, I forgot! Poor fellow ! Poor
fellow ! ''
Her compassion gave me a twinge, and, odd as it
may seem, a momentary feeling of jealousy toward
my other and true self. Was ever a dual existence
so doubly interwoven 2
“He was only a mill boy,” I went on, to see
what she would say. “He had been promoted to
the office of the mill within a few months.”
“Hush, dear!” said the girl, reprovingly. “Only
a mill boy! That sounds more like Europe than
America. But I must n’t begin by scolding you,
must I ? Oh, Frank, do you know how this sick-
ness has changed you ? Perhaps it 's partly the
beard [I managed to kiss the tips of her fingers as
T


“Number 1523.” I 73
she stroked it]; but you are so pale and thin' And
even your voice sounds strangely.”
I quaked exceedingly as she spoke of the change
of voice, but was reassured by her very mention of
it, as that and other small dissimilarities could easily
be laid to the accident and the fortnight's illness
following it.
I need not enter into details of the days that suc-
ceeded this white one in the calendar of my life.
Little by little I spoke with greater freedom, accus-
tomed her more and more to my looks, my voice,
my presence. I took occasion to introduce the
slight characteristic gestures I had noticed in the
cars so easily and naturally that I almost startled
myself. I scribbled little notes in his handwriting
under her scrutiny; I alluded to events in his life
upon which he had touched.
The success of all this intricate course of deception
seemed complete; so that I used grimly to say to
myself, in the solitude of my chamber, that when
Alice should have dismissed me with disdain I
would not return to Lock Haven, but enter upon a
career as an actor in some Western theatre.
All this time remorse, self-contempt, silent but
terrible upbraiding of conscience, have distilled
their bitter drops into the cup of pleasure that has
been held to my lips. The advantage I have been
taking of the innocent and trusting affection of this


“Number 1523.” I75
Later.—This morning Alice alluded, shyly, with
the rosiest flush on her sweet face, to our approach-
ing marriage next Christmas. What shall I do!
Moon.—A letter from Mr. Hastings, naming next
Saturday as the day of his probable arrival at New
York. We shall go Friday. Soon all will be over.
I send this to the editor of a publication which I
have seen Mrs. Penhallow reading. It is a simple
enough home magazine, full of kindly thoughts, as
she is. She has been a mother to me in these sad,
strange, dreary, golden days. I cannot bear to tell
her my story and see her shrink from me; nor would
she believe it. I will send it to the little brown-
covered magazine, trusting that it will find a kindly
welcome and awaken some response in the heart of
him who reads it.
Latest.—We are about to start for “home.” I
hear Polly's merry laugh, though she had tears in
her blue eyes a moment ago from saying good-by to
In e.
Alice Marlowe is waiting for me at the door; be-
yond her, my fate.
Alice—Darling, I am coming to you!
Fate—I am ready!
Here ends the unsigned manuscript of this un-
happy man. Referring to my brief introduction to
the Confession, my readers can now understand


176 The Head of Pasht.
something of the conflicting emotions which kept
me walking the floor until long after midnight after
the receipt of it. At one moment I scoffed at the
idea that it was more than pure fiction, artfully
taking upon itself, as is a popular fashion nowa-
days, the guise of sober fact. Then the words would
start up from the paper, “My God, what shall I do 2
What shall I do ’’’ and I believed that I was listen-
ing to the veritable cry of a tormented soul.
Early the next morning I began a practical system
of investigation, to learn how far, if at all, the story
was based upon real occurrences. I found a New
York business directory. It contained but few
Hastingses, and no one of these was a banker. I
ransacked newspaper files for the past two years,
but not a railroad accident in northern New England
did I find conforming to the description in the
mysterious manuscript. There was no such “Iden-
tifying Company ” in Philadelphia, but there was
one in New York. No. 1523 (I managed to find out
through a friend of one of the clerks) was a maiden
lady who never stirred from home, but lived in con-
stant fear of railroad disasters. I even wrote to the
chief of police at Lock Haven (it is a city, by the
way, not a town, as the writer states), and met with
similar ill-success. Then I gave up the problem,
preserving the manuscript (unpublished) as a literary
curiosity.


“Number 1523.” I 79
home from Europe on the Cephalonia the very next
day. I was tremendously interested in the case
and arranged to be present at the meeting. I
gathered that this poor fellow contemplated suicide
if the girl should turn him off; so the matter was
really a serious one.
“At two in the afternoon a despatch from Boston
announced the arrival of the steamer. At five my
patient, as white as a ghost, together with Kate, a
mutual friend, and myself, were in a private parlor,
waiting for the old gentleman's arrival.
“Now, I had planned a little scheme of my own
for knocking the nonsense out of the young fellow's
head. I excused myself for a few minutes, ran
down to the station ahead of the train, identified
my special passenger almost the moment he alighted,
and on the way to the hotel laid the state of affairs
before him.
“It was plain, I told him, that his son had suf-
fered a severe shock to his nervous system at the
time of the accident. The fact of his badge, or
ticket from the Identifying Company, being found
in his hand—he having just before seen it in the
possession of the other man—put into his brain the
hallucination to which he was now subject. He
had dwelt upon this morbidly until he had fully
assumed his double identity, and was in a fair way
to a desperate course unless he was speedily cured.


I8o The Head of Pasht.
“‘There was no doubt of his real identity,' I
hastened to add, seeing the deep trouble in the old
gentleman's face. I had taken Kate into my con-
fidence that morning, and, terribly shocked as she
was (for he had never hinted his delusion to her, it
seemed), she asserted that there could be absolutely
no doubt that he was truly her lover. She never
could have been deceived by appearances, she said
(crying, too, poor girl!); and I believed her. What
woman would n't know her lover from a stranger a
dozen rods off with her eyes shut
“In pursuance of my plan, I left the father in the
hotel rotunda, where crowds were coming and going.
Then I asked the son to step out with me a mo-
ment before his father came, on a matter of impor-
tant business. He followed me without suspicion.
We re-entered the rotunda. Mechanically glancing
about him, his eye fell upon Mr.—Blank, we 'll call
him.
“The effect was instantaneous. He staggered as
if he had received a blow on the head, rubbed his
forehead in a confused way, then ran straight to the
old man, and crying out, “Father | Father!' just
threw his arms about his neck and cried so on his
shoulder that I really feared for him.
“I got them both into the parlor, and—well, you
may guess whether the scene was one for dry
eyes.
|


“Number 1523.” 181
“My patient was perfectly sane now ; acknow-
ledged with amazement his past hallucination, paid
me a handsome fee, and the three went off together;
nor have I seen them again from that day to this.
I was invited to Kate's wedding a year ago last
Christmas, but could n’t leave a patient in a violent
ward until it was over. Last winter the whole
family went abroad. There, my dear boy, you
have the whole story. Now give us your foot-
notes, if you can get your eyes down to their
natural size again.”
I told Dick what I knew of the case, and he
agreed with me that it was, all in all, one of the
most curious on record. It fairly makes me giddy
to try to trace the involutions of the double self-
deception of young “Hastings,” as he called him-
self in the manuscript. All 's well that ends well,
and my friend Dick may congratulate himself on
having averted a fearful crisis and restored happi-
ness to a most worthy young man and his bride.
Such was the story of the manuscript entitled
“No. 1523.” Radson read it to me in his office,
as I have said, and I have tried to give his com-
ments in his own language, which, it must be con-
fessed, was apt to be a little stilted and “ editorial.”
When he had finished his story and taken his feet
down, he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.


182 The Head of Pasht.
“Now, Graham,” said he, “there 's just one
suggestion I want to make. Is it possible that the
doctor himself was deceived by a skilful piece of
acting, and that it was not the real son, after all 7”
I must leave the problem with my readers.


CHAPTER XIII.
A SIDE TRIP.
UTUMN passed, month by month, and I was
as far as ever from my goal — the vindication
and the liberation of John Graham. I haunted the
Public Library, and spent all my spare hours in
reading books of Egyptian history, travel, and de-
scription; but nowhere did I see any reference to
the button with the head of Pasht. Nor could I
find much information in regard to the goddess her-
self, save that she was chiefly worshipped in the
long-buried city of Bubastis, and was usually repre-
sented with the head of a lioness or a cat.
The learned gentleman to whom I had shown the
button, and who had kindly translated the inscrip-
tion for me, was an eccentric character, noted not
only for his erudition in matters pertaining to an-
cient and modern Egypt, but for his wealth and his
marvellous collection of curiosities. His private
museum of scarabs, mummies, and all sorts of an-
tiques from the Nile country was only surpassed by
that of the Smithsonian at Washington and per-
haps two others in the United States. Students and
183


I 86 The Head of Pasht.
on Wednesday,” he said, “ and have no bank de-
falcations, nor political meetings, nor fires, nor rows
of any kind, I may get off. Thanksgiving assign-
ments are easy — they won't need me for that sort
of work. It 's the fine touches I'm saved for ”
It was a clear, cold morning in the last week of
November when we assembled (all except Larkin)
at the railroad station. Barney's face was full of
suppressed glee, for he remembered the hospitality
of the farm; nor, to do him justice, did he forget
the kind hearts of his hosts and the bright face and
sunny curls of the little girl he had pulled from the
water. We all were sorry for the absence of the
jolly young reporter, but we still hoped he would
join us at the farm in season for the Dinner. The
English lassie was looking her prettiest this morn-
ing, and as I watched her sparkling eyes and glow-
ing face I confess I admitted to myself that there
were compensations even for the non-appearance of
Larkin.
The air had a sharpness in it that presaged snow,
although the skies were blue and the sunshine came
down in misty shafts through the great train-house
as we clambered, joking and laughing, aboard our
car. Hardly had the wheels begun to move when in
came Fred, at the top of his speed, as usual.
“Come out of this!” he cried. “I 've engaged
seats for the whole crowd in the Pullman :


A Side Trip. 187
“What does the man mean " '' exclaimed Aunt
Salvation. “I never rode in a palace car yet, and
* >
I 'm not going to be so extravagant
“My treat, ma'am, if you please,” interrupted
Fred, taking off his hat with a low bow. “This is
my small contribution to the entertainment of the
party. Besides, my constitution is so delicate that
I really can't ride in a common, every-day car.
Permit me!”— and he offered his arm to my aunt.
Of course he had his way, and we trooped after
him, bag and baggage, into the Pullman, where the
generous young fellow had secured for us the very
best seats in the car. It was five hours' ride to
Oakfield, and jolly hours they were. Fred plied
Miss Salvation with pop-corn and gaudy illustrated
papers until we were weak with laughter; jumped
off at every other station and drove the railroad
officials to the verge of distraction with questions;
chaffed the newsboy, became confidential with the
conductor, and, in general, behaved (as Aunt Salvy
said) like a boy out of school.
We were well along in our journey when some one
called attention to the gloomy skies. The sun, in-
deed, had disappeared, and the massing of heavy,
cold-gray clouds promised a storm. Soon a few
starry flakes began to tick against the windows, as
we stopped at a small country station, and ten
minutes later the snow was falling in good earnest.


I 88 The Head of Pasht.
Since childhood, snow has possessed an intense
fascination for me, and no picture is so delightful as
that of a wild blur of white flakes driving athwart a
background of evergreens. I gazed out of the win-
dow in a gladness of heart that would have been
almost perfect had I not remembered my poor father
toiling at his regular tasks, or in his lonely cell, now
working feebly with his thin fingers, now pacing to
and fro, hoping against hope.
Alice must have divined my thoughts, for she
tried to distract my attention and cheer me up by
anecdotes of her own childhood and the dangerous
storms that sometimes swept the Devonshire up-
lands in winter. She told us of two small boys of
her acquaintance who once went “St. Thomasing,”
that is, visiting the neighboring farms on St.
Thomas's Day (December 20th), and asking
x - 1
“Thomas's gifts. These were usually pieces of
ginger-bread and cheese, with sometimes a few half-
pence. The little fellows were caught by a heavy
storm on a high piece of moorland with which they
were perfectly familiar in fair weather, and were
compelled to stay out all night, half frozen and
allaying the pangs of hunger by nibbling at the
cakes they had collected. They were found next
day nearly dead from the exposure, but recovered.
* See Rev. J. C. Atkinson's Forty Years in a Moorland Parish,
page 379.-E.D.


190 The Head of Pasht.
landscape made the city boy lonely, and he drew
closer to me as the train rumbled on through the
thickening storm. -
At last the conductor called out, “Oakfield !
Oakfield !” and, gathering up our bundles, we
scrambled out upon the platform of the depot,
where we found Uncle Ise waiting for us with both
hands outstretched in welcome.
“Glad to see ye! Glad to see ye!” he
cried. “Too bad ye hed to hev a storm to come
through 1'.'
“Oh, we like it!” exclaimed Alice, with a merry
laugh. “It was very nice of you to dress the
country in white for us, Mr. Stapleton ’’
The big three-seated sleigh was close at hand, and
Uncle Ise bundled us up almost out of sight in
buffalo robes when we had taken our places. Bar-
ney was permitted to sit in front with the driver,
where he could see the horses, and Alice won Uncle
Ise's heart by pleading for the same privilege. The
rest of us occupied the body of the sleigh, Fred
riding backward.
How those horses did go! Their load seemed
but a feather's weight as they trotted up-hill and
down with a clatter of harness and now and then a
snort as the snowflakes tickled their velvet noses.
Uncle Ise, who of course held the reins, pointed
out the various objects of interest along the road,


A Side Trip. I9 I
so far as they were visible through the storm, and
with gay laughter and talk the distance was soon
measured and we were deposited on the front porch
of the farmhouse.
Tom was on hand, to take care of the horses, and
with a great stamping of feet and exchange of greet-
ings we were ushered in. Mintie threw herself into
my arms and kissed me heartily, but she was shy
with Barney and shook hands with great demure-
ness, while that young man blushed and seemed
quite deprived, for the moment, of his usual sang-
froid. Mrs. Stapleton, good soul, made us all “at
home '' in three minutes.
“Come right into the settin'-room,” she said,
“an' draw up to the fire. Lay off your things,
now do, Miss Bent—I've heerd all about you"—
and she bustled about, making us as comfortable as
possible.
There was a bright fire blazing in a wide, old-
fashioned fireplace in the sitting-room, for Uncle Ise
was one of the few New England farmers who re-
fused to shut out, or in, the blazing centre of home
“ air-tight.” Al-
though it was still early in the afternoon, the storm
made a twilight of its own, and the glow of firelight
upon the merry circle, the quaint old walls and
furniture, and the frosted panes, were cozy in the
comfort and depend upon an
extreme.


I 92 The Head of Pasht.
After supper we gathered in the same room for a
jolly evening together. The storm was now at its
height, and roared among the branches of the
ancient elms and down the black chimney until
little Mintie, who had been allowed to postpone her
regular bedtime hour, climbed into my lap and
nestled her curly head down on my shoulder.
Somebody suggested stories, and Uncle Ise vol-
unteered an account of a bear-hunt which had taken
place in the neighborhood not many years before.
The little girl's sigh of relief when old Bruin (who,
it seemed, was a notorious sheep-stealer) was done
for, was eloquent. Larkin, on being urged by me,
in spite of his reproachful looks, now sang a very
good song. It was rather sentimental,—something
about ‘‘meadows and shadows,” and “blisses and
kisses,”—but was well received and the singer ap-
plauded to the echo. Barney contributed to the
entertainment a cake-walk, just then very popular
in the vaudeville theatres of the city, and brought
down the house by his ludicrous gestures.
It was really Mintie's bedtime now, but before she
went she was prevailed upon by her mother to recite
a little poem which she was learning for a coming
Christmas festival at her Sunday-school. As it may
be new to some of my readers, I will print it here,
from the copy Mrs. Stapleton afterward gave
IIl C.


A Side Trip. I93
“CHRISTMAS.
‘‘ O'er the fields of Bethlehem
Wintry stars were shining bright;
Little lambs were fast asleep,
Just as I am, every night.
“Then a great light shone around,
Voices came from heaven, too;
All the lambs were so afraid—
I guess I’d be—would n't you?
“But the angels only told
Of a strange and lovely thing,
Of a Babe in Bethlehem—
I wish I could hear them sing !
““Fear not In...a manger lies
Christ the Lord ' ' the angels say.
That is what dear Christmas means,—
Christ was born on Christmas Day.”
Dear child ! I can see her now, standing there in
the firelight, with her little hands clasped behind
her and her curls falling over her shoulders; and
can hear her voice, with just a trifle of lisp, repeat-
ing the words: “I wish I could hear them sing !”
The recitation over, her demure face broke into
smiles of relief, and, running around the half-circle,
she kissed us all good-night—even Barney, who sat
motionless for two full minutes after the touch of
the innocent baby lips upon his freckled cheek.
While Mrs. Stapleton was putting the little girl
to bed upstairs, Alice seated herself at an old piano
and sang Ben Bolt so sweetly that we forgot even
13


I 94 The Head of Pasht.
the jangling discords of the ancient strings. If I
thought to myself that Mintie might have had her
wish gratified by remaining down a few minutes
longer, I must be forgiven, for I was young, and
Alice was pretty, and the whole scene was like a
chapter out of a book.
My meditations were interrupted by the return of
my hostess, and there arose an insistent demand for
a story from me, as the representative of literature!
I tried to make excuses and said, very truly, that I
could not remember any good story, when my de-
fences were broken down by an enemy within the
camp. It was Aunt Salvy, who looked at me keenly
through her spectacles and asked me if I had n’t
told her I was going to take my latest manuscript
along with me, to review and add final touches on
the journey. I had to confess that this was true
and that the said manuscript was in my carpet-bag
in the little attic room allotted to Larkin and
myself.
“I’ll get it!” exclaimed Fred, with the appear-
ance of great self-denial and generosity; and before
I could stop him he was half-way upstairs.
After all, it may do no harm to tell the story
over again, as it has a sort of “detective ’’ atmos-
phere, although, it is needless to remark, it is quite
outside the thread of my narrative. “Found at
Last,” then, shall have a chapter to itself.


CHAPTER XIV.
FOUND AT LAST.
IFTY years ago the present thriving city which
we will disguise under the name of Mooseville,
in one of the southern counties of Maine, was a
small but pleasant country village of about four
hundred inhabitants. -
Where the National Bank now stands there was a
modest little meeting-house, painted an appropriate
white and with the point of its brazen vane beckon-
ing people from all directions toward itself and the
blue sky above.
It was a part of the irony of fate that when the
church was struck by lightning and burned to the
ground it was decided to sell the lot, which had
grown extremely valuable, for building purposes;
and shortly thereafter arose upon its ruins the busy
home of gold and silver that now displays its portly
sign over the door. Perhaps the new building is
symbolic of the change that has gradually crept
over the inhabitants, who, as it were, have thrown
down their altar and set up the image of Mammon
in its stead. -
I95


196 The Head of Pasht.
This conclusion, however, may be but an out-
growth of the popular spirit which decries modern
institutions and loves to dwell on the “good old
times.” It may be that God is as truly wor-
shipped in the bank as in the white meeting-
house, although it must be confessed that our
natural inclinations, as well as experience, lead to
the opposite belief.
At the time of which I speak there was one broad
street through the centre of the village, turning at a
sharp angle, when it passed the church, as if it were
silently embracing the best friend of progress and
civilization. On the south side of the road were
two stores, one of which included the post-office and
a building which was occupied in part by the lawyer
and in part by a curious association which has much
to do with the strange story I am about to relate.
Among the earliest settlers of Mooseville was one
of those quiet, contemplative men who spend their
lives for the most part in their own gardens and
generally give to the world, as the outcome of long
years of reflection and observation, one small volume
of scattered notes, cramped and narrowed in spirit
by the strait bounds of their daily existence, but
extremely valuable to investigators of natural his-
tory. Any one who has not already read the book
can find the perfect type of this class in White of
Selborne.


Found at Last. I 97
Driven from England by the turmoil and persecu-
tion of his time, our dreamy emigrant found his way
to the little clearing which had already gained a
name for itself and which resounded daily with the
crash of falling trees, the shouts of men at work,
and the merry laughter of children. He at once
settled here with his family and established the
same habits which had made life in the home
country so serenely pleasant. Every day he added,
in his firm, careful penmanship, half a page or more
to the journal which he fancied should some day
make him famous. The chief result of his labors
was, however, that he left the spirit of inquiry and
investigation among his successors, so that long after
his death the “ Mooseville Scientific Association ''
was formed and carried on with intense enthusiasm,
holding meetings on the birthdays of him whom the
members regarded in somewhat the light of a patron
saint, and bringing out, from time to time, extracts
from his journals, as if they were hoarded gold.
Of late years, however, the interest in the “M.
S. A.” had decreased and its monthly gatherings
were more thinly attended, until only six or eight
old weazen-faced men were wont to make their way
along the muddy streets on the familiar evening
and, turning the rusty key with some difficulty,
gather about the glass case which contained the col-
lection, the ancient pride of the society.


198 The Head of Pasht.
It was a bright, clear evening in November when
the faithful few were thus met to commemorate the
one hundredth anniversary of the birthday of their
founder. The room in which the meeting was
held, and the rent of which now constituted the
only expense of the association, was about ten feet
square and so low studded that one involuntarily
stooped when he entered. Perhaps it was this fact
which gave an habitual crook to the backs of these
feeble followers of science. To-night they sat
around a small, air-tight stove, trying to warm the
blood in their thin old hands and croaking together
of the past. After a while, one of them rose slowly
and stiffly, took down a black-covered volume of
manuscript from the shelf overhead and, having
blown a cloud of dust from its top, turned the yel-
low and crackling pages in a mechanical way until
he reached a portion of the cast-off skin of a black
snake, which had been placed there a year ago as a
book-mark. Resuming his seat and adjusting his
spectacles, he began to read. Outside, the moon
was shining brightly and now and then a gay sleigh-
ing party swept by with a jingle of bells and shouts
of happy young laughter; but these men, like the
crumbling fossils in the case at their side, were
buried in the past. The white snake-scales glistened
in the flickering candle-light and the dry, wheezy
voice of the old man was well-nigh, lost in the
||
|


Found at Last. I 99
moaning of the wind around the frosty panes and
down the narrow chimney, when the company were
startled by a smart knock at the door, followed by
a clear, boyish voice begging admittance.
The reader looked up over his spectacles with a
frown, and would have discountenanced any reply
to the summons, had it not been repeated more
vigorously than before.
While the corresponding secretary, who, being
only seventy years old, is allowed to run errands
and perform other duties requiring activity and
youth, is rising and hobbling to the door, we shall
have time enough for a glance at another story
which is being told, only a few rods away.
“Hagar, I love you ! I love you!”
The young girl thus impetuously addressed turns
away her face, thereby throwing over it the shade
of her wide bonnet, like a veil.
“Hagar, do you hear—do you understand 2 ”
“Of course I do, John,” she answers petulantly,
with nevertheless a sly glance at her lover. “But
—but » 2
“Well ?”
“What use is it ”
“What use 7" he repeats the words mechani-
cally.
“You know perfectly well, as I 've often told
you, that I like you well enough. There—I 'm


2OO The Head of Pasht.
glad you 're the other side of the gate! But if I
ever marry anybody, it will be a man who has done
something in the world.”
“You know, Hagar Boynton, how I have worked
the last two years to make the farm fit for you and
me to live on. There was the hay—— ”
“Oh, the hay !” she broke in, with a bitter tone
she could not conceal; “yes, and the turnips, and
the potatoes, and the hogs! I tell you, I'm tired
of it all! There 's Ernest Petersen, now ; he will
make his mark and amount to something!”
She stopped, warned by a look in the young
man's face that told her she was going too far—if,
indeed, she had not already taken the one step be-
yond what he could bear.
“Hagar,” he said solemnly, “if that 's what
your mind is set on : if that 's the kind of a husband
you want, you may go your own way. I shall keep
to the farm. Good-by.” And he was gone.
She stood there, shivering in the keen air and
listening as the last sounds of his footsteps on the
crisp, new-frozen ice died away. Then, dimly real-
izing the desolation of life before her, she turned
and went within doors.
If she had stayed two minutes longer she would
have been startled by a confusion of voices, all
eagerly and excitedly discussing some subject of
general interest in the vicinity of the Squire's law
i
.*


Found at Last. 2O I
office. When the scientific door of the little Natural
History room had been opened by the secretary he
had been astonished at the unusual spectacle of a
dozen men and boys gathered in front of the build-
ing and evidently bent upon a hearing.
In a cracked, yet dignified voice, he demanded
their errand. Taking this as an invitation, they
thereupon all filed in, almost overthrowing the
small, bent figure that stanchly kept its post as
doorkeeper. The sudden advent and presence of
these visitors may be compared to the discovery,
with lanterns and torches, of a nest of aged owls
who had assembled at midnight in some hollow
tree to maintain by mere proximity to one another
that character for exalted wisdom which was no
longer accredited to them outside of their own set.
The life members sat there helplessly blinking in
presence of the hearty animal life of the newcomers,
and withal showed a decided inclination to scratch.
The president tightly clutched the revered records
and journal, while the strange book-mark fluttered
unseen to the floor, where it was more at home.
“What—what is the cause of this unseemly dis-
turbance of our annual meeting 7" stammered the
secretary at length, edging his way through the
crowd to his former seat.
Two or three voices spoke at once.
‘‘ Tracks.”


2O2 The Head of Pasht.
“A strange animal.”
“An unknown creature.”
A light glittered in the eye of the president as he
gravely rose and raised his hand for silence.
“This is important,” he muttered. “Mr. Secre-
tary, take notes, if you please. Now, my young
friends, one at a time, you may proceed.”
In no spirit of scoffing, but with unmistakable
sincerity and concern in their voices, the visitors
related that which had brought them hither in hot
haste, if not alarm. They had planned a coasting
party that evening and, having met by appoint-
ment, had walked to a certain hill about half a mile
away, where one side sloped steeply and evenly
down to a small pond, now frozen over, thus afford-
ing a continuous course for their sleds of nearly a
quarter of a mile, without an intervening tree or
bush. On the other side, the hill was encumbered
with huge boulders and clumps of wild shrubbery
until it reached the black line of forest which skirted
the village on the north and east and extended to
the Canada line, three hundred miles away. The
wood at this point was largely composed of cedars,
forming an almost impenetrable thicket, and was
safely inhabited by foxes and all sorts of smaller
game, with now and then a bear. The ground
beneath was swampy and considered extremely
dangerous.
|


Found at Last. 2O3
As the party passed through the open field, the
breeze was full in their backs, but in spite of this
they all halted with one accord as they plainly
heard a hoarse, long-drawn sigh, deep and guttural,
coming apparently from just beyond the brow of
the hill.
This sound was followed by a crackling of bushes
and crunching of the snowy crust. Some of the
younger of the party had proposed to return at
once; but their big brothers were not to be scared
by mere noise and sturdily marched on to the
Summit.
Then they, too, turned pale and started back a
little. There, plain as if drawn with pen and ink
on a scientific chart, were the tracks of some huge
creature, leading directly to the edge of the forest,
when they disappeared.
The members of the Mooseville Association shook,
in their eagerness, as if with the palsy. Some
glorious addition to the fauna of America was
about to be discovered. Their society would wear
laurels and be the table-talk of learned Europe.
How many monographs would be written upon this
monster! What works with colored plates repre-
senting It in every position | What crowds from all
parts of the world to behold It when, in a grand
building erected for the purpose, they should ex-
hibit Its stuffed form, or at least Its skeleton


2O4 The Head of Pasht.
Perhaps It was some enormous Mastodonsaurus or
Megatherium, wandering companionless among its
pigmy successors.
“What were the shape and dimensions of the
tracks 2 '' -
“About eighteen inches across four toes, plainly
defined, with a mark behind, which might indicate
a sort of spur or appendage to the heel.”
To make further investigations that night was im-
possible. But not one of those Associates closed
his aged eyes until daylight dawned.
The effect of the announcement of the discovery
the next morning was various. Some sneered at
the whole affair, some shrewdly scented a practical
joke, some (and among this number was John Mark-
land, who had been betrothed to Hagar) paid little
attention to the rumors that were afloat with early
dawn, but went soberly about their business, as if
nothing had happened. As is often the case, how-
ever, in a quiet community like this, the greater
part of the people believed every item of the story
and were swept out of the peaceful tenor of their
lives by the novel sensation of excitement. Large
numbers visited the scene and saw with their own
eyes the mysterious footprints of another age. To
be sure, the marks of the toes were not so distinct
as they had been described; but, as was clearly
pointed out by one young fellow who was among


Found at Last. 2O5
the foremost of the investigators, the snow had
blown in upon the tracks during the night, and so
blurred the outlines.
Before noon a hunting party was organized and,
headed by the same leader, who was no other than
the Ernest Petersen before alluded to, entered the
forest, a well-armed body of men, fifty strong. Be-
sides guns and cudgels, several were provided with
stout ropes, and one man even carried a peck of
apples, to pacify the brute, in case they should cap-
ture him alive.
Their search, however, was fruitless. Freshly
broken branches were found here and there, as well
as several places where the bushes were beaten
down flat. These signs, however, only afforded a
handle for the sceptical to lay hold upon to laugh
to scorn the whole undertaking.
“The branches were broken by the high wind,”
they said, “ and the bushes were doubtless crushed
by Farmer Johnston's cow, who strayed away last
week and was overtaken by the snow. You are
following a delusion.”
Opposition and ridicule, however, but stimulated
the enthusiasts to greater effort. Several fine
sketches of the tracks were made and framed at the
expense of the Scientific Association, which now
seemed to have reached a second Golden Age. The
membership increased to thirty, and they held their


2O6 The Head of Pasht.
meetings in the Town Hall every week. One real
benefit sprang from the agitation, and that was the
interest in natural history which pervaded the whole
community. Books on this subject were sent for,
and by Christmas time a small public library was
started in the Association rooms. There were
some of these latter-day members, however, who
never wavered from the original object of their
search. Of these the most visionary was Ernest
Petersen. By day he would wander, gun in hand,
through the pathless forest, to return at night
empty-handed but not discouraged. The long win-
ter evenings he passed for the most part at the home
of Hagar Boynton, who, with a dull ache at her
heart, and notwithstanding a feverish longing for
Ernest to make a shining mark before the world and
before John, looked with dismay upon his growing
mania in this search, which she could not but believe
to be futile. Markland meanwhile kept quietly at
home, and oftentimes Hagar passed the neat white
house with a sigh, as she remembered his honest,
manly words and his hard work for her.
“Hagar,” Ernest would say, as he entered her
house in the early evening and grasped her hand
nervously, “I 'm sure to find It soon. I came
upon a new track of land to-day, where the trees
were worn and the bark gashed far above the
ground. I am confident that It is yet concealed in


2O8 The Head of Pasht.
home every day. This thing you are following is
as yet a mere vision. I fear it will prove a terrible
chimera.”
Sometimes he would fling himself out of the
house upon this; sometimes would look weakly
and piteously in her face, as if she had struck him.
In either case, she saw that her remonstrance was
idle.
Gradually the primal excitement died away in the
village; the townspeople returned to their various
occupations, and the course of their life ran, if not
as smoothly, perhaps more deeply and powerfully
than before.
Haggard and dreamy-eyed, Ernest Petersen spent
his days among dusty volumes of Latin genera and
species, or in tramping to and fro with his gun upon
his shoulder.
One Sunday afternoon in April, while the fields
were yet covered with snow, the aged secretary of
the Association, with his little grandson, turned
his steps toward the hillside which had now be-
come so familiar. The boy, dancing along over the
soft winter fleece, with an empty basket upon his
arm, presented a beautiful contrast to the aged man,
who slowly and painfully made his way along the
well-worn path. When they reached the top of the
hill, the little fellow, heedless of the strange tales
connected with the spot, fairly shouted for delight


Found at Last. 2O9
as the sunlight sparkled on the snow and the sweet
breath of coming spring tossed his long, light curls
about his face. In an ecstasy of childish joy, he
threw the basket into the air. It was caught by
the wind and borne down the long slope toward the
woods, while the boy laughed and clapped his hands
to see its absurd bounds from hillock to hillock.
“See, Grandpa,” he cried, “it hops like a great
toad ' '’
The old man started and looked after the awkward,
leaping thing as it was whirled over the wall and out
of sight. Suddenly he began to tremble. The
child lifted his face inquiringly and followed his
grandfather's gaze to the snowy surface before
them.
“Why, Grandpa, what a queer track it has made,
has n't it . It looks just as if it had toes! And
there 's where the handle brushed along after it!”
Without a word the old man, breathing hurriedly,
followed the scars to the wall. There lay the basket,
as it had fallen, and there beside it – yes, there,
uncovered by the melting drifts, was the soiled and
soaked wreck of its very duplicate, evidently cast
aside by some passing farmer on his road to town,
and blown, perhaps after weeks or months had
passed, to this spot, leaving the mysterious tracks
on its way.
The ridiculous and the sublime, the farce and the
I4


2 IO The Head of Pasht.
funeral, are very close together. The next day the
village bell tolled, forenoon and afternoon — once
for the death of the aged president of the Moose-
ville Scientific Association and again for the youth-
ful enthusiast. The sudden revulsion of feeling,
the crushing disappointment, the destruction of
their gigantic hopes, had snapped the slender cords
that held together in each a morbidly strained spirit
and a fragile body.
The bell might have tolled a third time for the
decease of the Association itself. When the story
of the basket and its explanation of the winter's
mystery became known, the charmed circle of natu-
ralists by silent consent broke up forever. The
collection of books and specimens was sold to the
town, in which they may be seen by the curious, at
any time between two and four in the afternoon, to
this day. Among them are some odd tracings on
paper, cream-tinted with age, which have been
labelled within a year or two:
“Fossil footprints of the Mastodonsaurus; drawn
from specimens obtained in the Connecticut Valley.”
You can guess the modern mistake—they are the
tracks of the basket monster.
My story would be incomplete without one picture
which, I trust, may throw a light, like that of a soft
but not brilliant sunset, over the whole, with the
parting view.


Found at Last. 2 II
A young man, bronzed with labor in the hay-field,
his hands roughened by toil and exposure, stands
beside a quiet, serious-faced young girl just as twi-
light gathers over the village street, with its wide,
grassy borders and drooping elms. So sweet, so
grave are the eyes that are raised to his, that you
would hardly recognize Hagar Boynton, though you
could not but know the manly outlines of the other
at once. Yes, it is the old story again. Of course,
John ought to have maintained a dignified reserve
and remained single until death, while she led a
fashionable and unhappy life in a neighboring city. '
But it did n’t happen so at all.
Here they are again, talking happily and peace-
fully, with his hands holding hers in a very telltale
way that certain people have — and the gate is no
longer between them


CHAPTER XV.
THANKSGIVING DAY AT OAKFIELD.
N the morning of Thanksgiving Day I awoke
before the sun was up, but the patch of rosy
sky which was visible through the small window-
panes, or that portion of them not frosted over,
foretold fair weather. It was intensely cold, and
Fred and I were glad to hurry our dressing and
join the family downstairs. They had long been
astir, and as we entered the kitchen Uncle Ise came
stamping in from the barn, where, assisted by Tom,
he had been attending to the comfort of the im-
prisoned cows, horses, and pigs.
“Sharp day! Sharp day!” he said, in his jovial
way, as he pulled off his mittens and joined the
group around the range. “Wind 's backed 'round
the wrong way, an' I should n’t wonder ef we hed
more snow afore night. Hello, Baby! up already ?”
This last to Mintie, who came in with a dance and
a skip, fresh from the long, sweet sleep of childhood.
“I 'm going to shovel a path,” she announced
gleefully. “May I, Grandpa ''
“I guess you 'll do pretty much anything you
2I2


Thanksgiving Day at Oakfield. 213
like,” laughed the old farmer, tumbling her locks.
“Maybe you 'll let Tom an' me help ye a little
There 's consid’able shovelin' to do 'fore noon.”
At this, the rest of us—that is, Fred, Barney, and
I—volunteered, and the shovel brigade was com-
plete.
We had our breakfast in the kitchen, and a right
good meal it was, with Mrs. Stapleton's smoking
biscuit, fried ham and eggs, flapjacks, and coffee.
As soon as it was over, Uncle Ise pushed back his
chair and announced, “We gen’ally go to meeting
Thanksgiving Day, but, as the roads are so heavy,
your Aunt Mary an' I thought we might 's well
give it up to-day an' jest hev prayers right in our
own house. The meetin'-house is two mile an' a
half from here.”
He led the way into the “living-room,” and,
when we all were seated, took the old family Bible
in his lap and read the one hundred and third psalm
with much solemnity and feeling. Then we knelt,
at our chairs, and the good old man poured forth
his prayer of praise and gratitude in homely lan-
guage, but with a sincerity and earnestness that
found an echo in my heart and, I believe, helped
every one of us. The little service concluded with
a hymn, Alice leading us all with her sweet voice,
with which Fred's tenor and Mintie's childish tones
blended exquisitely.


2I4 The Head of Pasht.
“Now,” said Uncle Ise, as Alice turned from the
piano, “we must do some solid work. You boys
[looking at Fred, Barney, and me] need n’t take
hold unless you want to—— ”
“Count us in " '' interrupted Fred. “I am some-
thing of a newspaper man, in a small way, and
Archie, here, can find out a criminal once in a
while; but it 's nothing to what we can do with a
shovel and broom. Come on, Arch! Come, Midget
[to Mintie], we depend on you!” And he gave
the little girl a toss up to the ceiling, which was
not far above his head.
Well, it was, indeed, work, and our backs ached
before we had been at it half an hour. A strong
wind was still blowing from the north and, with
the gray, streaky look of the sky, bid fair to make
good the old man's prediction. The dry snow flew
far and wide as each shovelful was hurled aside, and
it drifted into our path and made our faces tingle.
Fred worked like a rotary snow-plough; and the
little girl, with screams of delight, cleared at least a
square yard of path toward the road.
On reaching the barn, we went in a few minutes
for a rest. What a great, shadowy, fragrant cave
it was smelling of hay and cows and a dozen other
good things. In their snug domain the hens were
gravely moving about, picking up invisible things
* *
from the floor and “prating '' softly. Two cows


Thanksgiving Day at Oakfield. 215
lifted their heads and let their cuds rest a moment
as we entered, while the horses whinnied to Uncle
Ise and were rewarded by a fresh handful of oats
apiece and a pat on their glossy necks. Now and
then the wind would rise in a heavier gust than
usual and roar about the corners of the old build-
ings, while a puff of snow would come sifting in
through some tiny crack and, glistening in the ray
of cold sunlight a moment, vanish like mist. There
was a steady, soft undertone, the sound of cattle
at their fodder, with the occasional stamp of a
heavy hoof or a rattle of horns upon stanchions;
and the long-drawn, interrogative notes of the
poultry.
While we were in the barn Alice came out, bundled
to the ears, and stayed a few minutes enjoying the
comfortable sounds and sights. They reminded her
of her English country life, she said, with her eyes
shining; and she patted the horses and stroked the
calm foreheads of the oxen as they gazed at her in
mild wonder over their cribs.
Of course, the great triumph of the day was the
Dinner. You need not be told that there was a
huge turkey, flanked with heaps of vegetables,
and appetizing cranberry sauce; pumpkin, mince,
and apple pies, and plum pudding. Uncle Ise and
“Aunt Mary'' were in their element, as was Fred
Larkin, who had the table in a gale of laughter one


Thanksgiving Day at Oakfield. 217
northwest wind blowing. By ten o'clock the roads
in all directions were well broken out and, although
our warm-hearted hosts pressed us to stay, they
admitted reluctantly that we should have no trouble
in driving to the station in time for the afternoon
train to the city. Accordingly, we bade them all
good-by, and as our sleigh started down the road
the last face I saw was little Mintie's, pressed close
to the pane, her hands waving vigorously. Seven
hours later, the train being slightly behind time, we
were in our own homes.


CHAPTER XVI.
A MEMORABLE CRIME.
WO days after my return from Oakfield, I re-
ceived a note from Mr. Hardweather, request-
ing me to come to him at once. I obeyed the
summons and found the old gentleman at his home,
walking up and down the room in great distress of
mind.
“I 'm glad you ’ve come, Mr. Graham : I 'm
glad you 've come!” he broke out the minute he
saw me. “I’ve suffered a great loss, and I look
to you to help me.”
His pale face and the trembling hand which seized
mine were enough to denote the importance of the
affair on which he had called me.
“I have been robbed' " he gasped, as soon as I
had taken my seat. “My gilded mummy mask,
the alabaster Venus, two mummied cats and a
crocodile, the Coptic vase, a dozen small articles in
wood and ivory, a papyrus of Queen Ramaka, more
than twenty beautiful scarabs, with invaluable car-
touches, and, worst of all, my bronze statuette of
Pasht, that cost me a hundred pounds sterling and
218


A Memorable Crime. 219
was simply unequalled anywhere outside of the
Museum of Gizeh-all gone! Vanished in a night!”
He fairly wrung his hands in agony and looked ten
years older than when I had last seen him.
I remembered distinctly the statuette to which he
referred. It represented Pasht standing in the form
of a woman, with a cat's head, wearing a long robe
and holding in her hands a basket. At her feet
were four crouching kittens.
As soon as I could, I got at the main facts of the
robbery.
“I was spending a day or two in New York,” the
wealthy collector explained, “attending the meet-
ings of a scientific society. Yesterday afternoon I
received a despatch telling me of my loss, and on
arriving this morning, found my cabinets forced
open and the choicest treasures of the collection
stolen.”
I asked the usual questions. No; it was idle to
suspect any one in the house. There were three
servants — a housekeeper, who had been in the
family service for nearly forty years; an outside
man, of stanch honesty and faithfulness, and a sort
of janitor, whose special duty it was to look after
the museum.
-There had been a large fire down-town, it seemed,
and the outside man, a bluff, frank-faced Irishman,
had gone to it that afternoon, leaving the house for


22O The Head of Pasht.
two or three hours in charge of the housekeeper,
Mrs. Wood. The keeper was visiting his mother in
the suburbs and did not return until night. At
some time between two and six the house was
entered and robbed.
I examined the premises carefully and was shown
the window where it was supposed the thief entered.
It gave upon the back yard, which had beyond it
an alley, running between it and the rear of the
houses on the next street.
It seemed impossible that in broad daylight any
one could climb into that window, accessible as it
was from the wooden fence of the yard, without
being discovered by the occupants of those houses.
The window, I learned, was usually protected by
an iron grating, which, however, had been tempo-
rarily removed for repainting. I shrugged my
shoulders at the carelessness of leaving the house
at the mercy of thieves, but Mr. Hardweather said
he had expected the grating to be replaced that
night; and, furthermore, the thought of robbery
had not occurred to him. If he had boasted a dis-
play of silver, or had the reputation of carrying gold
coin in his family safe, it would have been different.
“One hardly expects to have mummies and dried
crocodiles stolen,” he said, with a faint smile.
Begging a half-hour's leave of absence, I now made
a thorough canvass of the houses whose windows


A Memorable Crime. 22 I
commanded the scene of the robbery, and was
rewarded by finding an old lady who had actually
seen the thief climb in at the window. She sup-
posed him to be in the employ of the painter who
had been working at the grating, and did not take
particular note of his looks, beyond the fact that he
was dark. She took him for a ‘
said.
Nobody had seen the burglar escape with his
‘mulatter,” she
booty; but as the housekeeper was on the fourth
floor, in a front room, and as ash-carts and grocer's
teams often passed through the alley, pausing at
the various gates to receive or deliver, nothing was
more simple than for the thief to take out his booty
in a bag, with his pockets full of the smaller
articles.
I returned to Mr. Hardweather and we made as
complete a list as possible of the stolen goods. It
is hard to appraise curios, but twenty-five thousand
dollars would perhaps represent their fair value. It
would have cost more than that to replace such as
could be duplicated; most of them were, from their
very nature, unique.
In examining his cabinets more minutely than
before, for the preparation of this list, Mr. Hard-
weather called my attention to the fact that the
thief had culled out, from accident or design, nearly
every representation in bronze, wood, ivory, or


222 The Head of Pasht.
lapis lazuli of Sekhet, or Pasht, the bronze statu-
ette, before alluded to, being the gem of the collec-
tion.
“And that,” said the owner hurriedly, “re-
minds me of your button. Yes, it is gone with the
rest. I'm heartily sorry for that, Mr. Graham.”
So my only clue to the Barnsworth affair, except
the golden hair, was lost! Fortunately, Fred Larkin
still had the duplicate which we had found near the
Dinsmore house; and in any case, I had studied the
little piece of metal so thoroughly that I knew every
line and character upon it, even to the shape of the
Arabic letters.
The recollection of the
Larkin put an idea into my head which, once
lodged, would not leave me. Could it be possible
that the thief was that same Toscani who had
dogged our footsteps in Barnsworth and who knew
4 & > *
Dinsmore ” trip with
of my father's imprisonment 2 I struck my fist
upon the table and sprang to my feet.
“I believe I know my man!” I exclaimed.
“He always seemed an Oriental,—his name is partly
Egyptian, his history is in some way mixed with
the image of that lioness-headed goddess of yours.”
In a word, I told my friend what I knew of Ali
Toscani and my reasons for suspecting him.
“Stay!” said Mr. Hardweather. “Describe him
once more, as he looks now.”


A Memorable Crime. 223
I did so, to the best of my recollection.
“Then I may aid you in finding him. About a
month ago I was invited to a sort of stance given by
an Egyptian in Philadelphia. He told fortunes,
discovered hidden words, and performed wonderful
tricks, the success of which he attributed entirely
to the deep studies of his remote ancestors. He
traced his descent back to a priest living at Bubastis
in the twenty-second dynasty—”
“That explains his predilection for images of
Pasht !” I broke in, feeling now hot upon the scent.
“You told me her worship was chiefly carried on in
that city.”
“True, true! And I remember now that he wore
as a charm on his watch-guard a small carnelian
figure of Sekhet — that is, the lioness-headed god-
dess. I noticed it while he was reading, or pre-
tending to read, my mind. By the way, he called
himself by a curious name, which I have, unfortu-
nately, forgotten.”
I reflected a moment. Surely I had heard of this
soothsayer—yes, Larkin had told me of him, and
had expressed a natural wish to interview him,
should he ever come to our city.
“Was it Tamat 2 '' I ventured.
“Right !” rejoined Mr. Hardweather. “And,
bless me! why did n’t I think of it at the time 2
It 's the ancient Egyptian hieroglyph word for


A Memorable Crime. 225
said of his appearance and habits, I had little doubt
that I was on the right track.
The next day was occupied in finding the hack-
man who took the trunk away and the destination
of the message which had previously been sent by
the boy. The former was discovered without much
difficulty. The trunk (and passenger) had been
taken to the Northern Station, and checked for—
Colville Junction. It will be remembered that this
was the nearest point to Barnsworth on the railroad.
The messenger boy's book (and his verbal testi-
mony) showed that he had taken a sealed note to
an address in another part of the city; had found
that the addressee, whose name he had now forgot-
ten, no longer lived there; and had returned the
note to the sender, according to instructions. He
remembered a curious charm on the man's watch-
guard, although he did not notice its exact shape
or the material of which it was made. It was red-
dish in color. -
I took the train to Colville Junction and travelled
on by coach to Barnsworth. At neither place had
the stranger or his baggage been seen. The bag-
gage-master at the Junction was positive that no
such Passenger had left the cars at that station.
He would have remembered him and would have
had a record of his check.
in a Word, Ali, with his many aliases, had totally


A Memorable Crime. . 227
lodger. This little diversion over, our lives sub-
sided into their regular channels once more. I re-
member only one incident which seems worthy of
record, as illustrating the keenness of the detective
eye.
Heintz had been put on the trail of an escaped
prisoner. The man was, I believe, a defaulter,
serving a long sentence which had not more than
half expired when, doubtless with some outside as-
sistance, he made his escape. Sam followed him
through several large cities, and was looking for
him in the Grand Central Station, New York. I was
there myself, on business, and seeing at once that
the detective was after some wrongdoer, passed him
several times on the platform without open recogni-
tion. A good many people were walking up and
down, waiting for the Boston train to start. Among
others I noticed a quiet, gentlemanly looking man
of fifty or thereabouts, who seemed to have no
acquaintance in the crowd, but contented himself
with strolling to and fro, never far away from the
cars, idly watching the passers-by. Just as the
train started he boarded it, and at the same time
Sam jumped on the step, close behind him. Fol-
lowing suit on the next car (for I, too, was home-
ward bound), I passed in at the door, curious to
learn from Heintz what he had been doing in New
York.


A Memorable Crime. 229
I saw him. In three minutes more I felt sure I had
my man before me.”
“Well, what was it 7”
“He walked up and down, back and forth, in a
track just about a yard wide and eight feet long;
back and forth, always turning sharply at the end
of five short steps.”
“Yes P’’
“That was the length of his cell at the X. prison.
That was the way he had walked, night after night,
during the last five years, Archie. He was well dis-
guised, as you say; but he forgot to extend his
walk beyond the limits he had so long been used
to. At the tenth turn I knew my hunt was
over.”
I shuddered as I thought of my own father,
pacing wearily, mile after mile, within those granite
walls. I could not bear the detective's talk, or even
his presence any more that night, but bade him
good-by and went home.
A cab was standing before the house and Aunt
Salvation met me at the door.
“Mr. Hardweather 's sent for you,” she said,
“ and the boy's fit to fly, waitin'. You 'll have to
hurry right off, Archie.”
Almost before she had finished speaking I was in
the carriage and we were tearing furiously over the
pavements as if on the way to a fire.


23O The Head of Pasht.
I found the rich collector fairly shaking with
eagerness.
“Look at that ' Look at that l” he cried, thrust-
ing a piece of paper — or parchment, was it 2–into
my hand.
I looked at it, but could make nothing of it. The
page was covered with curious characters — birds,
animals, and nondescript figures — which reminded
me of the inscriptions on the mummy cases in the
museum.
“Oh, I forgot!” exclaimed Mr. Hardweather,
impatiently. “Of course you can't read the letter.
It 's written in Egyptian hieroglyphs, the ideo-
graphic characters of the early dynasties, used by
the priests. Here, let me have it !”
I suppose there were not half a dozen scholars in
the city who could have deciphered that strange
medley of figures; but this man read it as if it were
English.
“From Tamat the Soothsayer, son of Abdullah and of Francesca,
descendant of Ptahotep, priest of Bubastis and the divine dwelling
of Sekhet-Pasht, chamberlain of the King Sheshenk I., enthroned in
the heart of his lord, president of the gate of the palace, chief of
the prophets and guardian of the mystery of divine speech,
Greeting !
“The treasures which thou hast unlawfully removed from the
country of the Nile and the sacred tombs thereof, from the pyramids
of Sakkhara, from the secret places of the sands of the desert, and
from the holy city of Bubastis, dear to Pasht, thou shalt never see
again.
“I, Tamat, have taken them from the accursed hand, and have


A Memorable Crime. 23 I
borne them beyond the sea, to restore them to the injured divinities
of Egypt, the rightful owners of them.
“Tamat the Soothsayer bids thee farewell.”
At the conclusion of this singular document, Mr.
Hardweather looked at me in expectant silence.
“Well ?” said he, sharply, after a moment.
I hardly knew what to say. “It sounds to me
like the vaporings of an insane man,” I replied at
length. “If he were any ordinary thief, he would
not take pains to inform you of his destination.”
“But is n’t it natural that he should go there 7
Where antiquities are on every hand, he is so much
the more safe from discovery. Moreover, he knows
his countrymen would shelter him and the native
authorities would wink at the crime. They are in-
tensely jealous of the export of any of their ancient
monuments and works of art.”
We argued it over for an hour, and by that time
Mr. Hardweather had pretty nearly convinced me
that he was right and I was wrong. There had
always been something odd about this Toscani (sup-
posing him to be identical with “the Cat”), and the
study of Egyptian lore and the mysticism of the
ancients, combined with what he believed the cer-
tainty of his direct descent from the great priest of
the Twenty-second Dynasty, such being the period
of Sheshenk's reign at Bubastis, might well have led
him to brood over these things until his brain became


A Memorable Crime 233
deed for which your father, you say, is innocently
suffering. Tamat, or Toscani, knows who killed
Dinsmore. Find him and you will find that mur-
derer. Find Tamat and you will set your father
free " ''
My resolution, or my conviction, whatever you
may call it, was not proof against this appeal. I
struck hands with Mr. Hardweather upon the com-
pact. I agreed to go to Egypt.
A large steamer was to sail from New York the
following Tuesday for Gibraltar and Mediterranean
ports. It was now Thursday, and the few interven-
ing days were spent in hurried preparations for the
long journey. My regular employers were promised
a large sum as compensation for my time, and an
equal reward was to be paid to me if I were success-
ful. Of course, all expense of the trip was to fall
upon Mr. Hardweather.
Fred Larkin agreed to look in upon my aunt
every day or two, and when possible spend Sundays
with her. My passage and stateroom on the Nurem-
berg were engaged, and on Monday evening I said
good-by to Aunt Salvation and Alice, both of whom
cried and invoked God's protection over me during
my absence. Fred Larkin was at the station and
Barney, too, turned up at the last minute, to see me
off. The train left the city just before midnight.


I Go to Sea. 235
stylishly dressed girls chattered like magpies, sur-
rounding the quieter and more soberly gowned
passengers, who, with their arms filled with flowers,
seemed dazed at the hubbub and the nearness of the
moment when the last connection with dry land
should be severed.
“All ashore!” called out the officers, fine-look-
ing, brisk men with black beards and gold-laced
uniforms.
The gay throng of land butterflies fluttered down
the steep gang-plank, which in response to gruff
German orders was drawn away with a rattle of
chains and lowered upon the wharf.
More orders, and the huge hawsers are lifted from
the posts and pulled inboard. There is a thrill
through the great ship and she begins, at first
almost imperceptibly, now as fast as a man can
walk, faster, and still faster, to glide past the wharf,
out into the harbor.
The crowd have raced to the end of the pier, and
cheer us wildly, waving handkerchiefs and hats,
while we, a little less jauntily, perhaps, return the
salute. Now we are headed down the bay. A
steam tug, foaming along its brief course, parallel
to ours, like a poodle racing with an express train
as it starts, whistles shrilly. “Liberty,’’ on her
lofty island pedestal, stands with uplifted hand, as
if to give us her parting blessing. And now the last


I Go to Sea. 237
where you touch, and from time to time after you are fairly in
Egypt, using the code I handed you before you left home.
“With best wishes,
“Very truly yours,
“ABRAHAM HARDWEATHER.”
“DEER MR. GRAHAM, i hope you will have a joly time in egypt.
Take in the pyramids and the spinx if you have a Chance. Couldent
you bring home a small live aligater 2 i should like a few egyption
stamps the fellers are collecting Stamps and they bring a good price
i will divide profitts with you. i hope you will kech that man if you
Git him hold him tite so no more from
“Yours truly
“BARNEY MCGRATH.”
“DEAR GRAHAM,<You're a lucky dog to be trotting around the
world in chase of that ‘Cat ' ' I wish I could have gone with you,
but the proprietors of the Bulletin decided that they could n't run
the paper without me, so I yielded to the pressure and stayed at
home. Be sure to send us half a dozen or more good, lively letters,
mailing the first from the Azores or Gibraltar. About 2000 words
will hit the mark, I guess. The Managing Ed. will boil them down
a little, no matter how short they are, and we run 1500 to a col. If
nothing special happens on the way out, make something happen
Drop a man overboard, or, if that goes against your conscience, jump
over yourself, taking a life-preserver along with you. Get up early
and discover a whale or two before anybody else is on deck to deny
it. Get a good story somehow. They come high, but we must have
'em.
“Good-by, old fellow. Success and a safe return to the arms of
“Yours truly,
“FRED.
“P.S.. I think Miss Salvation would enjoy a duplicate of Bar-
ney's ‘live aligater,' don't you?”
“DEAR MR. GRAHAM, I can hear you packing, in your room
upstairs—for we have to mail our letters Sunday night, to be sure
that they may reach you—and the sound makes me lonely. Already
we begin to miss you, and we shall count the days until your return,


I Go to Sea. 239
I liked him at first sight and grasped the offered
hand cordially.
“Pretty close quarters, Mr. White,” said I,
rising, “but I don't think we shall quarrel.”
“I hope not! That would be “wiolence in a
cart,' indeed,” said he, laughing. “Keep your
seat, Mr. Graham. I just want to arrange my be-
longings a little. Is this a first voyage with you,
as it is with me 2 ”
We chatted a few minutes while he rummaged
in his trunk, and he told me he was a Har-
vard man and was going to Egypt to spend a
year in preparation for a professorship in Sem-
itic languages in one of the Western universi-
ties. He was older than he looked, but his clear
eye and springy, healthful motions spoke elo-
quently of a wholesome, athletic life. He had
rowed on his class crew, he said, in answer to
my questions, and was very fond of all outdoor
Sports.
“I don't quite know what you mean by Semi-
tic,’” I confessed.
“Oh, Hebrew, Arabic, and the like. Here 's a
book that will give you a good idea of them,” he
added, passing a small, leather-covered volume over
to me with the frank smile I had already found
charming.
I thought I recognized some of the characters,


24O The Head of Pasht.
which were like those on my button. “Is it
Arabic 2'' I ventured to ask.
“Yes, it 's the Koran. Have you ever studied
it 7” he induired, evidently a little surprised.
“No, but I've run across one or two inscriptions
in that language. I have a friend who is interested
in such matters. Indeed, it is on his behalf that I
am taking a little business trip abroad. I wish— ”
here I checked myself abruptly.
“Well, what is it 7” demanded my new friend,
looking round at me.
“I ought not even to have thought of it, but it
did occur to me that if you—that perhaps—” here
I broke down again, feeling rather confused.
White laughed aloud with such an irresistible
good-fellowship that I joined in his merriment.
“Out with it, Graham,” said he, leaving off the
“Mr.” as if he had known me for years. “Is it
some favor you want to ask 2 If so, it is already
granted, to the half of my kingdom '''
“Well,” said I, desperately, “a little knowledge
of Arabic, such Arabic as is spoken in Egypt to-
day I mean, would be of the greatest value to me.
And I wondered— ”
“If I would condescend to teach you a bit 7”
laughed my roommate. “Of course I will, and
thank you for the practice. See, here 's an Arabic
grammar and phrase-book, just what you want.


I Go to Sea. 24 I
You can borrow it right through the voyage, and
I 'll hear your lessons and converse with you to
your heart's content. When you are at the table,
you can point, and say, ‘Aish ism di bi 'larabi’ 2 ''
“I never would be guilty of such language before
ladies!”
White had to stop unpacking again, to laugh.
“It’s only, ‘What do you call that in Arabic 2'''
I was greatly pleased at his offer, and it is need-
less to add that I accepted it at once, pocketing the
little book for future reference and study.
The motion of the ship was now becoming more
marked and, although I had no uncomfortable
sensations as yet, I preferred the fresh air of the
deck. Pale faces had already begun to appear and
conversation among the lady passengers evidently
flagged. I made one or two new acquaintances be-
fore dinner and began to feel at home on the
Muremberg. The saloon was hardly half filled on
the occasion of this first meal, and the stewards
grinned appreciatively as they glanced at the empty
chairs. I found that White's place was next to my
own, at the “doctor's table.” The ship's physician
proved to be a jolly, broad-shouldered German, full
of good stories and exceedingly fond of a good
joke as well as of a good meal,
When I first entered the saloon there was a little
girl of about twelve in the seat opposite my own,
16


I Go to Sea. 243
sweetheart proved to be the young girl whose seat
was opposite mine at table. Her name was Flossie
Martin, and she came from an Indiana town — Ko-
komo, I think. At first she was very pale and
languid, and when I went on deck the first morn-
ing, I found her stretched out, white as a sheet, in
her steamer-chair. There was still half an hour
before breakfast, so I went below and begged an
orange from the steward and, having cut a hole in
it and inserted a lump of sugar (which operation
she viewed with reviving interest), I told her to
suck it and think of being in an orchard under the
trees; and she did so. This treatment proved so
efficacious that the color came back to her cheeks,
and when the deck steward came round, she was
ready with a very tiny breakfast order. From that
time we were sworn friends.
My Arabic came on apace. I spent every spare
moment in mastering the ordinary phrases of travel
and learning the alphabet, the queer forms of which
soon became familiar to me. Then followed the
easier inflections and conjugations, the numerals
and the pronouns, my vocabulary enlarging day by
day, so that when White appeared on deck, the
third morning out, I could greet him in Arabic,
from the phrase-book, “Sabáh al-Khair; aish hälak 2"
(“Good-morning; how are you ?”)
“Marid fiddan / " (“Pretty sick!”) replied my


246 The Head of Pasht.
the floor and get into my clothes; the waves mean-
while falling like thunder against the sides of the
ship and threatening to beat in the heavy glass
deadlight. By the time I was dressed, I could see
that White was awake too.
“How do you feel, old fellow 7" I asked, bend-
ing over him.
“What 's up—a storm * *
“Well, rather! Are you sick again P’’
“Not a bit. It 's too exciting to think of being
sick. I'm going to get up.”
“Wait till I'm out, or we’ll damage each other.
Now—take care of yourself, and lie down again if
you feel the nausea returning.”
I clawed my way along the narrow passage and
up the companion-way to the open space in front of
the saloon door. The stewards were trying to set
the tables for breakfast, but every minute or two
there was a crash of falling dishes and progress was
slow. The door opening on deck to windward was
fastened. I opened the opposite one and went out.
It was a grand sight! The sea to leeward was a
tumultuous mass of waves capped with foam which
was constantly torn away by the violent wind, so
that the surface was streaked like a city street when
a northeast snow-storm sets in. There was a wild
uproar overhead, the gale Screaming like mad
through the rigging and around the upper works of


I Go to Sea. 247
the ship; and the steady seething of the foam filled
every lull in the tempest. At intervals the stern of
the vessel would be thrown so high that the screw
must have been half out of water, when it revolved
so rapidly that the whole frame of the old Wurem-
berg would quiver under the shock. On the main-
deck, where I was standing and clinging to the
hand-rail, a temporary bulkhead, or bulwark, had
been erected, just forward of the cabin entrance, to
protect those who should be obliged to pass in and
out; and against this partition of planking the water
dashed heavily whenever the vessel shipped a sea
over the bows, which she did more than once in the
next quarter of an hour. The salt flood poured
along the deck ankle-deep, in spite of the bulkhead,
and roared out through the scuppers in white tor-
rents. Nothing could be seen or heard of the
officers. They were on the bridge, or in other
parts of the ship, bending all their energies to meet
the storm, which, though unexpected to us pas-
sengers, was probably foreseen by them the night
before.
I was pretty well drenched before I left the deck,
for the scene was as wildly fascinating as it was
grand. I tumbled below somehow, passing White
on the way, and got a change of socks and coat,
wondering if we should come out of the gale alive.
It was my first experience of a storm at sea, you


I Go to Sea. 249
were booked for that port. Flossie's mother and
sister were going there for the latter's health, and
it would be a serious blow to them were we obliged
to “keep all on,” as sailors say, for Gibraltar.
However, there was nothing to be done about it.
Captain Breitstein and his officers knew their busi-
ness and would serve the best interests of all con-
cerned under the circumstances.
The stewardess told me that Flossie was not sick,
but that her mother was afraid to have her leave her
berth lest she should be injured. I sent word that
I would take the little girl on deck for a few
minutes and look out that no harm came to her
while she was out of the stateroom. In ten minutes
she appeared at the foot of the companion-way,
ready for the adventure. We made our way up to
the main-deck and out into the tumult of the storm.


CHAPTER XVIII.
THE GALE AND ITS RESULT.
STAYED with Flossie a few minutes just outside
the cabin door, then we moved slowly aft. I
kept one arm around the child and clung to the
hand-rail with the other. Both of us were provided
with rubber coats, or we should have been drenched
almost the moment we emerged on deck. As it
was, I saw that Flossie's shoes were soaked and I
knew I must not keep her out long.
Arriving at the end of the deck cabin, we crept
around to the windward side. If the view to lee-
ward had been fascinating, the spectacle of the
storm-lashed ocean, as we looked into the eye of
the wind, was terrific.
The sea had plainly increased and the wind had
gained in weight during the last two hours. From
the misty east huge hills of water came sweeping
toward us, rank behind rank, until it seemed as if
the ship must be engulfed. But as each great sur-
ging acre of water struck her, she would rise upon it,
up, up, until we were dizzy with dread of the drop
as it passed beneath us, and a volley of seething,
250


The Gale and Its Result. 25 I
lead-colored brine yawned where the hill had been
a moment before. Thud—thud—thud—thud went
the screw, almost beneath us, now slower, now with
thrilling speed and shock as the taffrail heaved up
against the mists.
Flossie clung to my arm and trembled; but I
think, from her expression as she gazed seaward,
she could gladly have watched that wild torment of
waters, as I could have, all day. She was enjoying
to the full the luxury of fear with the underlying
consciousness of safety.
“There is n't any real danger, is there, Mr.
Graham P’’ she asked me, as I drew her back from
the actual presence of the turmoil into a sheltered
place.
“No, dear. The captain and his men will bring
us safely to port. And, besides, it 's all “in the
hollow of His hand,' you know. There can't be
any real danger there!”
Flossie gave my arm a little squeeze and was
silent. I am sure we both felt nearer the Maker
and Father of all than ever before.
White now joined us, and after one more look
into the face of the gale we struggled back to the
cabin. Once inside, we found the motion of the
ship more terrific, if anything, than when we could
see the angry waters. As we soared aloft, and
then, after a thrilling pause, dropped half sidewise,


252 The Head of Pasht.
with a renewed clatter of crockery and agonized
creaking and cracking of every joint of the Nur-
emberg, into the trough of the sea, we could hear
hysterical screams from timid passengers in their
staterooms, and even Flossie's face would turn
white for a moment.
“It seems as if the ship was all going to pieces!”
she exclaimed, at one of these wild flights.
“‘While she creaks, she holds,' the old sailors
say,” I replied laughingly, to reassure her. “Now,
I'm going to take you back to your room, and after
you 've stayed with your mother and sister fifteen
minutes, you can come out into the saloon and
we 'll have a game of ‘castles ' with those pretty
I chose
seemed so comfortably firm in the pictures.
y 4 &
cards of yours.' castles,” because they
The day passed slowly, with no abatement of the
gale. Hour after hour the gallant old Nuremberg
struggled bravely onward, contesting every foot she
was obliged to yield from her true course. At
midnight, after an unusually violent period of roll-
ing and pitching, the motion of the ship seemed to
become a little more regular. I secured a few hours
of troubled sleep, and next morning learned that
the captain had been obliged to heave the ship to,
or rather, this being a steamer and not a sailing
vessel, to head up into the wind, with the engines
working just enough to keep steerage way on.


The Gale and Its Result. 253
At one time that afternoon we were in terrible
peril of our lives. The sea had increased and
broke over the ship until the alley-ways outside the
cabin were knee-deep in water, and life-lines had to
be stretched, to enable the crew to work in safety.
One huge, green sea came aboard, staving two boats,
knocking in the front of the forward saloon on the
upper deck, and carrying away two or three ventila-
tors. At this moment the steering gear broke, the
steel wire snapping like pack-thread. Almost in-
stantly the ship broached to and began rolling in
the trough of the sea until it seemed as if she must
turn completely bottom up. It was a time of awful
suspense, and the cabin resounded with cries of
terror, prayers, and shrieks of dismay, as the ship
would tip over—over, almost upon her beam-ends,
while every movable object went clattering down
to the lower side of cabin and pantry. Then a
swing the other way, until one's heart stood still in
the breathless moment while she seemed deliberating
whether to keep on, or recover herself—as she always
did in the end.
Repairs were quickly made and the brave ship
headed up again, but the passengers' faces began to
look haggard and it was whispered that one delicate
lady was on the verge of losing her reason; that the
cargo had shifted; that several of the crew had been
disabled by the sea which stove the boats; that our


254 The Head of Pasht.
fuel was running low, through some negligence of
the ship's owners. This last surmise, unfortunately,
proved to be true. We had enough coal on board
to carry us across the ocean under favorable condi-
tions, but because the Company could get cheaper
supplies in a Mediterranean port, or for some other
reason—perhaps pure oversight on the part of the
official in charge of the work — there was small
allowance made for detention at sea. As yet we
did not feel the deficiency; but the worst was to
COme.
On the fourth day of rough weather the gale blew
itself out. The sea still ran high, but the sun shone
merrily on the dry decks, and the cabin passengers,
who had been kept below for forty-eight hours,
swarmed out into the sunlight with many exclama-
tions of delight. Chairs were lashed to the stanch-
ions to prevent the occupants from tumbling bodily
into the scuppers, deck-hands whistled at their work,
the ship, driven far south and west, was brought to
her course, and all went happily until late in the
afternoon.
We were sitting in our chairs on the sheltered
side of the ship when a sudden jar was felt, different
from any shock we had experienced in the storm.
At the same instant the screw stopped.
No one who has not taken an ocean voyage in a
large steamer can realize what a sickening sense of


The Gale and Its Result. 255
suspended animation follows the unexpected cessa-
tion of that dull throb which has been felt through-
out as the moving, living power of the great ship.
It is as if the heart stopped beating.
White and I, with several others, sprang to our
feet. Faces that had begun to gather color were
blanched anew. Cries arose here and there from
frightened women. What was it Were we sink-
ing Had the engine broken down 7 No one
knew, and a babel of tongues filled the air.
For a full hour we lay at the mercy of the waves
before any information could be obtained from the
officers, who one and all looked worried and dis-
traught. Then the word came, and flashed around
the decks as if by telegraph, “the main shaft is
broken ”
It was indeed an anxious company that gathered
in the saloon for dinner that night. Presently the
captain entered. As if by common consent, all
voices ceased, all eyes were turned toward him.
He paused a moment, standing by his chair; then
spoke so that all could hear:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to announce
to you that our shaft is broken in such a way that
it will be impossible to repair it inside of forty-eight
hours. The whole engineer force of the ship is at
work and will labor night and day until the break
is mended, at least so far as to allow us to proceed


256 The Head of Pasht.
slowly for Gibraltar or Funchal—whichever may be
nearer. Meanwhile, although the motion of the
ship may be a little uncomfortable as we drift, you
need have no fear. The gale has disappeared and
all signs point to fair weather for several days.
Moreover, we are in the track of ships and shall
signal for aid whenever one is sighted. That means
towing in safety to the nearest available port. Be
patient and your voyage shall be safely ended.”
Clapping of hands and three good, hearty cheers
followed the captain's speech as he took his seat.
Then the hubbub of voices arose again, everybody
eagerly discussing the situation. Nothing had been
said regarding supplies of provisions or fuel, but,
assuming that our detention would only amount to
a day or two, they could hardly run short. On the
whole we were greatly relieved and comforted by
the captain's words.
To show our confidence and courage, some of us
inaugurated a concert that night in the saloon.
Two or three of the children “spoke pieces,” one
of the Van Dorm girls at our table sang very credit-
ably, and even a harmonica player from the crew
was pressed into service. The affair was a success,
and we went to our staterooms in more cheerful
spirits than we had known for several days. The
ship, however, was now rolling like a log; our sleep
was much broken.


The Gale and Its Result. 257
The repairs to the machinery took three days
instead of two, and when we once more felt the
welcome pulse of the screw we were far out of our
course, the breeze having blown steadily from the
north, with a touch of east. A new peril now con-
fronted us. I have hinted at it already; the coal
gave out. The first we knew of it was the appear-
ance of a number of deck-hands with axes. They
hacked down every superfluous bit of woodwork and
split it up for the furnaces. The remnants of the
shattered boats, all temporary partitions and bulk-
heads, finally the furniture itself, were used to feed
the fires. The ship could only be driven at half-
speed; two of our meals each day consisted of un-
warmed food.
With what eager eyes we all scanned the horizon
from morning till night! Sometimes a joyful shout
would be raised as a snow-white speck or a low-
lying cloud, like smoke, was discovered; but they
soon disappeared and we grew more wearily hope-
less with each new disappointment.
I kept steadily on with my study of Arabic, and
could now read easy passages in the Koran; of
course without accurate translation, as I had no
dictionary. White was delighted with my progress.
He said he should insist on a recommendation from
his Nuremberg pupil, when he should make his final
application for a university chair. Although he
17


258 The Head of Pasht.
was not nearly as learned in Egyptology as Mr.
Hardweather, I found that he was well up in the
history of ancient as well as modern Egypt. The
writing on the monuments, he told me, was of two
kinds, and embraced, in all, about two thousand
signs or characters. There is an alphabet for you!
The Ideographic system sought by the use of objects
as symbols of ideas to render its meaning intelli-
gible; the Phonetic represented words by symbols
of their sounds. That seems a little mixed, and I
confess I never thoroughly understood the distinc-
tion, but I wrote down my friend's definition as I
have given it. At any rate, the Ideographic was
the older of the two systems, and both were used
by the priests, as the word “hieroglyph '' is said
to signify.
I should not have felt justified in betraying even
to my frank, honest-hearted roommate the object
of my journey, but he could not help noting my
extraordinary interest in matters of Egyptian lore,
and I believe it tried his self-control and gentle-
manly instincts sorely not to question me more
closely than he did regarding my future movements.
One day when the Nuremberg was rolling slowly
along on her course, making perhaps four or five
knots an hour under her greatly reduced steam, our
conversation turned on criminals and their flight to
foreign countries.


The Gale and Its Result. 259
“I should think,” said White, “that it would be
easy for a man to escape arrest if he had twenty-
four hours' start of the officers. All he has to do
is to take passage on some outgoing steamer or
sailing ship, such as leave our ports every day in the
year.”
“A cable despatch would reach his destination
days ahead of his arrival,” said I.
“But is a man safe, if he manages to elude the
trap waiting for him * ''
A middle-aged lawyer, Henry Barrett, from San
Francisco, joined us at this point and took up the
answer to my roommate's question.
“There 's, practically, only one city in the
world,” said he, stretching himself out in a steamer-
chair by my side, “where the man with a warrant
is at a loss—I mean, Honduras.'''
“What!” said White, “can a man be arrested
in Rome, Cape Town, or Cairo and be carried back
to America 7 ''
“He can, and frequently is. When I first began
to practice law, a Yankee criminal of retiring dis-
position had a wide range of choice in the matter of
foreign residence,” said Barrett, lighting a cigar.
“Spain, Turkey, Algiers, Japan, Holland, Chile,
Ecuador, the Philippines, and nearly all Central
By a special treaty clause, approved by the nation in 1898,
extradition from Honduras is now allowed, thus removing the final
stronghold of the fugitive from justice.—ED.


26O The Head of Pasht.
America guaranteed security to many sorts of fugi-
tives, from murderers down; and the list of resorts
open to simple embezzlers was very much larger.”
“How about Canada 2 '' inquired White. “I
thought every defaulting bank cashier made a bee-
line for Canada.”
“Oh, that got to be a standing joke, I know;
but, like a good many other of our national witti-
cisms, such as the frog-eating propensities of French-
men and the ferocity of stepmothers, it wore out—
would n’t hold water—that is, in these later years.
The circle of “free cities' kept narrowing, with
Canada, I admit, holding on, as long as she could,
to the ‘tourist trade'; but at last she passed a law
against bringing stolen property into the Dominion,
which practically excluded the flitting banker.”
“Japan was one of the last of the distant powers,”
I added—for, of course, these matters were familiar
enough to my profession—“to adopt a treaty cover-
ing what are called ‘crimes against property,’ thus
robbing felonious gentlemen, in delicate health, of
a balmy resort—Yokohama.”
“Look here,” said Barrett, rising to knock the
ashes from his cigar against the rail and returning
to his comfortable seat; “ did you ever hear the
story of Nelson, the cashier, who pretty nearly
cleared out a private banking-house in Chicago
fifteen or twenty years ago and skipped to Europe 2"


262 The Head of Pasht.
cipher telegram, “Starling,” which meant, “Come
back.”
On reporting at headquarters in New York, the
detective, whom we will call Hardy, was told that
Nelson had boarded a steamer for the south. For
three months Hardy scoured the West India Islands,
thence on to Panama. Down the west coast of
South America, stopping at every port touched by
the little coasting steamers, went Hardy in search
of his man, determined to follow the coast-line all
the way round the continent.
Unacclimated and unaccustomed to the intense
heat which he was experiencing at that season of the
year, he broke down with sunstroke at Callao.
After several weeks of careful nursing, the doctor
advised him to complete his recuperation in the
higher altitudes and cooler atmosphere of Lima,
within a very short distance and half-way up the
Andes.
One evening, while passing along the arcade, he
“ spotted '' his man, though the latter wore a red
wig on top of the bald head which had been wont
to inspire respect and trust in his Chicago associates.
Closely shadowing Nelson, Hardy transferred his
lodgings and formed the acquaintance of the de-
faulter. They became the closest and most intimate
friends, inseparable companions. -
“That 's what I hate in the whole detective


264 The Head of Pasht.
Pizarro found hundreds of years ago. They shot
and walked and dined together.
Three months dragged wearily along before the
extradition papers finally arrived in Peru to deliver
the embezzler; but alas for poor Hardy! The de-
mands of the State Department could not be
recognized, for in the interval Chile and Peru had
fought their tiny war. Admiral Lynch of the
Chilean service, as conqueror, pending the settle-
ment of the treaty of war, had annexed the entire
country and brought it under different domination.
Back flashed the cable: “More Dolly Varden
goods; blue effects demanded. Narrower stripes;
greens not wanted,” which Nelson carried to the
office, little dreaming that the message meant:
“Get extradition papers on Chile. I have still got
my man.”
Three months later the proper papers were re-
ceived, but there was no American vessel going
direct to the United States. To attempt to trans-
port him as prisoner on an English steamer would
liberate him the moment he stepped on deck. At
each coasting port or across the Isthmus he was free
to live forever.
Cipher messages from the Navy Department
brought instructions to the captain of the Essex to
receive, just prior to the ship's departure, Hardy
and his captive, and hold the latter in safe-keeping


266 The Head of Pasht.
table and, raising the red wig that had been thought
to be a perfect disguise, said: “Nelson of Chicago,
defaulting cashier of Blank & Co., you are my man.
We leave to-night on the Esser. Pack your trunks.”
The ten o'clock cutter brought two civilian pas-
sengers to the United States man-of-war lying in
the harbor with anchor “up-and-down ''; one
triumphant with long-deferred victory, the other
half crazed with unavailing rage at his whilom com-
rade's duplicity and his own capture.
At Honolulu they were both transferred to a
steamship. At San Francisco Chicago detectives
met them and convoyed them across the continent.
“Nelson got twelve years' hard labor in spite of
my defence of him,” concluded the lawyer; “Hardy.
got reputation. Gentlemen, I must leave you. I
see my wife looking for me.”
He tossed his cigar overboard and sauntered
away.
“ Ugh !” said White.


CHAPTER XIX.
THE LION OF GIBRALTAR.
HERE was almost a panic among the passengers
when the deck-hands first attacked the super-
fluous woodwork of the saloons to procure fuel for
the starving furnaces. Some cried out that we
were sinking and must take to rafts, others that the
ship was on fire. Under this latter impression
several small articles of value were really stuffed
through the open ports and flung overboard, in
obedience to the insane impulse that leads people
in a burning house to throw everything breakable
out of the window. Quiet was soon restored, al-
though some hearts continued to quake at the
prospect of drifting about for days without sensible
progress toward land, with food supplies constantly
diminishing and another storm among the easy
possibilities.
Fortunately, we were now in the marine high-
road and the very next day a steamer was sighted.
She came nearer and nearer, a most disreputable-
looking old craft, but hailed as a deliverer by all on
board the Nuremberg.
267


268 The Head of Pasht.
At last the engines of the stranger slowed down
and she came to a standstill within easy hailing
distance.
“What ship 's that 7" roared our captain, in his
strong German accent.
“The John R. Smith, from Philadelphia, for Lis-
bon. What ship are you and what's the trouble 2"
came back the words across the water. Our signal
of distress was still flying.
“Coal has run out. Can you spare us five hun-
dred tons 2 ''
There was a moment's consultation on the tramp.
Then her captain called out that he would come
aboard us and talk it over.
With what interest we watched the boat creep
down the steamer's side and come dancing over the
water toward us! There was a light breeze blowing
and the surface of the sea, which had been to us a
moment before like that of a mill-pond, suddenly
seemed rough, as the little boat neared us, now
mounting on the long, lazy swell, now almost dis-
appearing from view behind its crest. We all
cheered as the rope was flung to the visitors, a turn
deftly taken around the forward thwart, and the
captain scrambled up the ladder which we had
lowered for him.
The result of the conference was that the tran-
shipment of sufficient coal for our purposes proving


27o The Head of Pasht.
first care was to hunt up the telegraph office and
cable to Mr. Hardweather, explaining in a few code
words the reason for my detention. I then walked
through the streets of the town, enjoying the strange
sights, the shop-windows filled with Spanish fans
and gew-gaws, the sound of the soft Andalusian
tongue on all sides, broken now and then by the
harsher tones of an Englishman or American.
At noon I returned to the ship, only to learn that
she would remain several days at Gibraltar for coal
and repairs. Her passengers could wait for her or
could proceed on the Heidelberg, another steamer
of the same line, which was taking a large excursion
party out to Egypt, Palestine, and Constantinople
and was due to arrive at this port the following
noon and sail the same evening. I consulted rail-
way time-tables and figured out that I should gain
but little by continuing my trip overland, with a
possible delay in the steamer between Naples or
Trieste and Alexandria, not enough to justify me
in the extra expenditure it would entail. I was the
more willing to form one of the Heidelberg party
because my friend White had chosen that route
eastward.
This point settled, I had still twenty-four hours'
“shore leave,” and proceeded to employ it in sight-
seeing. As all ingress or egress is forbidden after
gun-fire, which takes place daily at sunset, I limited


The Lion of Gibraltar. 271
myself that afternoon to a short drive along the
shore-line to Europa Point, the extreme seaward
end of the promontory. There is a fine lighthouse
there — for the lion sleeps with one eye open — and
the coast beside the road is heavily fortified. Just
around the point is the Governor's summer resi-
dence, beyond which rise the tremendous cliffs,
warning off friend and foe alike. In the crannies
of the ledges grow acanthus and olive, and we
caught sight of one or two wild Barbary apes,
scrambling high up among the rocks.
Next morning, White and I were on shore early
for a visit to the famous galleries of the rock itself.
We were driven to a stone gate, the entrance to the
Torre de Omenaje, built by the Moors in 725. On
the way to the tower we passed across a pretty
yard, paved with flagstones, on which a little girl
and a kitten were playing in the sunshine. The
yard was bordered with beds of flowers. In the
cottage which opened upon it lived, I suppose,
the keeper and his family.
A red-coated English sergeant now took us in
charge, together with half a dozen other tourists,
who had collected below while we were climbing to
the topmost ramparts of the gray, crumbling tower.
“This way,” said the dapper officer, and we fol-
lowed him up a long, inclined trench to the side of
the rocky hill, into which we plunged, through a


The Lion of Gibraltar. 273
along beside my self-constituted guide and stum-
bling over sharp stones in the semi-darkness of the
tunnel, which the lantern of the soldier but dimly
illuminated.
“Fourteen hundred and thirty feet, I believe.
The highest point is called “El Hacho,” and com-
mands one of the grandest views in the world—
portions of two seas and two great countries, Europe
and Africa.”
The stone floor of the tunnel was muddy and the
ceilings dripped constantly. Two or three times we
came to an opening, or embrasure, through which
we caught glimpses of the blue, blue sea far below
and gray outlines of the African coast. Our visit
embraced but a small portion of the wonderful
fortification, which is fairly honeycombed with tun-
nels. The secrets of the innermost and of various
exits are said to rest with two or three of the
highest officers in command.
On the whole, I was not sorry to leave the sergeant
and his dripping burrows and emerge into the sun-
shine. It was like coming from the gloomiest horrors
of war into the gladness of peace.
The Heidelberg arrived on time, and a huge
steamer she was. Her decks were thronged with a
gay crowd of men, women, and children, who clus-
tered in the small boats and hastened shoreward to
improve the shining hours before sundown. White
18


274 The Head of Pasht.
and I, with a few others, went on board and arranged
for our accommodations, which proved to be cramped
and uncomfortable, the ship being nearly full before
our arrival.
I have already dwelt too long upon this voyage,
the impressions of which are still fresh in my mind.
The Heidelberg touched at Genoa, Tunis, and Malta,
each of which should have a chapter to itself were
there space in my book. On a certain eventful day,
early in February, the long, low, yellow coast-line
of Lower Egypt hove in sight. As we drew nearer
to its great seaport, once numbering over half a
million inhabitants and containing the most wonder-
ful library in the world—afterward, alas! destroyed
by fire—many queer-looking craft scurried across
the waters, manned by dark-skinned sailors. The
air breathed softly from the tawny sands of the
shore.
There it lay before us, the land of dreams, of
the Pharaohs, of Joseph and his brethren—Egypt!
A few groups of palms stood clearly outlined
against the sky. On the left, as we entered the
harbor of Alexandria, rose the palace and harem of
Ras-et-Tin. Dozens of rowboats and clumsy little
lateen-rigged sloops flocked out to meet the incom-
ing steamer, many of them flying the flags of rival
tourist companies. Harsh commands were given in
Arabic. There was a din of voices calling for


CHAPTER XX.
A DAY IN CAIRO.
HAD a busy four hours before the train left for
Cairo. Passing up from the wharves to the
centre of the city, and across the square of Méhémet-
Ali, I was directed to the cable office on the Boule-
vard Ramleh. Here I found a brief despatch from
my employer, reiterating directions to proceed at
once to Cairo, and, if necessary, to Upper Egypt, and
to spare no expense in running down the fugitive.
Having cabled in return, “Nation — Bearable ''
(“Arrived safe; instructions received ’’), I next
hunted up the American Consul, whose office
fronted on the large and busy square referred to.
He received me courteously and, having listened
with interest to my story, gave me some valuable
hints, as well as letters to several important officials
in Cairo. A visit to my bankers was now necessary
and I drew a hundred pounds sterling on my letter
of credit. A portion of this I exchanged for French
silver and for some small change in Egyptian coin-
age—piastres and fractional coppers. A piastre is
about equal to our five-cent nickel.
276


A Day in Cairo. 277
There was still time for a little sightseeing, and I
soon stood before the Pillar of Pompey, of which I
had already caught a glimpse from the deck of the
Heidelberg as we entered the harbor. It is a red
granite shaft, a little over one hundred feet high,
much like “Cleopatra's Needle '' in New York.
This pillar, White afterward told me, originally
stood in the centre of a great temple dedicated to
Serapis, the bull-god, and was inscribed, in the
fourth century, with praises of one Pompeius, a
Roman prefect—not Pompey the Great.
We were early at the railway station after all,
and I gave myself the pleasure of watching the
passengers of various nationalities and of putting
my newly acquired Arabic into practice by pricing
and buying half a dozen delicious mandarin oranges
(for one piastre) of an aged fruit-seller.
The car-ride to Cairo occupied a trifle over four
hours—and what a ride it was We ran along be-
side Lake Mareotis, lying eight feet below the sea-
level. A hundred years ago, the English cut the
embankment and “ let in the Mediterranean,”
destroying between one and two hundred villages.
It gave me a queer sensation, as if I were dream-
ing, to look out of the windows of a modern railway
carriage, rattling over the line at the rate of thirty
miles an hour, and see little Arab settlements
clustered beneath groups of palms; mere mud huts,


278 The Head of Pasht.
with picturesque natives squatting about them or
bearing jars of water on their shoulders.
Still hurrying up the Delta, of which I had so
often studied when a boy, we crossed the broad
Rosetta arm of the Nile and paused a few moments
at a station which was not so very different from
some of those in New England. The swarthy faces
of the loiterers about its doors, the heaps of golden
fruit for sale, the sound of guttural Arabic with
which the air was filled destroyed the illusion and
reminded me that I was not at Dedham, Mass., but
in the land of the Pharaohs.
It was dark when we arrived at Cairo. White
knew of a good little hotel on one of the quieter
streets of the city, and I was glad to cast my fortunes
in with his for the present.
Early the next morning I sought out the Ameri-
can Consul, who received my letter most affably
and promised to do anything in his power to aid me.
Undoubtedly, he said, my first visit should be to
the Zabit, or Chief of Police, to whom he gave me
a note. This gentleman, at the head of some three
hundred officers, proved a real friend to me. He
told me that his men, among whom were a number
of Italians, were familiar with all the bazaars and
coffee-shops of the city, and if Tamat had recently
appeared among the lower classes his arrival could be
easily ascertained. If I wished I could accompany


A Day in Cairo. 279
one of the officers on his rounds that very night
and look over the ground for myself. In this
I gladly acquiesced and promised to be at the
station by ten o'clock at the latest. It was agreed
that my name for the present was to be Bourne.
Returning to the hotel, I found that White had
engaged a dragoman and was just starting out for
a pleasure trip through the Muski, or chief business
thoroughfare of the native quarters.
“Come along, Gra—Bourne, I mean' " said he.
“There 's another donkey, just your fit! You
might as well see something of the city before you
settle down to business.”
Behold us on our donkeys, our dragoman, Ahmed,
walking by our side, and two small Egyptians urging
the diminutive beasts forward with wild cries in their
own tongue! My hammār, or donkey boy, was a
bright little fellow and delighted in imitating our
English words, of the meaning of which he, of
course, had not the slightest conception.
We found the famous bazaars to consist of nar-
row, dirty little lanes, covered for the most part
with awnings to shade them from the sun and
flanked with shops about six feet wide. These
shops were open to the street and displayed a vast
amount of Egyptian products, each quarter being
devoted to some special article of manufacture.
There were whole lanes of red and yellow slippers,


A Day in Cairo. 28 I
º
approached my table and inquired if I were Mr.
Bourne, under which name I had registered.
On my replying in the affirmative, he introduced
himself as John Thompson, an English detective,
member of a secret bureau in Cairo. He had seen
me at the chief's office, it seemed, and, without
knowing my business, decided to consult me with
a view to offering his services—the “detective busi-
ness '' being, he admitted, exceedingly dull just at
this time.
I stook hands with him and ordered another
lemonade, inviting him to take a seat. He did so,
removing his hat and mopping his forehead.
“Beastly climate!” he growled good-naturedly.
“At home, now, they 're skating on the Serpen-
tine.’’
I did not propose to take this stranger into my
confidence without a little more knowledge of him.
He seemed satisfied not to press the matter and
we drifted into friendly chat, naturally enough on
professional lines, and exchanged stories relating to
our calling. One or two which Thompson told
made such an impression on me that I have never
forgotten them.
The first of these related to a tramp, who one
evening called at the door of a country house not
far from Manchester and asked for lodgings. The
house was occupied by two elderly maiden ladies,
º


A Day in Cairo. 283
the next instant, metamorphosed into an able-
bodied tramp, who puts him out of action with one
blow, takes his pistol away, and ties him hand and
foot, then makes a low bow to his hostesses and
asks if they wanted to lock him in again.”
I laughed heartily at the English detective's ex-
pression as he concluded the story.
“Well, what became of the tramp 7" said I.
“Oh, they did n’t lock him up any more that
night,” said Thompson. “They sent him for an
officer, who took the burglar into custody, and the
tramp did n't even come back to the house for a
reward. It 's a true story, though it does sound
queer. First time a tramp ever appeared in the
rôle of a guardian angel, as ever I heard of !”
Then there was a gruesome tale of murder com-
mitted in a forest. The supposed murderer was
arrested, but the victim's body could not be found,
although it was clearly proven that he had carried
it in a wagon into a remote part of the woods and
buried it. The earth-stained shovel was found in
the wagon as the man drove back to the village.
The forest was scoured in vain until some one
thought of harnessing the horse into the same
wagon and driving him over the same road.
Sure enough, the horse, being given his head and
allowed to take his own gait and route, ambled
slowly along, deeper and deeper into the gloomy


284 The Head of Pasht.
wood, until he reached a small lane. Here the
animal hesitated, halted, and then turned in. After
a few minutes he slowed down to a walk.
“Here is where S. [the murderer] was looking for
a good place to bury it! ” whispered the constables
in an awe-stricken voice.
The horse stopped, a little farther on, and partly
turned out from the road. The searchers dis-
mounted. The ground was disturbed a short dis-
tance away from the wagon. There, on the edge
of a black and lonely swamp, they found what they
were seeking!
For my part, I remember telling Thompson of a
certain tax-collector in Alabama who went away
from home one night, leaving in charge of his wife
a large sum of tax money he had just collected.
About midnight she was aroused by the sound of
some one forcing one of the basement windows. -
Creeping down-stairs, she saw a negro just climbing
in over the sill. She had a loaded pistol in her
hand and fired at the burglar, who groaned and fell
on the floor unconscious. When she had lighted a
lamp to examine the man she had shot, she found it
was her husband, who had blackened his hands and
face and evidently intended to steal the money
belonging to the State.
It was nearly time for dinner when John Thomp-
son and I parted. He told me a good deal about


A Day in Cairo. 285
himself, and I trusted him enough to inform him that
I was looking for a man named Ali Toscani, alias
Tamat. I promised him a good reward if the man
could be taken. Thompson said he would keep a
sharp lookout for him and would communicate
daily with me while I remained in the city.
At a few minutes before ten that evening I pre-
sented myself at the office of the Chief of Police,
who, by the way, spoke four languages fluently.
The Zabit gave me an officer (also somewhat of a
linguist) in plain clothes and we started out to-
gether. I wore no disguise, seeing no occasion for
any that dark night. Whether my companion had
firearms concealed beneath his robes, I do not
know. Probably he had, but his only visible
weapon was a stout cane.
We passed the Ezbekiyeh gardens and entered the
Muski, the scene of so much animation a few hours
before. Now the streets were almost deserted, and
only a coffee-house here and there showed a flicker-
ing light where a few Arabs were squatted, listening
to stories from one of their number or conversing
in low gutturals.
Diving into a narrow cross-street, we soon reached
a wretched quarter, inhabited, the officer told me,
by the lowest classes. But few people were out,
and most of these would slink away into the shadows
before we reached them. When we met one face


A Day in Cairo. 287
to the better quarter of Cairo. As we turned in
our tracks, near a street lamp, we almost ran into
a man hurrying in the opposite direction. The
customary salutations were begun when the new-
comer turned his face so that the light of the
lamp fell fully upon it; at the same moment his
eye met mine. With a wild cry, more like a beast's
howl than a human utterance, the man threw up
his hands and fled. It was Toscani, the Soothsayer
and thief.


CHAPTER XXI.
BY RIVER AND DESERT.
“CAIRO, February 22, 18–.
& 4 EAR ALICE,--I have had two idle days,
and will try to tell you how I have occupied
them. Yesterday morning, in my letter to Aunt
Salvation, I wrote about my sudden meeting with
Ali and how we chased the rascal but could find
no trace of him. The Chief of Police, and Thomp-
son, the English detective, both are confident of
catching the thief within forty-eight hours. If they
have not succeeded in trapping him by to-morrow
night I shall take a hand in the matter myself and
act independently of the officials, in pursuance of a
little plan I have in my mind. Meanwhile, as I
said, I have had these two days on my hands.
“Early yesterday forenoon, White and I drove
out to the Pyramids of Ghizeh, about an hour from
Cairo. Crossing the Nile by an iron bridge guarded
by sculptured lions, to the island of Ghezireh, we
reached the left bank of the river. Long trains of
camels passed us, loaded with green, fragrant heaps
of sweet clover, to be sold for fodder in the city.
288


By River and Desert. 289
The road was a fine one, something like the old
Boston Mill-dam, to Brookline, bordered by trees,
with low, level lands stretching away on each side.
At certain seasons of the year these are flooded by
the Nile, but now they are fertile fields, dotted
with poppies and other bright flowers.
“The drive ended at a hotel, recently erected by
Englishmen, right on the edge of the desert, called
the Mena House. Here we changed from our
landau to a donkey and a camel — the latter being
assigned to me! I assure you it was startling when
the great beast, who had knelt to take me on his
back, began to rise. With groans of protest he
heaved up first one end and then the other, like the
Muremberg in the gale. White, who was watching
the expression of my face, laughed so that he
almost tumbled off his donkey.
“Surrounded by a crowd of shouting, gesticulat-
ing Bedouins, we made our way across a stretch of
deep, fine, yellowish sand to the pyramids. These
have so often been described that I will not inflict
any ‘emotions' upon you, adding only that they
were far more impressive in their grandeur and
their huge bulk than I had ever pictured them. So
it was, too, with the Sphinx. It was almost im-
possible to realize that we were standing before the
great stone Face which had seen so many empires
rise and fall; and just as I had reached a proper
I9


On the Mokattam Hill. 297
which rose the Pyramids of Ghizeh. The Citadel
and the Mosque of Mohammed Ali were bathed in
the faint early moonlight on the hither side of the
city.
In the course of an hour we reached the old
mosque at the summit of the hill, and there we sat
down and talked of each other's lives and ambi-
tions and of home, until something in the sol-
emn silence of the place, the brightness of the
moonbeams, or the deep gloom of the ravines and
quarries suddenly reminded us of the lateness of
the hour.
“We must be going,”
exclaimed White, rising
and pressing the spring of his repeater. “Half-
past nine !” as the silvery little strokes rang out
like far-off chimes. “This is the witching hour of
night when ghosts troop forth, Graham And
where can they gather more thickly than in this
land of forgotten tombs Four thousand years of
them—the whole country is a graveyard ' ''
We started downward and were picking our way
with some care over the ill-kept road, when White,
who was slightly ahead, halted with such precipita-
tion that I nearly fell over him. Just beyond and
below us three white-clad figures stood motionless in
the moonlight. A second glance showed that they
were not supernatural visitors, but very substantial-
looking Arabs. It occurred to me at once that they


On the Mokattam Hill. 299
but when you spoke that way, in their own language,
it ‘broke them up,' so to speak.”
“Yes, that was it, I suppose; although, for all
we know, they may have been a group of theologi-
cal students, wrapped in contemplation of the
sublime !”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Well,” added White, replacing his hat and
grasping his stick firmly (we both carried canes),
“we 'd better be moving. Did you notice that
cloud coming up over the moon 2''
Before we were half-way down, the silvery light
that had bathed the whole landscape disappeared,
leaving us in a dim twilight that barely sufficed to
show us the path for a few feet in advance. We
made our way very slowly, fearful of a fall, and as
the clouds had now overspread nearly the whole
sky, I began to doubt seriously whether we could
reach the city. I knew the mountain-side to be
honeycombed with ancient quarries (a large portion
of the material for the pyramids came from Mokat-
tam), and we might easily lose our bearings and
stray from the path, to the peril of limb, if not life.
My fears were realized when, five minutes later, my
companion exclaimed:
“Do you remember this queer-looking rock,
Graham P ''
“No. I don’t believe we came up this way.”


3OO The Head of Pasht.
“Well, we 're on some sort of a path on the
down grade, and it must lead somewhere. We may
as well keep on. All roads around here bring up in
Cairo.''
I had my doubts, but did not like to seem timid
and so said nothing. There was a disagreeable
recollection in my mind of that deep railway cut-
ting, as well as of the aforesaid quarries, of which I
had read with such interest in my Baedeker the
evening before.
The night grew darker and the path rougher every
moment. I noticed that we were no longer de-
scending, but were traversing the mountain-side in
a line pretty nearly parallel to its base.
“Look here, White,” said I, “don’t you think
we 'd better— ” At this moment my comrade,
with a cry of terror and a great rattling of stones
and sand, disappeared from view. The earth
seemed to have swallowed him up before my very
eyes.
“White ' " I shouted, half beside myself, for I
feared he might have fallen over a precipice, “where
are you ? Are you badly hurt 2"
I crawled forward on my hands and knees, and
might have gone over head first myself had not a
muffled voice come up from somewhere almost
directly beneath me.
“All right, Graham | I have n’t fallen far. I'm


3O2 The Head of Pasht.
This is the chance of a lifetime. I may have
tumbled into a lot of Pharaohs—ah, now for an
illumination " ''
Another spark had appeared, and as he finished
speaking it grew to a steady glow, as if from a
candle. I could now see that the aperture into
which White had fallen was hardly more than two
feet square, and was so hidden by a projecting rock
that one might pass it in broad daylight without
noticing it; especially on the side of a hill like
Mokattam, pierced and tunnelled by thousands of
years of quarrying.
“Look,” said he, appearing at the base of the
little shaft and holding a stone lamp above his
head. “There is a sort of stairway which you can
follow down without breaking more than three or
four bones, if you 're careful!”
Thus adjured, I descended, backing down over
the edge and setting my feet alternately in stone
niches on opposite sides of the shaft, as farmers
sometimes go down a well in New England to re-
cover a lost bucket. There was a heap of fine, soft
sand at the bottom, which had broken White's
fall and undoubtedly saved him from severe injury.
I found him standing beside me, in what seemed
the entrance to a side tunnel, or “stope,” to use a
mining phrase. In his hand he held the lighted
lamp, which I instantly recognized as similar to a


On the Mokattam Hill. 3O3
lot I had seen in the Ghizeh Museum. The aston-
ishing feature of this specimen was that it was
evidently supplied with oil and wick, proving its
recent preparation and use.
White, having “lighted me down-stairs,” as he
jocosely expressed it, now led the way into what
proved to be, not a tunnel, but a sort of chamber,
hewn out of the solid rock. It was just high enough
to allow us to stand upright without bumping our
heads, and was perhaps ten feet long by six broad.
The walls were partly covered with incised hiero-
glyphs, like those of ancient tombs; but there
could be no doubt that this work was recent, for
the mallet and chisel lay on the floor where the
worker had dropped them, and the next line of
characters was sketched in chalk, ready for cutting.
One entire side of the cell was provided with nar-
row shelves, on which were carefully arranged a
hundred or more small antique figures, carved in
stone and metals. Larger objects of the same sort
and half a dozen mummied cats were in niches and
corners of the cell, upon the floor of which was a
sacking of straw and a few torn and soiled blankets.
“Is it a tomb, do you think 2 Somebody lives
here now, at all events, and it might prove awkward
for us if the rightful owner of the premises, not to
mention all those cats, should appear,” remarked
White, coolly surveying his surroundings.


3O4 The Head of Pasht.
I paid little heed to what he was saying. My
attention was riveted upon the strange and evi-
dently valuable objects in the collection on the wall.
Was I dreaming—or could it be merely a coinci-
dence 2
“‘One gilt mask, four scarabaei of lapis lazuli,
figure of Pasht, seated, with the uraeus,’” I mur-
mured to myself, passing from one to another of the
little figures.
“Well, what have you discovered P’’ queried
White, surprised at my manner and holding the
lamp nearer. “Don’t you think that—— ”
“Ah! look there!” I interrupted, with a
shout.
I had caught up a lovely little image of the cat-
headed goddess, and, reversing it, showed White
the initials plainly written in ink on the under side
of the small pedestal, “A. H.”
“What does that mean, Graham * ''
“‘Abraham Hardweather!' This is his collec-
tion, found at last. I thought I could n't be mis-
taken, and now these initials prove it!”
“Where 's the bronze Pasht that was the ‘gem
of the collection ’’ asked White, sharing my
excitement.
“It must be here somewhere.” -
We pulled over the wretched apology for a
bed. We hunted high and low, and White even


CHAPTER XXIII.
A NIGHT WATCH.
MADE my way down again into the subterranean
dwelling and White and I held a “council of
war.” It was evident that we had chanced upon
the hiding-place of Tamat, whose sanity I now
doubted more than ever; although White told me
there was nothing unprecedented in the collection
of cats. It was probably a trace of the ancient wor-
ship of Pasht, and to this day long-bearded dervishes
can be found in remote parts of Egypt, surrounded
by their flock of purring pets, which are held sacred.
Until recently, the “cat-man" was a feature of the
pilgrimage to Mecca, and may occasionally be even
now, for all I know.
We were not in a mood, however, to dwell upon
abstruse questions of heathen mythology or modern
mysticism. Here were the stolen goods. I was a
detective once more and victory lay in my hands.
How was it to be firmly secured
“What time is it 2 ” I asked.
The swift chime of the little repeater announced
half-past ten.
306


A Night Watch. 3O7
“We could hurry down to the city,” sug-
gested White doubtfully, “ and notify the Chief
of Police.”
“Even if the sky remains clear, it would take us
over half an hour. We don't know how far out of
the way we are, and the place is full of pitfalls,”
said I.
“Besides,” added White, “there would be a fair
chance of finding the place empty when we re-
turned.”
We then considered the plan of one remaining
and the other repairing to the police station. This,
however, we finally agreed would be dangerous for
both of us. The three “theological students"
might still be lurking about the hill approaches,
and make their presence unpleasantly felt when
they saw but one traveller stumbling downward
over the unfamiliar road. Again, where was the
owner of the cave At any moment he might put
in an appearance, and if he were well armed it
would probably go hard with the sacrilegious in-
truder upon his feline sanctuary.
“I see no way,” said White, after we had dis-
cussed the matter in all lights for half an hour,
“but for both of us to remain here till morning.”
“Right,” I assented. “And we'll take turns,
watch and watch, in guarding the outer entrance.
It will not be a pleasant post, up there among the


3O8 The Head of Pasht.
cats; but we must n’t be taken by surprise, what-
ever happens.”
White insisted on taking the first watch, promising
to call me at exactly midnight. I would then allow
him three hours' sleep, and he would have the final
section of the night—the “graveyard watch,” the
sailors term it. At six he was to arouse me and
set off for the city. There was no danger of foul
play, we believed, in broad daylight. He scrambled
up the rocky stairway and I heard him humming
Sweet Home to himself as he settled down to his
task. -
It seemed hardly a minute from the time when I
had thrown myself down on the stone floor of the
little tomb-like apartment, when I felt White's hand
on my shoulder.
“Quarter-past twelve, old fellow,” said he. “I
hated to wake you, but a promise is a promise.
I'm not a bit sleepy and would just as lief watch
an hour longer. Go ahead and finish your nap.”
Of course I would not hear of this. I was now
thoroughly awake, and the wonder was that I had
slept at all, amid such strange surroundings. I
made White promise to sleep if he were able, and
agreed to call him promptly at the expiration of my
watch.
I seated myself on a boulder near the mouth of
the shaft and tried to realize my position. The
J


3 IO The Head of Pasht.
the range of my vision; that is, on the downward
slopes of the hill. But I was sure some sharp sound
had awakened me and I believed it must recur soon.
I was not mistaken. Behind my position, and
seemingly only a few yards distant, a rock fell with
a sharp clink, as if dislodged by a heedless foot. It
was followed by a little rush of gravel. Then all
was silent again.
Without changing the position of my body, I
turned my head by slow degrees, until I com-
manded the bluff directly in my rear. Then I rose
to my feet with a bound, shouting for my com-
panion. There was no longer any need of caution.
Crouching on all fours, in a shadowy niche of the
rocks, more like a huge cat than a man, was a human
figure, its head thrown forward, its dark eyes fixed
upon me. I had turned just in time, for it was
gathering itself as if to spring, when my voice rang
out, “White! White! Come, quick!”
At the sound of my words the figure recoiled,
then straightened itself up, and with a wild scream
rushed away over the rocks, bounding from boulder
to boulder with wonderful agility, until it was out of
sight. The cry was the same we had heard earlier
in the evening, and I had not the slightest doubt
that it proceeded from the same source.
So quickly did my unwelcome visitor traverse the
hillside that, even before White could reach me (he


A Night Watch. 3 II
had not slept at all, he said), the creature was out
of sight. I recounted my adventure and we agreed
that it would not be safe for either of us to close his
eyes again that night. Side by side we sat on the
red boulder, hour after hour, now talking in low
tones, now remaining silent until one spoke, lest the
other should lose consciousness.
Dawn came at last, lighting up the rugged sum-
mit of the Mokattam, the pinnacles of the mosques
of Cairo, and the distant peaks of the Pyramids of
Ghizeh; swiftly descending the slopes until the
whole city and the marvellous plains of greensward
and tawny sand were again warmed with its glow.
Sounds of wakening life came up from the streets
and squares below us; a bird flew twittering past,
watched, no doubt, by more than one pair of un-
seen feline orbs on the red slopes about us.
From one minaret after another came faintly up
to our ears the mournful chant of the mueddin,
calling to prayers:
“Lá ilāha ill” alláh / " (“ There is no God but
Allah!”)
Then White rose and said, stretching himself
stiffly, “Shall you go, or I, Graham * ''
“I'd better go myself, as I know the chief pretty
well, and he is disposed to oblige me. Keep a good
lookout while I'm gone. I ought to be back in
less than two hours.”


3I 2 The Head of Pasht.
The distance was not as great as I thought, and
well within the time mentioned I was on the ground
again, with a policeman and two stout bearers, who
made a clean sweep of the contents of the cave and
deposited the whole of the recovered collection of
antiques in sacks which they had brought for the
purpose. Nearly everything mentioned in my list
(with the exception of the bronze statuette) was
there, and later in the day was carefully packed and
shipped to Mr. Hardweather. The other articles
were left in the police station, for identification by
the rightful owners.
The Zabit promised to have men on the lookout
near the cave, night and day, and had great faith
in his own ability to snare the thief. I had no con-
fidence, however, in his success, as I believed Tamat
was already outside the city. Having cabled to my
employer a brief account of our night's work, I un-
folded to White the one remaining hope I had of
apprehending the fanatic who had led us such a
long chase from home. White agreed to stand by
me, and, refreshed by a night's sleep in a good bed,
we rose early next morning and took the Ismailiya
train toward the northeast. We were accompanied
by two policemen in plain clothes. One of the
officers was provided with a pair of modern steel
handcuffs; both men were well armed.


CHAPTER XXIV.
RUN TO EARTH.
HOUSANDS of years ago there was one city in
Egypt especially devoted to the worship of
the goddess Sekhet — Bast, or Pasht. Here, says
Herodotus, was her temple, “the finest in the
world.” It was begun by Cheops, builder of the
Great Pyramid, altered and beautified by Rameses
II., the Pharaoh of the Oppression, and completed
by Sheshenk I. (the “Shishak" of the Bible), in
the Twenty-Second Dynasty, nearly a thousand
years before our Christian era. It had four large
halls, with an aggregate length of six hundred feet,
and in them were held mysterious rites and wild
orgies, incidental to the cult of the evil-looking
goddess with the lioness's head. “The young men
of Pibeseth shall fall by the sword,” proclaimed
Ezekiel, as the report of these idolatrous revels
reached his ears. For ‘‘ Pibeseth '' was no other
than “Bubastis,” whose young men and maidens
have so utterly perished by the sword that even the
pavements they once so lightly trod are buried in
the sands of the desert and jackals howl among the
3I3


316 The Head of Pasht.
marked the site of the city proper, we noticed that
the surface was honeycombed with pits. This
place, we were told, had been the “Cemetery of
Cats,” where the sacred animals had been cremated,
and where innumerable images of their patron god-
dess have been found.
As White and I were strolling through this strange
tract, the grave of a graveyard, my ears caught a
low, monotonous moaning. I turned quickly and
beckoned to the police officers, who were not far
away.
Guided by the sound, we crept up to one of the
larger pits, which had a lateral excavation extending
a few feet underground. I could catch a tone in
the murmuring voice which sounded familiar. with
beating heart I motioned back the officers and
peered into the shaded recess. Something was
moving there, and as soon as my eyes were accus-
tomed to the darkness, I saw that it was a crouching
human figure, with his back toward me, bowing
himself repeatedly almost to the ground and ap-
parently chanting prayers in his own tongue.
An unguarded movement of mine caused him to
look up. The moment he saw me he gave utter-
ance to the same eldritch cry I had heard on the
Mokattam and tried to dash out of the pit, but
from weakness or illness fell prostrate on the sand.
Poor fellow ! I had already seen that it was


Run to Earth. 3 IQ
hard to take leave of White, of whom I had become
sincerely fond, and we exchanged many promises to
keep up a lively correspondence during the coming
months. The Zabit detailed two officers to accom-
pany me to Port Said, where I arrived one day
ahead of the Santa Barbara.
I went on board at once, with Tamat and my
credentials and extradition papers, and after a due
amount of overhauling red tape, was assigned a
small cabin with two berths, to accommodate my
prisoner and myself. I drew my first free breath
when the screw began to turn and we rapidly left
behind us the lights of the port.
The first mess brought me into contact with half
a dozen of the junior officers, whom I found fine,
cordial fellows, with an outdoor, fresh-air manner
about them that was a wholesome change from that
of the languid Egyptian officials. I told them
enough of the circumstances of Toscani's crime,
flight, and capture to satisfy their curiosity, and
they were good enough to speak warmly of my
achievement.
Tamat himself seemed to gain in mind and body
by the change of air and surroundings. Before we
were off the island of Malta he began to take an
interest in men and things and to question me with
some degree of intelligence as to the reason for his
presence and my own on board a United States


32O The Head of Pasht.
warship. For, strange to say, he claimed to have no
recollection whatever of the occurrences of the last
two or three months. I very much doubted his
sincerity at the time, and believed he was playing a
deep game, meaning to plead insanity when he
should be arraigned for his crime in the States.
He said, frankly enough, that he remembered me
as a schoolfellow, and that his past was clear in his
own recollection up to the time of a severe fever
which had attacked him in New York the previous
autumn ; that he had cancelled all his engage-
ments for séances, and had grown rapidly worse
until, as he vaguely recalled, a nurse was sent for.
This was the last he knew until the first morning
after we left Port Said, when, to his astonishment,
he found himself at sea, proceeding he knew not
whither.
As I have said, I placed no confidence in this
story, and therefore felt justified in refraining from
throwing any light upon occurrences which I be-
lieved were as familiar to him as to me. I merely
told him that I had run across him in Cairo, and,
recognizing an old schoolmate, obtained permission
for him to accompany me on the homeward voyage.
I evaded his inquiries as to our status on a govern-
ment vessel, leaving him to assume what he liked
as to my own powers and privileges. In view of
later developments, I have since changed my mind


322 The Head of Pasht.
“You were a little hard on me, if I'm not mis-
taken,” said I. “You know I've had great mis-
fortune in my family.”
He turned quickly toward me.
“I know — I remember,'
“Your father—he is still alive P’’
“Yes.”
“And—away from you ?”
“Yes!” I could not help the bitterness in my
9
he replied slowly.
voice.
Toscani shivered a little, then rose abruptly. “I
must go below. I am cold. You know I am part
Egyptian, and the sea air is harsh to one of my
blood.”
He hesitated a moment before leaving me and I
held my breath. Was the revelation coming
“I could tell you something of — something you
would be glad to know, if I ought! My father—
I will think by myself. Perhaps I will tell you.
Another time.”
He jerked out these brief remarks as if they were
violently forced from him against his will. Was
he bound by an oath, or a sacred promise to his
father, as dear, perhaps, to him as mine to me 2 I
was bitterly disappointed, but made no effort to
hinder him. The disclosure of his life secret was, I
was sure, close at hand.
I saw but little of him that evening, nor did he


324 The Head of Pasht.
Ibn-Kamil. He was descended, through a long line
of honorable men, from the priesthood of ancient
times, and taught me that our ancestors were in-
habitants of the city of Bubastis, not far from Cairo.
They were holy men, attendants in the temple of
Sekhet. He believed we could trace our descent
directly back to one of the highest in rank, a favorite
of King Sheshenk I., of the Twenty-Second Dynasty.
The dream of his life was to restore something of the
ancient religion of his country. He scorned Mo-
hammedans, Protestants, and Roman Catholics
alike, and would not even have me associate with
that ancient order of Christians, the Copts. I was
educated to despise all modern religions and cleave
to the worship of our fathers.
“Such doctrines, held with greatest severity,
naturally made my father an outcast. He was born
in Cairo, but left home in despair after he had in
vain endeavored to found and protect a secret so-
ciety of coreligionists devoted to the worship of
Pasht, to the restoration of the ancient rites, and to
the overthrow of the modern usurpers who, under
pretence of assistance, have invaded our land and
seized upon its revenues. The Society was actually
formed, a few daring enthusiasts joining in his great
hopes and ambitions, and in various secret places,
including the tombs of Bubastis and the deserted
quarries of Mokattam, held more than one meeting


Run to Earth. 3.25
where Sekhet was worshipped in as nearly as pos-
sible the ancient forms. A bronze medal was struck
off for the members, bearing the head of Pasht
I started, but Tamat did not seem to notice me.
I saw with uneasiness that he was becoming more
and more excited and the fire of madness was be-
ginning to creep into his eyes. But it was too late
to check him now. Besides—the story!
“ — and a motto appropriate to the aims of the
Society. My father retained some of these for
many years, some being pierced for buttons, some
to be worn as amulets. He has often taken them
from a little inner pocket and shown them to me,
bidding me be faithful to the goddess and to him.
“In some way the meetings of these men were
betrayed to the government. The political element
in the Society was fatal to its existence. It was
severely repressed, and to escape arrest my father
fled to Italy. In Taranto, where he landed, he met
my mother, a lovely woman, with long silken hair
the color of red gold. A tress of this hair was
carried by my father next his heart until his death.”
Toscani's lips trembled and a great tear stole
down over his hollow cheek.
“Wait,” said I; “tell me the rest another time.”
But he heeded my words no more than the rush of
the waves past the ship.
“When she died, at my birth, he again became a


326 The Head of Pasht.
wanderer, taking the maiden name of my beloved
mother as a memorial of her. He came to America
and obtained employment as an interpreter on the
docks.
“When I was about ten years old something
strange occurred in his life. He was away from
home for days at a time, leaving me in charge of
neighbors. I saw him, more than once, in the
company of a stranger — a coarse-looking man,
poorly dressed, but with a shrewd face. His name
was - ''
“David Dinsmore!” I cried, no longer able to
contain myself.
“How did you know?”. Toscani gripped my arm
and turned his face upon me. There was no mis-
taking the madness in his glowing eyes. I tried to
rise, but he held me with a grasp like a vise, repeat-
ing over and over, “How did you know How
did you know * ''
I was about to call for help, when I felt his hold
relax. He was looking eagerly along the deck to-
ward the waist of the ship. I followed his gaze
and saw a dark-colored kitten, not unlike the little
creature we had found in his arms at Bubastis.
His whole expression softened. He bowed him-
self three times, uttering strange words. Then,
with a wonderful tenderness in his face and voice,
advanced toward the animal, who was a pet of some


CHAPTER XXV.
“TWENTY-NINE–SEVEN.”
4 4 AN overboard 1 ''
It was with a strange mixture of emotions,
humane and selfish, that I uttered this shout, one
of the most thrilling on board ship. My heart was
moved for the man whom I caught sight of for a
moment as he rose to the surface and began fighting
his way not toward the steamer but away from it.
I fear, however, I thought most of all of the possi-
ble loss of the only real hope I had of settling the
Barnsworth mystery.
It was no time, however, for the analysis of
motive or sentiment. The cry of “Man over-
board ' " had sprung involuntarily from my lips,
but almost before they were uttered a life-buoy was
flying through the air toward the struggling swim-
mer. It was thrown by an ensign who happened to
be on deck at the time; and now I had an oppor-
tunity to see the splendid discipline of the navy.
Even while the life-buoy was in mid-air an electric
bell tinkled in the engine-room far below. The
throb of the screw ceased a moment, then began
328


“Twenty-Nine—Seven." 329
more heavily again, churning the sea into a cauldron
of froth as the powerful engines were reversed.
Meanwhile there came a few sharp orders, a rapid
patter of feet, and one of the starboard boats was
filled with men and sinking from the davits in an
incredibly short space of time. As the boat struck
the water, the hooks freed themselves and it dashed
away under charge of a junior officer, who had
taken the bearings of the swimmer and the buoy
from the steamer's deck.
It seemed an age before I spied the boat return-
ing, and it was not until it was within fifty rods of
the Santa Barbara that I made out the unconscious
form of Toscani, supported by one of the men in
the stern sheets.
The Egyptian was lifted over the rail and carried
below, but not before a little ball of drenched fur
had leaped down on the deck, resolving itself into a
very wet and unhappy kitten, who was caught up
by a natty young naval cadet and marched off to
be dried.
The surgeon worked over his patient for an hour.
Then he came out of the sick-bay, looking ex-
hausted and disappointed.
My face questioned him eagerly.
“He 's gone,” said the doctor, clipping his
words, as naval gentlemen will. “I thought I had
him once, but he only came out of it enough to


“Twenty-Nine—Seven.” 333
not get away until noon. I reached the metropolis
at six and, after a hasty meal at the nearest restau-
rant, took a train on the Sixth Avenue Elevated
down-town.
Snow had fallen during the day. The air was
damp and chilly and the streets were ankle-deep in
a half-thawed mixture of ice and mud. The snow
had turned to fine, drizzling rain. The few passers-
by whom necessity drove out into the inclement
weather bowed their heads against the wind and
struggled moodily along the slippery sidewalks or
sought shelter in the brilliantly lighted saloons
which, alas! seemed to offer the only good cheer
attainable in that dreary district — the East-End of
New York.
I found Seventh Street without difficulty and,
evading one or two lurching individuals who were
disposed to be too companionable, made my way
over the reeking pavements until I reached the
mouth of a dark passage or alley between Nos. 27
and 31. This, then, must be the place, if our read-
ing of Toscani's last words was a true one.
A wooden door hung wide open, rotting on its
hinges, at the entrance of the passage, and passing
my fingers over its slimy surface, I felt the iron
figures, “ 29.” Hesitating no longer, I entered.
It was too dark to see where I was treading, but
the ground under my feet was unpleasantly soft.


& 4 Twenty-Nine—Seven.” 335
in New York and have n't any boarding-place.
Has the room got a good bed ”’’
“The best in the Ward. Come along if ye want
to look at it.”
Coughing and grumbling to herself she led the
way up a rickety flight of stairs and ushered me
into the apartment she desired to let.
“Is n’t there anything else ?” I asked, after a
critical examination of the wretched little room.
“I like plenty of fresh air and could pay a quarter
extra if there was a good room higher up.”
“There 's nothin' but old Martin's room,” said
she. “ He 's sick, an’ can't be moved, but he 's
got his death, sure. In a week or two you could
move up, fast enough,” she added with a cunning
leer.
“Perhaps if I could see — what 's his name,
Martin —I could make a trade with him.”
“Oh, he 's no good,” said the landlady, scorn-
fully. “Been here two years, and sick since last
summer. He 'd stay there an' keep alive a year
more, jest to spite ye, ef he knew ye wanted the
room.”
“Well, I 'll see him, anyway. Have you any
more lodgers ?”
“Not a one, more's the pity. Ye'll hev a quiet
life here, stranger.”
Something in her rough manner of speech


336 The Head of Pasht.
reminded me of Aunt Salvation's country dialect,
into which she sometimes fell even now, under strong
excitement; although this woman's words had, I
need not say, a harsh and ignorant quality which
was lacking in my aunt's.
Grumbling more than ever, she mounted another
stairway, which creaked dismally under our tread as
I followed my guide.
She paused on the upper landing to regain her
breath, and then, without the formality of knocking,
pushed open a low door at one side.
“There,” she said, thrusting the candle-stick into
my hand, “ye can talk it over with the old man all
ye want. I 'll be downstairs, and when I hear ye
comin' I'll come out an’ see ye in the entry.”
She wheezed away again, down the dark stairs,
and I entered the room, which was perhaps eight
feet square, with a sloping ceiling and wretchedly
furnished.
On a narrow bed in one corner lay an old man,
his grizzled locks falling wildly over his thin fore-
head as he struggled to rise.
“What—who air ye 2 ” he cried, and would have
said more had not an asthmatic cough seized and
racked his aged frame as if it would tear it to pieces
before my eyes.
I advanced to the bedside and seated myself on
a low stool, placing the candle on a table so that the


CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCLUSION.
WILL not try to give Dinsmore's halting story
of his poor, wasted, wretched life in his own
words. In substance it was as follows:
“If I had been content with my farm in Barns-
worth, all would have been well with me. My crops
brought me in good returns, my days were passed
quietly and happily with my wife —yes, Molly was
my wife, although it was my whim to conceal the
fact from my neighbors. You have seen her to-
night. She loves me and stands by me still, in spite
of my inflictions.”
(I would not tell the old man of the woman's
crafty speech downstairs. He trusted her implicitly;
and, indeed, perhaps she was but trying to secure
me as her lodger, without meaning a word she said
concerning the prospects of his early demise.)
“My neighbors respected, if they did not love me
—all, that is, but your father, John Graham. He
was a scholar and a gentleman, not like the rest of
us with our rough ways. I hated him for it and
for the knowledge that he despised me.
338


Conclusion. 339
“Some weeks before I disappeared I drove over
to Broadville, twenty miles away, to see a man
about some cattle. There I met a foreigner who
called himself Toscani. He was a queer fellow and
at first I thought he was half crazy. He talked to
me about a pile of money to be gained in foreign
parts; of mines and statues and buried treasures,
till I laughed in his face. Still he kept his temper
and gave me his address in the city.
“Not long afterward I had to go up there on busi-
ness and I called on the foreigner. I was odd in
some ways myself, and liked to show my oddness,
I guess, by doing things that other people did n’t.
“Toscani had maps of the place he had described.
It was in Egypt, and he said his family had buried
heaps of money and jewels, in times past, to keep
them from the soldiers in a war. He only needed
money to go back there and dig it up; and he
promised to go halves with me if I could set him up
with five hundred dollars.
“I laughed at him again and said the ‘gold-
brick' game would n’t work with me, if I was a
farmer; and home I went.
“But the more I thought of it the bigger the
idea grew. I saw myself coming back to Barns-
worth with my pockets full of money and building
a splendid house on the old place and dressing up
my wife in the silks and satins she deserved. Only


34O The Head of Pasht.
one thing more would be needed to make me happy,
—the degradation of the man who despised me,
John Graham.
“When a man's heart is set with all his might
on two things, money and hate, it goes hard with
him, for they tear him like dogs, night and day. I
saw Toscani again and again, once bringing him to
my house after dark and taking him away again
before daylight. I drove him half-way to the city,
to make sure his visit would n’t be known. He
seemed to fall in with my ideas about Graham and
suggested a plan which I afterward, to my shame
and lasting misery, carried out.
“It was agreed that I should place the money in
Toscani's hands, in gold, on a certain day. I settled
up my business quietly, here and there, and bor-
rowed a considerable sum on my house and land,
meaning to leave the place and either go abroad
with my tempter or go into business in the West
until he should return with my share of the recov-
ered wealth.
“The night I returned to Barnsworth I showed
my gold, a thousand dollars in all, to my neighbors
at the hotel, meaning that they should notice and
remember it, as they did. I managed to leave just
after Graham had started for home. As I expected,
I overtook him and bitter words passed between
us. I let him go on, out of sight, with a bright


Conclusion. 34 I
gold coin in his pocket which I had placed there.
Then I trampled up a place by the river bank and
broke down the bushes, as if there had been a fight.
I hurried home and arranged for leaving Barns-
worth at midnight. I had told my wife enough of
my plans to enable her to pursue the course I marked
out for her, and I knew she would never tell the
secret, not to save her own life. She was to go
to Canada and around by Toronto into the
States again, meeting me on a fixed date in New
York.
“When all was ready and the village was asleep
I slipped over to Graham's house, meaning to throw
another coin into his room, in case the first should
not be found. His windows were fastened, so I
crept around to the end of the house, opened a bed-
room window and, being flurried by this business
and afraid of being caught, threw in, not a gold
piece, but a queer, foreign-looking button Toscani
had given me the night he was at my house. I
did not dare to get in after it when I found my
mistake, but ran all the way to my own house,
which I finally left at midnight.
“I walked fifteen miles that night and twenty
the next (it was bright moonlight), spending the day
between in the woods. In this way I reached the
town to which I had driven Toscani a few weeks
before, and there I mingled in the crowd on the





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