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Twin Cities Campus











ROOM NUMBER 3
AND OTHER DETECTIVE STORIES
BY
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN Y" is .
Author of
“The Leavenworth Case,” “Initials Only,”
“The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow,” etc.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1919


CopyRIGHT, 1912, BY
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
CoPYRIGHT, 1909, 1919, BY
THE CROWELL PUBLISHING CO.
CoPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
ABBOTT & BRIGGS INC.
CoPYRIGHT, 1913, PY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
As “Masterpieces of Mystery”


:
II
III
IV
VI
VII
VIII
IX
CONTENTS
RooM NUMBER 3
MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP Row
THE RUBY AND THE CALDRon
The Little Steel Coils
THE STAIRCASE AT HEART's DELIGHT
THE AMETHYST Box
THE GREY LADY . - -
THE THIEF
THE House IN THE MIST •
PAGE
85
107
I49
I8 I
209
31 I
339
369





ROOM NUMBER 3





I
“WHAT door is that? You've opened all the others;
why do you pass that one by?”
“Oh, that! That's only Number 3. A mere
closet, gentlemen,” responded the landlord in a
pleasant voice. “To be sure, we sometimes use it
as a sleeping-room when we are hard pushed. Jake,
the clerk you saw below, used it last night. But it's
not on our regular list. Do you want a peep at it?”
“Most assuredly. As you know, it's our duty to
see every room in this house, whether it is on your
regular list or not.”
“All right. I haven't the key of this one with
me. But—yes, I have. There, gentlemen!” he
cried, unlocking the door and holding it open for
them to look inside. “You see it no more answers
the young lady's description than the others do.
And I haven't another to show you. You have seen
all those in front, and this is the last one in the rear.
You'll have to believe our story. The old lady
never put foot in this tavern.”
The two men he addressed peered into the
shadowy recesses before them, and one of them, a
tall and uncommonly good-looking young man of
stalwart build and unusually earnest manner, stepped
softly inside. He was a gentleman farmer living
near, recently appointed deputy sheriff on account
3


4. ROOM NUMBER 3
of a recent outbreak of horse-stealing in the
neighbourhood.
“I observe,” he remarked, after a hurried glance
about him, “that the paper on these walls is not at
all like that she describes. She was very particular
about the paper; said that it was of a muddy pink
colour and had big scrolls on it which seemed to
move and crawl about in whirls as you looked at it.
This paper is blue and striped. Otherwise—”
“Let's go below,” suggested his companion, who,
from the deference with which his most casual word
was received, was evidently a man of some authority.
“It's cold here, and there are several new questions
I should like to put to the young lady. Mr.
Quimby,”—this to the landlord, “I’ve no doubt you
are right, but we'll give this poor girl another
chance. I believe in giving every one the utmost
chance possible.”
“My reputation is in your hands, Coroner
Golden,” was the quiet reply. Then, as they both
turned, “my reputation against the word of an
obviously demented girl.”
The words made their own echo. As the third
man moved to follow the other two into the hall,
he seemed to catch this echo, for he involuntarily
cast another look behind him as if expectant of some
contradiction reaching him from the bare and
melancholy walls he was leaving. But no such con-
tradiction came. Instead, he appeared to read con-
firmation there of the landlord's plain and unem-
bittered statement. The dull blue paper with its


ROOM NUMBER 3 5
old-fashioned and uninteresting stripes seemed to
have disfigured the walls for years. It was not only
grimy with age, but showed here and there huge
discoloured spots, especially around the stovepipe-
hole high up on the left-hand side. Certainly he
was a dreamer to doubt such plain evidences as
these. Yet
Here his eye encountered Quimby's, and pulling
himself up short, he hastily fell into the wake of his
comrade now hastening down the narrow passage
to the wider hall in front. Had it occurred to him
to turn again before rounding the corner—but no,
I doubt if he would have learned anything even
then. The closing of a door by a careful hand—
the slipping up behind him of an eager and noise-
less step—what is there in these to re-awaken
curiosity and fix suspicion? Nothing, when the man
concerned is Jacob Quimby; nothing. Better that
he failed to look back; it left his judgment freer for
the question confronting him in the room below.
Three Forks Tavern has been long forgotten, but
at the time of which I write it was a well-known
but little-frequented house, situated just back of the
highway on the verge of the forest lying between
the two towns of Chester and Danton in southern
Ohio. It was of ancient build, and had all the pic-
turesquesness of age and the English traditions of
its original builder. Though so near two thriving
towns, it retained its own quality of apparent re-
moteness from city life and city ways. This in a
measure was made possible by the nearness of the


6 ROOM NUMBER 3
woods which almost enveloped it; but the character
of the man who ran it had still more to do with it,
his sympathies being entirely with the old, and not
at all with the new, as witness the old-style glazing
still retained in its ancient doorway. This, while
it appealed to a certain class of summer boarders,
did not so much meet the wants of the casual trav-
eller, so that while the house might from some rea-
son or other be overfilled one night, it was just as
likely to be almost empty the next, save for the
faithful few who loved, the woods and the ancient
ways of the easy-mannered host and his attentive,
soft-stepping help. The building itself was of
wooden construction, high in front and low in the
rear, with gables toward the highway, projecting
here and there above a strip of rude old-fashioned
carving. These gables were new, that is, they were
only a century old; the portion now called the ex-
tension, in the passages of which we first found the
men we have introduced to you, was the original
house. Then it may have enjoyed the sunshine and
air of the valley it overlooked, but now it was so
hemmed in by yards and outbuildings as to be con-
sidered the most undesirable part of the house, and
Number 3 the most undesirable of its rooms; which
certainly does not speak well for it.
But we are getting away from our new friends
and their mysterious errand. As I have already
intimated, this tavern with the curious name (a
name totally unsuggestive, by the way, of its loca-
tion on a perfectly straight road) had for its south-


ROOM NUMBER 3 7
ern aspect the road and a broad expanse beyond of
varied landscape which made the front rooms cheer-
ful even on a cloudy day; but it was otherwise with
those in the rear and on the north end. They were
never cheerful, and especially toward night were
frequently so dark that artificial light was resorted
to as early as three o'clock in the afternoon. It was
so to-day in the remote parlour which these three
now entered. A lamp had been lit, though the day-
light still struggled feebly in, and it was in this con-
flicting light that there rose up before them the
vision of a woman, who seen at any time and in any
place would have drawn, if not held, the eye, but
seen in her present attitude and at such a moment
of question and suspense, struck the imagination
with a force likely to fix her image forever in
the mind, if not in the heart, of a sympathetic
observer.
I should like to picture her as she stood there,
because the impression she made at this instant de-
termined the future action of the man I have intro-
duced to you as not quite satisfied with the appear-
ances he had observed above. Young, slender but
vigorous, with a face whose details you missed in
the fire of her eye and the wonderful red of her
young, fresh but determined mouth, she stood, on
guard as it were, before a shrouded form on a
couch at the far end of the room. An imperative
Keep back! spoke in her look, her attitude, and the
silent gesture of one outspread hand, but it was the
Keep back! of love, not of fear, the command of


8 ROOM NUMBER 3
an outraged soul, conscious of its rights and in-
stinctively alert to maintain them.
The landlord at sight of the rebuke thus given
to their intrusion, stepped forward with a concilia-
tory bow.
“I beg pardon,” said he, “but these gentlemen,
Doctor Golden, the coroner from Chester, and Mr.
Hammersmith, wish to ask you a few more ques-
tions about your mother's death. You will answer
them, I am sure.”
Slowly her eyes moved till they met those of the
speaker.
“I am anxious to do so,” said she, in a voice rich
with many emotions. But seeing the open compas-
sion in the landlord's face, the colour left her
cheeks, almost her lips, and drawing back the hand
which she had continued to hold outstretched, she
threw a glance of helpless inquiry about her which
touched the younger man's heart and induced him
to say:
“The truth should not be hard to find in a case
like this. I'm sure the young lady can explain.
Doctor Golden, are you ready for her story?”
The coroner, who had been silent up till now,
probably from sheer surprise at the beauty and sim-
ple, natural elegance of the woman caught, as he
believed, in a net of dreadful tragedy, roused him-
self at this direct question, and bowing with an as-
sumption of dignity far from encouraging to the
man and woman anxiously watching him, replied:
“We will hear what she has to say, of course,


->
ROOM NUMBER 3 9
but the facts are well known. The woman she calls
mother was found early this morning lying on her
face in the adjoining woods quite dead. She had
fallen over a half-concealed root, and with such
force that she never moved again. If her daughter
was with her at the time, then that daughter fled
without attempting to raise her. The condition and
position of the wound on the dead woman's fore-
head, together with such corroborative facts as have
since come to light, preclude all argument on this
point. But we'll listen to the young woman, not-
withstanding; she has a right to speak, and she shall
speak. Did not your mother die in the woods? No
hocus-pocus, miss, but the plain unvarnished truth.”
“Sirs,”—the term was general, but her appeal
appeared to be directed solely to the one sympathetic
figure before her, “if my mother died in the wood—
and, for all I can say, she may have done so—it was
not till after she had been in this house. She ar-
rived in my company, and was given a room. I saw
the room and I saw her in it. I cannot be deceived
in this. If I am, then my mind has suddenly failed
me;—something which I find it hard to believe.”
“Mr. Quimby, did Mrs. Demarest come to the
house with Miss Demarest?” inquired Mr. Ham-
mersmith of the silent landlord.
“She says so,” was the reply, accompanied by a
compassionate shrug which spoke volumes. “And
I am quite sure she means it,” he added, with kindly
emphasis. “But ask Jake, who was in the office all
the evening. Ask my wife, who saw the young lady


ROOM NUMBER 3 i i
cheeks faded till she looked as startling and indi-
vidual in her pallor as she had the moment before
in her passionate bloom.
“Not there?” fell from her lips in a frozen
monotone as her eyes grew fixed upon the faces be-
fore her and her hand went groping around for some
support.
Mr. Hammersmith approached with a chair.
“Sit,” he whispered. Then, as she sank slowly
into an attitude of repose, he added gently, “You
shall have every consideration. Only tell the truth,
the exact truth without any heightening from your
imagination, and, above all, don't be frightened.”
She may have heard his words, but she gave no
sign of comprehending them. She was following
the movements of the landlord, who had slipped out
to procure the register, and now stood holding it
out toward the coroner.
“Let her see for herself,” he suggested, with a
bland, almost fatherly, air.
Doctor Golden took the book and approached
Miss Demarest.
“Here is a name very unlike yours,” he pointed
out, as her eye fell on the page he had opened to.
“Annette Colvin, Lansing, Michigan.”
“That is not my name or writing,” said she.
“There is room below it for your name and that
of your mother, but the space is blank, do you see?”
“Yes, yes, I see,” she admitted. “Yet I wrote
my name in the book! Or is it all a monstrous
dream l’’


I2 ROOM NUMBER 3
The coroner returned the book to the landlord.
“Is this your only book?” he asked.
“The only book.”
Miss Demarest's eyes flashed. Hammersmith,
who had watched this scene with intense interest,
saw, or believed that he saw, in this flash the natural
indignation of a candid mind face to face with ar-
rant knavery. But when he forced himself to con-
sider the complacent Quimby he did not know what
to think. His aspect of self-confidence equalled hers.
Indeed, he showed the greater poise. Yet her tones
rang true as she cried:
“You made up one plausible story, and you may
well make up another. I demand the privilege of
relating the whole occurrence as I remember it,”
she continued with an appealing look in the one
sympathetic direction. “Then you can listen to
him.”
“We desire nothing better,” returned the cor-
Oner.
“I shall have to mention a circumstance very
mortifying to myself,” she proceeded, with a sudden
effort at self-control, which commanded the admira-
tion even of the coroner. “My one adviser is
dead,” here her eyes flashed for a moment toward
the silent form behind her. “If I make mistakes,
if I seem unwomanly—but you have asked for the
truth and you shall have it, all of it. I have no
father. Since early this morning I have had no
mother. But when I had, I found it my duty to
work for her as well as for myself, that she might


ROOM NUMBER 3 13
have the comforts she had been used to and could
no longer afford. For this purpose I sought a sit-
uation in Chester, and found one in a family I had
rather not name.” A momentary tremor, quickly
suppressed, betrayed the agitation which this allu-
sion cost her. “My mother lived in Danton (the
next town to the left). Anybody there will tell you
what a good woman she was. I had wished her
to live in Chester (that is, at first; later, I—I was
glad she didn't), but she had been born in Danton,
and could not accustom herself to strange surround-
ings. Once a week I went home, and once a week,
usually on a Wednesday, she would come and meet
me on the highroad, for a little visit. Once we
met here, but this is a circumstance no one seems
to remember. I was very fond of my mother and
she of me. Had I loved no one else, I should
have been happy still, and not been obliged to face
strangers over her body and bare the secrets of my
heart to preserve my good name. There is a man,
he seems a thousand miles away from me now, so
much have I lived since yesterday. He—he lived
in the house where I did—was one of the family—
always at table—always before my eyes. He
fancied me. I—I might have fancied him had he
been a better man. But he was far from being of
the sort my mother approved, and when he urged
his suit too far, I grew frightened and finally ran
away. It was not so much that I could not trust
him,” she bravely added after a moment of silent
confusion, “but that I could not trust myself. He


I4 ROOM NUMBER 3
had an unfortunate influence over me, which I hated
while I half yielded to it.”
“You ran away. When was this?”
“Yesterday afternoon at about six. He had
vowed that he would see me again before the even-
ing was over, and I took that way to prevent a
meeting. There was no other so simple,—or such
was my thought at the time. I did not dream that
sorrows awaited me in this quiet tavern, and per-
plexities so much greater than any which could have
followed a meeting with him that I feel my reason
fail when I contemplate them.”
“Go on,” urged the coroner, after a moment of
uneasy silence. “Let us hear what happened after
you left your home in Chester.”
“I went straight to the nearest telegraph office,
and sent a message to my mother. I told her I was
coming home, and for her to meet me on the road
near this tavern. Then I went to Hudson's and had
supper, for I had not eaten before leaving my em-
ployer's. The sun had set when I finally started,
and I walked fast so as to reach Three Forks before
dark. If my mother had got the telegram at once,
which I calculated on her doing, as she lived next
door to the telegraph office in Danton, she would
be very near this place on my arrival here. So I
began to look for her as soon as I entered the woods.
But I did not see her. I came as far as the tavern
door, and still I did not see her. But farther on,
just where the road turns to cross the railroad-track,
I spied her coming, and ran to meet her. She was


ROOM NUMBER 3 15
glad to see me, but asked a good many questions
which I had some difficulty in answering. She saw
this, and held me to the matter till I had satisfied her.
When this was done it was late and cold, and we
decided to come to the tavern for the night. And
we came! Nothing shall ever make me deny so
positive a fact. We came, and this man received
us.”
With her final repetition of this assertion, she
rose and now stood upright, with her finger pointing
straight at Quimby. Had he cringed or let his eyes
waver from hers by so much as a hair's breadth, her
accusation would have stood and her cause been
won. But not a flicker disturbed the steady patience
of his look, and Hammersmith, who had made no
effort to hide his anxiety to believe her story, showed
his disappointment with equal frankness as he
asked:
“Who else was in the office? Surely Mr.
Quimby was not there alone?”
She reseated herself before answering. Ham-
mersmith could see the effort she made to recall
that simple scene. He found himself trying to re-
call it, too—the old-fashioned, smoke-begrimed of-
fice, with its one long window toward the road and
the glass-paned door leading into the hall of en-
trance They had come in by that door and crossed
to the bar, which was also the desk in this curious
old hostelry. He could see them standing there in
the light of possibly a solitary lamp, the rest of the
room in shadow unless a game of checkers were on,


$6 ROOM NUMBER $
which evidently was not so on this night. Had she
turned her head to peer into those shadows? It
was not likely. She was supported by her mother's
presence, and this she was going to say. By some
strange telepathy that he would have laughed at
a few hours before, he feels confident of her words
before she speaks. Yet he listens intently as she
finally looks up and answers:
“There was a man, I am sure there was a man
somewhere at the other end of the office. But I
paid no attention to him. I was bargaining for two
rooms and registering my name and that of my
mother.”
“Two rooms; why two? You are not a fash-
ionable young lady to require a room alone.”
“Gentlemen, I was tired. I had been through
a wearing half-hour. I knew that if we occupied
the same room or even adjoining ones that nothing
could keep us from a night of useless and depressing
conversation. I did not feel equal to it, so I asked
for two rooms a short distance apart.”
An explanation which could at least be accepted.
Mr. Hammersmith felt an increase of courage
and scarcely winced as his colder-blooded com-
panion continued this unofficial examination by
asking:
“Where were you standing when making these
arrangements with Mr. Quimby?”
“Right before the desk.”
“And your mother?”
“She was at my left and a little behind me. She


ROOM NUMBER 3 17
was a shy woman. I usually took the lead when we
were together.”
“Was she veiled?” the coroner continued quietly.
“I think so. She had been crying ” The
bereaved daughter paused.
“But don't you know?”
“My impression is that her veil was down when
we came into the room. She may have lifted it as
she stood there. I know that it was lifted as we
went upstairs. I remember feeling glad that the
lamps gave so poor a light, she looked so dis-
tressed.”
“Physically, do you mean, or mentally?”
Mr. Hammersmith asked this question. It
seemed to rouse some new train of thought in the
girl’s mind. For a minute she looked intently at
the speaker, then she replied in a disturbed tone:
“Both. I wonder ” Here her thought wav-
ered and she ceased.
“Go on,” ordered the coroner impatiently.
“Tell your story. It contradicts that of the land-
lord in almost every point, but we’ve promised to
hear it out, and we will.”
Rousing, she hastened to obey him.
“Mr. Quimby told the truth when he said that
he asked me if I would have supper, also when he
repeated what I said about a gentleman, but not
when he declared that I wished to be told if my
mother should come and ask for me. My mother
was at my side all the time we stood there talking,
and I did not need to make any requests concerning


18 ROOM NUMBER 3
her. When we went to our rooms a woman accom-
panied us. He says she is his wife. I should like
to see that woman.”
“I am here, miss,” spoke up a voice from a
murky corner no one had thought of looking in till
noW.
Miss Demarest at once rose, waiting for the
woman to come forward. This she did with a quick,
natural step which insensibly prepared the mind for
the brisk, assertive woman who now presented her-
self. Mr. Hammersmith, at sight of her open, not
unpleasing face, understood for the first time the
decided attitude of the coroner. If this woman cor-
roborated her husband's account, the poor young
girl, with her incongruous beauty and emotional
temperament, would not have much show. He
looked to see her quailing now. But instead of that
she stood firm, determined, and feverishly beautiful.
“Let her tell you what took place upstairs,” she
cried. “She showed us the rooms and carried water
afterward to the one my mother occupied.”
“I am sorry to contradict the young lady,” came
in even tones from the unembarrassed, motherly-
looking woman thus appealed to. “She thinks that
her mother was with her and that I conducted this
mother to another room after showing her to her
own. I don't doubt in the least that she has worked
herself up to the point of absolutely believing this.
But the facts are these: She came alone and went
to her room unattended by any one but my-
self. And what is more, she seemed entirely com-


ROOM NUMBER 3 I9
posed at the time, and I never thought of suspect-
ing the least thing wrong. Yet her mother lay all
that time in the wood—”
“Silence 1 ''
This word was shot at her by Miss Demarest,
who had risen to her full height and now fairly
flamed upon them all in her passionate indignation.
“I will not listen to such words till I have finished
all I have to say and put these liars to the blush.
My mother was with me, and this woman witnessed
our good-night embrace, and then showed my
mother to her own room. I watched them going.
They went down the hall to the left and around a
certain corner. I stood looking after them till they
turned this corner, then I closed my door and be-
gan to take off my hat. But I wasn't quite satis-
fied with the good-night which had passed between
my poor mother and myself, and presently I opened
my door and ran down the hall and around the
corner on a chance of finding her room. I don't
remember very well how that hall looked. I passed
several doors seemingly shut for the night, and
should have turned back, confused, if at that mo-
ment I had not spied the landlady's figure, your
figure, madam, coming out of one room on your
way to another. You were carrying a pitcher, and
I made haste and ran after you and reached the
door just before you turned to shut it. Can you
deny that, or that, you stepped aside while I ran
in and gave my mother another hug? If you can
and do, then you are a dangerous and lying wo-


2O ROOM NUMBER 3
man, or I But I won't admit that I'm not all
right. It is you, base and untruthful woman, who
for some end I cannot fathom persist in denying
facts on which my honour, if not my life, depends.
Why, gentlemen, you, one of you at least, have
heard me describe the very room in which I saw
my mother. It is imprinted on my mind. I didn't
know at the time that I took especial notice of it,
but hardly a detail escaped me. The paper on the
wall 35
“We have been looking through the rooms,”
interpolated the coroner. “We do not find any
papered with the muddy pink you talk about.”
She stared, drew back from them all, and finally
sank into a chair. “You do not find But you
have not been shown them all.”
“I think so.”
“You have not. There is such a room. I could
not have dreamed it.”
Silence met this suggestion.
Throwing up her hands like one who realises for
the first time that the battle is for life, she let an
expression of her despair and desolation rush in
frenzy from her lips:
“It's a conspiracy. The whole thing is a con-
spiracy. If my mother had had money on her or
had worn valuable jewelry, I should believe her to
have been a victim of this lying man and woman.
As it is, I don't trust them. They say that my poor
mother was found lying ready dressed and quite
dead in the wood. That may be true, for I saw


RooM NUMBER 3 21
men bringing her in. But if so, what warrant have
we that she was not lured there, slaughtered, and
made to seem the victim of accident by this un-
scrupulous man and woman? Such things have
been done; but for a daughter to fabricate such a
plot as they impute to me is past belief, out of
Nature and impossible. With all their wiles, they
cannot prove it. I dare them to do so; I dare
any one to do so.”
Then she begged to be allowed to search the
house for the room she so well remembered.
“When I show you that,” she cried, with ringing
assurance, “you will believe the rest of my story.”
“Shall I take the young lady up myself?” asked
Mr. Quimby. “Or will it be enough if my wife
accompanies her?”
“We will all accompany her,” said the coroner.
“Very good,” came in hearty acquiescence.
“It's the only way to quiet her,” he whispered
in Mr. Hammersmith's ear.
The latter turned on him suddenly.
“None of your insinuations,” he cried. “She's
as far from insane as I am myself. We shall find
the room.”
“You, too,” fell softly from the other's lips as
he stepped back into the coroner's wake. Mr.
Hammersmith gave his arm to Miss Demarest,
and the landlady brought up the rear.
“Upstairs,” ordered the trembling girl. “We
will go first to the room I occupied.”
As they reached the door, she motioned them


22 ROOM NUMBER 3
all back, and started away from them down the
hall. Quickly they followed. “It was around a
corner,” she muttered broodingly, halting at the
first turning. “That is all I remember. But we'll
visit every room.”
“We have already,” objected the coroner, but
meeting Mr. Hammersmith's warning look, he de-
sisted from further interference.
“I remember its appearance perfectly. I re-
member it as if it were my own,” she persisted, as
door after door was thrown back and as quickly
shut again at a shake of her head. “Isn't there
another hall? Might I not have turned some other
corner?”
“Yes, there is another hall,” acquiesced the land-
lord, leading the way into the passage communciat-
ing with the extension.
“Oh!” she murmured, as she noted the in-
creased interest in both the coroner and his com-
panion; “we shall find it here.”
“Do you recognise the hall?” asked the cor-
oner as they stepped through a narrow opening
into the old part.
“No, but I shall recognise the room.”
“Wait!” It was Hammersmith who called her
back as she was starting forward. “I should like
you to repeat just how much furniture this room
contained and where it stood.”
She stopped, startled, and then said:
“It was awfully bare; a bed was on the left—”
“On the left?”


ROOM NUMBER 3 23
“She said the left,” quoth the landlord, “though
I don't see that it matters; it's all fancy with
her.”
“Go on,” kindly urged Hammersmith.
“There was a window. I saw the dismal panes
and my mother standing between them and me. I
can't describe the little things.”
“Possibly because there were none to describe,”
whispered Hammersmith in his superior's ear.
Meanwhile the landlord and his wife awaited
their advance with studied patience. As Miss Dem-
arest joined him, he handed her a bunch of keys,
with the remark:
“None of these rooms are occupied to-day, so
you can open them without hesitation.”
She stared at him and ran quickly forward.
Mr. Hammersmith followed speedily after. Sud-
denly both paused. She had lost the thread of her
intention before opening a single door.
“I thought I could go straight to it,” she de-
clared. “I shall have to open all the doors, as we
did in the other hall.”
“Let me help you,” proffered Mr. Hammer-
smith. She accepted his aid, and the search re-
commenced with the same results as before. Hope
sank to disappointment as each door was passed.
The vigour of her step was gone, and as she paused
heartsick before the last and only remaining door,
it was with an ashy face she watched Mr. Hammer-
smith stoop to insert the key. -
He, on his part, as the door fell back, watched


24 ROOM NUMBER 3
her for some token of awakened interest. But he
watched in vain. The smallness of the room, its
bareness, its one window, the absence of all furni-
ture save the solitary cot drawn up on the right (not
on the left, as she had said), seemed to make little
or no impression on her.
“The last! the last! and I have not found it.
Oh, sir,” she moaned, catching at Mr. Hammer-
smith's arm, “am I then mad? Was it a dream?
Or is this a dream? I feel that I no longer know.”
Then, as the landlady officiously stepped up, she
clung with increased frenzy to Mr. Hammersmith,
crying, with positive wildness, “This is the dream!
The room I remember is a real one and my story
is real. Prove it, or my reason will leave me. I
feel it going—going 5 *
“Hush!” It was Hammersmith who sought
thus to calm her. “Your story is real and I will
prove it so. Meanwhile trust your reason. It will
not fail you.”
He had observed the corners of the landlord's
hitherto restrained lips settle into a slightly sar-
castic curl as the door of this room closed for the
second time.
II
“The girl's beauty has imposed on you.”
“I don't think so. I should be sorry to think
myself so weak. I simply credit her story more
than I do that of Quimby.”
|


ROOM NUMBER 3 25
“But his is supported by several witnesses. Hers
has no support at all.”
“That is what strikes me as so significant. This
man Quimby understands himself. Who are his
witnesses? His wife and his head man. There is
nobody else. In the half-hour which has just
passed I have searched diligently for some disin-
terested testimony supporting his assertion, but I
have found none. No one knows anything. Of
the three persons occupying rooms in the extension
last night, two were asleep and the third overcome
with drink. The maids won't talk. They seem
uneasy, and I detected a sly look pass from the
one to the other at some question I asked, but they
won't talk. There's a conspiracy somewhere. I'm
as sure of it as that I am standing here.”
“Nonsense! What should there be a conspiracy
about? You would make this old woman an im-
portant character. Now we know that she wasn't.
Look at the matter as it presents itself to an un-
prejudiced mind. A young and susceptible girl
falls in love with a man, who is at once a gentle-
man and a scamp. She may have tried to resist
her feelings, and she may not have. Your judg-
ment and mine would probably differ on this point.
What she does not do is to let her mother into
her confidence. She sees the man—runs upon him,
if you will, in places or under circumstances she
cannot avoid—till her judgment leaves her and the
point of catastrophe is reached. Then, possibly,
she awakens, or what is more probable, seeks to


26 ROOM NUMBER 3
protect herself from the penetration and opposition
of his friends by meetings less open than those in
which they had lately indulged. She says that she
left the house to escape seeing him again last night.
But this is not true. On the contrary, she must
have given him to understand where she was going,
for she had an interview with him in the woods
before she came upon her mother. He acknowl-
edges to the interview. I have just had a talk with
him over the telephone.”
“Then you know his name?”
“Yes, of course, she had to tell me. It's young
Maxwell. I suspected it from the first.”
“Maxwell!” Mr. Hammersmith's cheek showed
an indignant colour. Or was it a reflection from
the setting sun? “You called him a scamp a few
minutes ago. A scamp's word isn't worth much.”
“No, but it's evidence when on oath, and I
fancy he will swear to the interview.”
“Well, well, say there was an interview.”
“It changes things, Mr. Hammersmith. It
changes things. It makes possible a certain theory
of mine which accounts for all the facts.”
“It does | "
“Yes. I don't think this girl is really responsi-
ble. I don't believe she struck her mother or is
deliberately telling a tissue of lies to cover up some
dreadful crime. I consider her the victim of a
mental hallucination, the result of some great shock.
Now what was the shock? I'll tell you. This is
how I see it, how Mr. Quimby sees it, and such


ROOM NUMBER 8 27
others in the house as have ventured an opinion.
She was having this conversation with her lover in
the woods below here when her mother came in
sight. Surprised, for she had evidently not ex-
pected her mother to be so prompt, she hustled her
lover off and hastened to meet the approaching
figure. But it was too late. The mother had seen
the man, and in the excitement of the discovery and
the altercation which undoubtedly followed, made
such a sudden move, possibly of indignant depart-
ure, that her foot was caught by one of the roots
protruding at this point and she fell her whole
length and with such violence as to cause imme-
diate death. Now, Mr. Hammersmith, stop a min-
ute and grasp the situation. If, as I believe at this
point in the inquiry, Miss Demarest had encoun-
tered a passionate opposition to her desires from
this upright and thoughtful mother, the spectacle
of this mother lying dead before her, with all op-
position gone and the way cleared in an instant to
her wishes, but cleared in a manner which must
haunt her to her own dying day, was enough to
turn a brain already heated with contending emo-
tions. Fancies took the place of facts, and by the
time she reached this house had so woven them-
selves into a concrete form that no word she now
utters can be relied on. This is how I see it, Mr.
Hammersmith, and it is on this basis I shall act.”
Hammersmith made an effort and, nodding
slightly, said in a restrained tone:
“Perhaps you are justified. I have no wish to


28 ROOM NUMBER 3
force my own ideas upon you; they are much too
vague at present. I will only suggest that this is
not the first time the attention of the police has
been drawn to this house by some mysterious occur-
rence. You remember the Stevens case? There must
have been notes to the amount of seven thousand
dollars in the pile he declared had been taken from
him some time during the day and night he lodged
here.”
“Stevens! I remember something about it. But
they couldn't locate the theft here. The fellow
had been to the fair in Chester all day and couldn't
swear that he had seen his notes after leaving the
grounds.”
“I know. But he always looked on Quimby as
the man. Then there is the adventure of little Miss
Thistlewaite.” -
“I don't remember that.”
“It didn't get into the papers; but it was talked
about in the neighbourhood. She is a quaint one,
full of her crotchets, but clear—clear as a bell
where her interests are involved. She took a no-
tion to spend a summer here—in this house, I mean.
She had a room in one of the corners overlooking
the woods, and professing to prefer Nature to
everything else, was happy enough till she began
to miss things—rings, pins, a bracelet and, finally,
a really valuable chain. She didn't complain at
first—the objects were trivial, and she herself some-
what to blame for leaving them lying around in her
room, often without locking the door. But when


ROOM NUMBER 3 29
the chain went, the matter became serious, and she
called Mr. Quimby's attention to her losses. He
advised her to lock her door, which she was careful
to do after that, but not with the expected result.
She continued to miss things, mostly jewelry of
which she had a ridiculous store. Various domes-
tics were dismissed, and finally one of the perma-
nent boarders was requested to leave, but still the
thefts went on till, her patience being exhausted,
she notified the police and a detective was sent: I
have always wished I had been that detective. The
case ended in what was always considered a joke.
Another object disappeared while he was there, and
it having been conclusively proved to him that it
could not have been taken by way of the door, he
turned his attention to the window which it was
one of her freaks always to keep wide open. The
result was curious. One day he spied from a
hiding-place he had made in the bushes a bird flying
out from that window, and following the creature
till she alighted in her nest he climbed the tree and
searched that nest. It was encrusted with jewels.
The bird was a magpie and had followed its usual
habits, but—the chain was not there, nor one or
two other articles of decided value. Nor were they
ever found. The bird bore the blame; the objects
missing were all heavy and might have been dropped
in its flight, but I have always thought that the
bird had an accomplice, a knowing fellow who
understood what's what and how to pick out his
share.”


3O ROOM NUMBER 3
The coroner smiled. There was little conviction
and much sarcasm in that smile. Hammersmith
turned away. “Have you any instructions for
me?” he said.
“Yes, you had better stay here. I will return
in the morning with my jury. It won't take long
after that to see this thing through.”
The look he received in reply was happily hid-
den from him.
III
“Yes, I'm going to stay here to-night. As it's
a mere formality, I shall want a room to sit in,
and if you have no objection I'll take Number 3
on the rear corridor.”
“I’m sorry, but Number 3 is totally unfit for
use, as you've already seen.”
“Oh, I'm not particular. Put a table in and a
good light, and I'll get along with the rest. I
have something to do. Number 3 will answer.”
The landlord shifted his feet, cast a quick
scrutinising look at the other's composed face,
and threw back his head with a quick laugh.
“As you will. I can't make you comfortable
on such short notice, but that's your lookout. I’ve
several other rooms vacant.”
“I fancy that room,” was all the reply he got.
Mr. Quimby at once gave his orders. They
were received by Jake with surprise.
Fifteen minutes later Hammersmith prepared to


ROOM NUMBER 3 31
install himself in these desolate quarters. But be-
fore doing so he walked straight to the small par-
lour where he had last seen Miss Demarest and,
knocking, asked for the privilege of a word with
her. It was not her figure, however, which ap-
peared in the doorway, but that of the land-
lady.
“Miss Demarest is not here,” announced that
buxom and smooth-tongued woman. “She was like
to faint after you gentlemen left the room, and I
just took her upstairs to a quiet place by herself.”
“On the rear corridor?”
“Oh, no, sir; a nice front room; we don't con-
sider money in a case like this.”
“Will you give me its number?”
Her suave and steady look changed to one of
indignation.
“You're asking a good deal, aren't you? I
doubt if the young lady—”
“The number, if you please,” he quietly put in.
“Thirty-two,” she snapped out. “She will
have every care,” she hastened to assure him as he
turned away.
“I’ve no doubt. I do not intend to sleep to-
to-night; if the young lady is worse, you will com-
municate the fact to me. You will find me in
Number 3.”
He had turned back to make this reply, and
was looking straight at her as the number dropped
from his lips. It did not disturb her set smile, but
in some inscrutable way all meaning seemed to leave


32 ROOM NUMBER 3
that smile, and she forgot to drop her hand which
had been stretched out in an attempted gesture.
“Number 3,” he repeated. “Don’t forget,
madam.”
The injunction seemed superfluous. She had not
dropped her hand when he wheeled around once.
more in taking the turn at the foot of the stair-
CaSC.
Jake and a very sleepy maid were on the floor
above when he reached it. He paid no attention
to Jake, but he eyed the girl somewhat curiously.
She was comparatively a new domestic in the tav-
ern, having been an inmate there for only three
weeks. He had held a few minutes' conversation
with her during the half-hour of secret inquiry in
which he had previously indulged and he remem-
bered some of her careful answers, also the air of
fascination with which she had watched him all the
time they were together. He had made nothing of
her then, but the impression had remained that she
was the one hopeful source of knowledge in the
house. Now she looked dull and moved about in
Jake's wake like an automaton. Yet Hammer-
smith made up his mind to speak to her as soon as
the least opportunity offered.
“Where is 32?” he asked as he moved away
from them in the opposite direction from the
course they were taking.
“I thought you were to have room Number 3,”
blurted out Jake.
“I am. But where is 32?”


34 ROOM NUMBER 3
he saw it last. The walls, bare as his hand,
stretched without relief from base-board to ceiling,
and the floor from door to window showed an un-
broken expanse of unpainted boards, save for the
narrow space between chair and table, where a
small rug had been laid. A cheerless outlook for
a tired man, but it seemed to please Hammer-
smith. There was paper and ink on the table,
and the lamp which he took care to examine held
oil enough to last till morning. With a tray of
eatables, this ought to suffice, or so his manner
conveyed, and Jake, who had already supplied the
eatables, was backing slowly out when his eye, which
seemingly against his will had been travelling cu-
riously up and down the walls, was caught by that
of Hammersmith, and he plunged from the room,
with a flush visible even in that half light.
It was a trivial circumstance, but it fitted in with
Hammersmith's trend of thought at the moment,
and when the man was gone he stood for several
minutes with his own eye travelling up and down
those dusky walls in an inquiry which this distant
inspection did not seem thoroughly to satisfy, for
in another instant he had lifted a glass of water
from the tray and, going to the nearest wall, began
to moisten the paper at one of the edges. When it
was quite wet, he took out his penknife, but be-
fore using it, he looked behind him, first at the
door, and then at the window. The door was
shut; the window seemingly guarded by an outside
blind; but the former was not locked, and the latter


ROOM NUMBER 3 35
showed, upon closer inspection, a space between
the slats which he did not like. Crossing to the
door, he carefully turned the key, then proceeding
to the window, he endeavoured to throw up the
sash in order to close the blinds more effectually.
But he found himself balked in the attempt. The
cord had been cut and the sash refused to move
under his hand.
Casting a glance of mingled threat and sarcasm
out into the night, he walked back to the wall and,
dashing more water over the spot he had already
moistened, began to pick at the loosened edges
of the paper which were slowly falling away. The
result was a disappointment; how great a disap-
pointment he presently realised, as his knife-point
encountered only plaster under the peeling edges
of the paper. He had hoped to find other paper
under the blue—the paper which Miss Demarest
remembered—and not finding it, was conscious of
a sinking of the heart which had never attended
any of his miscalculations before. Were his own
feelings involved in this matter? It would certainly
Seen S.O.
Astonished at his own sensations, he crossed back
to the table, and sinking into the chair beside it,
endeavoured to call up his common sense, or at least
shake himself free from the glamour which had
seized him. But this especial sort of glamour is not
so easily shaken off. Minutes passed—an hour, and
little else filled his thoughts than the position of this
bewitching girl and the claims she had on his sense of


36 ROOM NUMBER 3
justice. If he listened, it was to hear her voice raised
in appeal at his door. If he closed his eyes, it was to
see her image more plainly on the background of
his consciousness. The stillness into which the
house had sunk aided this absorption and made
his battle a losing one. There was naught to dis-
tract his mind, and when he dozed, as he did for
a while after midnight, it was to fall under the
conjuring effect of dreams in which her form domi-
nated with all the force of an unfettered fancy.
The pictures which his imagination thus brought
before him were startling and never to be forgot-
ten. The first was that of an angry sea in the blue
light of an arctic winter. Stars flecked the zenith
and shed a pale lustre on the moving ice-floes hur-
rying toward a horizon of skurrying clouds and
rising waves. On one of those floes stood a
woman alone, with face set toward her death.
The scene changed. A desert stretched out be-
fore him. Limitless, with the blazing colours
of the arid sand topped by a cloudless sky, it re-
vealed but one suggestion of life in its herbless,
waterless, shadowless solitude. She stood in the
midst of this desert, and as he had seen her sway
on the ice-floe, so he saw her now stretching un-
availing arms to the brazen heavens and sink—
No! it was not a desert, it was not a sea, ice-bound
or torrid, it was a toppling city, massed against
impenetrable night one moment, then shown to its
awful full the next by the sudden tearing through
of lightning-flashes. He saw it all—houses,


ROOM NUMBER 3 37
churches, towers, erect and with steadfast line, a
silhouette of quiet rest awaiting dawn; then at a
flash, the doom, the quake, the breaking down of
outline, the caving in of walls, followed by the sick-
ening collapse in which life, wealth, and innumer-
able beating human hearts went down into the un-
seen and unknowable. He saw and he heard, but
his eyes clung to but one point, his ears listened for
but one cry. There at the extremity of a cornice,
clinging to a bending beam, was the figure again—
the woman of the ice-floe and the desert. She
seemed nearer now. He could see the straining
muscles of her arm, the white despair of her set
features. He wished to call aloud to her not to
look down—then, as the sudden darkness yielded
to another illuminating gleam, his mind changed
and he would fain have begged her to look, slip,
and end all, for subtly, quietly, ominously some-
where below her feet, he had caught the glimpsing
of a feathery line of smoke curling up from the
lower débris. Flame was there; a creeping devil
which soon
Horror! it was no dream! He was awake, he,
Hammersmith, in this small solitary hotel in Ohio,
and there was fire, real fire in the air, and in his
ears the echo of a shriek such as a man hears but
few times in his life, even if his lot casts him con-
tinually among the reckless and the suffering. Was
it hers? Had these dreams been forerunners of
some menacing danger? He was on his feet, his
eyes staring at the floor beneath him, through the


38 ROOM NUMBER 3
cracks of which wisps of smoke were forcing their
way up. The tavern was not only on fire, but on fire
directly under him. This discovery woke him ef-
fectually. He bounded to the door; it would not
open. He wrenched at the key; but it would not
turn, it was hampered in the lock. Drawing back,
he threw his whole weight against the panels, utter-
ing loud cries for help. The effort was useless. No
yielding in the door, no rush to his assistance from
without. Aroused now to his danger—reading the
signs of the broken cord and hampered lock only
too well—he desisted from his vain attempts and
turned desperately toward the window. Though
it might be impossible to hold up the sash and
crawl under it at the same time, his only hope of
exit lay there, as well as his only means of sur-
viving the inroad of smoke which was fast becom-
ing unendurable. He would break the sash and
seek escape that way. They had doomed him to
death, but he could climb roofs like a cat and
feared nothing when once relieved from this
smoke. Catching up the chair, he advanced toward
the window.
But before reaching it he paused. It was not
only he they sought to destroy, but the room.
There was evidence of crime in the room. In that
moment of keenly aroused intelligence he felt sure
of it. What was to be done? How could he save
the room, and, by these means, save himself and
her? A single glance about assured him that he
could not save it. The boards under his feet were


ROOM NUMBER 3 39
hot. Glints of yellow light streaking through the
shutters showed that the lower storey had already
burst into flame. The room must go and with it
every clue to the problem which was agitating him.
Meanwhile, his eyeballs were smarting, his head
growing dizzy. No longer sure of his feet, he stag-
gered over to the wall and was about to make use of
its support in his effort to reach the window, when
his eyes fell on the spot from which he had peeled
the paper, and he came to a sudden standstill. A
bit of pink was showing under one edge of the
blue.
Dropping the chair which he still held, he fum-
bled for his knife, found it, made a dash at that
wall, and for a few frenzied moments worked at
the plaster till he had hacked off a piece which he
thrust into his pocket. Then seizing the chair again,
he made for the window and threw it with all his
force against the panes. They crashed and the air
came rushing in, reviving him enough for the second
attempt. This not only smashed the pane, but
loosened the shutters, and in one instant two sights
burst upon his view—the face of a man in an upper
window of the adjoining barn and the sudden swoop-
ing up from below of a column of deadly smoke
which seemed to cut off all hope of his saving him-
self by the means he had calculated on. Yet no
other way offered. It would be folly to try the door
again. This was the only road, threatening as it
looked, to possible safety for himself and her. He
would take it, and if he succumbed in the effort, it


40 ROOM NUMBER 3
should be with a final thought of her who was fast
becoming an integral part of his own being.
Meanwhile he had mounted to the sill and taken
another outward look. This room, as I have al-
ready intimated, was in the rear of an extension
running back from the centre of the main building.
It consisted of only two stories, surmounted by a
long, slightly-peaked roof. As the ceilings were
low in this portion of the house, the gutter of this
roof was very near the top of the window. To
reach it was not a difficult feat for one of his
strength and agility, and if only the smoke would
blow aside—Ah, it is doing sol A sudden change
of wind had come to his rescue, and for the mo-
ment the way is clear for him to work himself out
and up on to the ledge above. But once there,
horror makes him weak again. A window, high
up in the main building overlooking the extension,
had come in sight, and in it sways a frantic woman
ready to throw herself out. She screamed as he
measured with his eye the height of that window
from the sloping roof and thence to the ground,
and he recognised the voice. It was the same he
had heard before, but it was not hers. She would
not be up so high, besides the shape and attitude,
shown fitfully by the light of the now leaping
flames, were those of a heavier, and less-refined
woman. It was one of the maids—it was the maid
Huldah, the one from whom he had hoped to win
some light on this affair. Was she locked in, too?
Her frenzy and mad looking behind and below


42 ROOM NUMBER 3
eyes from the distraught figure entrapped between
a locked door and a fall of thirty feet. He could
reach her if he kept his nerve. A slow but steady
hitch along the gutter was bringing him nearer
every instant. Would she see him and take cour-
age? No! her eyes were on the flames which were
so bright now that he could actually see them
glassed in her eyeballs. Would a shout attract
her? The air was full of cries as the yards filled
with escaping figures, but he would attempt it at
the first lull—now—while her head was turned his
way. Did she hear him? Yes. She is looking
at him.
“Don’t jump,” he cried. “Tie your sheet to the
bed-post. Tie it strong and fasten the other one to it
and throw down the end. I will be here to catch
it. Then you must come down hand over hand.”
She threw up her arms, staring down at him in
mortal terror; then, as the whole air grew lurid,
nodded and tottered back. With incredible anxiety
he watched for her reappearance. His post was
becoming perilous. The fire had not yet reached
the roof, but it was rapidly undermining its sup-
ports, and the heat was unendurable. Would he
have to jump to the ground in his own despite?
Was it his duty to wait for this girl, possibly al-
ready overcome by her fears and lying insensible?
Yes; so long as he could hold out against the heat,
it was his duty, but—Ah! what was that? Some
one was shouting to him. He had been seen at
last, and men, half-clad but eager, were rushing up


ROOM NUMBER 3 43
the yard with a ladder. He could see their faces.
How they glared in the red light. Help and deter-
mination were there, and perhaps when she saw the
promise of this support, it would give nerve to her
fingers and
But it was not to be. As he watched their eager
approach, he saw them stop, look back, swerve and
rush around the corner of the house. Some one had
directed them elsewhere. He could see the pointing
hand, the baleful face. Quimby had realised his
own danger in this prospect of Hammersmith's es-
cape, and had intervened to prevent it. It was a
murderer's natural impulse, and did not surprise
him, but it added another element of danger to his
position, and if this woman delayed much longer—
but she is coming; a blanket is thrown out, then a
dangling end of cloth appears above the sill. Yt
descends. Another moment he has crawled up the
roof to the ridge and grasped it.
“Slowly now!” he shouts. “Take time and hold
on tight. I will guide you.” He feels the frail
support stiffen. She has drawn it into her hands;
now she is on the sill, and is working herself off.
He clutched his end firmly, steadying himself as
best he might by bestriding the ridge of the roof.
The strain becomes greater, he feels her weight,
she is slipping down, down. Her hands strike a
knot; the jerk almost throws him off his balance.
He utters a word of caution, lost in the growing
roar of the flames whose hungry tongues have be-
gun to leap above the gutter. She looks down, sees


44 ROOM NUMBER 3
the approaching peril, and hastens her descent. He
is all astrain, with heart and hand nerved for the
awful possibilities of the coming moments when-
ping! Something goes whistling by his ear, which
for the instant sets his hair bristling on his head, and
almost paralyses every muscle. A bullet! The
flame is not threatening enough I Some one is shoot-
ing at him from the dark.
IV
Well! death which comes one way cannot come
another, and a bullet is more merciful than flame.
The thought steadies Hammersmith; besides he has
nothing to do with what is taking place behind his
back. His duty is here, to guide and support this
rapidly-descending figure now almost within his
reach. And he fulfils this duty, though that deadly
“ping” is followed by another, and his starting
eyes behold the hole made by the missile in the
clap-board just before him.
She is down. They stand toppling together on
the slippery ridge with no support but the rapidly
heating wall down which she had come. He looks
one way, then another. Ten feet either way to the
gutter! On one side leap the flames; beneath the
other crouches their secret enemy. They cannot
meet the first and live; needs must they face the lat-
ter. Bullets do not always strike the mark, as
witness the two they had escaped. Besides, there


ROOM NUMBER 3 45
are friends as well as enemies in the yard on this
side. He can hear their encouraging cries. He will
toss down the blanket; perhaps there will be hands
to hold it and so break her fall, if not his.
With a courage which drew strength from her
weakness, he carried out this plan and saw her land
in safety amid half a dozen upstretched arms. Then
he prepared to follow her, but felt his courage fail
and his strength ooze without knowing the cause.
Had a bullet struck him? He did not feel it. He
was conscious of the heat, but of no other suffer-
ing; yet his limbs lacked life, and it no longer seemed
possible for him to twist himself about so as to fall
easily from the gutter.
“Come on 1 Come on l’ rose in yells from be-
low, but there was no movement in him.
“We can’t wait. The wall will fall,” rose af-
frightedly from below. But he simply clung and
the doom of flame and collapsing timbers was rush-
ing mercilessly upon him when, in the glare which
lit up the whole dreadful scenery, there rose before
his fainting eyes the sight of Miss Demarest's face
turned his way from the crowd below, with all the
terror of a woman's bleeding heart behind it. The
joy which this recognition brought cleared his brain
and gave him strength to struggle with his lethargy.
Raising himself on one elbow, he slid his feet over
the gutter, and with a frantic catch at its frail sup-
port, hung for one instant suspended, then dropped
softly into the blanket which a dozen eager hands
held out for him.


46 ROOM NUMBER 3
As he did so, a single gasping cry went up from
the hushed throng. He knew the voice. His rescue
had relieved one heart. His own beat tumultuously
and the blood throbbed in his veins as he realised
this.
The next thing he remembered was standing far
from the collapsing building, with a dozen men and
boys grouped about him. A woman at his feet was
clasping his knees in thankfulness, another sinking
in a faint at the edge of the shadow, but he saw
neither, for the blood was streaming over his eyes
from a wound not yet accounted for, and as he felt
the burning flow, he realised a fresh duty.
“Where is Quimby?” he demanded loudly. “He
made this hole in my forehead. He's a murderer
and a thief, and I order you all in the name of the
law to assist me in arresting him.”
With the confused cry of many voices, the circle
widened. Brushing the blood from his brow, he
caught at the nearest man, and with one glance to-
ward the tottering building, pointed to the wall
where he and the girl Huldah had clung.
“Look!” he shouted, “do you see that black
spot? Wait till the smoke blows aside. There!
now! the spot just below the dangling sheet. It's
a bullet-hole. It was made while I crouched there.
Quimby held the gun. He had his reasons for hin-
dering our escape. The girl can tell you **
“Yes, yes,” rose up from the ground at his feet.
“Quimby is a wicked man. He knew that I knew
it and he locked my door when he saw the flames


ROOM NUMBER 3 47
coming. I'm willing to tell now. I was afraid be-
fore.”
They stared at her with all the wonder of uncom-
prehending minds as she rose with a resolute air to
confront them; but as the full meaning of her words
penetrated their benumbed brains, slowly, man by
man, they crept away to peer about in the barns, and
among the clustering shadows for the man who had
been thus denounced. Hammersmith followed them,
and for a few minutes nothing but chase was in any
man's mind. That part of the building in which
lay hidden the room of shadows shook, tottered,
and fell, loading the heavens with sparks and light-
ing up the pursuit now become as wild and reckless
as the scene itself. To Miss Demarest's eyes, just
struggling back to sight and hearing from the nether-
most depths of unconsciousness, it looked like the
swirling flight of spirits lost in the vortex of hell.
For one wild moment she thought that she herself
had passed the gates of life and was one of those
unhappy souls whirling over a gulf of flame. The
next moment she realised her mistake. A kindly
voice was in her ear, a kindly hand was pressing a
half-burned blanket about her.
“Don’t stare so,” the voice said. “It is only
people routing out Quimby. They say he set fire
to the tavern himself, to hide his crime and do away
with the one man who knew about it. I know that
he locked me in because I—Oh, see! they've got
him! they've got him! and with a gun in his
hand!”


48 ROOM NUMBER 3
The friendly hand fell; both women started up-
right panting with terror and excitement. Then
one of them drew back, crying in a tone of sudden
anguish, “Why, no! It's Jake, Jake!”
Daybreak! and with it Doctor Golden, who at the
first alarm had ridden out post-haste without waiting
to collect his jury. As he stepped to the ground
before the hollow shell and smoking pile which were
all that remained to mark the scene of yesterday's
events, he looked about among the half-clad, shiver-
ing men and women peering from the barns and
stables where they had taken refuge, till his eyes
rested on Hammersmith standing like a sentinel
before one of the doors.
“What's this? what's this?” he cried, as the other
quickly approached. “Fire, with a man like you in
the house?”
“Fire because I was in the house. They evi-
dently felt obliged to get rid of me somehow. It's
been a night of great experiences for me. When
they found I was not likely to perish in the flames
they resorted to shooting. I believe that my fore-
head shows where one bullet passed. Jake's aim
might be improved. Not that I am anxious for
it.”
“Jake? Do you mean the clerk? Did he fire
at you?”
“Yes, while I was on the roof engaged in rescu-
ing one of the women.”
“The miserable cur! You arrested him, of


ROOM NUMBER 3 49
course, as soon as you could lay your hands on
him?”
“Yes. He's back of me in this outhouse.”
“And Quimby? What about Quimby?”
“He’s missing.”
“And Mrs. Quimby?”
“Missing, too. They are the only persons un-
accounted for.”
“Lost in the fire?”
“We don't think so. He was the incendiary and
she, undoubtedly, his accomplice. They would cer-
tainly look out for themselves. Doctor Golden, it
was not for insurance money they fired the place;
it was to cover up a crime.”
The coroner, more or less prepared for this
statement by what Hammersmith had already told
him, showed but little additional excitement as he
dubiously remarked:
“So you still hold to that idea.”
Hammersmith glanced about him and, catching
more than one curious eye turned their way from
the crowd now rapidly collecting in all directions,
drew the coroner aside and in a few graphic words
related the night's occurrences and the conclusions
these had forced upon him. Doctor Golden list-
ened and seemed impressed at last, especially by
one point.
“You saw Quimby,” he repeated; “saw his face
distinctly looking toward your room from one of
the stable windows?”
“I can swear to it. I even caught his expression.


50 ROOM NUMBER 3
It was malignant in the extreme, quite unlike that
he usually turns upon his guests.”
“Which window was it?”
Hammersmith pointed it out.
“You have been there? Searched the room and
the stable?”
“Thoroughly, just as soon as it was light enough
to see.”
“And found **
“Nothing; not even a clue.”
“The man is lying dead in that heap. She, too,
perhaps. We'll have to put the screws on Jake.
A conspiracy like this must be unearthed. Show
me the rascal.”
“He’s in a most careless mood. He doesn't
think his master and mistress perished in the fire.”
“Careless, eh? Well, we'll see. I know that
sort.”
But when a few minutes later he came to con-
front the clerk he saw that his task was not likely
to prove quite so easy as his former experience
had led him to expect. Save for a slight nervous
trembling of limb and shoulder—surely not un-
natural after such a night—Jake bore himself with
very much the same indifferent ease he had shown
the day before.
Doctor Golden surveyed him with becoming
Stern neSS.
“At what time did this fire start?” he asked.
Jake had a harsh voice, but he mellowed it won-
derfully as he replied:


ROOM NUMBER 3 51
“Somewhere about one. I don't carry a watch,
so I don't know the exact time.”
“The exact time isn't necessary. Near one an-
swers well enough. How came you to be com-
pletely dressed at near one in a country tavern
like this?”
“I was on watch. There was death in the
house.”
“Then you were in the house?”
“Yes.” His tongue faltered, but not his gaze;
that was as direct as ever. “I was in the house,
but not at the moment the fire started. I had
gone to the stable to get a newspaper. My
room is in the stable, the little one high in the
cock-loft. I did not find the paper at once and
when I did I stopped to read a few lines. I'm
a slow reader, and by the time I was ready to
cross back to the house, smoke was pouring out
of the rear windows, and I stopped short, horri-
fied ! I'm mortally afraid of fire.”
“You have shown it. I have not heard that you
raised the least alarm.”
“I'm afraid you're right. I lost my head like a
fool. You see, I've never lived anywhere else for
the last ten years, and to see my home on fire was
more than I could stand. You wouldn't think me
so weak to look at these muscles.”
Baring his arm, he stared down at it with a for-
lorn shake of his head. The coroner glanced at
Hammersmith. What sort of fellow was this! A


52 ROOM NUMBER 3
giant with the air of a child, a rascal with the smile
of a humourist. Delicate business, this; or were
they both deceived and the man just a good-hu-
moured silly?
Hammersmith answered the appeal by a nod to-
ward an inner door. The coroner understood and
turned back to Jake with the seemingly irrelevant
inquiry:
“Where did you leave Mr. Quimby when you
went to the cock-loft?”
“In the house?”
“Asleep?”
“No, he was making up his accounts.”
“In the office?”
44 Yes.”
“And that was where you left him?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Then, how came he to be looking out of your
window just before the fire broke out?”
“He?” Jake's jaw fell and his enormous shoul-
ders drooped; but only for a moment. With some-
thing between a hitch and a shrug, he drew himself
upright and with some slight display of temper cried
out, “Who says he was there?”
The coroner answered him. “The man behind
you. He saw him.”
Jake's hand closed in a nervous grip. Had the
trigger been against his finger at that moment it
would doubtless have been snapped with some sat-
isfaction, so the barrel had been pointing at Ham-
mersmith.


ROOM NUMBER 3 53
“Saw him distinctly,” the coroner repeated.
“Mr. Quimby's face is not to be mistaken.”
“If he saw him,” retorted Jake, with unexpected
cunning, “then the flames had got a start. One
don't see in the dark. They hadn't got much of a
start when I left. So he must have gone up to my
room after I came down.”
“It was before the alarm was given; before Mr.
Hammersmith here had crawled out of his room
window.”
“I can't help that, sir. It was after I left the
stable. You can't mix me up with Quimby's doings.”
“Can't we? Jake, you're no lawyer and you
don't know how to manage a lie. Make a clean
breast of it. It may help you and it won't hurt
Quimby. Begin with the old lady's coming. What
turned Quimby against her? What's the plot?”
“I don't know of any plot. What Quimby told
you is true. You needn't expect me to contradict
it!”
A leaden doggedness had taken the place of his
whilom good nature. Nothing is more difficult to
contend with. Nothing is more dreaded by the in-
quisitor. Hammersmith realised the difficulties of
the situation and repeated the gesture he had pre-
viously made toward the door leading into an ad-
joining compartment. The coroner nodded as be-
fore and changed the tone of his inquiry.
“Jake,” he declared, “you are in a more serious
position than you realise. You may be devoted to
Quimby, but there are others who are not. A night


54 ROOM NUMBER 3
such as you have been through quickens the con-
science of women if it does not that of men. One
has been near death. The story of such a woman
is apt to be truthful. Do you want to hear it? I
have no objections to your doing so.”
“What story? I don't know of any story.
Women have easy tongues; they talk even when they
have nothing to say.”
“This woman has something to say, or why
should she have asked to be confronted with you?
Have her in, Mr. Hammersmith. I imagine that
a sight of this man will make her voluble.”
A sneer from Jake; but when Hammersmith,
crossing to the door I've just mentioned, opened it
and let in Huldah, this token of bravado gave way
to a very different expression and he exclaimed half
ironically, half caressingly:
“Why, she's my sweetheart! What can she have
to say except that she was mighty fortunate not to
have been burned up in the fire last night?”
Doctor Golden and the detective crossed looks
in some anxiety. They had not been told of this
relation between the two, either by the girl herself
or by the others. Gifted with a mighty close mouth,
she had nevertheless confided to Hammersmith that
she could tell things and would, if he brought her
face to face with the man who tried to shoot him
while he was helping her down from the roof.
Would her indignation hold out under the insinuat-
ing smile with which the artful rascal awaited her
words? It gave every evidence of doing so, for her


ROOM NUMBER 3 55
eye flashed threateningly and her whole body showed
the tension of extreme feeling as she came hastily
forward, and pausing just beyond the reach of his
arm, cried out:
“You had a hand in locking me in. You're tired
of me. If you're not, why did you fire those bullets
my way? I was escaping and ??
Jake thrust in a quick word. “That was Quim-
by's move—locking your door. He had some game
up. I don't know what it was. I had nothing to
do with it.”
This denial seemed to influence her. She looked
at him and her breast heaved. He was good to
look at; he must have been more than that to one
of her restricted experience. Hammersmith trem-
bled for the success of their venture. Would this
blond young giant's sturdy figure and provoking
smile prevail against the good sense which must tell
her that he was criminal to the core, and that neither
his principle nor his love were to be depended on?
No, not yet. With a deepening flush, she flashed
Out:
“You hadn't? You didn't want me dead? Why,
then, those bullets? You might have killed me as
well as Mr. Hammersmith when you fired!”
“Huldah!” Astonishment and reproach in the
tone and something more than either in the look
which accompanied it. Both were very artful and
betrayed resources not to be expected from one of
his ordinarily careless and good-humoured aspect.
“You haven't heard what I’ve said about that?”


56 ROOM NUMBER 3
“What could you say?”
“Why, the truth, Huldah. I saw you on the
roof. The fire was near. I thought that neither
you nor the man helping you could escape. A death
of that kind is horrible. I loved you too well to see
you suffer. My gun was behind the barn door. I
got it and fired out of mercy.”
She gasped. So, in a way, did the two officials.
The plea was so specious, and its likely effect upon
her so evident.
“Jake, can I believe you?” she murmured.
For answer, he fumbled in his pocket and drew
out a small object which he held up before her be-
tween his fat forefinger and thumb. It was a ring,
a thin, plain hoop of gold worth possibly a couple
of dollars, but which in her eyes seemed to possess
an incalculable value, for she had no sooner seen it
than her whole face flushed and a look of positive
delight supplanted the passionately aggrieved one
with which she had hitherto faced him.
“You had bought that?”
He smiled and returned it to his pocket.
“For you,” he simply said.
The joy and pride with which she regarded him,
despite the protesting murmur of the discomfited
Hammersmith, proved that the wily Jake had been
too much for them.
“You see!” This to Hammersmith. “Jake
didn't mean any harm, only kindness to us both. If
you will let him go, I'll be more thankful than when
you helped me down off the roof. We're wanting


ROOM NUMBER 3 57
to be married. Didn't you see him show me the
ring?”
It was for the coroner to answer.
“We'll let him go when we're assured that he
means all that he says. I haven't as good an opin-
ion of him as you have. I think he's deceiving you
and that you are a very foolish girl to trust him.
Men don't fire on the women they love, for any
reason. You'd better tell me what you have against
him.”
“I haven't anything against him now.”
“But you were going to tell us something
“I guess I was fooling.”
“People are not apt to fool who have just been
in terror of their lives.”
Her eyes sought the ground. “I'm just a hard-
working girl,” she muttered almost sullenly.
“What should I know about that man Quimby's
dreadful doings?”
“Dreadful? You call them dreadful ?” It was
Doctor Golden who spoke.
“He locked me in my room,” she violently de-
clared. “That wasn't done for fun.”
“And is that all you can tell us? Don't look at
Jake. Look at me.”
“But I don't know what to say. I don't even
know what you want.”
“I’ll tell you. Your work in the house has been
upstairs work, hasn't it?”
“Yes, sir. I did up the rooms—some of them,”
she added cautiously,
9%


58 ROOM NUMBER 3
“What rooms? Front rooms, rear rooms, or
both ?”
“Rooms in front; those on the third floor.”
“But you sometimes went into the extension?”
“I’ve been down the hall.”
“Haven't you been in any of the rooms there,—
Number 3, for instance?”
“No, sir; my work didn't take me there.”
“But you've heard of the room?”
“Yes, sir. The girls sometimes spoke of it. It
had a bad name, and wasn't often used. No girl
liked to go there. A man was found dead in it
once. They said he killed his own self.”
“Have you ever heard any one describe this
room?”
“No, sir.”
“Tell what paper was on the wall?”
“No, sir.”
“Perhaps Jake here can help us. He's been in
the room often.”
“The paper was blue; you know that; you saw
it yourselves yesterday,” blurted forth the man thus
appealed to.
“Always blue? Never any other colour that you
remember?”
“No; but I’ve been in the house only ten years.”
“Oh, is that all! And do you mean to say that
this room has not been redecorated in ten years?”
“How can I tell? I can't remember every time
a room is repapered.”
“You ought to remember this one.”


ROOM NUMBER 3 59
4t Why? ??
“Because of a very curious circumstance con-
nected with it.”
“I don't know of any circumstance.”
“You heard what Miss Demarest had to say
about a room whose walls were covered with muddy
pink scrolls.”
“Oh, shel ” His shrug was very expressive.
Huldah continued to look down.
“Miss Demarest seemed to know what she was
talking about,” pursued the coroner in direct con-
tradiction of the tone he had taken the day before.
“Her description was quite vivid. It would be
strange now if those walls had once been covered
with just such paper as she described.”
An ironic stare, followed by an incredulous smile
from Jake; dead silence and immobility on the part
of Huldah.
“Was it?” shot from Doctor Golden's lips with
all the vehemence of conscious authority.
There was an instant's pause, during which Hul-
dah's breast ceased its regular rise and fall; then the
clerk laughed sharply and cried with the apparent
lightness of a happy-go-lucky temperament:
“I should like to know if it was. I'd think it a
very curious quin—quin What's the word?
quincedence, or something like that.” -
“The deepest fellow I know,” grumbled the baf-
fled coroner into Hammersmith's ear, as the latter
stepped his way, “ or just the most simple.” Then
added aloud: “Lift up my coat there, please.”


60 ROOM NUMBER 3
Hammersmith did so. The garment mentioned
lay across a small table which formed the sole fur-
nishing of the place, and when Hammersmith raised
it, there appeared lying underneath several small
pieces of plaster which Doctor Golden immediately
pointed out to Jake.
“Do you see these bits from a papered wall?”
he asked. “They were torn from that of Number
3, between the breaking out of the fire and Mr.
Hammersmith's escape from the room. Come
closer; you may look at them, but keep your fingers
off. You see that the coincidence you mentioned
holds.”
Jake laughed again loudly, in a way he probably
meant to express derision; then he stood silent, gaz-
-ing curiously down at the pieces before him. The
blue paper peeling away from the pink made it
impossible for him to deny that just such paper
as Miss Demarest described had been on the wall
prior to the one they had all seen and remem-
bered.*
“Well, I vum !” Jake finally broke out, turning
and looking from one face to another with a very
obvious attempt to carry off the matter jovially.
“She must have a great eye; a-a-(another hard
word! What is it now?) Well! no matter. One
of the kind what sees through the outside of things
to what's underneath. I always thought her queer,
* Hammersmith's first attempt to settle this fact must have failed
from his having chosen a spot for his experiment where the old
paper had been stripped away before the new was put on.


ROOM NUMBER 3 61
but not so queer as that. I'd like to have that sort
of power myself. Wouldn't you, Huldah?”
The girl, whose eye, as Hammersmith was care-
ful to note, had hardly dwelt for an instant on these
bits, not so long by any means as a woman's natural
curiosity would seem to prompt, started as atten-
tion was thus drawn to herself and attempted a sickly
smile.
But the coroner had small appreciation for this
attempted display of humour, and motioning to
Hammersmith to take her away, he subjected the
clerk to a second examination which, though much
more searching and rigorous than the first, resulted
in the single discovery that for all his specious love-
making he cared no more for the girl than for one
of his old hats. This the coroner confided to Ham-
mersmith when he came in looking disconsolate at
his own failure to elicit anything further from the
resolute Huldah.
“But you can't make her believe that now,” whis-
pered Hammersmith.
“Then we must trick him into showing her his
real feelings.” t
“How would you set to work? He's warned,
she's warned, and life if not love is at stake.”
“It don't look very promising,” muttered Doctor
Golden, “but ??
He was interrupted by a sudden sound of hub-
bub without.
“It's Quimby, Quimbyl" declared Hammer-
smith in his sudden excitement.


62 ROOM NUMBER 3
But again he was mistaken. It was not the land-
lord, but his wife, wild-eyed, dishevelled, with bits
of straw in her hair from some sheltering hayrick
and in her hand a heavy gold chain which, as the
morning sun shone across it, showed sparkles of
liquid clearness at short intervals along its whole
length.
Diamonds ! Miss Thistlewaite's diamonds, and
the woman who held them was gibbering like an
idiot!
The effect on Jake was remarkable. Uttering a
piteous cry, he bounded from their hands and fell
at the woman's feet.
“Mother Quimby!” he moaned. “Mother
Quimbyl" and sought to kiss her hand and wake
some intelligence in her eye.
Meanwhile the coroner and Hammersmith looked
on, astonished at these evidences of real feeling.
Then their eyes stole behind them, and simulta-
neously both started back for the outhouse they had
just left. Huldah was standing in the doorway, sur-
veying the group before her with trembling, half-
parted lips.
“Jealous!” muttered Hammersmith. “Provi-
dence has done our little trick for us. She will talk
now. Look! She's beckoning to us.”


ROOM NUMBER 3 63
V
“Speak quickly. You'll never regret it, Huldah.
He's no mate for you, and you ought to know it.
You have seen this paper covered with the pink
scrolls before?”
The coroner had again drawn aside his coat from
the bits of plaster.
“Yes,” she gasped, with quick glances at her
lover through the open doorway. “He never shed
tears for me!” she exclaimed bitterly. “I didn't
know he could for anybody. Oh, I'll tell what I've
kept quiet here,” and she struck her breast violently.
“I wouldn't keep the truth back now if the minister
was waiting to marry us. He loves that old woman
and he doesn't love me. Hear him call her
‘mother. Are mothers dearer than sweethearts?
Oh, I'll tell! I don't know anything about the old
lady, but I do know that room 3 was repapered the
night before last, and secretly, by him. I didn't see
him do it, nobody did, but this is how I know: Some
weeks ago I was hunting for something in the attic,
when I stumbled upon some rolls of old wall-paper
lying in a little cubby-hole under the eaves. The
end of one of the rolls was torn and lay across the
floor. I couldn't help seeing it or remembering its
colour. It was like this, blue and striped. Exactly like
it,” she repeated, “just as shabby and old-looking.
The rain had poured in on it, and it was all mouldy
and stained. It smelt musty. I didn't give two
thoughts to it then, but when after the old lady's


64 ROOM NUMBER 3
death I heard one of the girls say something in the
kitchen about a room being blue now which only a
little while ago was pink, I stole up into the attic
to see if those rolls were still there and found
them every one gone. Oh, what is happening
now P” -
“One of the men is trying to take the diamonds
from the woman and she won't let him. Her wits
are evidently gone—frightened away by the horrors
of the night—or she wouldn't try to cling to what
has branded her at once as a thief.”
The word seemed to pierce the girl. She stared
out at her former mistress, who was again being
soothed by the clerk, and murmured hoarsely:
“A thief l and he don't seem to mind, but is just as
good to her! Oh, oh, I once served a term myself
for—for a smaller thing than that and I thought that
was why Oh, sir, oh, sir, there's no mistake
about the paper. For I went looking about in the
barrels and where they throw the refuse, for bits to
prove that this papering had been done in the night.
It seemed so wonderful to me that any one, even
Jake, who is the smartest man you ever saw, could
do such a job as that and no one know. And though
I found nothing in the barrels, I did in the laundry
stove. It was full of burned paper, and some of it
showed colour, and it was just that musty old blue
I had seen in the attic.”
She paused with a terrified gasp; Jake was look-
ing at her from the open door.
“Oh, Jake!” she wailed out, “why weren't you


ROOM NUMBER 3 65
true to me? Why did you pretend to love me when
you didn't?”
He gave her a look, then turned on his heel. He
was very much subdued in aspect and did not think
to brush away the tear still glistening on his cheek.
“I’ve said my last word to you,” he quietly de-
clared, then stood silent a moment, with slowly
labouring chest and an air of deepest gloom. But,
as his eye stole outside again, they saw the spirit
melt within him and simple human grief take the
place of icy resolution. “She was like a mother to
me,” he murmured. “And now they say she'll
never be herself again as long as she lives.” Sud-
denly his head rose and he faced the coroner.
“You're right,” said he. “It's all up with me.
No home, no sweetheart, no missus. She [there was
no doubt as to whom he meant by that tremulous
she] was the only one I've ever cared for and she's
just shown herself a thief. I'm no better. This
is our story.”
I will not give it in his words, but in my own. It
will be shorter and possibly more intelligible.
The gang, if you may call it so, consisted of
Quimby and these two, with a servant or so in ad-
dition. Robbery was its aim; a discreet and none
too frequent spoliation of such of their patrons as
lent themselves to their schemes. Quimby was the
head, his wife the soul of this business, and Jake
their devoted tool. The undermining of the latter's
character had been begun early; a very dangerous
undermining, because it had for one of its elements


66 ROOM NUMBER 3
good humour and affectionate suggestion. At four-
teen he was ready for any crime, but he was merci-
fully kept out of the worst till he was a full-grown
man. Then he did his part. The affair of the old
woman was an unpremeditated one. It happened
in this wise: Miss Demarest's story had been true
in every particular. Her mother was with her when
she came to the house, and he, Jake, was the per-
son sitting far back in the shadows at the time the
young lady registered. There was nothing peculiar
in the occurrence or in their behaviour except the
decided demand which Miss Demarest made for
separate rooms. This attracted his attention, for
the house was pretty full and only one room was
available in the portion reserved for transients.
What would Quimby do? He couldn't send two
women away, and he was entirely too conciliatory
and smooth to refuse a request made so perempto-
rily. Quimby did nothing. He hemmed, hawed, and
looked about for his wife. She was in the inner
office back of him, and, attracted by his uneasy move-
ments, showed herself. A whispered consultation
followed, during which she cast a glance Jake's way.
He understood her instantly and lounged carelessly
forward. “Let them have Number 3,” he said.
“It's all fixed for the night. I can sleep anywhere,
on the settle here or even on the floor of the inner
office.”
He had whispered these words, for the offer
meant more than appeared. Number 3 was never
given to guests. It was little more than a closet and


ROOM NUMBER 3 67
was not even furnished. A cot had been put in
that very afternoon, but only to meet a special emer-
gency. A long-impending conference was going to
be held between him and his employers subsequent
to closing up time, and he had planned this im-
promptu refuge to save himself a late walk to the
stable. At his offer to pass the same over to the
Demarests, the difficulty of the moment vanished.
Miss Demarest was shown to the one empty room
in front, and the mother—as being the one less
likely to be governed by superstitious fears if it so
happened that some rumour of the undesirability
of the haunted Number 3 should have reached them
—to the small closet so hastily prepared for the
clerk. Mrs. Quimby accompanied her, and after-
ward visited her again for the purpose of carrying
her a bowl and some water. It was then she en-
countered Miss Demarest, who, anxious for a second
and more affectionate good-night from her mother,
had been wandering the halls in a search for her
room. There was nothing to note in this simple
occurrence, and Mrs. Quimby might have forgotten
all about it if Miss Demarest had not made a cer-
tain remark on leaving the room. The bareness and
inhospitable aspect of the place may have struck her,
for she stopped in the doorway and, looking back,
exclaimed: “What ugly paper! Magenta, too, the
one colour my mother hates.” This Mrs. Quimby
remembered, for she also hated magenta, and never
went into this room if she could help it.
The business which kept them all up that night


68 ROOM NUMBER 3
was one totally disconnected with the Demarests or
any one else in the house. A large outstanding
obligation was coming due which Quimby lacked
the money to meet. Something must be done with
the stolen notes and jewelry which they had accumu-
lated in times past and had never found the will or
courage to dispose of. A choice must be made of
what was salable. But what choice? It was a
question that opened the door to endless controversy
and possibly to a great difference of opinion; for
in his way Quimby was a miser of the worst type and
cared less for what money would do than for the
sight and feeling of the money itself, while Mrs.
Quimby was even more tenacious in her passion for
the trinkets and gems which she looked upon as her
part of the booty. Jake, on the contrary, cared little
for anything but the good of the couple to whom
he had attached himself. He wished Quimby to be
satisfied, but not at Mrs. Quimby's expense. He was
really fond of the woman and he was resolved that
she should have no cause to grieve, even if he had
to break with the old man. Little did any of them
foresee what the night really held for them, or on
what a jagged and unsuspected rock their frail bark
was about to split.
Shutting-up time came, and with it the usual mid-
night quiet. All the doors had been locked and the
curtains drawn over the windows and across the
glass doors of the office. They were determined to
do what they had never done before, lay out the
loot and make a division. Quimby was resolved to


ROOM NUMBER 3 69
see the diamonds which his wife had kept hidden
for so long, and she, the securities, concerning the
value of which he had contradicted himself so often.
Jake's presence would keep the peace; they had no
reason to fear any undue urging of his claims. All
this he knew, and he was not therefore surprised,
only greatly excited, when, after a last quiet look
and some listening at the foot of the stairs, Mr.
Quimby beckoned him into the office and, telling him
to lock the door behind him, stepped around the bar
to summon his wife. Jake never knew how it hap-
pened. He flung the door to and locked it, as he
thought, but he must have turned the key too quickly,
for the bolt of the lock did not enter the jamb, as
they afterward found. Meanwhile they felt per-
fectly secure. The jewels were brought out of Mrs.
Quimby's bedroom and laid on the desk. The se-
curities were soon laid beside them. They had been
concealed behind a movable brick at the side of the
fireplace. Then the discussion began, involving more
or less heat and excitement.
How long this lasted no one ever knew. At half-
past eleven no change of attitude had taken place
either in Quimby or his wife. At twelve the only
difference marked by Jake was the removal of the
securities to Quimby's breast pocket, and of the dia-
mond-studded chain to Mrs. Quimby's neck. The
former were too large for the pocket, the latter too
brilliant for the dark calico background they blazed
against. Jake, who was no fool, noted both facts, but
had no words for the situation. He was absorbed,


7o ROOM NUMBER 3
and he saw that Quimby was absorbed, in watching
her broad hand creeping over those diamonds and
huddling them up in a burning heap against her heart.
There was fear in the action, fierce and overmas-
tering fear, and so there was in her eyes which,
fixed and glassy, stared over their shoulders at the
wall behind, as though something had reached out
from that wall and struck at the very root of her
being. What did it mean? There was nothing in
the room to affright her. Had she gone daft?
Or
Suddenly they both felt the blood congeal in their
own veins; each turned to each a horrified face,
then slowly and as if drawn by a power supernat-
ural and quite outside of their own will, their two
heads turned in the direction she was looking, and
they beheld standing in their midst a spectre—no, it
was the figure of a living, breathing woman, with
eyes fastened on those jewels,—those well-known,
much-advertised jewels! So much they saw in that
instant flash, then nothing! For Quimby, in a frenzy
of unreasoning fear, had taken the chair from un-
der him and had swung it at the figure. A lamp
had stood on the bar top. It was caught by the
backward swing of the chair, overturned and
quenched. The splintering of glass mingled its small
sound with an ominous thud in the thick darkness.
It was the end of all things; the falling of an im-
penetrable curtain over a horror half sensed, yet
all the greater for its mystery.
The silence—the terror—the unspeakable sense


ROOM NUMBER 3 71
of doom which gripped them all was not broken by
a heart-beat. All listened for a stir, a movement
where they could see nothing. But the stillness re-
mained unbroken. The silence was absolute. The
figure which they had believed themselves to have
seen had been a dream, an imagination of their over-
wrought minds. It could not be otherwise. The
door had been locked, entrance was impossible; yet
doubt held them powerless. The moments were
making years of themselves. To each came in a flash
a review of every earthly incident they had experi-
enced, every wicked deed, every unholy aspiration.
Quimby gritted his teeth. It was the first sound
which had followed that thud and, slight as it was,
it released them somewhat from their awful tension.
Jake felt that he could move now, and was about
to let forth his imprisoned breath when he felt the
touch of icy fingers trailing over his cheek, and
started back with a curse. It was Mrs. Quimby
feeling about for him in the impenetrable darkness,
and in another moment he could hear her smoth-
ered whisper:
“Are you there, Jake?”
“Yes; where are you?”
“Here,” said the woman, with an effort to keep
her teeth from striking together.
“For God's sake, a light!” came from the hollow
darkness beyond.
It was Quimby's voice at last. Jake answered:
“No light for me. I'll stay where I am till day-
break.”


72 ROOM NUMBER 3
“Get a light, you fool!” commanded Quimby,
but not without a tremble in his usually mild tone.
Hard breathing from Jake, but no other re-
sponse. Quimby seemed to take a step nearer, for
his voice was almost at their ears now. -
“Jake, you can have anything I’ve got so as you
get a light now.”
“There ain't nothing to light here. You broke
the lamp.”
Quiet for a moment, then Quimby muttered
hoarsely:
“If you ain't scared out of your seven senses,
you can go down cellar and bring up that bit of can-
dle 'longside the ale-barrels.”
Into the cellar! Not Jake. The moving of the
rickety table which his fat hand had found and
rested on spoke for him.
Another curse from Quimby. Then the woman,
though with some hesitation, said with more self-
control than could be expected:
“I’ll get it,” and they heard her move away from
it toward the trap-door behind the bar.
The two men made no objection. To her that
cold, black cellar might seem a refuge from the un-
seen horror centred here. It had not struck them
so. It had its own possibilities, and Jake wondered
at her courage, as he caught the sound of her grop-
ing advance and the sudden clatter and clink of bot-
tles as the door came up and struck the edge of the
bar. There was life and a suggestion of home in
that clatter and clink, and all breathed easier for a


ROOM NUMBER 3 73
moment, but only for a moment. The something
lying there behind them, or was it almost under
their feet, soon got its hold again upon their fears,
and Jake found himself standing stock-still, listening
both ways for that dreaded, or would it be wel-
come, movement on the floor behind, and to the
dragging sound of Mrs. Quimby's skirt and petti-
coat as she made her first step down those cellar-
stairs. What an endless time it took | He could
rush down there in a minute, but she—she could not
have reached the third step yet, for that always
creaked. Now it did creak. Then there was no
sound for some time, unless it was the panting of
Quimby's breath somewhere over by the bar. Then
the stair creaked again. She must be nearly up.
“Here's matches and the candle,” came in a hol-
low voice from the trap-stairs.
A faint streak appeared for an instant against the
dark, then disappeared. Another; but no lasting
light. The matches were too damp to burn.
“Jake, ain't you got a match?” appealed the
voice of Quimby in half-choked accents.
After a bit of fumbling a small blaze shot up
from where Jake stood. Its sulphurous smell may
have suggested to all, as it did to one, the im-
measurable distance of heaven at that moment, and
the awful nearness of hell. They could see now, but
not one of them looked in the direction where all
their thoughts lay. Instead of that, they rolled their
eyes on each other, while the match burned slowly


74 ROOM NUMBER 3
out: Mrs. Quimby from the trap, her husband from
the bar, and Jake. Suddenly he found words, and
his cry rang through the room:
“The candle! the candle! this is my only match.
Where is the candle?”
Quimby leaped forward and with shaking hand
held the worn bit of candle to the flame. It failed
to ignite. The horrible, dreaded darkness was about
to close upon them again before—before But
another hand had seized the candle. Mrs. Quimby
has come forward, and as the match sends up its
last flicker, thrusts the wick against the flame and
the candle flares up. It is lighted.
Over it they give each other one final appealing
stare. There's no help for it now; they must look.
Jake's head turned first, then Mrs. Quimby, and
then that of the real aggressor.
A simultaneous gasp from them all betrays the
worst. It had been no phantom called into being
by their overtaxed nerves. A woman lay before
them, face downward on the hard floor. A woman
dressed in black, with hat on head and a little
satchel clutched in one stiff, outstretched hand.
Miss Demarest's mother! The little old lady who
had come into the place four hours before !
With a muttered execration, Jake stepped over
to her side and endeavoured to raise her; but he
instantly desisted, and looking up at Quimby and
his wife, moved his lips with the one fatal word
which ends all hope:
“Dead!”


ROOM NUMBER 3 75
They listened appalled. “Dead?” echoed the
now terrified Quimby.
“Dead?” repeated his no less agitated wife.
Jake was the least overcome of the three. With
another glance at the motionless figure, he rose, and
walking around the body, crossed to the door and
seeing what he had done to make entrance possible,
cursed himself and locked it properly. Meanwhile,
Mrs. Quimby, with her eyes on her husband, had
backed slowly away till she had reached the desk,
against which she now stood with fierce and furious
eyes, still clutching at her chain.
Quimby watched her fascinated. He had never
seen her look like this before. What did it portend?
They were soon to know.
“Coward!” fell from her lips, as she stared with
unrelenting hate at her husband. “An old woman
who was not even conscious of what she saw ! I'll
not stand for this killing, Jacob. You may count
me out of this and the chain, too. If you don't—”
a threatening gesture finished the sentence and the
two men looking at her knew that they had come up
against a wall.
“Susan!” Was that Quimby speaking? “Susan,
are you going back on me now?”
She pointed at the motionless figure lying in its
shrouding black like an ineffaceable blot on the of-
fice floor, then at the securities showing above the
edge of his pocket.
“Were we not close enough to discovery, with-
out drawing the attention of the police by such an


76 ROOM NUMBER 3
unnecessary murder? She was walking in her sleep.
I remember her eyes as she advanced toward me;
there was no sight in them.”
“You lie!” It was the only word which Quimby
found to ease the shock which this simple statement
caused him. But Jake saw from the nature of the
glance he shot at his poor old victim that her words
had struck home. His wife saw it, too, but it did
not disturb the set line of her determined mouth.
“You’ll let me keep the chain,” she said, “and
you'll use your wits, now that you have used your
hand, to save yourself and myself from the charge
of murder.”
Quimby, who was a man of great intelligence
when his faculties were undisturbed by anger or
shock, knelt and turned his victim carefully over so
that her face was uppermost.
“It was not murder,” he uttered in an indescrib-
able tone after a few minutes of cautious scrutiny.
“The old lady fell and struck her forehead. See!
the bruise is scarcely perceptible. Had she been
younger ??
“A sudden death from any cause in this house at
just this time is full of danger for us,” coldly broke
in his wife.
The landlord rose to his feet, walked away to the
window, dropped his head, thought for a minute,
and then slowly came back, glanced at the woman
again, at her dress, her gloved hands, and her little
satchel.
“She didn't die in this house,” fell from his lips


ROOM NUMBER 3 77
in his most oily accents. “She fell in the woods;
the path is full of bared roots, and there she must
be found to-morrow morning. Jake, are you up to
the little game?”
Jake, who was drawing his first full breath, an-
swered with a calm enough nod, whereupon Quimby
bade his wife to take a look outside and see if the
way was clear for them to carry the body out.
She did not move. He fell into a rage; an un-
usual thing for him.
“Bestir yourself! do as I bid you,” he muttered.
Her eyes held his; her face took on the look he
had learned to dread. Finally she spoke:
“And the daughter! What about the daugh-
ter?”
Quimby stood silent; then with a sidelong leer,
and in a tone smooth as oil, but freighted with pur-
pose, “The mother first; we'll look after the daugh-
ter later.”
Mrs. Quimby shivered; then as her hand spread
itself over the precious chain sparkling with the
sinister gleam of serpent's eyes on her broad bosom,
she grimly muttered:
“How? I'm for no more risks, I tell you.”
Jake took a step forward. He thought his mas-
ter was about to rush upon her. But he was only
gathering up his faculties to meet the new problem
she had flung at him.
“The girl's a mere child; we shall have no diffi-
culty with her,” he muttered broodingly. “Who
saw these two come in?”


78 ROOM NUMBER 3
Then it came out that no one but themselves had
been present at their arrival. Further consultation
developed that the use to which Number 3 had been
put was known to but one of the maids, who could
easily be silenced. Whereupon Quimby told his
scheme. Mrs. Quimby was satisfied, and he and
Jake prepared to carry it out.
The sensations of the next half-hour, as told by
Jake, would make your flesh creep. They did not
dare to carry a lamp to light the gruesome task, and
well as they knew the way, the possibilities of a
stumble or a fall against some one of the many trees
they had to pass filled them with constant terror.
They did stumble once, and the low cry Jake uttered
caused them new fears. Was that a window they
heard flying up? No; but something moved in the
bushes. They were sure of this and guiltily shook
in their shoes; but nothing advanced out of the
shadows, and they went on.
But the worst was when they had to turn their
backs upon the body left lying face downward in
the cold, damp woods. Men of no compassion, un-
reached by ordinary sympathies, they felt the fur-
tive skulking back, step by step, along ways common-
place enough in the daytime, but begirt with terrors
now and full of demoniac suggestion.
The sight of a single thread of light marking the
door left ajar for them by Mrs. Quimby was a
beacon of hope which was not even disturbed by the
sight of her wild figure walking in a circle round
and round the office, the stump of candle dripping


ROOM NUMBER 3 79
unheeded over her fingers, and her eyes almost as
sightless as those of the form left in the woods.
“Susan!” exclaimed her husband, laying hand on
her.
She paused at once. The presence of the two
men had restored her self-possession.
But all was not well yet. Jake drew Quimby's
attention to the register where the two names of
mother and daughter could be seen in plain black
and white.
“Oh, that's nothing!” exclaimed the landlord,
and, taking out his knife, he ripped the leaf out, to-
gether with the corresponding one in the back.
“The devil's on our side all right, or why did she
pass over the space at the bottom of the page and
write their two names at the top of the next one?”
He started, for his wife had clutched his arm.
“Yes, the devil's on our side thus far,” said she,
“but here he stops. I have just remembered some-
thing that will upset our whole plan and possibly
hang us. Miss Demarest visited her mother in
Number 3 and noticed the room well, and particu-
larly the paper. Now if she is able to describe that
paper, it might not be so easy for us to have our
story believed.”
For a minute all stood aghast, then Jake quietly
remarked: “It is now one by the clock. If you can
find me some of that old blue paper I once chucked
under the eaves in the front attic, I will engage to
have it on those four walls before daylight. Bring
the raggedest rolls you can find. If it shouldn't be


8O ROOM NUMBER 3
dry to the touch when they come to see it to-morrow,
it must look so stained and old that no one will think
of laying hand on it. I'll go make the paste.”
As Jake was one of the quickest and most precise
of workers at anything he understood, this astonish-
ing offer struck the other two as quite feasible. The
paper was procured, the furniture moved back, and
a transformation made in the room in question
which astonished even those concerned in it. Dawn
rose upon the completed work and, the self-posses-
sion of all three having been restored with the
burning up of such scraps as remained after the four
walls were covered, they each went to their several
beds for a half-hour of possible rest. Jake's was
in Number 3. He has never said what that half-
hour was to him!
The rest we know. The scheme did not fully
succeed, owing to the interest awakened in one man's
mind by the beauty and seeming truth of Miss Dem-
arest. Investigation followed which roused the
landlord to the danger threatening them from
the curiosity of Hammersmith, and it being neck or
nothing with him, he planned the deeper crime of
burning up room and occupant before further dis-
coveries could be made. What became of him in
the turmoil which followed, no one could tell, not
even Jake. They had been together in Jake's
room before the latter ran out with his gun, but
beyond that the clerk knew nothing. Of Mrs.
Quimby he could tell more. She had not been taken
into their confidence regarding the fire, some small


ROOM NUMBER 3 81
grains of humanity remaining in her which they
feared might upset their scheme. She had only been
given some pretext for locking Huldah in her room,
and it was undoubtedly her horror at her own deed
when she saw to what it had committed her which
unsettled her brain and made her a gibbering idiot
for life.
Or was it some secret knowledge of her hus-
band's fate, unknown to others? We cannot tell,
for no sign nor word of Jacob Quimby ever came
to dispel the mystery of his disappearance.
And this is the story of Three Forks Tavern and
the room numbered 3.





MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW





IT was the last house in Beauchamp Row, and it
stood several rods away from its nearest neighbour.
It was a pretty house in the daytime, but owing to
its deep, sloping roof and small bediamonded win-
dows it had a lonesome look at night, notwithstand-
ing the crimson hall-light which shone through the
leaves of its vine-covered doorway.
Ned Chivers lived in it with his six months’ mar-
ried bride, and as he was both a busy fellow and a
gay one there were many evenings when pretty Letty
Chivers sat alone until near midnight.
She was of an uncomplaining spirit, however,
and said little, though there were times when
both the day and evening seemed very long and
married life not altogether the paradise she had
expected.
On this evening—a memorable evening for her,
the 24th of December, 1911—she had expected her
husband to remain with her, for it was not only
Christmas eve, but the night when, as manager of a
large manufacturing concern, he brought up from
New York the money with which to pay off the men
on the next working day, and he never left her when
there was any unusual amount of money in the
house. But with the first glimpse she had of his
figure coming up the road she saw that for some rea-
son it was not to be thus to-night, and, indignant,
alarmed almost, at the prospect of a lonesome even-
85


86 MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
ing under such circumstances, she ran hastily down
to the gate to meet him, crying:
“Oh, Ned, you look so troubled I know you have
only come home for a hurried supper. But you
cannot leave me to-night. Tennie" (their only
maid) “has gone for a holiday, and I never can
stay in this house alone with all that.” She pointed
to the small bag he carried, which, as she knew, was
filled to bursting with bank notes.
He certainly looked troubled. It is hard to re-
sist the entreaty in a young bride's uplifted face.
But this time he could not help himself, and he
said:
“I am dreadfully sorry, but I must ride over to
Fairbanks to-night. Mr. Pierson has given me an
imperative order to conclude a matter of business
there, and it is very important that it should be
done. I should lose my position if I neglected the
matter, and no one but Hasbrouck and Suffern
knows that we keep the money in the house. I have
always given out that I intrusted it to Hale's safe
over night.”
“But I cannot stand it,” she persisted. “You
have never left me on these nights. That is why I
let Tennie go. I will spend the evening at The
Larches, or, better still, call in Mr. and Mrs. Tal-
cott to keep me company.”
But her husband did not approve of her going
out or of her having company. The Larches was
too far away, and as for Mr. and Mrs. Talcott,
they were meddlesome people, whom he had never


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW 87
liked; besides, Mrs. Talcott was delicate, and the
night threatened storm. Let her go to bed like a
good girl, and think nothing about the money, which
he would take care to put away in a very safe place.
“Or,” said he, kissing her downcast face, “per-
haps you would rather hide it yourself; women al-
ways have curious ideas about such things.”
“Yes, let me hide it,” she entreated. “The
money, I mean, not the bag. Every one knows the
bag. I should never dare to leave it in that.” And
begging him to unlock it, she began to empty it with
a feverish haste that rather alarmed him, for he
surveyed her anxiously and shook his head as if he
dreaded the effects of this excitement upon her.
But as he saw no way out of the difficulty, he con-
fined himself to using such soothing words as were
at his command, and then, humouring her weakness,
helped her to arrange the bills in the place she had
chosen, and restuffing the bag with old receipts till it
acquired its former dimensions, he put a few bills on
top to make the whole look natural, and, laughing
at her white face, relocked the bag and put the key
back in his pocket.
“There, dear; a notable scheme and one that
should relieve your mind entirely!” he cried. “If
any one should attempt burglary in my absence and
should succeed in getting into a house as safely
locked as this will be when I leave it, then trust to
their being satisfied when they see this booty, which
I shall hide where I always hide it—in the cupboard
over my desk.”


88 MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
“And when will you be back?” she questioned,
trembling in spite of herself at these preparations.
“By one o'clock if possible. Certainly by two.”
“And our neighbours go to bed at ten,” she mur-
mured. But the words were low, and she was glad
he did not hear them, for if it was his duty to obey
the orders he had received, then it was her duty to
meet the position in which it left her as bravely as
she could.
At supper she was so natural that his face rapidly
brightened, and it was with quite an air of cheer-
fulness that he rose at last to lock up the house and
make such preparations as were necessary for his
dismal ride over the mountains to Fairbanks. She
had the supper dishes to wash up in Tennie's ab-
sence, and as she was a busy little housewife she
found herself singing a snatch of song as she passed
back and forth from dining-room to kitchen. He
heard it, too, and smiled to himself as he bolted the
windows on the ground floor and examined the locks
of the three lower doors, and when he finally came
into the kitchen with his greatcoat on to give her
his final kiss, he had but one parting injunction to
urge, and this was for her to lock and bolt the front
door after him and then forget the whole matter till
she heard his double knock at midnight.
She smiled and held up her ingenuous face.
“Be careful of yourself,” she begged of him. “I
hate this dark ride for you, and on such a night too.”
And she ran with him to the door to look out.
“It is certainly very dark,” he responded, “but


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW 89
I'm to have one of Brown's safest horses. Do not
worry about me. I shall do well enough, and so
will you, too, or you are not the plucky little woman
I have always thought you.”
She laughed, but there was a choking sound in
her voice that made him look at her again. But at
sight of his anxiety she recovered herself, and point-
ing to the clouds said earnestly:
“It's going to snow. Be careful as you ride by
the gorge, Ned; it is very deceptive there in a snow-
storm.”
But he vowed that it would not snow before morn-
ing and giving her one final embrace he dashed
down the path toward Brown's livery stable. “Oh,
what is the matter with me?” she murmured to her-
self as his steps died out in the distance. “I never
knew I was such a coward.” And she paused for
a moment, looking up and down the road, as if in
despite of her husband's command she had the
desperate idea of running away to some neigh-
bour.
But she was too loyal for that, and smothering
a sigh she retreated into the house. As she did so
the first flakes fell of the storm that was not to have
come till morning.
It took her an hour to get her kitchen in order,
and nine o'clock struck before she was ready to sit
down. She had been so busy she had not noticed
how the wind had increased or how rapidly the snow
was falling. But when she went to the front door
for another glance up and down the road she started


90 MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
back, appalled at the fierceness of the gale and at
the great pile of snow that had already accumulated
on the doorstep.
Too delicate to breast such a wind, she saw her-
self robbed of her last hope of any companionship,
and sighing heavily she locked and bolted the door
for the night and went back into her little sitting-
room, where a great fire was burning. Here she
sat down, and determined, since she must pass the
evening alone, to do it as cheerfully as possible,
she began to sew. “Oh, what a Christmas eve!”
she thought, as a picture of other homes rose before
her eyes,—homes in which husbands sat by wives
and brothers by sisters; and a great wave of regret
poured over her and a longing for something, she
hardly dared say what, lest her unhappiness should
acquire a sting that would leave traces beyond the
passing moment.
The room in which she sat was the only one on
the ground floor except the dining-room and kitchen.
It therefore was used both as parlour and sitting-
room, and held not only her piano, but her hus-
band's desk. -
Communicating with it was the tiny dining-room.
Between the two, however, was an entry leading to
a side entrance. A lamp was in this entry, and she
had left it burning, as well as the one in the kitchen,
that the house might look cheerful and as if the
whole family were at home.
She was looking toward this entry and wondering
what made it seem so dismally dark to her, when


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW 9I
there came a faint sound from the door at its fur-
ther end.
Knowing that her husband must have taken
peculiar pains with the fastenings of this door, as
it was the one toward the woods and therefore most
accessible to wayfarers, she sat where she was, with
all her faculties strained to listen. But no further
sound came from that direction, and after a few
minutes of silent terror she was allowing herself to
believe that she had been deceived by her fears when
she suddenly heard the same sound at the kitchen
door, followed by a muffled knock.
Frightened now in good earnest, but still alive
to the fact that the intruder was as likely to be a
friend as foe, she stepped to the door, and with
her hand on the lock stooped and asked boldly
enough who was there. But she received no answer,
and more affected by this unexpected silence than
by the knock she had heard, she recoiled farther and
farther till not only the width of the kitchen, but
the dining-room also, lay between her and the scene
of her alarm, when to her utter confusion the noise
shifted again to the side of the house, and the door
she thought so securely fastened, swung violently
open as if blown in by a fierce gust, and she saw
precipitated into the entry the burly figure of a
man covered with snow and shaking with the violence
of the storm that seemed at once to fill the house.
Her first thought was that it was her husband
come back, but before she could clear her eyes from
the snow which had rushed tumultuously in, he


92 MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
had thrown off his outer covering and she found
herself face to face with a man in whose powerful
frame and cynical visage she saw little to comfort
her and much to surprise and alarm.
“Ugh !” was his coarse and rather familiar greet-
ing. “A hard night, missus! Enough to drive any
man indoors. Pardon the liberty, but I couldn't
wait for you to lift the latch; the wind drove me
right in.”
“Was—was not the door locked?” she feebly
asked, thinking he must have staved it in with his
foot, which was certainly well fitted for such a task.
“Not much,” he chuckled. “I s'pose you're too
hospitable for that.” And his eyes passed from
her face to the comfortable firelight shining through
the sitting-room.
“Is it refuge you want?” she demanded, sup-
pressing as much as possible all signs of fear.
“Sure, missus—what else! A man can't live in
a gale like that, specially after a tramp of twenty
miles or more. Shall I shut the door for you?” he
asked, with a mixture of bravado and good nature
that frightened her more and more.
“I will shut it,” she replied, with a half notion
of escaping this sinister stranger by a flight through
the night.
But one glance into the swirling snowstorm de-
terred her, and making the best of the alarming
situation, she closed the door, but did not lock it,
being now more afraid of what was inside the house
than of anything left lingering without.


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW 93
The man, whose clothes were dripping with
water, watched her with a cynical smile, and then,
without any invitation, entered the dining-room,
crossed it, and moved toward the kitchen fire.
“Ugh ! ugh ! But it is warm here!” he cried,
his nostrils dilating with an animal-like enjoyment,
that in itself was repugnant to her womanly delicacy.
“Do you know, missus, I shall have to stay here all
night? Can't go out in that gale again; not such a
fool.” Then with a sly look at her trembling form
and white face he insinuatingly added, “All alone,
missus?”
The suddenness with which this was put, together
with the leer that accompanied it, made her start.
Alone? Yes, but should she acknowledge it?
Would it not be better to say that her husband was
upstairs? The man evidently saw the struggle going
on in her mind, for he chuckled to himself and called
out quite boldly:
“Never mind, missus; it's all right. Just give
me a bit of cold meat and a cup of tea or something,
and we'll be very comfortable together. You're a
slender slip of a woman to be minding a house like
this. I'll keep you company if you don't mind, least-
wise until the storm lets up a bit, which ain't likely
for some hours to come. Rough night, missus,
rough night.”
“I expect my husband home at any time,” she
hastened to say. And thinking she saw a change
in the man's countenance at this she put on quite
an air of sudden satisfaction and bounded toward


94 MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
the front of the house. “There ! I think I hear
him now,” she cried.
Her motive was to gain time, and if possible to
obtain the opportunity of shifting the money from
the place where she had first put it into another and
safer one. “I want to be able,” she thought, “to
swear that I have no money with me in this house.
If I can only get it into my apron I will drop it
outside the door into the snowbank. It will be as
safe there as in the vaults it came from.” And dash-
ing into the sitting-room she made a feint of drag-
ging down a shawl from a screen, while she secretly
filled her skirt with the bills which had been put
between some old pamphlets on the bookshelves.
She could hear the man grumbling in the kitchen,
but he did not follow her front, and taking advan-
tage of the moment's respite from his none too en-
couraging presence she unbarred the door and cheer-
fully called out her husband's name.
The ruse was successful. She was enabled to
fling the notes where the falling flakes would soon
cover them from sight, and feeling more courageous,
now that the money was out of the house, she went
slowly back, saying she had made a mistake, and
that it was the wind she had heard.
The man gave a gruff but knowing guffaw and
then resumed his watch over her, following her steps
as she proceeded to set him out a meal, with a per-
sistency that reminded her of a tiger just on the
point of springing. But the inviting look of the
viands with which she was rapidly setting the table


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW 95
soon distracted his attention, and allowing himself
one grunt of satisfaction, he drew up a chair and
set himself down to what to him was evidently a
most savoury repast.
“No beer? No ale? Nothing o' that sort, eh?
Don't keep a bar?” he growled, as his teeth closed
on a huge hunk of bread.
She shook her head, wishing she had a little cold
poison bottled up in a tight-looking jug.
“Nothing but tea,” she smiled, astonished at her
own ease of manner in the presence of this alarming
guest.
“Then let's have that,” he grumbled, taking the
bowl she handed him, with an odd look that made
her glad to retreat to the other side of the room.
“Jest listen to the howling wind,” he went on
between the huge mouthfuls of bread and cheese
with which he was gorging himself. “But we're
very comfortable, we two ! We don't mind the
storm, do we?”
Shocked by his familiarity and still more moved
by the look of mingled inquiry and curiosity with
which his eyes now began to wander over the walls
and cupboards, she hurried to the window overlook-
ing her nearest neighbour, and, lifting the shade,
peered out. A swirl of snowflakes alone confronted
her. She could neither see her neighbours, nor could
she be seen by them. A shout from her to them
would not be heard. She was as completely iso-
lated as if the house stood in the centre of a desolate
western plain.


96 MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
“I have no trust but in God,” she murmured at
she came from the window. And, nerved to mee
her fate, she crossed to the kitchen.
It was now half-past ten. Two hours and a hal
must elapse before her husband could possibly
arrive.
She set her teeth at the thought and walked reso.
lutely into the room.
“Are you done?” she asked.
“I am, ma'am,” he leered. “Do you want me
to wash the dishes? I kin, and I will.” And he
actually carried his plate and cup to the sink, where
he turned the water upon them with another loud
guffaw.
“If only his fancy would take him into the pan-
try,” she thought, “I could shut and lock the door
upon him and hold him prisoner till Ned gets
back.”
But his fancy ended its flight at the sink, and be.
fore her hopes had fully subsided he was standing
on the threshold of the sitting-room door.
“It's pretty here,” he exclaimed, allowing his
eye to rove again over every hiding-place within
sight. “I wonder now—” He stopped. His
glance had fallen on the cupboard over her hus
band's desk.
“Well?” she asked, anxious to break the thread
of his thought, which was only too plainly mirrored
in his eager countenance.
He started, dropped his eyes, and, turning, sur.
veyed her with a momentary fierceness. But, as she


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW 97
did not let her own glance quail, but continued to
meet his gaze with what she meant for an ingrati-
ating smile, he subdued this outward manifestation
of passion, and, chuckling to hide his embarrassment,
began backing into the entry, leering in evident en-
joyment of the fears he caused.
However, once in the hall, he hesitated for a
long time; then slowly made for the garment
he had dropped on entering, and stooping, drew
from underneath its folds a wicked-looking stick.
Giving a kick to the coat, which sent it into a remote
corner, he bestowed upon her another smile, and
still carrying the stick, went slowly and reluctantly
away into the kitchen.
“Oh, God Almighty, help me!” was her prayer.
There was nothing left for her now but to endure,
so throwing herself into a chair, she tried to calm
the beating of her heart and summon up courage
for the struggle which she felt was before her.
That he had come to rob and only waited to take
her off her guard she now felt certain, and rapidly
running over in her mind all the expedients of
self-defence possible to one in her situation, she sud-
denly remembered the pistol which Ned kept in his
desk.
Oh, why had she not thought of it before ! Why
had she let herself grow mad with terror when here,
within reach of her hand, lay such a means of self-
defence? With a feeling of joy (she had always
hated pistols before and scolded Ned when he
bought this one) she started to her feet and slid her


98 MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
*
hand into the drawer. But it came back empty.
Ned had taken the weapon away with him.
For a moment, a surge of the bitterest feeling
she had ever experienced passed over her; then she
called reason to her aid and was obliged to acknowl-
edge that the act was but natural, and that from
his standpoint he was much more likely to need it
than herself. But the disappointment, coming so
soon after hope, unnerved her, and she sank back
in her chair, giving herself up for lost.
How long she sat there with her eyes on the door
through which she momentarily expected her assail-
ant to reappear, she never knew. She was conscious
only of a sort of apathy that made movement dif-
ficult and even breathing a task. In vain she tried
to change her thoughts. In vain she tried to follow
her husband in fancy over the snow-covered roads
and into the gorge of the mountains. Imagination
failed her at this point. Do what she would, all
was misty to her mind's eye, and she could not see
that wandering image. There was blankness be-
tween his form and her, and no life or movement
anywhere but here in the scene of her terror.
Her eyes were on a strip of rug covering the
entry floor, and so strange was the condition of her
mind that she found herself mechanically counting
the tassels finishing off its edge, growing wroth
over one that was worn, till she hated that sixth
tassel and mentally determined that if she ever out-
lived this night she would strip them all off and be
done with them.


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW 99
The wind had lessened, but the air had grown
cooler and the snow made a sharp sound where it
struck the panes. She felt it falling, though she had
cut off all view of it. It seemed to her that a pall
was settling over the world and that she would soon
be smothered under its folds.
Meanwhile no sound came from the kitchen. A
dreadful sense of doom was creeping upon her—a
sense growing in intensity till she found herself
watching for the shadow of that lifted stick on the
wall of the entry and almost imagined she saw the
tip of it appearing.
But it was the door which again blew in, admitting
another man of so threatening an aspect that she suc-
cumbed instantly before him and forgot all her
former fears in this new terror. -
The second intruder was a negro of powerful
frame and lowering aspect, and as he came forward
and stood in the doorway there was observable in
his fierce and desperate countenance no attempt at
the insinuation of the other, only a fearful resolu-
tion that made her feel like a puppet before him,
and drove her, almost without her volition, to her .
knees.
“Money? Is it money you want?” was her des-
perate greeting. “If so, here's my purse and here
are my rings and watch. Take them and go.”
But the stolid wretch did not even stretch out his
hands. His eyes went beyond her, and the mingled
anxiety and resolve which he displayed would have
cowed a stouter heart than that of this poor woman.


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW IOI
bookcase he gave the books one kick, and seizing
her by the arm, shook her with a murderous glare
on his strange and distorted features.
“Where's the money?” he hissed. “Tell me, or
you are a goner.”
He raised his heavy fist. She crouched and all
seemed over, when, with a rush and cry, a figure
dashed between them and he fell, struck down by
the very stick she had so long been expecting to see
fall upon her own head. The man who had been
her terror for hours had at the moment of need
acted as her protector.
She must have fainted, but if so, her unconscious-
ness was but momentary, for when she woke again
to her surroundings she found the tramp still stand-
ing over her adversary.
“I hope you don't mind, ma'am,” he said, with
an air of humbleness she certainly had not seen in
him before, “but I think the man's dead.” And he
stirred with his foot the heavy figure before him.
“Oh, no, no, no!'” she cried. “That would be
too fearful. He's shocked, stunned; you cannot
have killed him.”
But the tramp was persistent. “I’m 'fraid I
have,” he said. “I done it before. I'm powerful
strong in the biceps. But I couldn't see a man of
that colour frighten a lady like you. My supper
was too warm in me, ma'am. Shall I throw him
outside the house?”
“Yes,” she said, and then, “No; let us first be


102 MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
sure there is no life in him.” And, hardly know-
ing what she did, she stooped down and peered into
the glassy eyes of the prostrate man.
Suddenly she turned pale—no, not pale, but
ghastly, and cowering back, shook so that the tramp,
into whose features a certain refinement had passed
since he had acted as her protector, thought she
had discovered life in those set orbs, and was stoop-
ing down to make sure that this was so, when he
saw her suddenly lean forward and, impetuously
plunging her hand into the negro's throat, tear open
the shirt and give one look at his bared breast.
It was white.
“O God! O God!” she moaned, and lifting the
head in her two hands she gave the motionless
features a long and searching look. “Water!” she
cried. “Bring water.” But before the now obe-
dient tramp could respond, she had torn off the
woolly wig disfiguring the dead man's head, and see-
ing the blond curls beneath had uttered such a shriek
that it rose above the gale and was heard by her
distant neighbours.
It was the head and hair of her husband.
They found out afterwards that he had contem-
plated this theft for months; that each and every
precaution necessary to the success of this most
daring undertaking had been made use of and that
but for the unexpected presence in the house of the
tramp, he would doubtless not only have extorted
the money from his wife, but have so covered up


MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW 103
the deed by a plausible alibi as to have retained her
confidence and that of his employers.
Whether the tramp killed him out of sympathy
for the defenceless woman or in rage at being dis-
appointed in his own plans has never been deter-
mined. Mrs. Chivers herself thinks he was actuated
by a rude sort of gratitude.





THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
(Copyright, 1905, by The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Used by special permission of the publishers)





As there were two good men on duty that night, I
did not see why I should remain at my desk, even
though there was an unusual stir created in our small
town by the grand ball given at The Evergreens.
But just as I was preparing to start for home, an
imperative ring called me to the telephone, and I
heard:
“Halloo! Is this the police-station?”
“It is.”
“Well, then, a detective is wanted at once at The
Evergreens. He cannot be too clever or too dis-
creet. A valuable jewel has been lost, which must
be found before the guests disperse for home. Large
reward if the matter ends successfully.”
“May I ask who is speaking to me?”
“Mrs. Ashley.”
It was the mistress of The Evergreens and giver
of the ball.
“Madam, a man shall be sent at once. Where
will you see him?”
“In the butler's pantry at the rear. Let him give
bis name as Jennings.”
“Very good. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
“A pretty piece of work! Should I send Hen-
dricks or should I send Hicks? Hendricks was
clever and Hicks discreet, but neither united both
qualifications in the measure demanded by the sen-
Io?


IO8 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
sible and quietly resolved woman with whom I had
just been talking. What alternative remained?
But one: I must go myself.
It was not late—not for a ball-night, at least—
and as half the town had been invited to the dance,
the streets were alive with carriages. I was watch-
ing the blink of their lights through the fast-falling
snow when my attention was drawn to a fact which
struck me as peculiar. These carriages were all
coming my way instead of rolling in the direction
of The Evergreens. Had they been empty this
would have needed no explanation; but, so far as
I could see, most of them were full, and that,
too, of loudly-talking women and gesticulating
men.
Something of a serious nature must have occurred
at The Evergreens. Rapidly I paced on, and soon
found myself before the great gates.
A crowd of vehicles of all descriptions blocked
the entrance. None seemed to be passing up the
driveway; all stood clustered at the gates; and as
I drew nearer I perceived many an anxious head
thrust forth from their quickly-opened doors, and
heard many an ejaculation of disappointment as the
short interchange of words went on between the
drivers of these various turnouts and a man drawn
up in quiet resolution before the unexpectedly barred
entranCC.
Slipping round to this man's side, I listened to
what he was saying. It was simple, but very
explicit.


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON IO9
“Mrs. Ashley asks everybody's pardon, but the
ball can't go on to-night. Something has happened
which makes the reception of further guests im-
possible. To-morrow evening she will be happy to
see you all. The dance is simply postponed.”
This he had probably repeated forty times, and
each time it had probably been received with the
same mixture of doubt and curiosity which now held
the lengthy procession in check.
Not wishing to attract attention, yet anxious to
lose no time, I pressed up still nearer, and, bending
towards him from the shadow cast by a convenient
post, uttered the one word:
“Jennings.”
Instantly he unlocked a small gate at his right.
I passed in, and with professional sang-froid pro-
ceeded to take my way to the house through the
double row of evergreens bordering the semicircular
approach.
As these trees stood very close together, and
were, besides, heavily laden with fresh-fallen snow,
I failed to catch a glimpse of the building itself until
I stood in front of it. Then I saw that it was
brilliantly lighted, and gave evidence here and there
of some festivity; but the guests were too few for
the effect to be very exhilarating, and, passing around
to the rear, I sought the special entrance to which
I had been directed.
A heavy-browed porch, before which stood a
caterer's wagon, led me to a door which had every
appearance of being the one I sought. Pushing it


I IO THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
open, I entered without ceremony, and speedily
found myself in the midst of twenty or more col-
oured waiters and chattering housemaids. To one
of the former I addressed the question:
“Where is the butler's pantry? I am told that
I shall find the lady of the house there.”
“Your name?” was the curt demand.
“Jennings.”
“Follow me.”
I was taken through narrow passages and across
one or two storerooms to a small but well-lighted
closet, where I was left, with the assurance that
Mrs. Ashley would presently join me. I had never
seen this lady, but I had often heard her spoken
of as a woman of superior character and admirable
discretion.
She did not keep me waiting. In two minutes
the door opened, and this fine, well-poised woman
was telling her story in the straightforward manner
I so much admire.
The article lost was a large ruby of singular
beauty and great value, the property of Mrs. Bur-
ton, the Senator's wife, in whose honour this ball
was being given. It had not been lost in the house,
nor had it been originally missed this evening. Mrs.
Burton and herself had attended the great football
game in the afternoon, and it was on the college
campus that Mrs. Burton had first dropped her
invaluable jewel. But a reward of five hundred
dollars having been at once offered to whomever
should find and restore it, a great search had fol-


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON III.
lowed, which ended in its being picked up by one of
the students, and brought back as far as the drive-
way in front of The Evergreens, when it had again
disappeared, and in a way to rouse conjecture of the
strangest and most puzzling character.
The young man who had brought it thus far bore
the name of John Deane, and was a member of the
senior class. He had been the first to detect its
sparkle in the grass, and those who were near
enough to see his face at that happy moment say
that it expressed the utmost satisfaction at his good
luck.
“You see,” said Mrs. Ashley, “he has a sweet-
heart, and five hundred dollars looks like a fortune
to a young man just starting life. But he was weak
enough to take this girl into his confidence; and on
their way here—for both were invited to the ball—
he went so far as to pull it out of his pocket and
show it to her.
“They were admiring it together, and vaunting
its beauties to the young lady friend who had accom-
panied them, when their carriage turned into the
driveway and they saw the lights of the house
flashing before them. Hastily restoring the jewel
to the little bag he had made for it out of the
finger-end of an old glove—a bag in which he
assured me he had been careful to keep it safely
tied ever since picking it up on the college green—
he thrust it back into his pocket and prepared to
help the ladies out. But just then a disturbance
arose in front. A horse which had been driven up


112 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
was rearing in a way that threatened to overturn the
light buggy to which it was attached. As the occu-
pants of this buggy were ladies, and seemed to have
no control over the plunging beast, young Deane
naturally sprang to the rescue. Bidding his own
ladies alight and make for the porch, he hurriedly
ran forward and, pausing in front of the maddened
animal, waited for an opportunity to seize him by
the rein. He says that as he stood there facing the
beast with fixed eye and raised hand, he distinctly
felt something strike or touch his breast. But the
sensation conveyed no meaning to him in his excite-
ment, and he did not think of it again till, the horse
well in hand and the two alarmed occupants of the
buggy rescued, he turned to see where his own
ladies were, and beheld them looking down at him
from the midst of a circle of young people, drawn
from the house by the screaming of the women.
Instantly a thought of the treasure he carried re-
curred to his mind, and releasing the now quieted
horse, he thrust his hand hastily into his pocket.
The jewel was gone. He declares that for a mo-
ment he felt as if he had been struck on the head
by one of the hoofs of the frantic horse he had
just handled. But immediately the importance of
his loss and the necessity he felt for instant action
restored him to himself, and shouting aloud, “I have
dropped Mrs. Burton's ruby l’’ he begged every one
to stand still while he made a search for it.
“This all occurred, as you must know, more than
an hour and a half ago, consequently before many of


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I 13
my guests had arrived. My son, who was one of
the few spectators gathered on the porch, tells me
that there was only one other carriage behind the
one in which Mr. Deane had brought his ladies.
Both of these had stopped short of the stepping-
stone, and as the horse and buggy which had made
all this trouble had by this time been driven to the
stable, nothing stood in the way of his search but
the rapidly accumulating snow, which, if you re-
member, was falling very thick and fast at the time.
“My son, who had rushed in for his overcoat,
came running down the steps to help him. So did
some others. But, with an imploring gesture, he
begged to be allowed to conduct the search alone,
the ground being in such a state that the delicately-
mounted jewel ran great risk of being trodden into
the snow and thus injured or lost. They humoured
him for a moment, then, seeing that his efforts bade
fair to be fruitless, my son insisted upon joining him,
and the two looked the ground over, inch by inch,
from the place where Mr. Deane had set foot to
ground in alighting from his carriage to the exact
spot where he had stood when he had finally seized
hold of the horse. But no ruby. Then Harrison
(that is my son's name) sent for a broom and went
over the place again, sweeping aside the surface
snow and examining carefully the ground beneath,
but with no better results than before. No ruby
could be found. My son came to me panting.
Mrs. Burton and myself stood awaiting him in a
state of suspense. Guests and fête were alike for-


II4 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
gotten. We had heard that the jewel had been
found on the campus by one of the students, and
had been brought back as far as the step in front,
and then lost again in some unaccountable manner
in the snow, and we hoped, nay, expected from
moment to moment, that it would be brought in.
“When Harrison finally entered, pale, dishevelled
and shaking his head, Mrs. Burton caught me by
the hand, and I thought she would faint. For this
jewel is of far greater value to her than its mere
worth in money, though that is by no means
small.
“It is a family jewel, and was given to her by her
husband under special circumstances. He prizes it
even more than she does, and he is not here to
counsel or assist her in this extremity. Besides, she
was wearing it in direct opposition to his expressed
wishes. This I must tell you, to show how im-
perative it is for us to recover it; also to account for
the large reward she is willing to pay. When he
last looked at it he noticed that the fastening was a
trifle slack, and, though he handed the trinket back,
he told her distinctly that she was not to wear it till
it had been either to Tiffany's or Starr's. But she
considered it safe enough, and put it on to please the
boys, and lost it. Senator Burton is a hard man
and—in short, the jewel must be found. I give you
just one hour in which to do it.”
“But, madam—” I protested.
“I know,” she put in, with a quick nod and a
glance over her shoulder to see if the door was


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I 15
shut. “I have not finished my story. Hearing
what Harrison had to say, I took action at once. I
bade him call in the guests, whom curiosity or
interest still detained in the porch, and seat them in
a certain room which I designated to him. Then,
after telling him to send two men to the gates with
orders to hold back all further carriages from en-
tering, and two others to shovel up and cart away
to the stable every particle of snow for ten feet each
side of the front step, I asked to see Mr. Deane.
But here my son whispered something into my ear,
which it is my duty to repeat. It was to the effect
that Mr. Deane believed that the jewel had been
taken from him; that he insisted, in fact, that he
had felt a hand touch his breast while he stood
awaiting an opportunity to seize the horse. ‘Very
good, said I, ‘we'll remember that too; but first
see that my orders are carried out, and that all
approaches to the grounds are guarded and no one
allowed to come in or go out without permission
from me.”
“He left us, and I was turning to encourage
Mrs. Burton when my attention was caught by the
eager face of a little friend of mine, who, quite
unknown to me, was sitting in one of the corners
of the room. She was studying my countenance
with a subdued anxiety, hardly natural in one so
young, and I was about to relieve my mind by ques-
tioning her when she made a sudden rush and
vanished from the room. Some impulse made me
follow her. She is a conscientious little thing, but


116 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
timid as a hare, and though I saw she had something
to say, it was with difficulty I could make her speak.
Only after the most solemn assurances that her name
should not be mentioned in the matter would she
give me the following bit of information, which you
may possibly think throws another light upon the
affair. It seems that she was looking out of one of
the front windows when Mr. Deane's carriage drove
up. She had been watching the antics of the horse
attached to the buggy, but as soon as she saw Mr.
Deane going to the assistance of those in danger,
she let her eyes stray back to the ladies whom he
had left behind him in the carriage.
“She did not know these ladies, but their looks
and gestures interested her, and she watched them
quite intently as they leaped to the ground and made
their way toward the porch. One went on quickly,
and without pause, to the step; but the other—the
one who came last—did not do this. She stopped a
moment, perhaps to watch the horse in front, per-
haps to draw her cloak more closely about her, and
when she again moved on it was with a start and
a hurried glance at her feet, terminating in a quick
turn and a sudden stooping to the ground. When
she again stood upright she had something in her
hand which she thrust furtively into her breast.”
“How was this lady dressed?” I inquired.
“In a white cloak, with an edging of fur. I took
pains to learn that too, and it was with some
curiosity, I assure you, that I examined the few
guests that had now been admitted to the room I


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON 117
had so carefully pointed out to my son. Two of
them wore white cloaks, but one of these was Mrs.
Dalrymple, and I did not give her or her cloak a
second thought. The other was a tall, fine-looking
girl, with an air and bearing calculated to rouse
admiration if she had not looked so disturbed. But
her preoccupation was evident, a circumstance which,
had she been Mr. Deane's fiancée, would have needed
no explanation; but, as she was only that lady's
friend, its cause was not so apparent.
“The floor of the room, as I had happily remem-
bered, was covered with crash, and as I lifted each
garment off—I allowed no maid to assist me in this
—I shook it well; ostensibly because of the few
flakes clinging to it, really to see if anything could
be shaken out of it. Of course, I met with no
success. I had not expected to, but it is my dis-
position to be thorough. These wraps I saw all
hung in an adjoining closet, the door of which I
locked—here is the key—after which I handed my
guests over to my son, and went to notify the
police.”
I bowed, and asked where the young people were
noVV.
“Still in the drawing-room. I have ordered the
musicians to play, and consequently there is more
or less dancing. But, of course, nothing can remove
the wet blanket which has fallen over us all-
nothing but the finding of this jewel. Do you see
your way to accomplishing this? We are from this
very moment at your disposal; only I pray that you


118 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
will make no more disturbance than is necessary,
and, if possible, arouse no suspicions you cannot
back up by facts. I dread a scandal almost as much
as I do sickness and death, and these young people
—well, their lives are all before them, and neither
Mrs. Burton nor myself would wish to throw the
shadow of a false suspicion over any one of them.”
I assured her that I sympathised with her scru-
ples, and would do my best to recover the ruby with-
out inflicting undue annoyance upon the innocent.
Then I inquired whether it was known that a de-
tective had been called in. She seemed to think it
was suspected by some, if not by all. At which my
way seemed a trifle complicated.
We were about to proceed when another thought
struck me.
“Madam, you have not said whether the car-
riage itself was searched.”
“I forgot. Yes, the carriage was thoroughly
overhauled before the coachman left the box.”
“Who did this overhauling?”
“My son. He would not trust any one else in a
business of this kind.”
“One more question, madam. Was any one seen
to approach Mr. Deane on the carriage-drive prior
to his assertion that the jewel was lost?”
“No. And there were no tracks in the snow of
any such person. My son looked.”
And I would look, or so I decided within myself,
but I said nothing; and in silence we proceeded to-
ward the drawing-room.


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON II9
I had left my overcoat behind me, and always
being well dressed, I did not present so bad an ap-
pearance. Still, I was not in party attire, and nat-
urally could not pass for a guest even if I had wanted
to, which I did not. I felt that I must rely on in-
sight in this case, and on a certain power I had
always possessed of reading faces. That the case
called for just this species of intuition I was positive.
Mrs. Burton's ruby was within a hundred yards of
us at this very moment, probably within a hundred
feet; but to lay hands on it and without scandal—
well, that was a problem calculated to rouse the
interest of even an old police-officer like myself.
A strain of music—desultory, however, and spirit-
less, like everything else about the place that night
—greeted us as Mrs. Ashley opened the door leading
directly into the large front hall.
Immediately a scene meant to be festive, but
which was, in fact, desolate, burst upon us. The
lights, the flowers, and the brilliant appearance of
such ladies as flitted into sight from the almost
empty parlours, were all suggestive of the cheer
suitable to a great occasion; but, in spite of this,
the effect was altogether melancholy, for the hun-
dreds who should have graced this scene, and for
whom this illumination had been made and these
festoons hung, had been turned away from the gates,
and the few who felt they must remain, because their
hostess showed no disposition to let them go, wore
any but holiday faces, for all their forced smiles and
pitiful attempts at nonchalance and gaiety.


120 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
I scrutinised these faces carefully. I detected
nothing in them but annoyance at a situation which
certainly was anything but pleasant.
Turning to Mrs. Ashley, I requested her to be
kind enough to point out her son, adding that I
should be glad to have a moment's conversation
with him before I spoke to Mr. Deane.
“That will give Mr. Deane time to compose him-
self. He is quite upset. Not even Mrs. Burton
can comfort him. My son—oh, there is Harri-
son | "
A tall, fine-looking young man was crossing the
hall. Mrs. Ashley beckoned to him, and in another
moment we were standing together in one of the
empty parlours. I gave him my name and told him
my business. Then I said:
“Your mother has allotted me an hour in which
to find the valuable jewel which has just been lost
on these premises.” Here I smiled. “She evidently
has great confidence in my ability. I must see that
I do not disappoint her.”
All this time I was examining his face. It was not
only handsome, but expressive of great candour.
The eyes looked straight into mine, and, while show-
ing anxiety, betrayed no deeper emotion than the
occasion naturally called for.
“Have you any suggestions to offer? I under-
stand that you were on the ground almost as soon as
Mr. Deane discovered his loss.”
His eyes changed a trifle, but did not swerve. Of
course, he had been informed by his mother of the


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I21
suspicious action of the young lady who had been a
member of that gentleman's party, and shrank, as
any one in his position would, from the responsibili-
ties entailed by this knowledge.
“No,” said he. “We have done all we can. The
next move must come from you.”
“I know of one that will settle the matter at
once,” I assured him, still with my eyes fixed scruti-
nisingly on his face—“a universal search, not of
places, but of persons. But it is a harsh meas-
ure.”
“A most disagreeable one,” he emphasised, flush-
ing. “Such an indignity offered to guests would
never be forgotten or forgiven.”
“True. But if they offered to submit to this
themselves?”
“They? How?”
“If you, the son of the house—their host, we may
say—should call them together, and for your own
satisfaction empty out your pockets in the sight of
every one, don't you think that all the men, and
possibly all the women too ”—here I let my voice
fall suggestively—“would be glad to follow suit?
It could be done in apparent joke.”
He shook his head with a straightforward air,
which set him high in my estimation.
“That would call for little but effrontery on my
part,” said he. “But think how it would affect
these boys who came here for the sole purpose of
enjoying themselves. I will not so much as men-
tion the ladies.”


I22 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
“Yet one of the latter ??
“I know,” he quietly acknowledged, growing
restless for the first time.
I withdrew my eyes from his face. I had learned
what I wished. Personally, he did not shrink from
search, therefore the jewel was not in his pockets.
This left but two persons for suspicion to halt be-
tween. But I disclosed nothing of my thoughts; I
merely asked pardon for a suggestion that, while
pardonable in a man accustomed to handle crime
with ungloved hands, could not fail to prove offen-
sive to a gentleman like himself.
“We must move by means less open,” I concluded.
“It adds to our difficulties, but that cannot be helped.
I should now like a glimpse of Mr. Deane.”
“Do you not wish to speak to him?”
“I should prefer a sight of his face first.”
He led me across the hall and pointed through
an open door. In the centre of a small room con-
taining a table and some chairs I perceived a young
man sitting, with fallen head and dejected air,
staring at vacancy. By his side, with hand laid on
his, knelt a young girl, striving in this gentle but
speechless way to comfort him. It made a pathetic
picture. I drew Ashley away.
“I am disposed to believe in that young man,”
said I. “If he still has the jewel, he would not try
to carry off the situation just this way. He really
looks broken-hearted.”
“Oh, he is dreadfully cut up! If you could have
seen how frantically he searched for the stone, and


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON 123
the depression into which he fell when he realised
that it was not to be found, you would not doubt
him for an instant. What made you think he might
still have the ruby?”
“Oh, we police-officers think of everything.
Then the fact that he insists that something or
some one touched his breast on the driveway strikes
me as a trifle suspicious. Your mother says that no
second person could have been there, or the snow
would have given evidence of it.”
“Yes; I looked expressly. Of course, the drive
itself was full of hoof-marks and wheel-tracks, for
several carriages had already passed over it. Then
there were all of Deane's footsteps, but no other
man's, so far as I could see.”
“Yet he insists that he was touched or struck.”
4t Yes.”
“With no one there to touch or strike him.”
Mr. Ashley was silent.
“Let us step out and take a view of the place,” I
suggested. “I should prefer doing this to question-
ing the young man in his present state of mind.”
Then, as we turned to put on our coats, I asked
with suitable precautions: “Do you suppose that he
has the same secret suspicions as ourselves, and that
it is to hide these he insists upon the jewel's having
been taken away from him at a point the ladies are
known not to have approached?” |
Young Ashley looked more startled than pleased.
“Nothing has been said to him of what Miss
Peters saw Miss Glover do. I could not bring my-


I24 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
self to mention it. I have not even allowed myself
to believe ??
Here a fierce gust, blowing in from the door he
had just opened, cut short his words, and neither of
us spoke again till we stood on the exact spot in the
driveway where the episode we were endeavouring
to understand had taken place.
“Oh,” I cried, as soon as I could look about me;
“the mystery is explained. Look at that bush, or
perhaps you call it a shrub. If the wind were
blowing as freshly as it is now, and very probably
it was, one of those slender branches might easily
be switched against his breast, especially if he stood,
as you say he did, close against this border.”
“Well, I'm a fool. Only the other day I told the
gardener that these branches would need trimming
in the spring, and yet I never so much as thought
of them when Mr. Deane spoke of something strik-
ing his breast.”
As we turned back I made this remark:
“With this explanation of the one doubtful point
in his otherwise plausible account, we can credit his
story as being in the main true, which,” I calmly
added, “places him above suspicion and narrows
our inquiry down to one.”
We had moved quickly, and were now at the
threshold of the door by which we had come out.
“Mr. Ashley,” I continued, “I shall have to ask
you to add to your former favours that of showing
me the young lady in whom, from this moment on,
we are especially interested. If you can manage to


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I25
let me see her first without her seeing me, I shall be
infinitely obliged to you.”
“I do not know where she is. I shall have to
search for her.”
“I will wait by the hall door.”
In a few minutes he returned to me.
“Come,” said he, and led me into what I judged
to be the library.
With a gesture towards one of the windows, he
backed quickly out, leaving me to face the situation
alone. I was rather glad of this. Glancing in the
direction he had indicated, and perceiving the figure
of a young lady standing with her back to me on the
farther side of a flowing lace curtain, I took a few
steps toward her, hoping that the movement would
cause her to turn. But it entirely failed to produce
this effect, nor did she give any sign that she noted
the intrusion. This prevented me from catching the
glimpse of her face which I so desired, and obliged
me to confine myself to a study of her dress and
attitude.
The former was very elegant, more elegant than
the appearance of her two friends had led me to
expect. Though I am far from being an authority
on feminine toilets, I yet had experience enough to
know that such a gown represented not only the best
efforts of the dressmaker's art, but very considerable
means on the part of the woman wearing it.
This was a discovery which instantly altered the
complexion of my thoughts; for I had presupposed
her a girl of humble means, willing to sacrifice cer-


126 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
tain scruples to obtain a little extra money. Th
imposing figure might be that of a millionaire
daughter; how, then, could I associate her, even
my own mind, with theft? I decided that
must see her face before giving answer to the
doubts.
She did not seem inclined to turn. She had raise
the shade from before the wintry panes and w:
engaged in looking out. Her attitude was not th
of one simply enjoying a moment's respite from th
dance. It was rather that of an absorbed mir
brooding upon what gave little or no pleasure; ar
as I further gazed and noted the droop of her love
shoulders and the languor visible in her whole bea
ing, I saw that a full glimpse of her features w.
imperative. Moving forward, I came upon h
suddenly.
“Excuse me, Miss Smith,” I boldly exclaime
then paused, for she had turned instinctively, and
had seen that for which I had risked this darir
move. “Your pardon,” I hastily apologised. “
mistook you for another young lady,” and dre
back with a low bow to let her pass, for I saw th
her mind was bent on escape.
And I did not wonder at this, for her eyes we
streaming with tears, and her face, which was doub
less a pretty one under ordinary conditions, look
so distorted with distracting emotions that she w:
no fit subject for any man's eye, let alone that
a hard-hearted officer of the law on the looko
for the guilty hand which had just appropriated


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON 127
jewel worth anywhere from eight to ten thousand
dollars. -
Yet I was glad to see her weep, for only
first offenders weep, and first offenders are amen-
able to influence, especially if they have been led
into wrong by impulse, and are weak rather than
wicked.
Anxious to make no blunder, I resolved, before
proceeding further, to learn what I could of the
character and antecedents of the suspected one, and
this from the only source which offered—Mr.
Deane's affianced.
This young lady was a delicate girl, with a face
like a flower. Recognising her sensitive nature, I
approached her with the utmost gentleness. Not
seeking to disguise either the nature of my business
or my reasons for being in the house, since all this
gave me authority, I modulated my tone to suit her
gentle spirit, and, above all, I showed the utmost
sympathy for her lover, whose rights in the reward
had been taken from him as certainly as the jewel
had been taken from Mrs. Burton. In this way I
gained her confidence, and she was quite ready to
listen when I observed:
“There is a young lady here who seems to be in a
state of even greater trouble than Mr. Deane. Why
is this? You brought her here. Is her sympathy
with Mr. Deane so great as to cause her to weep
over his loss?”
“Frances? Oh no. She likes Mr. Deane and
she likes me, but not well enough to cry over our


128 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
misfortunes. I think she has some trouble of her
own.” -
“One that you can tell me?”
Her surprise was manifest.
“Why do you ask that? What interest can a
police-officer, called in, as I understand, to recover
a stolen jewel, have in Frances Glover's personal
difficulties?”
I saw that I must make my position perfectly
plain.
“Only this: She was seen to pick up something
from the driveway, where no one else had suc-
ceeded in finding anything.”
“She? When P Who saw her?”
“I cannot answer all these questions at once,” I.
said, smiling. “She was seen to do this—no mat-
ter by whom—while you were stepping down from
the carriage. As you preceded her, you naturally did
not observe this action, which was fortunate, per-
haps, as you would scarcely have known what to
do or say about it.”-
“Yes, I should,” she retorted with a most un-
expected display of spirit. “I should have asked
her what she had found, and I should have insisted
upon an answer. I love my friends, but I love the
man I am to marry better.”
Here her voice fell, and a most becoming blush
suffused her cheek.
“Quite right,” I assented. “Now will you an-
swer my former question? What troubles Miss
Glover? Can you tell me?”


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I29
“That I cannot. I only know that she has been
very silent ever since she left the house. I thought
her beautiful new dress would please her, but it
does not seem to. She has been unhappy and pre-
occupied all the evening. She only roused a bit
when Mr. Deane showed us the ruby, and said—
Oh, I forgot!”
“What's that? What have you forgot?”
“Your remark of a moment ago. I wouldn't add
a word ??
“Pardon me,” I smilingly interrupted, looking
as fatherly as I could, “but you have added this
word, and now you must tell me what it means.
You were going to speak of the interest she showed
in the extraordinary jewel which Mr. Deane took
from his pocket, and—”
“In what he said about the reward he expected.
That is, she looked eagerly at the ruby, and sighed
when he acknowledged that he expected it to bring
him five hundred dollars before midnight. But
any girl of means no larger than hers might do that.
It would not be fair to lay too much stress on a
sigh.”
“Is not Miss Glover wealthy? She wears a
very expensive dress, I observe.”
“I know it, and I have wondered a little at it,
for her father is not called very well off. But
perhaps she bought it with her own money. I
know she has some; she is an artist in burnt wood.”
I let the subject of Miss Glover's dress drop. I
had heard enough to satisfy me that my first theory


130 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
was correct. This young woman, beautifully
dressed, and with a face from which the rounded
lines of early girlhood had not yet departed, held in
her possession, probably at this very moment, Mrs.
Burton's magnificent jewel. But where? On her
person or hidden in some of her belongings? I
remembered the cloak in the closet, and thought it
wise to assure myself that the jewel was not secreted
in this garment before I proceeded to extreme
measures. Mrs. Ashley, upon being consulted,
agreed with me as to the desirability of this,
and presently I had this poor girl's cloak in my
hands.
Did I find the ruby? No; but I found some-
thing else tucked away in an inner pocket which
struck me as bearing quite pointedly upon this case.
It was the bill—crumpled, soiled, and tear-stained—
of the dress whose elegance had so surprised her
friends and made me for a short time regard her as
the daughter of wealthy parents. An enormous bill,
which must have struck dismay to the soul of this
self-supporting girl, who probably had no idea of
how a French dressmaker can foot up items. Four
hundred and fifty dollars, and for one gown! I
declare I felt indignant myself, and could quite
understand why she heaved that little sigh when
Mr. Deane spoke of the five hundred dollars he
expected from Mrs. Burton, and, later, when, in
following the latter's footsteps up the driveway, she
stumbled upon this same jewel, fallen, as it were,
from his pocket into her very hands, how she came


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I31
to succumb to the temptation of endeavouring to
secure this sum for herself.
That he would shout aloud his loss, and thus draw
the whole household out on the porch, was, naturally,
not anticipated by her. Of course, when this oc-
curred, the feasibility of her project was gone, and I
only wished that I had been present and able to note
her countenance, as, crowded in with others on that
windy porch, she watched the progress of the search,
which every moment made it not only less impossible
for her to attempt the restoration upon which the
reward depended, but must have caused her to feel,
if she had been as well brought up as all indications
showed, that it was a dishonest act of which she had
been guilty, and that, willing or not, she must look
upon herself as a thief so long as she held the jewel
back from Mr. Deane or its rightful owner. But
how face the publicity of restoring it now, after so
elaborate and painful a search, in which even the son
of her hostess had taken part!
That would be to proclaim her guilt, and thus
effectually ruin her in the eyes of everybody con-
cerned. No, she would keep the compromising
article a little longer, in the hope of finding some
opportunity of returning it without risk to her good
name. And so she allowed the search to proceed.
I have entered thus elaborately into the supposed
condition of this girl's mind on this critical evening
that you may understand why I felt a certain sym-
pathy for her, which forbade harsh measures. I was
sure, from the glimpse I had caught of her face, that


I32 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
she longed to be relieved from the tension she was
under, and that she would gladly rid herself of this
valuable jewel if she only knew how. This oppor-
tunity I proposed to give her; and this is why, on
returning the bill to its place, I assumed such an air
of relief on rejoining Mrs. Ashley.
She saw, and drew me aside.
“You have not found it,” she said.
“No,” I returned; “but I am positive where
it is.”
“And where is that?”
“Over Miss Glover's uneasy heart.”
Mrs. Ashley turned pale.
“Wait,” said I. “I have a scheme for getting it
back without making her shame public. Listen!”
and I whispered a few words in her ear.
She surveyed me in amazement for a moment,
then nodded, and her face lighted up.
“You are certainly earning your reward,” she
declared; and summoning her son, who was never
far away from her side, she whispered her wishes.
He started, bowed, and hurried from the room.
By this time my business in the house was well
known to all, and I could not appear in hall or
parlour without a great silence falling upon every
one present, followed by a breaking up of the only
too small circle of unhappy guests into agitated
groups. But I appeared to see nothing of all this
till the proper moment, when, turning suddenly
upon them all, I cried out cheerfully, but with a cer-
tain deference I thought would please them:


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I33
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an interesting fact
to announce. The snow which was taken up from
the driveway has been put to melt in the great feed
caldron over the stable fire. We expect to find the
ruby at the bottom, and Mrs. Ashley invites you
to be present at its recovery. It has now stopped
snowing, and she thought you might enjoy the ex-
citement of watching the water ladled out.”
A dozen girls bounded forward.
“Oh yes! What fun! Where are our cloaks—
our rubbers?”
Two only stood hesitating. One of these was
Mr. Deane's lady-love, and the other her friend,
Miss Glover. The former, perhaps, secretly won-
dered. The latter—but I dared not look long
enough or closely enough in her direction to judge
rightly of her emotions. Amid the bustle which
now ensued I caught sight of Mr. Deane's face
peering from an open doorway. It was all alive
with hope. I also perceived a lady looking down
from the second storey, who I felt sure was Mrs.
Burton herself. Evidently my confident tone had
produced more effect than the words themselves.
Every one looked upon the jewel as already re-
covered, and regarded my invitation to the stable as
a ruse by which I hoped to restore universal good
feeling by giving them all a share in my triumph.
All but one! Nothing could make Miss Glover
look otherwise than anxious, restless, and unsettled;
and though she followed in the wake of the rest, it
was with hidden face and lagging step, as if she


I34 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
recognised the whole thing as a farce, and doubted
her own power to go through it calmly.
“Ah, ha! my lady,” thought I, “only be patient
and you will see what I shall do for you.” And,
indeed, I thought her eye brightened as we all drew
up around the huge caldron standing full of water
over the stable stove. As pains had already been
taken to put out the fire in this stove, the ladies
were not afraid of injuring their dresses, and con-
sequently crowded as close as their numbers would
permit. Miss Glover especially stood within reach
of the brim, and as soon as I noted this, I gave the
signal which had been agreed upon between Mr.
Ashley and myself. Instantly the electric lights
went out, leaving the place in total darkness.
A scream from the girls, a burst of hilarious
laughter from their escorts, mingled with loud
apologies from their seemingly mischievous host,
filled up the interval of darkness which I had in-
sisted should not be too soon curtailed; then the
lights flared up as suddenly as they had gone out,
and while the glare was fresh on every face, I stole a
glance at Miss Glover to see if she had made good
use of the opportunity given her for ridding herself
of the jewel by dropping it into the caldron. If she
had, both her troubles and mine were at an end;
if she had not, then I need feel no further scruple
in approaching her with the direct question I had
hitherto found it so difficult to put.
She stood with both hands grasping her cloak,
which she had drawn tightly about the rich folds of


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I35
her new and expensive dress; but her eyes were
fixed straight before her, with a soft light in their
depths which made her positively beautiful.
The jewel is in the pot, I inwardly decided, and
ordered the two waiting stablemen to step forward
with their ladles. Quickly those ladles went in, but
before they could be lifted out dripping, half the
ladies had scurried back, afraid of injury to their
pretty dresses. But they soon sidled forward again,
and watched with beaming eyes the slow but sure
emptying of the great caldron at whose bottom they
anticipated finding the lost jewel.
As the ladles were plunged deeper and deeper,
the heads drew closer, and so great was the interest
shown that the busiest lips forgot to chatter, and
eyes whose only business up till now had been to
follow with shy curiosity every motion made by their
handsome young host now settled on the murky
depths of the great pot whose bottom was almost
in sight. *
As I heard the ladles strike this bottom, I in-
stinctively withdrew a step in anticipation of the
loud hurrah which would naturally hail the first
sight of the lost ruby. Conceive, then, my chagrin,
my bitter and mortified disappointment, when, after
one look at the broad surface of the now exposed
bottom, the one shout which rose was: “Nothing!”
I was so thoroughly put out that I did not wait to
hear the loud complaints which burst from every lip.
Drawing Mr. Ashley aside (who, by the way,
seemed as much affected as myself by the turn affairs


136 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
had taken), I remarked to him that, after this, there
was only one course left for me to take.
“And what is that?”
“To ask Miss Glover to show me what she
picked up from your driveway.”
“And if she refuses?”
“To take her quietly with me to the station,
where we have women who can make sure that the
ruby is not on her person.”
Mr. Ashley made an involuntary gesture of
strong repugnance. -
“Let us pray that it will not come to that,” he
objected hoarsely. “Such a fine figure of a girl!
Did you notice how bright and happy she looked
when the lights sprang up? I declare she struck
me as lovely.”
“So she did me, and caused me to draw some
erroneous conclusions. I shall have to ask you to
procure me an interview with her as soon as we
return to the house.”
“She shall meet you in the library.”
But when, a few minutes later, she joined me in
the room just designated, I own that my task
became suddenly hateful to me. She was not far
from my own daughter's age, and, had it not been
for her furtive look of care, appeared almost as
blooming and bright. Would it ever come to pass
that a harsh man of the law should feel it his duty
to speak to my Flora as I must now speak to the
young girl before me? The thought made me in-
wardly recoil, and it was in as gentle a manner as


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON 137
possible that I made my bow and began with the
following remark:
“I hope you will pardon me, Miss Glover—I am
told that is your name. I hate to disturb your
pleasure"—this with the tears of alarm and grief
rising in her eyes—“but you can tell me something
which will greatly simplify my task, and possibly put
matters in such shape that you and your friends can
be released to your homes.”
44 I? 5 *
She stood before me with amazed eyes, the colour
rising in her cheeks. I had to force my next words,
which, out of consideration for her, I made as direct
as possible.
“Yes, miss. What was the article you were seen
to pick up from the driveway soon after leaving
your carriage?”
She started, then stumbled backward, tripping in
her long train.
“I pick up?” she murmured. Then with a blush,
whether of anger or pride I could not tell, she coldly
answered: “Oh, that was something of my own—
something I had just dropped. I had rather not tell
you what it was.”
I scrutinised her closely. She met my eyes
squarely, yet not with just the clear light I should,
remembering Flora, have been glad to see there.
“I think it would be better for you to be entirely
frank,” said I. “It was the only article known to
have been picked up from the driveway after Mr.
Deane's loss of the ruby; and though we do not


138 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
presume to say that it was the ruby, yet the matter
would look clearer to us all if you would frankly
state what this object was.”
Her whole body seemed to collapse, and she
looked as if about to sink.
“Oh, where is Minnie? Where is Mr. Deane?”
she moaned, turning and staring at the door, as if
she hoped they would fly to her aid. Then, in a
burst of indignation which I was fain to believe real,
she turned on me with the cry: “It was a bit of
paper which I had thrust into the bosom of my
gown. It fell out ??
“Your dressmaker's bill?” I intimated.
“She stared, laughed hysterically for a moment,
then sank upon a sofa nearby, sobbing spasmodi-
cally.
“Yes,” she cried, after a moment; “my dress-
maker's bill. You seem to know all my affairs.”
Then suddenly, and with a startling impetuosity,
which drew her to her feet: “Are you going to tell
everybody that? Are you going to state publicly
that Miss Glover brought an unpaid bill to the
party, and that because Mr. Deane was unfortunate
enough, or careless enough, to drop and lose the
jewel he was bringing to Mrs. Burton she is to be
looked upon as a thief, because she stooped to pick
up this bill which had slipped inadvertently from its
hiding-place? I shall die if you do!” she cried. “I
shall die if it is already known,” she pursued with
increasing emotion. “Is it? Is it?”
Her passion was so great, so much greater than


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I39
any likely to rise in a breast wholly innocent, that I
began to feel very sober.
“No one but Mrs. Ashley, and possibly her son,
know about the bill,” said I, “and no one shall if
you will go with that lady to her room, and make
plain to her, in the only way you can, that the ex-
tremely valuable article which has been lost to-night
is not in your possession.”
. She threw up her arms with a scream. “Oh, what
a horror! I cannot! I cannot! Oh, I shall die of
shame! My father! My mother!” And she
burst from the room like one distraught.
But in another moment she came cringing back.
“I cannot face them,” she said. “They all be-
lieve it; they will always believe it unless I submit!
Oh, why did I ever come to this dreadful place?
Why did I order this hateful dress, which I can
never pay for, and which, in spite of the misery it
has caused me, has failed to bring me the—” She
did not continue. She had caught my eye and seen
there, perhaps, some evidence of the pity I could
not but experience for her. With a sudden change
of tone she advanced upon me with the appeal:
“Save me from this humiliation. I have not seen
the ruby. I am as ignorant of its whereabouts as—
as Mr. Ashley himself. Won't you believe me?
Won't they be satisfied if I swear—”
I was really sorry for her. I began to think,
too, that some dreadful mistake had been made.
Her manner seemed too ingenuous for guilt. Yet
where could that ruby be, if not with this young


I4O THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
girl? Certainly, all other possibilities had been ex-
hausted, and her story of the bill, even if accepted,
would never quite exonerate her from secret
suspicion while that elusive jewel remained un-
found.
“You give me no hope,” she moaned. “I must
go out before them all, and ask to have it proved
that I am no thief. Oh, if God would only have
pity—!”
“Or some one should succeed in finding
Halloo, what's that?”
A shout had risen from the hall beyond.
She gasped, and we both plunged forward. Mr.
Ashley, still in his overcoat, stood at the other end
of the hall, and facing him were ranged the whole
line of young people whom I had left scattered
about in the various parlours. I thought he ap-
peared to be in a peculiar frame of mind; and when
he glanced our way, and saw who was standing with
me in the library doorway, his voice took on a tone
which made me doubt whether he was about to
announce good news or bad. \
But his first word settled that question.
“Rejoice with me!” he cried. “The ruby has
been found! Do you want to see the culprit, for
there is a culprit? We have him at the door. Shall
we bring him in ?”
“Yes, yes!” cried several voices, among them
that of Mr. Deane, who now strode forward with
beaming eyes and instinctively lifted hand. But
some of the ladies looked frightened, and Mr. Ash-
?


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I4 I
ley, noting this, glanced for encouragement in our
direction.
He seemed to find it in Miss Glover's eyes. She
had quivered and nearly fallen at that word found,
but had drawn herself up by this time, and was
awaiting his further action in a fever of relief and
hope, which, perhaps, no one but myself could fully
appreciate.
“A vile thief A most unconscionable rascal!”
vociferated Mr. Ashley. “You must see him,
mother; you must see him, ladies, else you will not
realise our good fortune. Open the door there, and
bring in the robber!”
At this command, uttered in ringing tones, the
huge leaves of the great front-door swung slowly
forward, revealing two sturdy stablemen leading into
view—a huge horse. -
The scream of astonishment which went up from
all sides, united to Mr. Ashley's shout of hilarity,
caused the animal, unused, no doubt, to drawing-
rooms, to rear to the length of his bridle. At which
Mr. Ashley laughed again, and gaily cried:
“Confound the fellow ! Look at him, mother!
look at him, ladies! Do you not see guilt written
on his brow? It is he who has made us all this
trouble. First, he must needs take umbrage at the
two lights with which we presumed to illuminate our
porch; then, envying Mrs. Burton her ruby and
Mr. Deane his reward, seek to rob them both by
grinding his hoofs all over the snow of the driveway
till he came upon the jewel which Mr. Deane had


I42 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
dropped from his pocket, and, taking it up in a ball
of snow, secrete it in his left hind shoe—where it
might be yet, if Mr. Spencer"—here he bowed to a ,
strange gentleman who at that moment entered—
“had not come himself for his daughters, and, going
first to the stable, found his horse so restless and
seemingly lame—there, boys, you may take the
wretch away now and harness him, but first hold up
that guilty left hind hoof for the ladies to see—that
he stooped to examine him, and so came upon this.”
Here the young gentleman brought forward his
hand. In it was a nondescript little wad, well
soaked and shapeless; but once he had untied the
kid, such a ray of rosy light burst from his out-
stretched palm that I doubt if a single woman there
noted the clatter of the retiring beast or the heavy
clang made by the two front-doors as they shut upon
the robber. Eyes and tongues were too busy, and
Mr. Ashley, realising, probably, that the interest of
all present would remain, for a few minutes at least,
with this marvellous jewel so astonishingly re-
covered, laid it, with many expressions of thankful-
ness, in Mrs. Burton's now eagerly outstretched
palm, and advancing towards us, greeted Miss
Glover with a smile.
“Congratulate me,” he prayed. “All our trou-
bles are over. Oh, what now?”
The poor young thing, in trying to smile, had
turned as white as a sheet. Before either of us
could interpose an arm, she had slipped to the floor
in a dead faint. With a murmur of pity and


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I43
possibly of inward contrition, he stooped over her,
and together we carried her into the library, where
I left her in his care, confident, from certain indica-
tions, that my presence would not be greatly missed
by either of them.
Whatever hope I may have had of reaping the
reward offered by Mrs. Ashley was now lost, but in
the satisfaction I experienced at finding this young
girl as innocent as my Flora, I did not greatly care.
Well, it all ended even more happily than may
here appear. The horse not putting in his claim to
the reward, and Mr. Spencer repudiating all right to
it, it was paid in full to Mr. Deane, who, accom-
panied by his two ladies, went home in as buoyant a
state of mind as was possible to him after the great
anxieties of the preceding two hours. I was told
that Mr. Ashley declined to close the carriage door
upon them till the whole three had promised to come
again the following night.
Anxious to make such amends as I personally
could for my share in the mortification to which Miss
Glover had been subjected, I visited her in the morn-
ing, with the intention of offering a suggestion or two
in regard to that little bill. But she met my first
advance with a radiant smile and the glad exclama-
t1On :
“Oh, I have settled all that! I have just come
from Madame Dupré's. I told her that I had never
imagined the dress could possibly cost more than a
hundred dollars, and I offered her that sum if she
would take the garment back. And she did, she
*


I44 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
did, and I shall never have to wear that dreadful
satin again!” |
I made a note of this dressmaker's name.
She and I may have a bone to pick some day.
But I said nothing to Miss Glover. I merely ex-
claimed:
“And to-night?”
“Oh, I have an old spotted muslin which, with
a few natural flowers, will make me look festive
enough. One does not need fine clothes when one
is—happy.”
The dreamy far-off smile with which she finished
the sentence was more eloquent than words, and I
was not surprised when some time later I read of her
engagement to Mr. Ashley.
But it was not till she could sign herself with his
name that she told me just what underlay the misery
of that night. She had met Harrison Ashley more
than once before, and, though she did not say so,
had evidently conceived an admiration for him
which made her especially desirous of attracting and
pleasing him. Not understanding the world very
well, certainly having very little knowledge of the
tastes and feelings of wealthy people, she conceived
that the more brilliantly she was attired the more
likely she would be to please this rich young man.
So in a moment of weakness she decided to devote
all her small savings (a hundred dollars, as we
know) to buying a gown such as she felt she could
appear in at his house without shame.
It came home—as dresses from French dress-


THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON I 45
makers are very apt to do—just in time for her
to put it on for the party. The bill came with it,
and when she saw the amount—it was all itemised,
and she could find no fault with anything but the
summing up—she was so overwhelmed that she
nearly fainted. But she could not give up her ball;
so she dressed herself, and, being urged all the time
to hurry, hardly stopped to give one look at the new
and splendid gown which had cost so much. The
bill—the incredible, the enormous bill—was all she
could think of, and the figures, which represented
nearly her whole year's earnings, danced constantly
before her eyes. She could not possibly pay it,
nor could she ask her father to do so. She was
ruined. But the ball and Mr. Ashley—these still
awaited her; so presently she worked herself up to
some anticipation of enjoyment, and, having thrown
on her cloak, was turning down her light prepara-
tory to departure, when her eye fell on the bill lying
open on her dresser.
It would never do to leave it there—never do
to leave it anywhere in her room. There were pry-
ing eyes in the house, and she was as ashamed of
that bill as she might have been of a contemplated
theft. So she tucked it into her corsage, and went
down to join her friends in the carriage.
The rest we know, with the exception of one small
detail which turned to gall whatever enjoyment she
was able to get out of the evening. There was a
young girl present, dressed in a simple muslin gown.
While looking at it, and inwardly contrasting it


146 THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON
with her own splendour, Mr. Ashley passed by with
another gentleman, and she heard him say:
“How much better young girls look in simple
white than in the elaborate silks suited only to their
mothers!”
Thoughtless words—possibly forgotten as soon as
uttered—they sharply pierced this already sufficiently
stricken and uneasy breast, and were the cause of
the tears which had aroused my suspicion when I
came upon her in the library, standing with her face
to the night.
But who can say whether, if the evening had
been devoid of these occurrences, and no emotions
of contrition and pity had been awakened in her
behalf in the breast of her chivalrous host, she would
ever have become Mrs. Ashley?


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS





I
“A LADY to see you, sir.”
I looked up and was at once impressed by the
grace and beauty of the person thus introduced to
ne.
“Is there anything I can do to serve you?” I
asked, rising.
She cast me a childlike look full of trust and can-
dour as she seated herself in the chair I had pointed
Out.
“I believe so; I hope so,” she earnestly assured
me. “I—I am in great trouble. I have just lost
my husband—but it is not that. It is the slip of
paper I found on my dresser, and which—
which—”
She was trembling violently and her words were
fast becoming incoherent. I calmed her and asked
her to relate her story just as it had happened; and
after a few minutes of silent struggle she succeeded
in collecting herself sufficiently to respond with some
degree of connection and self-possession.
“I have been married six months. My name is
Lucy Holmes. For the last few weeks my husband
and I have been living in an apartment house on
Fifty-ninth Street, and, as we had not a care in the
world, we were very happy till Mr. Holmes was
called away on business to Philadelphia. This was
?
149


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 151
was indeed my husband's and the notice one of
death.
“Not from my own mind but from hers came the
first suggestion of comfort.
“‘It cannot be your husband who is meant,' said
she; ‘but some one of the same name. Your hus-
band wrote to you yesterday, and this person must
have been dead at least two days for the printed
notice of his decease to have reached New York.
Some one has remarked the striking similarity of
names, and wishing to startle you, cut the slip out
and pinned it on your cushion.’
“I certainly knew of no one inconsiderate enough
to do this, but the explanation was so plausible, I at
once embraced it and sobbed aloud in my relief. But
in the midst of my rejoicing I heard the bell ring in
my apartment, and, running thither, encountered a
telegraph boy holding in his outstretched hand the
yellow envelope which so often bespeaks death or
disaster. The sight took my breath away. Summon-
ing my maid, whom I saw hastening toward me from
an inner room, I begged her to open the telegram for
me. Sir, I saw in her face, before she had read the
first line, a confirmation of my very worst fears.
My husband was—”
The young widow, choked with her emotions,
paused, recovered herself for the second time, and
then went on.
“I had better show you the telegram.”
Taking it from her pocketbook, she held it toward


152 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
me. I read it at a glance. It was short, simple, and
direct:
“Come at once. Your husband found dead in his
room this morning. Doctors say heart disease.
Please telegraph.”
“You see it says this morning,” she explained,
placing her delicate finger on the word she so eagerly
quoted. “That means a week ago Wednesday, the
same day on which the printed slip recording his
death was found on my cushion. Do you not see
something very strange in this?”
I did; but, before I ventured to express myself on
this subject, I desired her to tell me what she had
learned in her visit to Philadelphia.
Her answer was simple and straightforward.
“But little more than you find in this telegram.
He died in his room. He was found lying on the
floor near the bell-button, which he had evidently
risen to touch. One hand was clenched on his chest,
but his face wore a peaceful look, as if death had
come too suddenly to cause him much suffering. His
bed was undisturbed; he had died before retiring,
possibly in the act of packing his trunk, for it was
found nearly ready for the expressman. Indeed,
there was every evidence of his intention to leave on
an early morning train. He had even desired to be
awakened at six o'clock; and it was his failure to re-
spond to the summons of the bellboy which led to so
early a discovery of his death. He had never com-
plained of any distress in breathing, and we had
always considered him a perfectly healthy man; but


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS I53
there was no reason for assigning any other cause
than heart failure to his sudden death, and so the
burial certificate was made out to that effect, and I
was allowed to bring him home and bury him in our
vault at Woodlawn. But "—and here her earnest-
ness dried up the tears which had been flowing freely
during this recital of her husband's lonely death and
sad burial—" do you not think an investigation
should be made into a death preceded by a false
obituary notice? For I found when I was in Phila-
delphia that no paragraph such as I had found
pinned to my cushion had been inserted in any paper
there, nor had any other man of the same name
ever registered at the Colonnade, much less died
there.”
“Have you this notice with you?” I asked.
She immediately produced it, and while I was
glancing it over remarked:
“Some persons would give a superstitious expla-
nation to the whole matter; think I had received a
supernatural warning and been satisfied with what
they would call a spiritual manifestation. But I have
not a bit of such folly in my composition. Living
hands set up the type and printed the words which
gave me so deathly a shock; and hands, with a real
purpose in them, cut it from the paper and pinned it
to my cushion for me to see when I woke on that
fatal morning. But whose hands? That is what I
want you to discover.”
I had caught the fever of her suspicions long be-
fore this and now felt justified in showing my interest,


I54 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
“First, let me ask,” said I, “who has access to
your rooms besides your maid?”
“No one; absolutely no one.”
“And what of her?”
“She is innocence herself. She is no common
housemaid, but a girl my mother brought up, who
for love of me consents to do such work in the house-
hold as my simple needs require.”
“I should like to see her.”
“There is no objection to your doing so; but you
will gain nothing by it. I have already talked the sub- .
ject over with her a dozen times and she is as much
puzzled by it as I am myself. She says she cannot
see how any one could have found an entrance to
my room during my sleep, as the doors were all
locked. Yet, as she very naturally observes, some
one must have done so, for she was in my bedroom
herself just before I returned from the theatre, and
can swear, if necessary, that no such slip of paper
was to be seen on my cushion at that time, for her
duties led her directly to my bureau and kept her
there for full five minutes.”
“And you believed her?” I suggested.
“Implicitly.”
“In what direction, then, do your suspicions
turn?”
“Alas! in no direction. That is the trouble. I
don't know whom to mistrust. It was because I was
told that you had the credit of seeing light where
others can see nothing but darkness that I have
sought your aid in this emergency. For the uncer-


156 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
both sides had been printed on a newspaper press.
These facts lead me to conclude, first, that the effort
to match the type exactly was the mistake of a man
who tried to do too much; and, secondly, that one
of the sides at least, presumably that containing the
obituary notice, was printed on a hand-press, on the
blank side of a piece of galley proof picked up in
some newspaper office.”
“Let me see.” And stretching out her hand with.
the utmost eagerness, she took the slip and turned
it over. Instantly a change took place in her counte-
nance. She sank back in her seat and a blush of
manifest confusion suffused her cheeks. “Oh!” she
exclaimed; “what will you think of me! I brought
this scrap of print into the house myself, and it was
I who pinned it on the cushion with my own hands!
I remember it now. The sight of those words recalls
the whole occurrence.”
“Then there is one mystery less for us to solve,” I
remarked, somewhat drily.
“Do you think so?” she protested, with a depreca-
tory look. “For me the mystery deepens, and be-
comes every minute more serious. It is true that I
brought this scrap of newspaper into the house, and
that it had, then as now, the notice of my husband's
death upon it, but the time of my bringing it in was
Tuesday night, and he was not found dead till
Wednesday morning.”
“A discrepancy worth noting,” I remarked.
“Involving a mystery of some importance,” she
concluded.


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 157
I agreed to that.
“And since we have discovered how the slip came
into your room, we can now proceed to the clearing
up of this mystery,” I observed. “You can, of
course, inform me where you procured this clipping
which you say you brought into the house?”
“Yes. You may think it strange, but when I
alighted from the carriage that night, a man on the
sidewalk put this tiny scrap of paper into my hand.
It was done so mechanically that it made no more
impression on my mind than the thrusting of an ad-
vertisement upon me. Indeed, I supposed it was an
advertisement, and I only wonder that I retained it in
my hand at all. But that I did do so, and that, in a
moment of abstraction, I went so far as to pin it to
my cushion, is evident from the fact that a vague
memory remains in my mind of having read this
recipe which you see printed on the reverse side of
the paper.”
“It was the recipe, then, and not the obituary
notice which attracted your attention the night be-
fore?”
“Probably, but in pinning it to the cushion, it
was the obituary notice that chanced to come upper-
most. Oh, why should I not have remembered this
till now I Can you understand my forgetting a mat-
ter of so much importance?”
“Yes,” I allowed, after a momentary considera-
tion of her ingenuous countenance. “The words you
read in the morning were so startling that they dis-


158 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
connected themselves from those you had carelessly
glanced at the night before.”
“That is it,” she replied; “and since then I have
had eyes for the one side only. How could I think
of the other? But who could have printed this thing
and who was the man who put it into my hand? He
looked like a beggar, but Oh!” she suddenly
exclaimed, her cheeks flushing scarlet and her eyes
flashing with a feverish, almost alarming glitter.
“What is it now?” I asked. “Another recollec-
tion?”
“Yes.” She spoke so low I could hardly hear
her. “He coughed and ??
“And what?” I encouragingly suggested, seeing
that she was under some new and overwhelming
emotion. -
“That cough had a familiar sound, now that I
think of it. It was like that of a friend who
But no, no; I will not wrong him by any false sur-
mises. He would stoop to much, but not to that;
yet **
The flush on her cheeks had died away, but the two
vivid spots which remained showed the depth of
her excitement.
“Do you think,” she suddenly asked, “that a man
out of revenge might plan to frighten me by a false
notice of my husband's death, and that God to punish
him, made the notice a prophecy?”
“I think a man influenced by the spirit of revenge
might do almost anything,” I answered, purposely
ignoring the latter part of her question.


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS I59
“But I always considered him a good man. At
least I never looked upon him as a wicked one.
Every other beggar we meet has a cough; and yet,”
she added after a moment's pause, “if it was not he
who gave me this mortal shock, who was it? He is
the only person in the world I ever wronged.”
“Had you not better tell me his name?” I sug-
gested.
“No, I am in too great doubt. I should hate
to do him a second injury.”
“You cannot injure him if he is innocent. My
methods are very safe.”
“If I could forget his cough ! but it had that pecu-
liar catch in it that I remembered so well in the
cough of John Graham. I did not pay any especial
heed to it at the time. Old days and old troubles
were far enough from my thoughts; but now that my
suspicions are raised, that low, choking sound comes
back to me in a strangely persistent way, and I seem
to see a well-remembered form in the stooping figure
of this beggar. Oh, I hope the good God will for-
give me if I attribute to this disappointed man a
wickedness he never committed.”
“Who is John Graham?” I urged, “and what
was the nature of the wrong you did him?”
She rose, cast me one appealing glance, and per-
ceiving that I meant to have her whole story, turned
towards the fire and stood warming her feet before
the hearth, with her face turned away from my gaze.
“I was once engaged to marry him,” she began.
“Not because I loved him, but because we were very


160 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
poor—I mean my mother and myself—and he had a
home and seemed both good and generous. The day
came when we were to be married—this was in the
West, way out in Kansas—and I was even dressed for
the wedding, when a letter came from my uncle here,
a rich uncle, very rich, who had never had anything
to do with my mother since her marriage, and in it
he promised me fortune and everything else desirable
in life if I would come to him, unencumbered by any
foolish ties. Think of it! And I within half an hour
of marriage with a man I had never loved and now
suddenly hated. The temptation was overwhelming,
and, heartless as my conduct may appear to you, I
succumbed to it. Telling my lover that I had
changed my mind, I dismissed the minister when he
came, and announced my intention of proceeding
East as soon as possible. Mr. Graham was simply
paralysed by his disappointment, and during the few
days which intervened before my departure, I was
haunted by his face, which was like that of a man
who had died from some overwhelming shock. But
when I was once free of the town, especially after I
arrived in New York, I forgot alike his misery and
himself. Everything I saw was so beautiful! Life
was so full of charm, and my uncle so delighted
with me and everything I did! Then there was
James Holmes, and after I had seen him But
I cannot talk of that. We loved each other, and
under the surprise of this new delight how could I be
expected to remember the man I had left behind me
in that barren region in which I had spent my youth?


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 161
But he did not forget the misery I had caused him.
He followed me to New York; and on the morning
I was married found his way into the house, and mix-
ing with the wedding guests, suddenly appeared be-
fore me just as I was receiving the congratulations of
my friends. At sight of him I experienced all the
terror he had calculated upon causing, but remember-
ing our old relations and my new position, I assumed
an air of apparent haughtiness. This irritated John
Graham. Flushing with anger, and ignoring my
imploring look, he cried peremptorily, “Present me
to your husband!’ and I felt forced to present him.
But his name produced no effect upon Mr. Holmes.
I had never told him of my early experience with this
man, and John Graham, perceiving this, cast me a
bitter glance of disdain and passed on, muttering
between his teeth, “False to me and false to him!
Your punishment be upon you!” and I felt as if I
had been cursed.”
. She stopped here, moved by emotions readily to
be understood. Then with quick impetuosity she
caught up the thread of her story and went
On.
“That was six months ago; and again I forgot.
My mother died and my husband soon absorbed my
every thought. How could I dream that this man,
who was little more than a memory to me and
scarcely that, was secretly planning mischief against
me? Yet this scrap about which we have talked so
much may have been the work of his hands; and even
my husband's death ??


162 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
She did not finish, but her face, which was turned
towards me, spoke volumes.
“Your husband's death shall be inquired into,” I
assured her. And she, exhausted by the excitement
of her discoveries, asked that she might be excused
from further discussion of the subject at that time.
As I had no wish, myself, to enter any more fully
into the matter just then, I readily acceded to her
request, and the pretty widow left me.
II
Obviously the first fact to be settled was whether
Mr. Holmes had died from purely natural causes.
I accordingly busied myself the next few days with
the question, and was fortunate enough to so interest
the proper authorities that an order was issued for
the exhumation and examination of the body.
The result was disappointing. No traces of poi-
son were to be found in the stomach nor was there
to be seen on the body any mark of violence with the
exception of a minute prick upon one of his thumbs.
This speck was so small that it escaped every eye
but my own.
The authorities assuring the widow that the doc-
tor's certificate given her in Philadelphia was correct,
the body was again interred. But I was not satis-
fied; and confident that this death had not been a
natural one, I entered upon one of those secret and
prolonged investigations which for so many years


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 163
have constituted the pleasure of my life. First, I
visited the Colonnade in Philadelphia, and being
allowed to see the room in which Mr. Holmes died,
went through it carefully. As it had not been used
since that time I had some hopes of coming upon a
clue.
But it was a vain hope, and the only result of my
journey to this place was the assurance I received
that the gentleman had spent the entire evening pre-
ceding his death in his own room, where he had been
brought several letters and one small package, the
latter coming by mail. With this one point gained—
if it was a point—I went back to New York.
Calling on Mrs. Holmes, I asked her if, while
her husband was away, she had sent him anything be-
sides letters, and upon her replying to the contrary,
requested to know if in her visit to Philadelphia she
had noted among her husband's effects anything that
was new or unfamiliar to her. “For he received a
package while there,” I explained, “and though its
contents may have been perfectly harmless, it is just
as well for us to be assured of this before going any
further.”
“Oh, you think, then, he was really the victim of
some secret violence.”
“We have no proof of it,” I said. “On the con-
trary, we are assured that he died from natural
causes. But the incident of the newspaper slip out-
weighs, in my mind, the doctor's conclusions, and
until the mystery surrounding that obituary notice
has been satisfactorily explained by its author I shall


164 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
hold to the theory that your husband has been made
away with in some strange and seemingly unaccount-
able manner, which it is our duty to bring to light.”
“You are right! You are right! Oh, John
Graham!”
She was so carried away by this plain expression of
my belief that she forgot the question I had put
to her.
“You have not said whether or not you found any-
thing among your husband's effects that can explain
this mystery,” I suggested.
She at once became attentive.
“Nothing,” said she; “his trunks were already
packed and his bag nearly so. There were a few
things lying about the room which I saw thrust into
the latter. Would you like to look through them?
I have not had the heart to open the bag since I
came back.”
As this was exactly what I wished, I said as much,
and she led me into a small room, against the wall
of which stood a trunk with a travelling-bag on top
of it. Opening the latter, she spread the contents
out on the trunk.
“I know all these things,'
the tears welling in her eyes.
“This?” I inquired, lifting up a bit of coiled
wire with two or three rings dangling from it.
“No; why, what is that?”
“It looks like a puzzle of some kind.”
“Then it is of no consequence. My husband was
forever amusing himself over some such contrivance.
she sadly murmured,


THE LITTLE STEEL COILs 165
All his friends knew how well he liked these toys and
frequently sent them to him. This one evidently
reached him from Philadelphia.”
Meanwhile I was eyeing the bit of wire curiously.
It was undoubtedly a puzzle, but it had appendages
to it that I did not understand.
“It is more than ordinarily complicated,” I ob-
served, moving the rings up and down in a vain en-
deavour to work them off.
“The better he would like it,” she said.
I kept working with the rings. Suddenly I gave
a painful start. A little prong in the handle of the
toy had started out and pierced me.
“You had better not handle it,” said I, and laid
it down. But the next moment I took it up again
and put it in my pocket. The prick made by this
treacherous bit of mechanism was in or near the same
place on my thumb as the one I had noticed on the
hand of the deceased Mr. Holmes.
There was a fire in the room, and before proceed-
ing further I cauterised that prick with the end of
a red-hot poker. Then I made my adieux to Mrs.
Holmes and went immediately to a chemist friend
of mine.
“Test the end of this bit of steel for me,” said I.
“I have reason to believe it carries with it a deadly
poison.”
He took the toy, promising to subject it to every
test possible and let me know the result. Then I
went home. I felt ill, or imagined I did, which
under the circumstances was almost as bad.


166 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
Next day, however, I was quite well, with the
exception of a certain inconvenience in my thumb.
But not till the following week did I receive the
chemist's report. It overthrew my whole theory.
He found nothing, and returned me the bit of steel.
But I was not convinced.
“I will hunt up this John Graham,” thought I,
“and study him.”
But this was not so easy a task as it may appear.
As Mrs. Holmes possessed no clue to the where-
abouts of her quondam lover, I had nothing to aid
me in my search for him, save her rather vague de-
scription of his personal appearance and the fact
that he was constantly interrupted in speaking by a
low, choking cough. However, my natural persever-
ance carried me through. After seeing and inter-
viewing a dozen John Grahams without result, I at
last lit upon a man of that name who presented a
figure of such vivid unrest and showed such a des-
perate hatred of his fellows, that I began to enter-
tain hopes of his being the person I was in search
of. But determined to be sure of this before proceed-
ing further, I confided my suspicions to Mrs.
Holmes, and induced her to accompany me down
to a certain spot on the “Elevated” from which I
had more than once seen this man go by to his usual
lounging place in Printing House Square.
She showed great courage in doing this, for she
had such a dread of him that she was in a state of
nervous excitement from the moment she left her
house, feeling sure that she would attract his atten-


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 167
tion and thus risk a disagreeable encounter. But
she might have spared herself these fears. He did
not even glance up in passing us, and it was mainly
by his walk she recognised him. But she did recog-
nise him; and this nerved me at once to set about the
formidable task of fixing upon him a crime which
was not even admitted as a fact by the authori-
ties.
He was a man-about-town, living, to all appear-
ances, by his wits. He was to be seen mostly in the
downtown portions of the city, standing for hours
in front of some newspaper office, gnawing at his
finger-ends, and staring at the passers-by with a hun-
gry look alarming to the timid and provoking alms
from the benevolent. Needless to say that he re-
jected the latter expression of sympathy with angry
contempt.
His face was long and pallid, his cheek-bones high,
and his mouth bitter and resolute in expression. He
wore neither beard nor moustache, but made up for
their lack by an abundance of light-brown hair, which
hung very nearly to his shoulders. He stooped in
standing, but as soon as he moved, showed decision
and a certain sort of pride which caused him to hold
his head high and his body more than usually erect.
With all these good points his appearance was de-
cidedly sinister, and I did not wonder that Mrs.
Holmes feared him.
My next move was to accost him. Pausing before
the doorway in which he stood, I addressed him some
trivial question. He answered me with sufficient


168 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
politeness, but with a grudging attention which be-
trayed the hold which his own thoughts had upon
him. He coughed while speaking, and his eye,
which for a moment rested on mine, produced an im-
pression upon me for which I was hardly prepared,
great as was my prejudice against him. There was
such an icy composure in it; the composure of an
envenomed nature conscious of its superiority to all
surprises. As I lingered to study him more closely,
the many dangerous qualities of the man became
more and more apparent to me; and convinced that
to proceed further without deep and careful thought
would be to court failure where triumph would set
me up for life, I gave up all present attempt at
enlisting him in conversation and went away in an
inquiring and serious mood.
In fact, my position was a peculiar one, and the
problem I had set for myself one of unusual diffi-
culty. Only by means of some extraordinary device
such as is seldom resorted to by the police of this
or any other nation, could I hope to arrive at the
secret of this man's conduct, and triumph in a matter
which to all appearance was beyond human pene-
tration.
But what device? I knew of none, nor through
two days and nights of strenuous thought did I re-
ceive the least light on the subject. Indeed, my
mind seemed to grow more and more confused the
more I urged it into action. I failed to get inspira-
tion indoors or out; and feeling my health suffer
from the constant irritation of my recurring dis-


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 169
appointment, I resolved to take a day off and carry
myself and my perplexities into the country.
I did so. Governed by an impulse which I did
not then understand, I went to a small town in New
Jersey and entered the first house on which I saw
the sign “Room to Let.” The result was most
fortunate. No sooner had I crossed the threshold
of the neat and homely apartment thrown open to
my use, than it recalled a room in which I had slept
two years before and in which I had read a little
book I was only too glad to remember at this mo-
ment. Indeed, it seemed as if a veritable inspiration
had come to me through this recollection, for though
the tale to which I allude was a simple child's story
written for moral purposes, it contained an idea
which promised to be invaluable to me at this junc-
ture. Indeed, by means of it, I believed myself to
have solved the problem that was puzzling me, and,
relieved beyond expression, I paid for the night's
lodging I had now determined to forego, and re-
turned immediately to New York, having spent just
fifteen minutes in the town where I had received this
happy inspiration.
My first step on entering the city was to order a
dozen steel coils made similar to the one which I
still believed answerable for James Holmes's death.
My next to learn as far as possible all of John
Graham's haunts and habits. At a week's end I had
the springs and knew almost as well as he did him-
self where he was likely to be found at all times of
the day and night. I immediately acted upon this


17o THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
knowledge. Assuming a slight disguise, I repeated
my former stroll through Printing House Square,
looking into each doorway as I passed. John Gra-
ham was in one of them, staring in his old way at the
passing crowd, but evidently seeing nothing but the
images formed by his own disordered brain. A
manuscript roll stuck out of his breast-pocket, and
from the way his nervous fingers fumbled with it, I
began to understand the restless glitter of his eyes,
which were as full of wretchedness as any eyes I have
eVer Seen.
Entering the doorway where he stood, I dropped
at his feet one of the small steel coils with which I
was provided. He did not see it. Stopping near
him, I directed his attention to it by saying:
“Pardon me, but did I not see something drop out
of your hand?”
He started, glanced at the seemingly inoffensive
toy I had pointed out, and altered so suddenly and so
vividly that it became instantly apparent that the
surprise I had planned for him was fully as keen and
searching a one as I had anticipated. Recoiling
sharply, he gave me a quick look, then glanced down
again at his feet as if half expecting to find the object
of his terror gone. But, perceiving it still lying
there, he crushed it viciously with his heel, and utter-
ing some incoherent words dashed impetuously from
the building.
Confident that he would regret this hasty impulse
and return, I withdrew a few steps and waited. And
Sure enough, in less than five minutes he came slink-


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 171
ing back. Picking up the coil with more than one
sly look about, he examined it closely. Suddenly he
gave a sharp cry and went staggering out. Had he
discovered that the seeming puzzle possessed the
same invisible spring which had made the one
handled by James Holmes so dangerous?
Certain as to the place he would be found next, I
made a short cut to an obscure little saloon in Nassau
Street, where I took up my stand in a spot conveni-
ent for seeing without being seen. In ten minutes
he was standing at the bar asking for a drink.
“Whiskey!” he cried. “Straight.”
It was given him, but as he set the empty glass
down on the counter he saw lying before him another
of the steel springs, and was so confounded by the
sight that the proprietor, who had put it there at
my instigation, thrust out his hand toward him as
if half afraid he would fall.
“Where did that—that thing come from?” stam-
mered John Graham, ignoring the other's gesture
and pointing with a trembling hand at the insignifi-
cant bit of wire between them.
“Didn't it drop from your coat-pocket?” in-
quired the proprietor. “It wasn't lying here before
you came in.”
With a horrible oath the unhappy man turned and
fled from the place. I lost sight of him after that
for three hours, then I suddenly came upon him
again. He was walking uptown with a set purpose
in his face that made him look more dangerous than
ever. Of course I followed him, expecting him to


172 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
turn towards Fifty-ninth Street, but at the corner
of Madison Avenue and Forty-seventh Street he
changed his mind and dashed toward Third Avenue.
At Park Avenue he faltered and again turned north,
walking for several blocks as if the fiends were be-
hind him. I began to think that he was but attempt-
ing to walk off his excitement, when, at a sudden
rushing sound in the cut beside us, he stopped and
trembled. An express train was shooting by. As
it disappeared in the tunnel beyond, he looked about
him with a blanched face and wandering eye; but
his glance did not turn my way, or, if it did, he
failed to attach any meaning to my near pres-
ence.
He began to move on again and this time towards
the bridge spanning the cut. I followed him very
closely. In the centre of it he paused and looked
down at the track beneath him. Another train was
approaching. As it came near he trembled from
head to foot, and, catching at the railing against
which he leaned, was about to make a quick move
forward when a puff of smoke arose from below and
sent him staggering backward, gasping with a terror
I could hardly understand till I saw that the smoke
had taken the form of a spiral and was sailing away
before him in what to his disordered imagination
must have looked like a gigantic image of the coil
with which twice before on this day he had found
himself confronted.
It may have been chance and it may have been
providence; but whichever it was it saved him. He


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 173
could not face that semblance of his haunting
thought; and turning away he cowered down on the
neighbouring curbstone, where he sat for several min-
utes, with his head buried in his hands; when he
arose again he was his own daring and sinister self.
Knowing that he was now too much master of his
faculties to ignore me any longer, I walked quickly
away and left him. I knew where he would be at
six o'clock and had already engaged a table at the
same restaurant. It was seven, however, before he
put in an appearance, and by this time he was looking
more composed. There was a reckless air about
him, however, which was perhaps only noticeable to
me; for none of the habitués of this especial restau-
rant were entirely without it; wild eyes and unkempt
hair being in the majority.
I let him eat. The dinner he ordered was simple
and I had not the heart to interrupt his enjoyment
of it.
But when he had finished and came to pay, then I
allowed the shock to come. Under the bill which
the waiter laid at the side of his plate was the in-
evitable steel coil; and it produced even more than
its usual effect. I own I felt sorry for him.
He did not dash from the place, however, as he
had from the liquor saloon. A spirit of resistance
had seized him and he demanded to know where
this object of his fear had come from. No one could
tell him (or would). Whereupon he began to rave
and would certainly have done himself or somebody
else an injury if he had not been calmed by a man


I74 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
almost as wild-looking as himself. Paying his bill,
but vowing he would never enter the place again, he
went out, clay white, but with the swaggering air of
a man who had just asserted himself.
He drooped, however, as soon as he reached the
street, and I had no difficulty in following him to a
certain gambling den, where he gained three dollars
and lost five. From there he went to his lodgings in
West Tenth Street.
I did not follow him. He had passed through
many deep and wearing emotions since noon, and I
had not the heart to add another to them.
But late the next day I returned to this house and
rang the bell. It was already dusk, but there was
light enough for me to notice the unrepaired condi-
tion of the iron railings on either side of the old
stoop and to compare this abode of decayed grandeur
with the spacious and elegant apartment in which
pretty Mrs. Holmes mourned the loss of her young
husband. Had any such comparison ever been made
by the unhappy John Graham, as he hurried up these
battered steps into the dismal halls beyond?
In answer to my summons there came to the door a
young woman to whom I had but to intimate my wish
to see Mr. Graham for her to let me in with the
short announcement:
“Top floor, back room! Door open, he's out;
door shut, he's in.”
As an open door meant liberty to enter, I lost no
time in following the direction of her finger, and
presently found myself in a low attic chamber over-


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS I75
looking an acre of roofs. A fire had been lighted in
the open grate, and the flickering red beams danced
on ceiling and walls with a cheeriness greatly in con-
trast to the nature of the business which had led me
there. As they also served to light the room, I pro-
ceeded to make myself at home; and drawing up a
chair, sat down at the fireplace in such a way as to
conceal myself from any one entering the door.
In less than half an hour he came in.
He was in a state of high emotion. His face was
flushed and his eyes burning. Stepping rapidly for-
ward, he flung his hat on the table in the middle of
the room, with a curse that was half cry and half
groan. Then he stood silent and I had an oppor-
tunity of noting how haggard he had grown in the
short time which had elapsed since I had seen him
last. But the interval of his inaction was short, and
in a moment he flung up his arms with a loud “Curse
her!” that rang through the narrow room and be-
trayed the source of his present frenzy. Then he
again stood still, grating his teeth and working his
hands in a way terribly suggestive of the murderer's
instinct. But not for long. He saw something that
attracted his attention on the table, a something upon
which my eyes had long before been fixed, and start-
ing forward with a fresh and quite different display
of emotion, he caught up what looked like a roll of
manuscript and began to tear it open.
“Back again! Always back!” wailed from his
lips; and he gave the roll a toss that sent from its
midst a small object which he no sooner saw than


176 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
he became speechless and reeled back. It was an-
other of the steel coils.
“Good God!” fell at last from his stiff and work-
ing lips. “Am I mad or has the devil joined in the
pursuit against me? I cannot eat, I cannot drink,
but this diabolical spring starts up before me. It is
here, there, everywhere. The visible sign of my
guilt; the—the—” He had stumbled back upon
my chair, and turning, saw me.
I was on my feet at once, and noting that he was
dazed by the shock of my presence, I slid quietly be-
tween him and the door. -
The movement roused him. Turning upon me
with a sarcastic smile in which was concentrated the
bitterness of years, he briefly said:
“So I am caught! Well, there has to be an end to
men as well as to things, and I am ready for mine,
She turned me away from her door to-day, and after
the hell of that moment I don't much fear any other.”
“You had better not talk,” I admonished him.
“All that falls from you now will only tell against
you on your trial.”
He broke into a harsh laugh. “And do you think
I care for that? That having been driven by a
woman's perfidy into crime I am going to bridle
my tongue and keep down the words which are my
only safeguard from insanity? No, no; while my
miserable breath lasts I will curse her, and if the
halter is to cut short my words, it shall be with her
name blistering my lips.” -
I attempted to speak, but he would not give me


THE LITTLE STEEL COILS 177
an opportunity. The passion of weeks had found
vent and he rushed on recklessly:
“I went to her house to-day. I wanted to see her
in her widow's weeds; I wanted to see her eyes red
with weeping over a grief which owed its bitterness
to me. But she would not grant me admittance.
She had me thrust from her door, and I shall never
know how deeply the iron has sunk into her soul.
But "-and here his face showed a sudden change—
“I shall see her if I am tried for murder. She will
be in the courtroom—on the witness stand ??
“Doubtless,” I interjected; but his interruption
came quickly and with vehement passion.
“Then I am ready. Welcome trial, conviction,
death, even. To confront her eye to eye is all I
wish. She shall never forget it, never!”
“Then you do not deny—” I began.
“I deny nothing,” he returned, and held out his
hands with a grim gesture. “How can I, when there
falls from everything I touch the devilish thing which
took away the life I hated?”
“Have you anything more to say or do before
you leave these rooms?” I asked.
He shook his head, and then, bethinking himself,
pointed to the roll of paper which he had flung on
the table.
“Burn that!” he cried.
I took up the roll and looked at it. It was the
manuscript of a poem in blank verse.
“I have been with it into a dozen newspaper and
magazine offices,” he explained with great bitter-


178 THE LITTLE STEEL COILS
ness. “Had I succeeded in getting a publisher for
it I might have forgotten my wrongs and tried to
build up a new life on the ruins of the old. But they
would not have it, none of them; so I say, burn it!
that no memory of me may remain in this miserable
world.”
“Keep to the facts!” I severely retorted. “It
was while carrying this poem from one newspaper to
another that you secured that bit of print upon the
blank side of which yourself printed the obituary
notice with which you savoured your revenge upon
the woman who had disappointed you.”
“You know that? Then you know where I got
the poison with which I tipped the silly toy with
which that weak man fooled away his life?”
“No,” said I, “I do not know where you got it.
I merely know it was no common poison bought
at a druggist's, or from any ordinary chemist.”
“It was woorali; the deadly, secret woorali. I
got it from—but that is another man's secret. You
will never hear from me anything that will com-
promise a friend. I got it, that is all. One drop,
but it killed my man.”
The satisfaction, the delight, which he threw into
these words are beyond description. As they left his
lips a jet of flame from the neglected fire shot up
and threw his figure for one instant into bold relief
upon the lowering ceiling; then it died out, and noth-
ing but the twilight dusk remained in the room and
on the countenance of this doomed and despairing
Iman.


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S
DELIGHT


---


IN the spring of 18—, the attention of the New
York police was attracted by the many cases of well-
known men found drowned in the various waters
surrounding the lower portion of our great city.
Among these may be mentioned the name of Elwood
Henderson, the noted tea merchant, whose remains
were washed ashore at Redhook Point; and of
Christopher Bigelow, who was picked up off Gov-
ernor's Island after having been in the water for five
days, and of another well-known millionaire whose
name I cannot now recall, but who, I remember, was
seen to walk towards the East River one March
evening, and was not met with again till the 5th of
April, when his body floated into one of the docks
near Peck's Slip.
As it seemed highly improbable that there should
have been a concerted action among so many wealthy
and distinguished men to end their lives within a few
weeks of each other, and all by the same method of
drowning, we soon became suspicious that a more
serious verdict than that of suicide should have been
rendered in the case of Henderson, Bigelow, and the
other gentleman I have mentioned. Yet one fact,
common to all these cases, pointed so conclusively
to deliberate intention on the part of the sufferers
that we hesitated to take action.
This was, that upon the body of each of the above-
mentioned persons there were found, not only valu-
•
181


182 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
ables in the shape of money and jewelry, but papers
and memoranda of a nature calculated to fix the
identity of the drowned man, in case the water should
rob him of his personal characteristics. Conse-
quently, we could not ascribe these deaths to a
desire for plunder on the part of some unknown
person.
I was a young man in those days, and full of
ambition. So, though I said nothing, I did not let
this matter drop when the others did, but kept my
mind persistently upon it and waited, with odd re-
sults as you will hear, for another victim to be re-
ported at police headquarters.
Meantime I sought to discover some bond or
connection between the several men who had been
found drowned, which would serve to explain their
similar fate. But all my efforts in this direction
were fruitless. There was no bond between them,
and the matter remained for a while an unsolved
mystery.
Suddenly one morning a clue was placed, not in
my hands, but in those of a superior official who at
that time exerted a great influence over the whole
force. He was sitting in his private room, when
there was ushered into his presence a young man of a
dissipated but not unprepossessing appearance, who,
after a pause of marked embarrassment, entered
upon the following story:
“I don't know whether or no I should offer an
excuse for the communication I am about to make;
but the matter I have to relate is simply this: Being


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 183
hard up last night (for though a rich man's son I
often lack money), I went to a certain pawnshop in
the Bowery where I had been told I could raise
money on my prospects. This place—you may see it
some time, so I will not enlarge upon it—did not
strike me favourably; but, being very anxious for a
certain definite sum of money, I wrote my name in a
book which was brought to me from some unknown
quarter and proceeded to follow the young woman
who attended me into what she was pleased to call
her good master's private office.
“He may have been a good master, but he was
anything but a good man. In short, sir, when he
found out who I was, and how much I needed money,
he suggested that I should make an appointment
with my father at a place he called Groll's in Grand
Street, where, said he, ‘your little affair will be ar-
ranged, and you made a rich man within thirty days.
That is, he slily added, “unless your father has
already made a will, disinheriting you.’
“I was shocked, sir, shocked beyond all my pow-
ers of concealment, not so much at his words, which
I hardly understood, as at his looks, which had a
world of evil suggestion in them; so I raised my
fist and would have knocked him down, only that I
found two young fellows at my elbows, who held me
quiet for five minutes, while the old fellow talked to
me. He asked me if I came to him on a fool's
errand or really to get money; and when I admitted
that I had cherished hopes of obtaining a clear two
thousand dollars from him, he coolly replied that


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 185
man, within the month, of the death of my father, so
that he may recover from me, without loss of time,
the sum of ten thousand dollars as his part of the
amount I am bound to receive as my father's
heir.’
“The sight of these lines knocked me hollow.
But I am less of a coward morally than physically,
and I determined to acquaint my father at once with
what I had done, and get his advice as to whether or
not I should inform the police of my adventure. He
heard me with more consideration than I expected,
but insisted that I should immediately make known
to you my experience in this Bowery pawnbroker's
shop.”
The officer, highly interested, took down the young
man's statement in writing, and, after getting a more
accurate description of the house itself, allowed his
visitor to go.
Fortunately for me, I was in the building at the
time, and was able to respond when a man was called
up to investigate this matter. Thinking that I saw
a connection between it and the various mysterious
deaths of which I have previously spoken, I entered
into the affair with much spirit. But, wishing to
be sure that my possibly unwarranted conclusions
were correct, I took pains to inquire, before proceed-
ing upon my errand, into the character of the heirs
who had inherited the property of Elwood Hender-
son and Christopher Bigelow, and found that in each
case there was one among the rest who was well
known for his profligacy and reckless expenditure.


186 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
It was a significant discovery, and increased, if pos-
sible, my interest in running down this nefarious
trafficker in the lives of wealthy men.
Knowing that I could hope for no success in my
character of detective, I made an arrangement with
the father of the young gentleman before alluded
to, by which I was to enter the pawnshop as an
emissary of the latter. Accordingly, I appeared
there, one dull November afternoon, in the garb of a
certain Western sporting man, who, for a considera-
tion, allowed me the temporary use of his name and
credentials.
Entering beneath the three golden balls, with the
swagger and general air of ownership I thought most
likely to impose upon the self-satisfied female who
presided over the desk, I asked to see her boss.
“On your own business?” she queried, glancing
with suspicion at my short coat, which was rather
more showy than elegant.
“No,” I returned, “not on my own business, but
on that of a young gen 95
“Any one whose name is written here?” she in-
terposed, reaching towards me the famous book,
over the top of which, however, she was careful to
lay her arm.
I glanced down the page she had opened and in-
stantly detected that of the young gentleman on
whose behalf I was supposed to be there, and nodded
“Yes,” with all the assurance of which I was
capable.
“Come, then,” said she, ushering me without more


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 187
ado into a den of discomfort where sat a man with
a great beard and such heavy overhanging eyebrows
that I could hardly detect the twinkle of his eyes,
keen and incisive as they were.
Smiling upon him, but not in the same way I had
upon the girl, I glanced behind me at the open door,
and above me at the partitions, which failed to reach
the ceiling. Then I shook my head and drew a step
nearer.
“I have come,” I insinuatingly whispered, “on
behalf of a certain party who left this place in a
huff a day or so ago, but who since then has had
time to think the matter over, and has sent me with
an apology which he hopes"—here I put on a dia-
bolical smile, copied, I declare to you, from the one
I saw at that moment on his own lips—“you will
accept.”
The old wretch regarded me for full two minutes
in a way to unmask me had I possessed less confi-
dence in my disguise and in my ability to support it.
“And what is this young gentleman's name?” he
finally asked.
For reply, I handed him a slip of paper. He took
it and read the few lines written on it, after which
he began to rub his palms softly together with an
unction eminently in keeping with the stray glints of
light that now and then found their way through his
bushy eyebrows.
“And so the young gentleman had not the cour-
age to come again himself?” he softly suggested,
with just the suspicion of an ironical laugh.


188 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
“Thought, perhaps, I would exact too much com-
mission; or make him pay too roundly for his im-
pertinent assurance.”
I shrugged my shoulders, but vouchsafed no im-
mediate reply, and he saw that he had to open the
business himself. He did it warily and with many an
incisive question which would have tripped me up if
I had not been very much on my guard; but it all
ended, as such matters usually do, in mutual under-
standing, and a promise that if the young gentleman
was willing to sign a certain paper, which, by the
way, was not shown me, he would in exchange give
him an address which, if made proper use of, would
lead to my patron finding himself an independent
man within a very few days.
As this address was the one thing I was most
desirous of obtaining, I professed myself satisfied
with the arrangement, and proceeded to hunt up my
patron, as he was called. Informing him of the
result of my visit, I asked if his interest in ferreting
out these criminals was strong enough to lead him to
sign the vile document which the pawnbroker would
probably have in readiness for him on the morrow;
and being told it was, we separated for that day, with
the understanding that we were to meet the next
morning at the spot chosen by the pawnbroker for
the completion of his nefarious bargain.
Being certain that I was being followed in all my
movements by the agents of this adept in villainy,
I took care, upon leaving Mr. L , to repair to the
hotel of the sporting man I was personifying. Mak-


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 189
ing myself square with the proprietor I took up my
quarters in the room of my sporting friend, and the
better to deceive any spy who might be lurking about,
I received his letters and sent out his telegrams,
which, if they did not create confusion in the affairs
of “The Plunger,” must at least have occasioned
him no little work the next day.
Promptly at ten o'clock on the following morning
I met my patron at the appointed place of rendez-
vous; and when I tell you that this was no other
than the ancient and now disused cemetery of which a
portion is still to be seen off Chatham Square, you will
understand the uncanny nature of this whole adven-
ture, and the lurking sense there was in it of brooding
death and horror. The scene, which in these days
is disturbed by elevated railroad trains and the flap-
ping of long lines of parti-coloured clothes strung
high up across the quiet tombstones, was at that time
one of peaceful rest, in the midst of a quarter de-
voted to everything for which that rest is the fitting
and desirable end; and as we paused among the
mossy stones, we found it hard to realise that in a
few minutes there would be standing beside us the
concentrated essence of all that was evil and des-
picable in human nature.
He arrived with a smile on his countenance that
completed his ugliness, and would have frightened
any honest man from his side at once. Merely
glancing my way, he shuffled up to my companion,
and leading him aside, drew out a paper which he
laid on a flat tombstone with a gesture significant of


190 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
his desire that the other should affix to it the required
signature.
Meantime I stood guard, and while attempting to
whistle a light air, was carelessly taking in the sur-
roundings, and conjecturing, as best I might, the
reasons which had induced the old ghoul to make
use of this spot for his diabolical business, and had
about decided that it was because he was a ghoul, and
thus felt at home among the symbols of mortality,
when I caught sight of two or three young fel-
lows who were lounging on the other side of the
fence.
These were so evidently accomplices that I won-
dered if the two sly boys I had engaged to stand by
me through this affair had spotted them, and would
know enough to follow them back to their haunts.
A few minutes later, the old rascal came sneaking
towards me, with a gleam of satisfaction in his half-
closed eyes.
“You are not wanted any longer,” he grunted.
“The young gentleman told me to say that he could
look out for himself now.”
“The young gentleman had better pay me the
round fifty he promised me,” I grumbled in return,
with that sudden change from indifference to menace
which I thought best calculated to further my plans;
and shouldering the miserable wretch aside, I
stepped up to my companion, who was still lingering
in a state of hesitation among the gravestones.
“Quick! Tell me the number and street which he
has given you!” I whispered, in a tone quite out of


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 191
keeping with the angry and reproachful air I had
assumed.
He was about to answer, when the old fellow came
sidling up behind us. Instantly the young man be-
fore me rose to the occasion, and putting on an air
of conciliation, said in a soothing tone:
“There, there, don't bluster. Do one thing more
for me, and I will add another fifty to that I prom-
ised you. Conjure up an anonymous letter—you
know how—and send it to my father, saying that if
he wants to know where his son loses his hundreds,
he must go to the place on the dock, opposite 5
South Street, some night shortly after nine. It would
not work with most men, but it will with my father,
and when he has been in and out of that place, and
I succeed to the fortune he will leave me, then I
will remember you, and—”
“Say, too,” a sinister voice here added in my
ear, “that if he wishes to effect an entrance into the
gambling den which his son haunts, he must take
the precaution of tying a bit of blue ribbon in his
buttonhole. It is a signal meaning business, and
must not be forgotten,” chuckled the old fellow, evi-
dently deceived at last into thinking I was really
one of his own kind.
I answered by a wink, and taking care to attempt
no further communication with my patron, I left the
two, as soon as possible, and went back to the hotel,
where I dropped “the sport,” and assumed a char-
acter and dress which enabled me to make my way
undetected to the house of my young patron, where


192 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
for two days I lay low, waiting for a suitable time
in which to make my final attempt to penetrate this
mystery.
I knew that for the adventure I was now con-
templating considerable courage was required. But
I did not hesitate. The time had come for me to
show my mettle. In the few communications I was
enabled to hold with my superiors I told them of
my progress and arranged with them my plan of
work. As we all agreed that I was about to en-
counter no common villainy, these plans naturally
partook of finesse, as you will see if you follow my
narrative to the end.
Early in the evening of a cool November day
I sallied forth into the streets, dressed in the habili-
ments and wearing the guise of the wealthy old gen-
tleman whose secret guest I had been for the last
few days. As he was old and portly, and I young
and spare, this disguise had cost me no little thought
and labour. But assisted as I was by the darkness, I
had but little fear of betraying myself to any chance
spy who might be upon the watch, especially as Mr.
L— had a peculiar walk, which, in my short stay
with him, I had learned to imitate perfectly. In the
lapel of my overcoat I had tied a tag of blue ribbon,
and, though for all I knew this was a signal devoting
me to a secret and mysterious death, I walked along
in a buoyant condition of mind, attributable, no
doubt, to the excitement of the venture and to my
desire to test my powers, even at the risk of my life.
It was nine o'clock when I reached South Street,


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 193
It was no new region to me, nor was I ignorant of the
specified drinking den on the dock to which I had
been directed. I remembered it as a bright spot in
a mass of ship-prows and bow-rigging, and was pos-
sessed, besides, of a vague consciousness that there
was something odd in connection with it which had
aroused my curiosity sufficiently in the past for me
to have once formed the resolution of seeing it again
under circumstances which would allow me to give
it some attention. But I never thought that the cir-
cumstances would involve my own life, impossible as
it is for a detective to reckon upon the future or to
foresee the events into which he will be hurried by the
next crime which may be reported at police head-
quarters.
There were but few persons in the street when I
crossed to The Heart's Delight—so named from the
heart-shaped opening in the framework of the door,
through which shone a light, inviting enough to one
chilled by the keen November air and oppressed by
the desolate appearance of the almost deserted street.
But amongst those persons I thought I recognised
more than one familiar form, and felt reassured as
to the watch which had been set upon the house.
The night was dark and the river especially so, but
in the gloomy space beyond the dock I detected a
shadow blacker than the rest, which I took for the
police boat they had promised to have in readiness in
case I needed rescue from the waterside. Otherwise
the surroundings were as usual, and saving the gruff
singing of some drunken sailor coming from a nar-


194 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
row side street near by, no sound disturbed the some-
what lugubrious silence of this weird and forsaken
spot.
Pausing an instant before entering, I glanced up
at the building, which was about three stories high,
and endeavoured to see what there was about it
which had once arrested my attention, and came to
the conclusion that it was its exceptional situation on
the dock, and the ghostly effect of the hoisting-beam
projecting from the upper story like a gibbet. And
yet this beam was common to many a warehouse in
the vicinity, though in none of them were there any
such signs of life as proceeded from the curious
mixture of sail loft, boat shop, and drinking saloon,
now before me. Could it be that the ban of criminal-
ity was upon the house, and that I had been con-
scious of this without being able to realise the cause
of my interest?
Not stopping to solve my sensations further, I
tried the door, and, finding it yield easily to my
touch, turned the knob and entered. For a mo-
ment I was blinded by the smoky glare of the heated
atmosphere into which I stepped, but presently I
was able to distinguish the vague outlines of an
oyster bar in the distance, and the motionless figures
of some half-dozen men, whose movements had been
arrested by my sudden entrance. For an instant this
picture remained; then the drinking and card playing
were resumed, and I stood, as it were, alone, on the
sanded floor near the door.
Improving the opportunity for a closer inspec-


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 195
tion of the place, I was struck by its picturesqueness.
It had evidently been once used as a ship chandlery,
and on the walls, which were but partly plastered,
there still hung old bits of marlin, rusty rings, and
such other evidences of former traffic as did not
interfere with the present more lucrative business.
Below were the two bars, one at the right of the
door, and the other at the lower end of the room
near a window, through whose small, square panes I
caught a glimpse of the coloured lights of a couple
of ferryboats, passing each other in midstream.
At a table near me sat two men, grumbling at
each other over a game of cards. They were large
and powerful figures in the contracted space of this
long and narrow room, and my heart gave a bound
of joy as I recognised on them certain marks by
which I was to know friend from foe in this possible
den of thieves and murderers.
Two sailors at the bar were bona fide habitués of
the place and so were the two other waterside charac-
ters I could faintly discern in one of the dim corners.
Meantime a man was approaching me.
Let me see if I can describe him. He was about
thirty, and had the complexion and figure of a con-
sumptive, but his eye shone with the yellow glare of
a beast of prey, and in the cadaverous hollows of
his ashen cheeks and amid the lines about his thin
drawn lips there lay, for all his conciliatory smile,
an expression so cold and yet so ferocious that I
spotted him at once as the man to whose genius we
were indebted for the new scheme of murder which


196 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
I was jeopardising my life to understand. But I
allowed none of the repugnance with which he in-
spired me to appear in my manner, and, greeting
him with half a nod, waited for him to speak. His
voice had that smooth quality which betrays the
hypocrite.
“Has the gentleman any appointment here?” he
asked, letting his glance fall for the merest instant
on the lapel of my coat.
I returned a decided affirmative. “Or rather,”
I went on, with a meaning look he evidently compre-
hended, “my son has, and I have made up my mind
to know just what deviltry he is up to these days.
I can make it worth your while to give me the op-
portunity.”
“Oh, I see,” he assented with a glance at the
pocketbook I had just drawn out. “You want a
private room from which you can watch the young
scapegrace. I understand, I understand. But the
private rooms are above. Gentlemen are not com-
fortable here.”
“I should say not,” I murmured, and drew from
the pocketbook a bill which I slid quietly into his
hand. “Now take me where I shall be safe,” I sug-
gested, “ and yet in full sight of the room where the
young gentlemen play. I wish to catch him at his
tricks. Afterwards—”
“All will be well,” he finished smoothly, with an-
other glance at my blue ribbon. “You see I do not
ask you the young gentleman's name. I take your
money and leave all the rest to you. Only don't


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 197
make a scandal, I pray, for my house has the name
of being quiet.”
“Yes,” thought I, “too quiet!” and for an in-
stant felt my spirits fail me. But it was only for
an instant. I had friends about me and a pistol
at half-cock in the pocket of my overcoat. Why
should I fear any surprise, prepared as I was for
every emergency?
“I will show you up in a moment,” said he; and
left me to put up a heavy board shutter over the
window opening on the river. Was this a signal or
a precaution? I glanced towards my two friends
playing cards, took another note of their broad
shoulders and brawny arms, and prepared to follow
my host, who now stood bowing at the other end of
the room, before a covered staircase which was mani-
festly the sole means of reaching the floor above.
The staircase was quite a feature in the room.
It ran from back to front, and was boarded all
the way up to the ceiling. On these boards hung a
few useless bits of chain, wire, and knotted ends of
tarred ropes, which swung to and fro as the sharp
November blast struck the building, giving out a
weird and strangely muffled sound. Why did this
sound, so easily to be accounted for, ring in my ears
like a note of warning? I understand now, but I
did not then, full of expectation as I was for de-
velopments out of the ordinary.
Crossing the room, I entered upon the staircase,
in the wake of my companion. Though the two men
at cards did not look up as I passed them, I noticed


198 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
that they were alert and ready for any signal I might
choose to give them. But I was not ready to give
one yet. I must see danger before I summoned help,
and there was no token of danger yet.
When we were about half-way up the stairs the
faint light which had illuminated us from below sud-
denly vanished, and we found ourselves in total
darkness. The door at the foot had been closed by a
careful hand, and I felt, rather than heard, the
stealthy pushing of a bolt across it.
My first impulse was to forsake my guide and
rush back, but I subdued the unworthy impulse and
stood quite still, while my companion, exclaiming,
“Damn that fellow ! What does he mean by shut-
ting the door before we're half-way up!” struck a
match and lit a gas jet in the room above, which
poured a flood of light upon the staircase.
Drawing my hand from the pocket in which I had
put my revolver, I hastened after him into the
small landing at the top of the stairs. An open door
was before me, in which he stood bowing, with the
half-burnt match in his hand. “This is the place,
sir,” he announced, motioning me in.
I entered and he remained by the door, while I
passed quickly about the room, which was bare of
every article of furniture save a solitary table and
chair. There was not even a window in it, with the
exception of one small light situated so high up in
the corner made by the jutting staircase that I won-
dered at its use, and was only relieved of extreme
apprehension at the prison-like appearance of the


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 199
place by the gleam of light which came through this
dusty pane, showing that I was not entirely removed
from the presence of my foes if I was from that of
my friends.
“Ah, you have spied the window,” remarked my
host, advancing toward me with a countenance he
vainly endeavoured to make reassuring and friendly.
“That is your post of observation, sir,” he whis-
pered, with a great show of mystery. “By mounting
on the table you can peer into the room where my
young friends sit securely at play.”
As it was not part of my scheme to show any
special mistrust, I merely smiled a little grimly, and
cast a glance at the table on which stood a bottle
of brandy and one glass.
“Very good brandy,” he whispered; “not such
stuff as we give those fellows downstairs.”
I shrugged my shoulders and he slowly backed to-
wards the door.
“The young men you bid me watch are very
quiet,” I suggested, with a careless wave of my hand
towards the room he had mentioned.
“Oh, there is no one there yet. They begin to
straggle in about ten o'clock.”
“Ah,” was my quiet rejoinder, “I am likely, then,
to have use for your brandy.”
He smiled again and made a swift motion towards
the door.
“If you want anything,” said he, “just step to
the foot of the staircase and let me know. The
whole establishment is at your service.” And with


2OO THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
one final grin that remains in my mind as the most
threatening and diabolical I have ever witnessed, he
laid his hand on the knob of the door and slid quickly
Out.
It was done with such an air of final farewell
that H felt my apprehensions take a positive form.
Rushing towards the door through which he had just
vanished, I listened and heard, as I thought, his
stealthy feet descend the stair. But when I sought
to follow, I found myself for the second time over-
whelmed by darkness. The gas jet, which had
hitherto burned with great brightness in the small
room, had been turned off from below, and beyond
the faint glimmer which found its way through the
small window of which I have spoken, not a ray of
light now disturbed the heavy gloom of this grue-
some apartment.
I had thought of every contingency but this, and
for a few minutes my spirits were dashed. But I
soon recovered some remnants of self-possession,
and began feeling for the knob I could no longer see.
Finding it after a few futile attempts, I was relieved
to discover that this door at least was not locked;
and, opening it with a careful hand, I listened in-
tently, but could hear nothing save the smothered
sound of men talking in the room below.
Should I signal for my companions? No, for the
secret was not yet mine as to how men passed from
this room into the watery grave which was the evi-
dent goal for all wearers of the blue ribbon.
Stepping back into the middle of the room, I care-


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 201
fully pondered my situation, but could get no further
than the fact that I was somehow, and in some way,
in mortal peril. Would it come in the form of a
bullet, or a deadly thrust from an unseen knife? I
did not think so. For, to say nothing of the dark-
ness, there was one reassuring fact which recurred
constantly to my mind in connection with the
murders I was endeavouring to trace to this den of
iniquity.
None of the gentlemen who had been found
drowned had shown any marks of violence on their
bodies, so it was not attack I was to fear, but some
mysterious, underhanded treachery which would rob
me of consciousness and make the precipitation of
my body into the water both safe and easy. Per-
haps it was in the bottle of brandy that the peril
lay; perhaps—but why speculate further! I would
watch till midnight and then, if nothing happened,
signal my companions to raid the house.
Meantime a peep into the next room might help
me towards solving the mystery. Setting the bottle
and glass aside, I dragged the table across the floor,
placed it under the lighted window, mounted, and
was about to peer through, when the light in that
apartment was put out also. Angry and over-
whelmed, I leaped down, and, stretching out my hands.
till they touched the wainscoting, I followed the
wall around till I came to the knob of the door, which
I frantically clutched. But I did not turn it immedi-
ately, I was too anxious to catch these villains at
work.


2O2 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
Would I be conscious of the harm they meditated
against me, or would I imperceptibly yield to some
influence of which I was not yet conscious, and drop
to the floor before I could draw my revolver or put
to my mouth the whistle upon which I depended for
assistance and safety? It was hard to tell, but I de-
termined to cling to my first intention a little longer,
and so stood waiting and counting the minutes, while
wondering if the captain of the police boat was not
getting impatient, and whether I had not more to
fear from the anxiety of my friends than the cupidity
of my foes.
You see, I had anticipated communicating with
the men in this boat by certain signals and tokens
which had been arranged between us. But the lack
of windows in the room had made all such arrange-
ments futile, so I knew as little of their actions as
they did of my sufferings; all of which did not tend
to add to the cheerfulness of my position.
However, I held out for a half-hour, listening,
waiting, and watching in a darkness which, like that
of Egypt, could be felt, and when the suspense grew
intolerable I struck a match and let its blue flame
flicker for a moment over the face of my watch.
But the matches soon gave out and with them my
patience, if not my courage, and I determined to end
the suspense by knocking at the door beneath.
This resolution taken, I pulled open the door be-
fore me and stepped out. Though I could see noth-
ing, I remembered the narrow landing at the top
of the stairs, and, stretching out my arms, I felt for


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 203
the boarding on either hand, guiding myself by it,
and began to descend, when something rising, as it
were, out of the cavernous darkness before me made
me halt and draw back in mingled dread and horror.
But the impression, strong as it was, was only
momentary, and, resolved to be done with the matter,
I precipitated myself downward, when suddenly, at
about the middle of the staircase, my feet slipped
and I slid forward, plunging and reaching out with
hands whose frenzied grasp found nothing to cling
to, down a steep inclined plane—or what to my be-
wildered senses appeared such—till I struck a yield-
ing surface and passed with one sickening plunge into
the icy waters of the river, which in another
moment had closed dark and benumbing above my
head.
It was all so rapid F did not think of uttering a
cry. But happily for me the splash I made told the
story, and I was rescued before I could sink a sec-
ond time.
It was full half an hour before I had sufficiently
recovered from the shock to relate my story. But
when once I had made it known, you can imagine
the gusto with which the police prepared to enter
the house and confound the obliging host with a
sight of my dripping garments and accusing face.
And, indeed, in all my professional experience I have
never beheld a more sudden merging of the bully into
a coward than was to be seen in this slick villain's
face, when I was suddenly pulled from the crowd
and placed before him, with the old man's wig gone


204 THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT
from my head, and the tag of blue ribbon still cling-
ing to my wet coat.
His game was up, and he saw it; and Ebenezer
Gryce's career had begun.
Like all destructive things the device by which
I had been run into the river was simple enough when
understood. In the first place it had been con-
structed to serve the purpose of a stairway and
chute. The latter was in plain sight when it was
used by the sailmakers to run the finished sails into
the waiting yawls below. At the time of my adven-
ture, and for some time before, the possibilities of
the place had been discovered by mine host, who had
ingeniously put a partition up the entire stairway,
dividing the steps from the smooth runway. At the
upper part of the runway he had built a few steps,
wherewith to lure the unwary far enough down to
insure a fatal descent. To make sure of his game he
had likewise ceiled the upper room all around, includ-
ing the inclosure of the stairs. *
The door to the chute and the door to the stairs
were side by side, and being made of the same boards
as the wainscoting, were scarcely visible when closed,
while the single knob that was used, being transfer-
able from one to the other, naturally gave the im-
pression that there was but one door. When this
adroit villain called my attention to the little win-
dow around the corner, he no doubt removed the
knob from the stairs' door and quickly placed it in
the one opening upon the chute. Another door, con-
necting the two similar landings without, explains


THE STAIRCASE AT HEART'S DELIGHT 2.05
how he got from the chute staircase into which he
passed on leaving me, to the one communicating with
the room below.
The mystery was solved, and my footing on the
force secured; but to this day—and I am an old man
now—I have not forgotten the horror of the moment
when my feet slipped from under me, and I felt
myself sliding downward, without hope of rescue,
into a pit of heaving waters, where so many men of
conspicuous virtue had already ended their valuable
lives.
Myriad thoughts flashed through my brain in that
brief interval, and among them the whole method
of operating this death-trap, together with every
detail of evidence that would secure the conviction
of the entire gang.





THE AMETHYST BOX





I
THE FLASK WHICH HELD BUT A DROP
IT was the night before the wedding. Though Sin-
clair, and not myself, was the happy man, I had my
own causes for excitement, and, finding the heat of
the billiard-room insupportable, I sought the veranda
for a solitary smoke in sight of the ocean and a full
In OOn.
I was in a condition of rapturous, if unreasoning,
delight. That afternoon a little hand had lingered
in mine for just an instant longer than the circum-
stances of the moment strictly required; and small
as the favour may seem to those who do not know
Dorothy Camerden, to me, who realised fully both
her delicacy and pride, it was a sign that my long, if
secret, devotion was about to be rewarded, and that
at last I was free to cherish hopes whose alternative
had once bid fair to wreck the happiness of my
life.
I was revelling in the felicity of these anticipa-
tions, and contrasting this hour of ardent hope with
others of whose dissatisfaction and gloom I was yet
mindful, when a sudden shadow fell across the
broad band of light issuing from the library window,
and Sinclair stepped out.
He had the appearance of being disturbed—very
209


2 IO THE AMETHYST BOX
much disturbed, I thought, for a man on the point
of marrying the woman for whom he professed to
entertain the one profound passion of his life; but
remembering his frequent causes of annoyance—
causes quite apart from his bride and her personal
attributes—I kept on placidly smoking till I felt his
hand on my shoulder, and turned to see that the
moment was a serious one.
“I have something to say to you,” he whispered.
“Come where we shall run less risk of being dis-
turbed.”
“What's wrong?” I asked, facing him with
curiosity, if not with alarm. “I never saw you look
like this before. Has the old lady taken this last
minute to—”
“Hush !” he prayed, emphasising the word with
a curt gesture not to be mistaken. “The little room
over the west porch is empty just now. Follow me
there.”
With a sigh for the cigar I had so lately lighted, I
tossed it into the bushes and sauntered in after him.
I thought I understood his trouble. The prospective
bride was young—a mere slip of a girl indeed—
bright, beautiful, and proud, yet with odd little re-
straints in her manner and language, due probably to
her peculiar bringing up, and the surprise, not yet
overcome, of finding herself, after an isolated, if
not despised, childhood, the idol of society and the
recipient of general homage. The fault was not
with her. But she had for guardian (alas! my dear
girl had the same) an aunt who was a gorgon. This


THE AMETHYST BOX 2 II
aunt must have been making herself disagreeable to
the prospective bridegroom, and he, being quick to
take offence—quicker than myself, it was said—had
probably retorted in a way to make things un-
pleasant. As he was a guest in the house, he and
all the other members of the bridal party—Mrs.
Armstrong having insisted upon opening her mag-
nificent Newport villa for this wedding and its at-
tendant festivities—the matter might well look black
to him. Yet I did not feel disposed to take much
interest in it, even though his case might be mine
some day, with all its accompanying drawbacks.
But once confronted with Sinclair in the well-
lighted room above, I perceived that I had better
drop all selfish regrets and give my full attention to
what he had to say. For his eye, which had flashed
with an unusual light at dinner, was clouded now;
and his manner, when he strove to speak, betrayed
a nervousness I had considered foreign to his nature
ever since the day I had seen him rein in his horse
so calmly on the extreme edge of a precipice, where
a fall would have meant certain death, not only to
himself, but also to the two riders who unwittingly
were pressing closely behind him.
“Walter,” he faltered, “something has happened
—something dreadful, something unprecedented!
You may think me a fool—God knows, I would be
glad to be proved sol—but this thing has frightened
me. I"—he paused and pulled himself together—
“I will tell you about it, then you can judge for
yourself. I am in no condition—”


THE AMETHYST BOX 213
who took it. If I did, I should not be here. That is,
I do not know the exact person. Only—” Here
he again eyed me with his former singular intent-
ness, and, observing that I was nettled, made a fresh
beginning. “When I came here I brought with me
a case of rarities chosen from my various collections.
In looking over them preparatory to making a pres-
ent to Gilbertine, I came across the little box I
have just mentioned. It is made of a single amethyst,
and contains—or so I was assured when I bought it
—a tiny flask of old but very deadly poison. How
it came to be included with the other precious and
beautiful articles I had picked out for her cadeau I
cannot say. But there it was; and conceiving that
the sight of it would please the ladies, I carried it
down into the library, and in an evil hour called
three or four of those about me to inspect it. This
was while you boys were in the billiard-room, so the
ladies could give their entire attention to the little
box, which is certainly worth the most careful
scrutiny.
“I was holding it out on the palm of my hand,
where it burned with a purple light which made
more than one feminine eye glitter, when somebody
inquired to what use so small and yet so rich a
receptacle could be put. The question was such a
natural one I never thought of evading it; besides,
I enjoy the fearsome delight which women take
in the marvellous. Expecting no greater result than
lifted eyebrows or flushed cheeks, I answered by
pressing a little spring in the filigree-work surround.


2I4 THE AMETHYST BOX
ing the gem. Instantly the tiniest of lids flew back,
revealing a crystal flask of such minute propor-
tions that the usual astonishment followed its dis-
closure.
“‘You see!” I cried, “it was made to hold that!’
And moving my hand to and fro under the gas jet,
I caused to shine in their eyes the single drop of
yellow liquid it still held. ‘Poison!' I impres-
sively announced. “This trinket may have adorned
the bosom of a Borgia or flashed from the arm of
some great Venetian lady as she flourished her fan
between her embittered heart and the object of her
wrath or jealousy.'
“The first sentence had come naturally, but the
last was spoken at random, and almost unconsciously.
For at the utterance of the word ‘poison a quickly
suppressed cry had escaped the lips of some one be-
hind me, which, while faint enough to elude the
attention of any ear less sensitive than my own, con-
tained such an astonishing, if involuntary, note of
self-betrayal that my mind grew numb with horror,
and I stood staring at the fearful toy which had
called up such a revelation of—what? That is what
I am here to ask, first of myself, then of you. For
the two women pressing behind me were—”
“Who?” I sharply demanded, partaking in some
indefinable way of his excitement and alarm.
“Gilbertine Murray and Dorothy Camerden | "—
his prospective bride and the woman I loved and
whom he knew I loved, though I had kept my secret
quite successfully from every one else!


THE AMETHYST BOX 2 IS
The look we exchanged neither of us will ever
forget.
“Describe the sound,” I presently said.
“I cannot,” he replied. “I can only give you my
impression of it. You, like myself, fought in more
than one skirmish in the Cuban War. Did you
ever hear the cry made by a wounded man when the
cup of cool water for which he has long agonised is
brought suddenly before his eyes? Such a sound,
with all that goes to make it eloquent, did I hear
from one of the two girls who leaned over my
shoulder. Can you understand this amazing, this
unheard-of circumstance? Can you name the woman
—can you name the grief capable of making either
of these seemingly happy and innocent girls hail the
sight of such a doubtful panacea, with an unconscious
ebullition of joy? You would clear my wedding-eve
of a great dread if you could, for if this expression
of concealed misery came from Gilbertine **
“Do you mean,” I cried in vehement protest,
“that you really are in doubt as to which of these
two women uttered the cry which so startled you?
That you positively cannot tell whether it was Gil-
bertine or—or 95
“I cannot; as God lives, I cannot! I was too
dazed, too confounded by the unexpected circum-
stance, to turn at once, and when I did, it was to see
both pairs of eyes shining, and both faces dimpling
with real or affected gaiety. Indeed, if the matter
had stopped there, I should have thought myself the
victim of some monstrous delusion; but when, a
*


THE AMETHYST BOX 217
“To think that the object of your fears is
Dorothy,” I finished, with a laugh I vainly strove
to make sarcastic.
He did not answer, and I stood battling with a
dread I could neither conceal nor avow. For, pre-
posterous as his idea was, reason told me that he
had some grounds for his doubt.
Dorothy, unlike Gilbertine Murray, was not to be
read at a glance, and her trouble—for she certainly
had a trouble—was not one she chose to share with
any one, even with me. I had flattered myself in
days gone by that I understood it well enough, and
that any lack of sincerity I might observe in her
could be easily explained by the position of depend-
ence she held toward an irascible aunt. But now
that I forced myself to consider the matter carefully,
I could not but ask if the varying moods by which
I had found myself secretly harrowed had not sprung
from a very different cause—a cause for which my
persistent love was more to blame than the temper
of her relative. The aversion she had once shown
to my attentions had yielded long ago to a shy but
seemingly sincere appreciation of them, and gleams
of what I was fain to call real feeling had shown
themselves now and then in her softened manner,
culminating to-day in that soft pressure of my hand
which had awakened my hopes and made me forget
all the doubts and caprices of a disturbing courtship.
But, had I interpreted that strong, nervous pres-
sure aright? Had it necessarily meant love? Might
it not have sprung from a sudden desperate resolu-


218 THE AMETHYST BOX
tion to accept a devotion which offered her a way out
of difficulties especially galling to one of her gentle
but lofty spirit? Her expression when she caught
my look of joy had little of the demure tenderness of
a maiden blushing at her first involuntary avowal.
There was shrinking in it, but it was the shrinking
of a frightened woman, not of an abashed girl;
and when I strove to follow her, the gesture with
which she waved me back had that in it which would
have alarmed a more exacting lover. Had I mis-
taken my darling's feelings? Was her heart still
cold, her affection unwon? Or—thought insupport-
able!—had she secretly yielded to another what she
had so long denied me, and ?
“Ah!” quoth Sinclair at this juncture, “I see that
I have roused you at last.” And unconsciously his
tone grew lighter and his eye lost the strained look
which had made it the eye of a stranger. “You
begin to see that a question of the most serious im-
port is before us, and that this question must be
answered before we separate for the night.”
“I do,” said I.
His relief was evident.
“Then, so much is gained. The next point is,
how are we to settle our doubts? We cannot ap-
proach either of these ladies with questions. A girl
wretched enough to contemplate suicide would be
especially careful to conceal both her misery and its
cause. Neither can we order a search to be made
for an object so small that it can be concealed about
the person.”


THE AMETHYST BOX 219
“Yet this jewel must be recovered. Listen, Sin-
clair. I will have a talk with Dorothy, you with
Gilbertine. A kind talk, mind you! one that will
soothe, not frighten. If a secret lurks in either
breast, our tenderness should find it out. Only, as
you love me, promise to show me the same frank-
ness I here promise to show you. Dear as Dorothy
is to me, I swear to communicate to you the full
result of my conversation with her, whatever the
cost to myself or even to her.”
“And I will be equally fair as regards Gilbertine.
But before we proceed to such extreme measures
let us make sure that there is no shorter road to the
truth. Some one may have seen which of our two
dear girls went back to the library after we all came
out of it. That would narrow down our inquiry,
and save one of them, at least, from unnecessary
disturbance.”
It was a happy thought, and I told him so, but
at the same time bade him look in the glass and see
how impossible it would be for him to venture below
without creating an alarm which might precipitate
the dread event we both feared.
He replied by drawing me to his side before the
mirror and pointing to my own face. It was as pale
as his own. -
Most disagreeably impressed by this self-betrayal,
I coloured deeply under Sinclair's eye, and was but
little, if any, relieved when I noticed that he coloured
under mine. For his feelings were no enigma to
me. Naturally, he was glad to discover that I shared


22O THE AMETHYST BOX
his apprehensions, since it gave him leave to hope
that the blow he so dreaded was not necessarily
directed toward his own affections. Yet, being a
generous fellow, he blushed to be detected in his
egotism, while I—well, I own that at that moment
I should have felt a very unmixed joy at being as-
sured that the foundations of my own love were
secure, and that the tiny flask Sinclair had missed
had not been taken by the hand of her upon whom
I depended for all my earthly happiness.
And my wedding-day was as yet a vague and
distant hope, while his was set for the morrow.
“We must carry downstairs very different faces
from these,” he remarked, “ or we shall be stopped
before we reach the library.”
I made an effort at composure, so did he; and
both being determined men, we soon found our-
selves in a condition to descend among our friends
without attracting any closer attention than was natu-
rally due to him as prospective bridegroom and to
myself as best man.
II
BEATON's DREAM
Mrs. Armstrong, our hostess, was fond of gaiety,
and amusements were never lacking. As we stepped
down into the great hall we heard music in the
drawing-room, and saw that a dance was in prog-
teSS.


THE AMETHYST BOX 221
“That is good,” observed Sinclair. “We shall
run less risk of finding the library occupied.”
“Shall I not look and see where the girls are?
It would be a great relief to find them both among
the dancers.”
“Yes,” said he, “but don't allow yourself to be
inveigled into joining them. I could not stand the
suspense.”
I nodded, and slipped toward the drawing-room.
He remained in the bay-window overlooking the
terra Ce.
A rush of young people greeted me as soon as I
showed myself. But I was able to elude them, and
catch the one full glimpse I wanted of the great
room beyond. It was a magnificent apartment, and
so brilliantly lighted that every nook stood revealed.
On a divan near the centre was a lady conversing
with two gentlemen. Her back was toward me, but
I had no difficulty in recognising Miss Murray.
Some distance from her, but with her face also turned
away, stood Dorothy. She was talking with an
unmarried friend, and appeared quite at ease and
more than usually cheerful.
Relieved, yet sorry that I had not succeeded in
catching a glimpse of their faces, I hastened back to
Sinclair, who was watching me with furtive eyes
from between the curtains of the window in which
he had secreted himself. As I joined him a young
man, who was to act as usher, sauntered from be-
hind one of the great pillars forming a colonnade
down the hall, and, crossing to where the music-


222 THE AMETHYST BOX
room door stood invitingly open, disappeared behind
it with the air of a man perfectly contented with his
surroundings.
With a nervous grip Sinclair seized me by the arm.
“Was that Beaton?” he asked.
“Certainly; didn't you recognise him?”
He gave me a very strange look.
“Does the sight of him recall anything?”
44 NO.”
“You were at the breakfast-table yesterday morn-
ing?”
“I was.”
“Do you remember the dream he related for the
delectation of such as would listen?”
Then it was my turn to go white.
“You don't mean—” I began.
“I thought at the time that it sounded more like
a veritable adventure than a dream; now I am sure
that it was such.”
“Sinclair! You do not mean that the young girl
he professed himself to have surprised one moonlit
night standing on the verge of the cliff, with arms
upstretched and a distracted air, was a real per-
son?”
“I do. We laughed at the time; he made it seem
so tragic and preposterous. I do not feel like laugh-
ing now.”
I gazed at Sinclair in horror. The music was
throbbing in our ears, and the murmur of gay voices
and swiftly-moving feet suggested nothing but joy
and hilarity. Which was the dream? This scene


THE AMETHYST BOX 223
of seeming mirth and happy promise, or the fancies
he had conjured up to rob us both of peace?
“Beaton mentioned no names,” I stubbornly pro-
tested. “He did not even call the vision he
encountered a woman. It was a wraith, you re-
member, a dream-maiden, a creature of his own
imagination, born of some tragedy he had read.”
“Beaton is a gentleman,” was Sinclair's cold
reply. “He did not wish to injure, but to warn
the woman for whose benefit he told his tale.”
“Warn?”
“He doubtless reasoned in this way: If he could
make this young and probably sensitive girl realise
that she had been seen and her intentions recog-
nised, she would beware of such attempts in the
future. He is a kind-hearted fellow. Did you notice
which end of the table he ignored when relating this
dramatic episode?”
44 No.”
“If you had we might be better able to judge
where his thoughts were. Probably you cannot even
tell how the ladies took it?”
“No, I never thought of looking. Good God,
Sinclair, don't let us harrow up ourselves unneces-
sarily! I saw them both a moment ago, and nothing
in their manner showed that anything was amiss
with either of them.”
For answer he drew me toward the library.
This room was not frequented by the young peo-
ple at night. There were two or three elderly people
in the party, notably the husband and the brother of


224 THE AMETHYST BOX
the lady of the house, and to their use the room was
more or less given up after nightfall. Sinclair wished
to show me the cabinet where the box had been.
There was a fire in the grate, for the evenings
were now more or less chilly. When the door had
closed behind us we found that this fire supplied
all the light there was in the room. Both gas jets
had been put out, and the rich yet homelike room
glowed with ruddy hues, interspersed with great
shadows. A solitary scene, yet an enticing one.
Sinclair drew a deep breath. “Mr. Armstrong
must have gone elsewhere to read the evening
papers,” he remarked.
I replied by casting a scrutinising look into the
corners. I dreaded finding a pair of lovers hid
somewhere in the many nooks made by the jutting
bookcases. But I saw no one. However, at the
other end of the large room there stood a screen
near one of the many lounges, and I was on the point
of approaching this place of concealment when Sin-
clair drew me toward a tall cabinet upon whose glass
doors the firelight was shimmering, and, pointing to
a shelf far above our heads, cried:
“No woman could reach that unaided. Gilbertine
is tall, but not tall enough for that. I purposely put
it high.”
I looked about for a stool. There was one just
behind Sinclair. I drew his attention to it.
He flushed and gave it a kick, then shivered
slightly and sat down in a chair nearby. I knew
what he was thinking. Gilbertine was taller than


THE AMETHYST BOX 225
Dorothy. This stool might have served Gilbertine,
if not Dorothy. -
I felt a great sympathy for him. After all, his
case was more serious than mine. The Bishop was
coming to marry him the next day.
“Sinclair,” said I, “the stool means nothing.
Dorothy has more inches than you think. With
this under her feet, she could reach the shelf by
standing tiptoe. Besides, there are the chairs.”
“True, true!” and he started up; “there are the
chairs! I forgot the chairs. I fear my wits have
gone wool-gathering. We shall have to take others
into our confidence.” Here his voice fell to a
whisper. “Somehow or by some means we must
find out if either of them was seen to come into this
room.”
“Leave that to me,” said I. “Remember that a
word might raise suspicion, and that in a case like
this Halloa, what's that?”
A gentle snore had come from behind the screen.
“We are not alone,” I whispered. “Some one is
over there on the lounge.”
Sinclair had already bounded across the room. I
pressed hurriedly behind him, and together we
rounded the screen and came upon the recumbent
figure of Mr. Armstrong, asleep on the lounge, with
his paper fallen from his hand.
“That accounts for the lights being turned out,”
grumbled Sinclair. “Dutton must have done
it.”
Dutton was the butler.


226 THE AMETHYST BOX
I stood contemplating the sleeping figure before
ne.
“He must have been lying here for some time,”
I muttered.
Sinclair started.
“Probably some little while before he slept,” I
pursued. “I have often heard that he dotes on the
firelight.”
“I have a notion to wake him,” suggested Sinclair.
“It will not be necessary,” said I, drawing back,
as the heavy figure stirred, breathed heavily, and
finally sat up.
“I beg pardon,” I now entreated, backing politely
away. “We thought the room empty.”
Mr. Armstrong, who, if slow to receive impres-
sions, is far from lacking intelligence, eyed us with
sleepy indifference for a moment, then rose pon-
derously to his feet, and was on the instant the man
of manner and unfailing courtesy we had ever found
him. *
“What can I do to oblige you?” he asked, his
smooth, if hesitating, tones sounding strange to our
excited ears.
I made haste to forestall Sinclair, who was racking
his brains for words with which to propound the
question he dared not put too boldly.
“Pardon me, Mr. Armstrong, we were looking
about for a small pin dropped by Miss Camerden.”
(How hard it was for me to use her name in this
connection only my own heart knew.) “She was in
here just now, was she not?”


THE AMETHYST BOX 227
The courteous gentleman bowed, hemmed, and
smiled a very polite but unmeaning smile. Evi-,
dently he had not the remotest notion whether she
had been in or not.
“I am sorry, but I am afraid I lost myself for
a moment on that lounge,” he admitted. “The fire-
light always makes me sleepy. But if I can help
you,” he cried, starting forward, but almost imme-
diately pausing again and giving us rather a curious
look. “Some one was in the room. I remember it
now. It was just before the warmth and glow of
the fire became too much for me. I cannot say that
it was Miss Camerden, however. I thought it was
some one of quicker movement. She made quite a
rattle with the chairs.”
I purposely did not look back at Sinclair.
“Miss Murray?” I suggested.
Mr. Armstrong made one of his low, old-
fashioned bows. This, I doubt not, was out of
deference to the bride-to-be.
“Does Miss Murray wear white to-night?”
“Yes,” muttered Sinclair, coming hastily forward.
“Then it may have been she, for as I lay there
deciding whether or not to yield to the agreeable
somnolence I felt creeping over me, I caught a
glimpse of the lady's skirt as she passed out.
And that skirt was white—white silk I suppose you
call it. It looked very pretty in the firelight.”
Sinclair, turning on his heel, stalked in a dazed
way toward the door. To cover this show of
abruptness, which was quite unusual on his part,


228 THE AMETHYST BOX
I made the effort of my life, and, remarking lightly,
“She must have been here looking for the pin her
friend has lost,” I launched forth into an impromptu
dissertation on one of the subjects I knew to be
dear to the heart of the bookworm before me—and
kept it up, too, till I saw by his brightening eye
and suddenly freed manner that he had forgotten
the insignificant episode of a minute ago, never in
all probability to recall it again. Then I made
another effort, and released myself with something
like deftness from the long-drawn-out argument I
saw impending, and making for the door in my
turn, glanced about for Sinclair. So far as I was
concerned the question as to who had taken the box
from the library was settled.
It was now half-past eight. I made my way from
room to room and from group to group looking for
Sinclair. At last I returned to my old post near the
library door, and was instantly rewarded by the
sight of his figure approaching from a small side-
passage in company with the butler, Dutton. His
face, as he stepped into the full light of the open
hall, showed discomposure, but not the extreme dis-
tress I had anticipated. Somehow, at sight of it,
I found myself seeking the shadow just as he had
done a short time before, and it was in one of
the recesses made by a row of bay-trees that we
came face to face.
He gave me one look, then his eyes dropped.
“Miss Camerden has lost a pin from her hair,”
he impressively explained to me. Then, turning to


THE AMETHYST BOX 229
Dutton, he nonchalantly remarked: “It must be
somewhere in this hall; perhaps you will be good
enough to look for it.”
“Certainly,” replied the man. “I thought she
had lost something when I saw her come out of the
library a little while ago, holding her hand to her
hair.”
My heart gave a leap, then sank cold and almost
pulseless in my breast. In the hum to which all
sounds had sunk, I heard Sinclair's voice rise again
in the question with which my own mind was full.
“When was that? After Mr. Armstrong went
into the room, or before?”
“Oh, after he fell asleep. I had just come from
putting out the gas when I saw Miss Camerden slip
in and almost immediately come out again. I will
search for the pin very carefully, sir.”
So Mr. Armstrong had made a mistake! It was
Dorothy, and not Gilbertine, whom he had seen
leaving the room. I braced myself up and met Sin-
clair's eye.
“Dorothy's dress is grey to-night; but Mr. Arm-
strong's eye may not be very good for colours.”
“It is possible that both were in the room,” was
Sinclair's reply. But I could see that he advanced
this theory solely out of consideration for me; that
he did not really believe it. “At all events,” he
went on, “we cannot prove anything this way; we
must revert to our original idea. I wonder if Gil-
bertine will give me the chance to speak to her.”
“You will have an easier task than I,” was my


23O THE AMETHYST BOX
half-sullen retort. “If Dorothy perceives that I
wish to approach her, she has but to lift her eyes
to any of the half-dozen fellows here, and the thing
becomes impossible.”
“There is to be a rehearsal of the ceremony at
half-past ten. I might get a word in then; only,
this matter must be settled first. I could never go
through the farce of standing up before you all
at Gilbertine's side, with such a doubt as this in my
mind.”
“You will see her before then. Insist on a mo-
ment's talk. If she refuses **
“Hush !” he here put in. “We part now to meet
in this same place again at ten. Do I look fit to
enter among the dancers? I see a whole group of
them coming for me.”
“You will be in another moment. Approaching
matrimony has made you sober, that's all.”
It was some time before I had the opportunity,
even if I had the courage, to look Dorothy in the
face. When the moment came she was flushed with
dancing and looked beautiful. Ordinarily she was
a little pale, but not even Gilbertine, with her sumptu-
ous colouring, showed a warmer cheek than she, as,
resting from the waltz, she leaned against the rose-
tinted wall, and let her eyes for the first time rise
slowly to where I stood talking mechanically to my
partner.
Gentle eyes they were, made for appeal, and elo-
quent with a subdued heart language. But they
were held in check by an infinite discretion. Never


THE AMETHYST BOX 23 I
have I caught them quite off their guard, and to-
night they were wholly unreadable. Yet she was
trembling with something more than the fervour of
the dance, and the little hand which had touched
mine in lingering pressure a few hours before was
not quiet for a moment. I could not see it flutter-
ing in and out of the folds of her smoke-coloured
dress without a sickening wonder if the little purple
box which was the cause of my horror lay some-
where concealed amid the airy puffs and ruffles that
rose and fell so rapidly over her heaving breast.
Could her eye rest on mine, even in this cold and
perfunctory manner, if the drop which could sepa-
rate us for ever lay concealed over her heart? She
knew that I loved her. From the first hour we met
in her aunt's forbidding parlour in Thirty-sixth
Street she had recognised my passion, however per-
fectly I had succeeded in concealing it from others.
Inexperienced as she was in those days, she had noted
as quickly as any society belle the effect produced
upon me by her chill prettiness and her air of meek
reserve, under which one felt the heart break; and
though she would never openly acknowledge my
homage, and frowned down every attempt on my
part at lover-like speech or attention, I was as sure
that she rated my feelings at their real value as that
she was the dearest, yet most incomprehensible, mor-
tal my narrow world contained. When, therefore, I
encountered her eyes at the end of the dance, I said
to myself:
“She may not love me, but she knows that I love


232 THE AMETHYST BOX
her, and, being a woman of sympathetic instincts,
would never meet my eyes with so calm a look if
she were meditating an act which must infallibly
plunge me into misery.”
Yet I was not satisfied to go away without a word.
So, taking the bull by the horns, I excused myself to
my partner, and crossed to Dorothy's side.
“Will you dance the next waltz with me?” I
asked.
Her eyes fell from mine directly, and she drew
back in a way that suggested flight.
“I shall dance no more to-night,” said she, her
hand rising in its nervous fashion to her hair.
I made no appeal. I just watched that hand,
whereupon she flushed vividly, and seemed more than
ever anxious to escape. At which I spoke again.
“Give me a chance, Dorothy. If you will not
dance, come out on the veranda and look at the
ocean. It is glorious to-night. I will not keep you
long. The lights here trouble my eyes; besides, I
am most anxious to ask you 5 *
“No, no,” she vehemently objected, very much as
if frightened. “I cannot leave the drawing-room—
do not ask me! Seek some other partner—do, to-
night.”
“You wish it?”
“Very much.”
She was panting, eager. I felt my heart sink, and
dreaded lest I should betray my feelings.
“You do not honour me, then, with your regard,”
I retorted, bowing ceremoniously as I became as-


THE AMETHYST BOX 233
sured that we were attracting more attention than I
considered desirable.
She was silent. Her hand went again to her
hair.
I changed my tone. Quietly, but with an emphasis
which moved her in spite of herself, I whispered:
“If I leave you now, will you tell me to-morrow
why you are so peremptory with me to-night?”
With an eagerness which was anything but en-
couraging, she answered, almost gaily:
“Yes, yes, after all this excitement is over.”
And slipping her hand into that of a friend who
was passing, she was soon in the whirl again and
dancing—she who had just assured me that she did
not mean to dance again that night.
III
A SCREAM IN THE NIGHT
I turned and, hardly conscious of my actions,
stumbled from the room. A bevy of young people
at once surrounded me. What I said to them I
hardly know. I only remember that it was several
minutes before I found myself again alone and mak-
ing for the little room into which Beaton had van-
ished a half-hour before. It was the one given up
to card-playing. Did I expect to find him seated at
one of the tables? Possibly; at all events, I ap-
proached the doorway, and was about to enter,


234 THE AMETHYST BOX
when a heavy step shook the threshold before me,
and I found myself confronted by the advancing
figure of an elderly lady, whose portrait it is now
time for me to draw. It is no pleasurable task, but
one I cannot escape.
Imagine, then, a broad, weighty woman of not
much height, with a face whose features were usually
forgotten in the impression made by her great cheeks
and falling jowls. If the small eyes rested on you,
you found them sinister and strange, but if they
were turned elsewhere, you asked in what lay the
power of the face, and sought in vain amid its long
wrinkles and indeterminate lines for the secret of
that spiritual and bodily repulsion which the least
look into this impassive countenance was calculated
to produce. She was a woman of immense means,
and an oppressive consciousness of this spoke in every
movement of her heavy frame, which always seemed
to take up three times as much space as rightfully
belonged to any human creature. Add to this that
she was seldom seen without a display of diamonds
which made her broad bust look like the bejewelled
breast of some Eastern idol, and some idea may be
formed of this redoubtable woman whom I have
hitherto confined myself to speaking of as the
gorgon.
The stare she gave me had something venomous
and threatening in it. Evidently for the moment I
was out of her books, and while I did not under-
stand in what way I had displeased her, for we
always had met amicably before, I seized upon this


THE AMETHYST BOX 235
sign of displeasure on her part as explanatory, per-
haps, of the curtness and show of contradictory
feelings on the part of her dependent niece. Yet
why should the old woman frown on me? I had
been told more than once that she regarded me with
great favour. Had I unwittingly done something
to displease her, or had the game of cards she had
just left gone against her, ruffling her temper and
making it imperative for her to choose some object
on which to vent her spite? I entered the room to
see. Two men and one woman stood in rather an
embarrassed silence about a table on which lay some
cards, which had every appearance of having been
thrown down by an impatient hand. One of the
men was Will Beaton, and it was he who now re-
marked:
“She has just found out that the young people are
enjoying themselves. I wonder upon which of her
two unfortunate nieces she will expend her ill-temper
to-night.”
“Oh, there's no question about that,” remarked
the lady who stood near him. “Ever since she has
had a reasonable prospect of working Gilbertine off
her hands, she has devoted herself quite exclusively
to her remaining burden. I hear,” she impulsively
continued, craning her neck to be sure that the object
of her remarks was quite out of earshot, “that the
south hall was blue to-day with the talk she gave
Dorothy Camerden. No one knows what about,
for the girl evidently tries to please her. But some
women have more than their own proper share of


236 THE AMETHYST BOX
bile; they must expend it on some one.” And she in
turn threw down her cards, which up till now she had
held in her hand.
I gave Beaton a look and stepped out on the
veranda. In a minute he followed me, and in the
corner facing the ocean, where the vines cluster the
thickest, we held our conversation.
I began it, with a directness born of my despera-
tion.
“Beaton,” said I, “we have not known each other
long, but I recognise a man when I see him, and I
am disposed to be frank with you. I am in trouble.
My affections are engaged, deeply engaged, in a
quarter where I find some mystery. You have helped
make it.” (Here a gesture escaped him.) “I allude
to the story you related the other morning of the
young girl you had seen hanging over the verge of
the cliff, with every appearance of intending to throw
herself over.”
“It was as a dream I related that,” he gravely
remarked.
“That I am aware of. But it was no dream to
me, Beaton. I fear I know that young girl; I also
fear that I know what drove her into contemplating
so rash an act. The conversation just held in the
card-room should enlighten you. Beaton, am I
wrong?”
The feeling I could not suppress trembled in my
tones. He may have been sensitive to it, or he
may have been simply good-natured. Whatever the
cause, this is what he said in reply:


THE AMETHYST BOX 237
“It was a dream. Remember that I insist upon
its being a dream. But some of its details are very
clear in my mind. When I stumbled upon this
dream-maiden in the moonlight her face was turned
from me toward the ocean, and I did not see her
features then or afterwards. Startled by some sound
I made, she crouched, drew back, and fled to cover.
That cover, I have good reason to believe, was this
very house.”
I reached out my hand and touched him on the
21 in.
“This dream-maiden was a woman?” I inquired.
“One of the women now in this house?”
He replied reluctantly:
“She was a young woman, and she wore a long
cloak. My dream ends there. I cannot even say
whether she was fair or dark.”
I recognised that he had reached the limit of his
explanations, and, wringing his hand, I started for
the nearest window, which proved to be that of the
music-room. I was about to enter when I saw two
women crossing to the opposite doorway, and paused
with a full heart to note them, for one was Mrs.
Lansing and the other Dorothy. The aunt had
evidently come for the niece, and they were leaving
the room together. Not amicably, however. Harsh
words had passed, or I am no judge of the human
countenance. Dorothy especially bore herself like
one who finds difficulty in restraining herself from
some unhappy outburst, and as she disappeared
from my sight in the wake of her formidable com-


THE AMETHYST BOX - 239
clair managed to have his little conversation with
her? Something must have happened, for never
had I seen her in such a state of suppressed excite-
ment, and I had seen her many times, both here and
in her aunt's house when I was visiting Dorothy.
Her eyes were shining, not with a brilliant, but a
soft light, and the smile with which she met my ad-
vance had something in it strangely tremulous and
expectant.
“I am glad to have a moment in which to speak
to you alone,” I said. “As Sinclair's oldest and
closest friend, I wish to tell you how truly you can
rely both on his affection and esteem. He has an
infinitely good heart.”
She did not answer as brightly and as quickly as
I expected. Something seemed to choke her—some-
thing which she finally mastered, though only by an
effort which left her pale, but self-contained, and
even more lovely, if that is possible, than before.
“Thank you,” she then said, “my prospects are
very happy. No one but myself knows how happy.”
And she smiled again, but with an expression
which recalled to my mind Sinclair's fears.
I bowed. Some one was calling her name; evi-
dently our interview was to be short.
“I am obliged,” she murmured. Then quickly:
“I have not seen the moon to-night. Is it beautiful?
Can you see it from this veranda?”
But before I could answer she was surrounded and
dragged off by a knot of young people, and I was
left free to keep my engagement with Sinclair.


THE AMETHYST BOX 24I
who retains it will be the conventionalities of her
position and the requirements of the hour. Any
break in the settled order of things—anything which
would give her a moment by herself—might precipi-
tate the dreadful event we fear. Remember, one
turn of the hand, and all is lost. A drop is quickly
swallowed.”
“Frightful!” he murmured, the perspiration ooz-
ing from his forehead. “What a wedding-eve!
And they are laughing down there. Listen to them.
I even imagine I hear Gilbertine's voice. Is there
unconsciousness in it, or just the hilarity of a dis-
tracted mind bent on self-destruction? I cannot tell;
the sound conveys no meaning to me.”
“She has a sweet, true face,” I said, “and she
wears a very beautiful smile to-night.”
He sprang to his feet.
“Yes, yes—a smile that maddens me; a smile
that tells me nothing, nothing! Walter, Walter,
don't you see that, even if that cursed box remains
unopened, and nothing ever comes of its theft, the
seeds of distrust are sown thick in my breast, and
I must always ask: “Was there a moment when
my young bride shrank from me enough to dream of
death?' That is why I cannot go through the mock-
ery of this rehearsal.”
“Can you go through the ceremony of mar-
riage?”
“I must—if nothing happens to-night.”
“And then?”.
I spoke involuntarily. I was thinking not of him,


242 THE AMETHYST BOX
but of myself. But he evidently found in my words
an echo of his own thought.
“Yes, it is the then,” he murmured. “Well may
a man quail before that then.”
He did go downstairs, however, and later on went
through the rehearsal very much as I had expected
him to do—quietly and without any outward show
of emotion.
As soon as possible after this the company sepa-
rated, Sinclair making me an imperceptible gesture
as he went upstairs. I knew what it meant, and was
in his room as soon as the fellows who accompanied
him had left him alone.
“The danger is from now on,” he cried, as soon
as I had closed the door behind me. “I shall not
undress to-night.”
“Nor I.”
“Happily we both have rooms by ourselves in
this great house. I shall put out my light, and then
open my door as far as need be. Not a move in
the house will escape me.”
“I will do the same.”
“Gilbertine—God be thanked l—is not alone in
her room. Little Miss Lane shares it with
her.”
“And Dorothy?”
“Oh, she is under the strictest bondage night and
day. She sleeps in a little room off her aunt's. Do
you know her door?”
I shook my head.
“I will pass down the hall and stop an instant be-


THE AMETHYST BOX 243
fore the two doors we are most interested in. When
I pass Gilbertine's I will throw out my right
hand.”
I stood on the threshold of his room and watched
him. When the two doors were well fixed in my
mind, I went to my own room and prepared for my
self-imposed watch. When quite ready, I put out my
light. It was then eleven o'clock.
The house was very quiet. There had been the
usual bustle attending the separation of a party of
laughing, chattering girls for the night; but this
had not lasted long, for the great doings of the
morrow called for bright eyes and fresh cheeks, and
these can only be gained by sleep. In this stillness
twelve o'clock struck, and the first hour of my
anxious vigil was at an end. I thought of Sinclair.
He had given no token of the watch he was keeping,
but I knew he was sitting with his ear to the door,
listening for the alarm which must come soon if it
came at all.
But would it come at all? Were we not wasting
strength and a great deal of emotion on a dread
which had no foundation in fact? What were we
two sensible and, as a rule, practical men thinking of,
that we should ascribe to either of these dainty belles
of a conventional and shallow society the wish to
commit a deed calling for the vigour and daring of
some wilful child of nature? It was not to be
thought of in this sober, reasoning hour. We had
given ourselves over to a ghastly nightmare, and
would yet awake.


244 THE AMETHYST BOX
Why was I on my feet P Had I heard any-
thing?
Yes, a stir, a very faint stir somewhere down the
hall—the slow, cautious opening of a door, then a
footfall—or had I imagined the latter? I could hear
nothing now.
Pushing open my own door, I looked cautiously
out. Only the pale face of Sinclair confronted me.
He was peering from the corner of an adjacent
passage-way, the moonlight at his back. Advancing,
we met in silence. For the moment we seemed to
be the only persons awake in the vast house.
“I thought I heard a step,” was my cautious
whisper after a moment of intense listening.
“Where?”
I pointed toward that portion of the house where
the ladies' rooms were situated.
“That is not what I heard,” was his murmured
protest; “what I heard was a creak in the small
stairway running down at the end of the hall where
my room is.”
“One of the servants,” I ventured, and for a
moment we stood irresolute. Then we both turned
rigid as some sound arose in one of the far-off rooms,
only to quickly relax again as that sound resolved
itself into a murmur of muffled voices. Where there
was talking there could be no danger of the special
event we feared. Our relief was so great we both
smiled. Next instant his face, and, I have no doubt,
my own, turned the colour of clay, and Sinclair went
reeling back against the wall.


THE AMETHYST BOX 245
A scream had risen in this sleeping house—a
piercing and insistent scream such as raises the hair
and curdles the blood.
IV
WHAT SINCLAIR HAD TO TELL ME
This scream seemed to come from the room where
we had just heard voices. With a common impulse
Sinclair and I both started down the hall, only to
find ourselves met by a dozen wild interrogations
from behind as many quickly opened doors. Was
it fire? Had burglars got in? What was the mat-
ter? Who had uttered that dreadful shriek? Alas!
that was the question which we of all men were most
anxious to hear answered. Who? Gilbertine or
Dorothy?
Gilbertine's door was reached first. In it stood a
short, slight figure, wrapped in a hastily-donned
shawl. The white face looked into ours as we
stopped, and we recognised little Miss Lane.
“What has happened?” she gasped. “It must
have been an awful cry to waken everybody so!”
We never thought of answering her.
“Where is Gilbertine?” demanded Sinclair,
thrusting his hand out as if to put her aside.
She drew herself up with sudden dignity.
“In bed,” she replied. “It was she who told me
that somebody had shrieked. I didn't wake.”


THE AMETHYST BOX 247
thy. But Sinclair, with truer instinct, drew me across
the threshold of this silent room.
Well was it for us that we entered there together,
for I do not know how either of us, weakened as
we were by our forebodings and all the alarms of
this unprecedented night, could have borne alone the
sight that awaited us.
On the bed situated at the right of the doorway
lay a form—awful, ghastly, and unspeakably repul-
sive. The head, which lay high but inert upon the
pillow, was surrounded with the grey hairs of age,
and the eyes, which seemed to stare into ours, were
glassy with reflected light and not with inward intel-
ligence. This glassiness told the tale of the room's
grim silence. It was death we looked on, not the
death we had anticipated, and for which we were in
a measure prepared, but one fully as awful, and
having for its victim, not Dorothy Camerden nor
even Gilbertine Murray, but the heartless aunt,
who had driven them both like slaves, and who
now lay facing the reward of her earthly deeds
alone.
As a realisation of the awful truth came upon me
I stumbled against the bedpost, looking on with al-
most blind eyes as Sinclair bent over the rapidly
whitening face, whose naturally ruddy colour no one
had ever before seen disturbed. And I was still
standing there when Mr. Armstrong and all the
others came pouring in. Nor have I any distinct
remembrance of what was said or how I came to be
in the antechamber again. All thought, all con-


248 THE AMETHYST BOX
sciousness even, seemed to forsake me, and I did not
really waken to my surroundings till some one near
me whispered:
“Apoplexy!”
Then I began to look about me and peer into the
faces crowding up on every side for the only one
which could give me back my self-possession. But
though there were many girlish countenances to be
seen in the awestruck groups huddled in every corner,
I beheld no Dorothy, and was therefore but little
astonished when in another moment I heard the cry
go up :
“Where is Dorothy? Where was she when her
aunt died?”
Alas! there was no one there to answer, and the
looks of those about, which hitherto had expressed
little save awe and fright, turned to wonder, and
more than one person left the room as if to look for
her. I did not join them. I was rooted to the
place. Nor did Sinclair stir a foot, though his eye,
which had been wandering restlessly over the faces
about him, now settled inquiringly on the doorway.
For whom was he looking? Gilbertine or Dorothy?
Gilbertine, no doubt, for he visibly brightened as her
figure presently appeared clad in a négligée, which
emphasised her height, and gave to her whole ap-
pearance a womanly sobriety unusual to it.
She had evidently been told what had occurred,
for she asked no questions, only leaned in still horror
against the doorpost, with her eyes fixed on the room
within. Sinclair, advancing, held out his arm. She


THE AMETHYST BOX 249
gave no sign of seeing it. Then he spoke. This
seemed to rouse her, for she gave him a grateful
look, though she did not take his arm.
“There will be no wedding to-morrow,” fell from
her lips in self-communing murmur.
Only a few minutes had passed since they had
started to find Dorothy, but it seemed an age to me.
My body remained in the room, but my mind was
searching the house for the girl I loved. Where
was she hidden? Would she be found huddled but
alive in some far-off chamber? Or was another and
more dreadful tragedy awaiting us? I wondered
that I could not join the search. I wondered
that even Gilbertine's presence could keep Sinclair
from doing so. Didn't he know what in all prob-
ability this missing girl had with her? Didn't he
know what I had suffered, was suffering? Ah !
what now? She is coming! I can hear them
speaking to her. Gilbertine moves from the door,
and a young man and woman enter with Dorothy
between them.
But what a Dorothy! Years could have made
no greater change in her. She looked and she moved
like one who is done with life, yet fears the few
remaining moments left her. Instinctively we fell
back before her; instinctively we followed her with
our eyes as, reeling a little at the door, she cast a
look of inconceivable shrinking, first at her own bed,
then at the group of older people watching her with
serious looks from the room beyond. As she did so
I noted that she was still clad in her evening dress


250 THE AMETHYST BOX
of grey, and that there was no more colour on cheek
or lip than in the neutral tints of her gown.
Was it our consciousness of the relief which Mrs.
Lansing's death, horrible as it was, must bring to
this unhappy girl, and of the inappropriateness of
any display of grief on her part, which caused the
silence with which we saw her pass with forced
step and dread anticipation into the room where that
image of dead virulence awaited her? Impossible
to tell. I could not read my own thoughts. How,
then, the thoughts of others!
But thoughts, if we had any, all fled when, after
one slow turn of her head towards the bed, this
trembling young girl gave a choking shriek, and fell,
face down, on the floor. Evidently she had not been
prepared for the look which made her aunt's still
face so horrible. How could she have been? Had
it not imprinted itself upon my mind as the one
revolting vision of my life? How, then, if this
young and tender-hearted girl had been insensible to
it! As her form struck the floor Mr. Armstrong
rushed forward; I had not the right. But it was
not by his arms she was lifted. Sinclair was before
him, and it was with a singularly determined look I
could not understand, and which made us all fall
back, that he raised her and carried her into her own
bed, where he laid her gently down. Then, as if
not content with this simple attention, he hovered
over her for a moment, arranging the pillows and
smoothing her dishevelled hair. When at last he
left her the women rushed forward,


252 THE AMETHYST BOX
“I am your friend,” he whispered. “Remember,
under all circumstances and in every exigency, your
friend.”
“What are you going to do with those?” I de-
manded, when I regained control of my speech.
“I do not know.”
“What are you going to do with—with Doro-
thy?”
He drooped his head; I could see his fingers
working in the moonlight.
“The physicians will soon be here. I heard the
telephone going a few minutes ago. When they have
pronounced the old woman dead we will give the—
the lady you mention an opportunity to explain
herself.”
Explain herself, shel Simple expectation. Un-
consciously I shook my head.
“It is the least we can do,” he gently persisted.
“Come, we must not be seen with our heads to-
gether—not yet. I am sorry that we two were found
more or less dressed at the time of the alarm. It
may cause comment.”
“She was dressed, too,” I murmured, as much to
myself as to him.
“Unfortunately, yes,” was the muttered reply,
with which he drew off and hastened into the hall,
where the now thoroughly-aroused household stood
in a great group about the excited hostess.
Mrs. Armstrong was not the woman for an emer-
gency. With streaming hair and tightly-clutched
kimono, she was gesticulating wildly and bemoaning


THE AMETHYST BOX 253
the break in the festivities which this event must
necessarily cause. As Sinclair approached, she
turned her tirade on him, and as all stood still to
listen and add such words of sympathy or disappoint-
ment as suggested themselves in the excitement of
the moment, I had an opportunity to note that neither
of the two girls most interested was within sight.
This troubled me. Drawing up to the outside of
the circle, I asked Beaton, who was nearest to me, if
he knew how Miss Camerden was.
“Better, I hear. Poor girl! it was a great shock
to her.”
I ventured nothing more. The conventionality of
his tone was not to be mistaken. Our conversation
on the veranda was to be ignored. I did not know
whether to feel relief at this or an added distress.
I was in a whirl of emotion which robbed me of all
discrimination. As I realised my own condition, I
concluded that my wisest move would be to withdraw
myself for a time from every eye. Accordingly,
and at the risk of offending more than one pretty
girl who still had something to say concerning this
terrible mischance, I slid away to my room, happy to
escape the murmurs and snatches of talk rising on
every side. One bitter speech, uttered by I do not
know whom, rang in my ears and made all thinking
unendurable. It was this:
“Poor woman! she was angry once too often. I
heard her scolding Dorothy again after she went to
her room. That is why Dorothy is so overcome.
She says it was the violence of her aunt's rage which


254 THE AMETHYST BOX
killed her—a rage of which she unfortunately was
the cause.”
So there were words again between these two after
the door closed upon them for the night! Was this
what we heard just before that scream went up? It
would seem so. Thereupon, quite against my will, I
found myself thinking of Dorothy's changed posi-
tion before the world. Only yesterday a dependent
slave; to-day, the owner of millions. Gilbertine
would have her share—a large one—but there was
enough to make them both wealthy. Intolerable
thought! Would that no money had been involved !
I hated to think of those diamonds and
Oh, anything was better than this! Dashing from
my room, I joined one of the groups into which the
single large circle had now broken up. The house
had been lighted from end to end, and some effort
had been made at a more respectable appearance by
such persons as I now saw; some even were fully
dressed. All were engaged in discussing the one
great topic. Listening and not listening, I waited
for the front-door bell to ring. It sounded while one
woman was saying to another:
“The Sinclairs will now be able to take their
honeymoon in their own yacht.”
I made my way to where I could watch Sinclair
while the physicians were in the room. I thought
his face looked very noble. The narrowness of his
own escape, the sympathy for me which the event,
so much worse than either of us anticipated, had
wakened in his generous breast, had called out all


THE AMETHYST BOX 255
that was best in his naturally reserved and not-
always-to-be-understood nature. A tower of strength
he was to me at that hour. I knew that mercy, and
mercy only, would influence his conduct. He would
be guilty of no rash or inconsiderate act. He would
give this young girl a chance.
Therefore, when the physicians had pronounced
the case one of apoplexy (a conclusion most natural
under the circumstances), and the excitement which
had held together the various groups of uneasy
guests had begun to subside, it was with perfect confi-
dence I saw him approach and address Gilbertine.
She was standing fully dressed at the stair-head,
where she had stopped to hold some conversation
with the retiring physicians; and the look she gave
him in return, and the way she moved off in obedience
to his command or suggestion, assured me that he
was laying plans for an interview with Dorothy.
Consequently, I was quite ready to obey him when he
finally stepped up to me and said:
“Go below, and if you find the library empty, as
I have no doubt you will, light one gas jet, and see
that the door to the conservatory is unlocked. I
require a place in which to make Gilbertine com-
fortable while I have some words with her cousin.”
“But how will you be able to influence Miss
Camerden to come down?” Somehow, the familiar
name of Dorothy would not pass my lips. “Do
you think she will recognise your right to summon
her to an interview?”
* { Yes.”


256 THE AMETHYST BOX
I had never seen his lip take that firm line before,
yet I had always known him to be a man of great
resolution.
“But how can you reach her? She is shut up in
her own room, under the care, I am told, of Mrs.
Armstrong's maid.”
“I know; but she will escape that dreadful place
as soon as her feet will carry her. I shall wait
in the hall till I see her come out; then I will urge her
to follow me, and she will do so, attended by Gil-
bertine.”
“And I? Do you mean me to be present at an
interview so painful—nay, so serious and so threaten-
ing? It would cut short every word you hope to
hear. I—cannot—”
“I have not asked you to. It is imperative that I
should see Miss Camerden alone.” (He could not
call her Dorothy, either.) “I shall ask Gilbertine
to accompany us, so that appearances may be pre-
served. I want you to be able to inform any one
who approaches the door that you saw me go in there
with Miss Murray.”
“Then I am to stay in the hall?”
“If you will be so kind.”
The clock struck three.
“It is very late,” I exclaimed. “Why not wait till
morning?”
“And have the whole house about our ears? No.
Besides, some things will not keep an hour, a mo-
ment. I must hear what this young girl has to say
in response to my questions. Remember, I am the


THE AMETHYST BOX 257
owner of the flask whose contents killed the old
woman l’”
“You believe she died from swallowing that
drop?”
“Absolutely.”
I said no more, but hastened downstairs to do his
bidding.
I found the lower hall partly lighted, but none of
the rooms.
Entering the library, I lit the gas as Sinclair had
requested. Then I tried the conservatory door. It
was unlocked. Casting a sharp glance around, I
made sure that the lounges were all unoccupied, and
that I could safely leave Sinclair to hold his con-
templated interview without fear of interruption.
Then, dreading a premature arrival on his part, I
slid quickly out, and moved down the hall to where
the light of the one burning jet failed to penetrate.
“I will watch from here,” thought I, and entered
upon the quick pacing of the floor which my impa-
tience and the overwrought condition of my nerves
demanded.
But before I had turned on my steps more than
half a dozen times, a brilliant ray coming from some
half-open door in the rear caught my eye, and I
stepped back to see if any one was sharing my watch.
In doing so I came upon the little spiral staircase
which, earlier in the evening, Sinclair had heard creak
under some unknown footstep. Had this footstep
been Dorothy's, and if so, what had brought her into
this remote portion of the house? Fear? Anguish?


258 THE AMETHYST BOX
Remorse? A flying from herself or from it? I
wished I knew just where she had been found by
the two young persons who had brought her back
into her aunt's room. No one had volunteered the
information, and I had not seen the moment when I
felt myself in a position to demand it.
Proceeding further, I stood amazed at my own
forgetfulness. The light which had attracted my
attention came from the room devoted to the display
of Miss Murray's wedding-gifts. This I should
have known instantly, having had a hand in their
arrangement. But all my faculties were dulled that
night, save such as responded to dread and horror.
Before going back I paused to look at the detective
whose business it was to guard the room. He was
sitting very quietly at his post, and if he saw me he
did not look up. Strange that I had forgotten this
man when keeping my own vigil above. I doubted
if Sinclair had remembered him either. Yet he must
have been unconsciously sharing our watch from start
to finish—must even have heard the cry as only a
waking man could hear it. Should I ask him if this
was so? No. Perhaps I had not the courage to
hear his answer.
Shortly after my return into the main hall I heard
steps on the grand staircase. Looking up, I saw the
two girls descending, followed by Sinclair. He had
been successful, then, in inducing Dorothy to come
down. What would be the result? Could I stand
the suspense of the impending interview P
As they stepped within the rays of the solitary


THE AMETHYST BOX 259
gas jet already mentioned, I cast one quick look into
Gilbertine's face, then a long one into Dorothy's.
I could read neither. If it was horror and horror
only which rendered both so pale and fixed of
feature, then their emotion was similar in character
and intensity. But if in either breast the one domi-
nant sentiment was fear—horrible, blood-curdling
fear—then was that fear confined to Dorothy; for
while Gilbertine advanced bravely, Dorothy's steps
lagged, and at the point where she should have
turned into the library, she whirled sharply about,
and made as if she would fly back upstairs.
But one stare from Gilbertine, one word from
Sinclair, recalled her to herself, and she passed in,
and the door closed upon the three. I was left to
prevent possible intrusion, and to eat out my heart
in intolerable suspense.
VI
DOROTHY SPEAKS
I shall not subject you to the ordeal from which I
suffered. You shall follow my three friends into the
room. According to Sinclair's description, the inter-
view proceeded thus:
As soon as the door had closed upon them, and
before either of the girls had a chance to speak, he
remarked to Gilbertine:
“I have brought you here because I wish to ex-


THE AMETHYST BOX 261
her on the shoulder. Quietly she sank back into
her seat.
“I want to say a half-dozen words to you, Miss
Camerden. Gilbertine will pardon us; it is about
matters which must be settled to-night. There are
decisions to arrive at and arrangements to be made.
Mrs. Armstrong has instructed me to question you
in regard to these, as the one best acquainted with
Mrs. Lansing's affairs and general tastes. We will
not trouble Gilbertine. She has her own decisions
to reach. Dear, will you let me make you comfort-
able in the conservatory while I talk for five minutes
with Dorothy?”
He said she met this question with a look so
blank and uncomprehending that he just lifted her
and carried her in among the palms.
“I must speak to Dorothy,” he pleaded, placing
her in the chair where he had often seen her sit of
her own accord. “Be a good girl; I will not keep
you here long.”
“But why cannot I go to my room? I do not
understand—I am frightened—what have you to say
to Dorothy you cannot say to me?”
She seemed so excited that for a minute, just a
minute, he faltered in his purpose. Then he took
her gravely by the hand.
“I have told you,” said he. Then he kissed her
softly on the forehead. “Be quiet, dear, and rest.
See, here are roses!”
He plucked and flung a handful into her lap.
Then he crossed back to the library and shut the


THE AMETHYST BOX 263
“I missed it many hours ago from the shelf yon-
der where you all saw me place it. Had I known
that you had taken it, I would have repeated to you
how deadly were the contents, and how dangerous
it was to handle the vial or to let others handle it,
much less to put it to the lips.”
She started, and instinctively her form rose to its
full height.
“Have you looked in that little box since you took
it from my hair?” she asked.
44 Yes.”
“Then you know it to be empty?”
For answer he pressed the spring, and the little
lid flew open.
“It is not empty now, you see.” Then more
slowly and with infinite meaning: “But the little
flask is.”
She brought her hands together and faced him
with a noble dignity which at once put the interview
on a different footing.
“Where was this vial found?” she demanded.
He found it difficult to answer. They seemed to
have exchanged positions. When he did speak it
was in a low tone, and with less confidence than he
had shown before.
“In the bed with the old lady. I saw it there
myself. Mr. Worthington was with me. Nobody
else knows anything about it. I wish to give you an
opportunity to explain. I begin to think you can—
but how, God only knows. The box was hidden in
your hair from early evening. I saw your hand con-


264 THE AMETHYST BOX
tinually fluttering toward it all the time we were
dancing in the parlour.”
She did not lose an iota of her dignity or pride.
“You are right,” she said. “I put it there as soon
as I took it from the cabinet. I could think of no
safer hiding-place. Yes, I took it,” she acknowl-
edged, as she saw the flush rise to his cheek. “I
took it; but with no worse motive than the dis-
honest one of having for my own an object which
bewitched me. I was hardly myself when I snatched
it from the shelf and thrust it into my hair.”
He stared at her in amazement, her confession
and her attitude so completely contradicted each
other.
“But I had nothing to do with the vial,” she went
on. And with this declaration her whole manner,
even her voice changed, as if with the utterance of
these few words she had satisfied some inner demand
of self-respect, and could now enter into the suffer-
ings of those about her. “This I think it right to
, make plain to you. I supposed the vial to be in the
box when I took it, but when I got to my room and
had an opportunity to examine the deadly trinket, I
found it empty, just as you found it when you took
it from my hair. Some one had taken the vial out
before my hand had ever touched the box.”
Like a man who feels himself suddenly seized
by the throat, yet who struggles for the life slowly
but inexorably leaving him, Sinclair cast one heart-
rending look toward the conservatory, then heavily
demanded:


THE AMETHYST BOX 265
“Why were you out of your room? Why did
they have to look for you? And who was the person
who uttered that scream?”
She confronted him sadly, but with an earnestness
he could not but respect.
“I was not in the room because I was troubled by
my discovery. I think I had some idea of returning
the box to the shelf from which I had taken it. At
all events, I found myself on the little staircase in
the rear when that cry rang through the house. I
do not know who uttered it; I only know that it
did not spring from my lips.”
In a rush of renewed hope he seized her by the
hand.
“It was your aunt!” he whispered. “It was she
who took the vial out of the box; who put it to her
own lips; who shrieked when she felt her vitals
gripped. Had you stayed you would have known
this. Can't you say so? Don't you think so? Why
do you look at me with those incredulous eyes?”
“Because you must not believe a lie. Because you
are too good a man to be sacrificed. It was a
younger throat than my aunt's which gave utterance
to that shriek. Mr. Sinclair, be advised; do not be
married to-morrow!”
Meanwhile I was pacing the hall without in a
delirium of suspense. I tried hard to keep within
the bounds of silence. I had turned for the fiftieth
time to face that library door, when suddenly I heard
a hoarse cry break from within, and saw the door
fly open and Dorothy come hurrying out. She


266 THE AMETHYST BOX
shrank when she saw me, but seemed grateful that
I did not attempt to stop her, and soon was up the
stairs and out of sight. I rushed at once into the
library.
I found Sinclair sitting before a table with his head
buried in his hands. In an instant I knew that our
positions were again reversed, and, without stopping
to give heed to my own sensations, I approached
him as near as I dared and laid my hand on
his shoulder. . s
He shuddered, but did not look up, and it was
minutes before he spoke. Then it all came in a rush.
“Fool! fool that I was ! And I saw that she was
consumed by fright the moment it became plain that
I was intent upon having some conversation with
Dorothy. Her fingers where they gripped my arm
must have left marks behind them. But I saw only
womanly nervousness when a man less blind would
have detected guilt. Walter, I wish that the mere
scent of this empty flask would kill. Then I should
not have to re-enter that conservatory door—or
look again in her face, or **
He had taken out the cursed jewel and was finger-
ing it in a nervous way which went to my heart of
hearts. Gently removing it from his hand, I asked
with all the calmness possible:
“What is all this mystery? Why have your sus-
picions returned to Gilbertine? I thought you had
entirely dissociated her with this matter, and that
you blamed Dorothy, and Dorothy only, for the
amethyst's loss?”


268 THE AMETHYST BOX
own room alone. It may seem callous in me, but I
fell asleep very soon after, and did not wake till
roused by a knock at my door. On opening it I
confronted Sinclair, looking haggard and unkempt.
As he entered, the first clear notes of the breakfast-
call could be heard rising from the lower hall.
“I have not slept,” he said. “I have been walk-
ing the hall all night, listening by spells at her door,
and at other times giving what counsel I could to the
Armstrongs. God forgive me, but I have said noth-
ing to any one of what has made this affair an awful
tragedy to me! Do you think I did wrong? I
waited to give Dorothy a chance. Why should I not
show the same consideration to Gilbertine?”
“You should.” But our eyes did not meet, and
neither voice expressed the least hope.
“I shall not go to breakfast,” he now declared.
“I have written this line to Gilbertine. Will you
see that she gets it?”
For reply I held out my hand. He placed the
note in it, and I was touched to see that it was un-
sealed.
“Be sure, when you give it to her, that she will
have an opportunity of reading it alone. I shall
request the use of one of the little reception-rooms
this morning. Let her come there if she is so im-
pelled. She will find a friend as well as a judge.”
I endeavoured to express sympathy, urge patience,
and suggest hope. But he had no ear for words,
though he tried to listen, poor fellow! so I soon
stopped, and he presently left the room. I immedi-


THE AMETHYST BOx 269
ately made myself as presentable as a night of un-
precedented emotions would allow, and went below
to do him such service as opportunity offered and
the exigencies of the case permitted.
I found the lower hall alive with eager guests and
a few outsiders. News of the sad event was slowly
making its way through the avenue, and some of the
Armstrongs' nearest neighbours had left their break-
fast-tables to express their interest and to hear the
particulars. Among these stood the lady of the
house; but Mr. Armstrong was nowhere within
sight. For him the breakfast waited. Not wishing
to be caught in any little swirl of conventional com-
ment, I remained near the staircase waiting for some
one to descend who could give me news concerning
Miss Murray. For I had small expectation of her
braving the eyes of these strangers, and doubted if
even Dorothy would be seen at the breakfast-table.
But little Miss Lane, if small, was gifted with a great
appetite. She would be sure to appear prior to the
last summons, and as we were good friends, she
would listen to my questions and give me the answer
I needed for the carrying out of Sinclair's wishes.
But before her light footfall was heard descending
I was lured from my plans by an unexpected series
of events. Three men came down, one after the
other, followed by Mr. Armstrong, looking even
more grave and ponderous than usual. Two of
them were the physicians who had been called in the
night, and whom I myself had seen depart some-
where near three o'clock. The third I did not know,


270 THE AMETHYST BOX
but he looked like a doctor also. Why were they
here again so early? Had anything new come to
light?
It was a question which seemed to strike others
as well as myself. As Mr. Armstrong ushered them
down the hall and out of the front-door many were
the curious glances which followed them, and it was
with difficulty that the courteous host on his return
escaped the questions and detaining hands of some
of his inquisitive guests. A pleasant word, an ami-
able smile, he had for all; but I was quite certain,
when I saw him disappear into the little room he
retained for his own use, that he had told them noth-
ing which could in any way relieve their curiosity.
This filled me with a vague alarm. Something
must have occurred—something which Sinclair ought
to know. I felt a great anxiety, and was closely
watching the door behind which Mr. Armstrong
had vanished when it suddenly opened, and I per-
ceived that he had been writing a telegram. As he
gave it to one of the servants he made a gesture
to the man standing with extended hand by the
Chinese gong, and the summons rang out for break-
fast. Instantly the hum of voices ceased, and young
and old turned toward the dining-room, but the
host did not enter with them. Before the younger
and more active of his guests could reach his side he
had slid into the room which I have before described
as set apart for the display of Gilbertine's wedding-
presents. Instantly I lost all inclination for break-
fast, and lingered about in the hall until every one


THE AMETHYST BOX 271
had passed me, even little Miss Lane, who had come
down unperceived while I was watching Mr. Arm-
strong's door. Not very well pleased with myself
for having missed the one opportunity which might
have been of service to me, I was asking myself
whether I should follow her, and make the best
attempt I could at sociability, if not at eating, when
Mr. Armstrong approached from the side hall, and,
accosting me, inquired if Mr. Sinclair had come down
yet.
I assured him that I had not seen him, and did
not think he meant to come to breakfast, adding
that he had been very much affected by the affairs of
the night, and had told me that he was going to shut
himself up in his room and rest.
“I am sorry, but there is a question I must ask
him immediately. It is about a little Italian trinket
which I am told he displayed to the ladies yesterday
afternoon.”
VII
CONSTRAINT
So our dreadful secret was not confined to our-
selves, as we had supposed, but was shared, or at
least suspected, by our host.
Thankful that it was I, rather than Sinclair, who
was called upon to meet and sustain this shock, I
answered with what calmness I could:
“Yes; Sinclair mentioned the matter to me. In-


272 THE AMETHYST BOX
deed, if you have any curiosity on the subject, I
think I can enlighten you as fully as he can.”
Mr. Armstrong glanced up the stairs, hesitated,
then drew me into his private room.
“I find myself in a very uncomfortable position,”
he began. “A strange and quite unaccountable
change has shown itself in the appearance of Mrs.
Lansing's body during the last few hours—a change
which baffles the physicians and raises in their minds
very unfortunate conjectures. What I want to know
is whether Mr. Sinclair still has in his possession
the box which is said to hold a vial of deadly poison,
or whether it has passed into any other hand since
he showed it to certain ladies in the library.”
We were standing directly in the light of an
eastern window. Deception was impossible, even if
I had felt like employing it. In Sinclair's interests,
if not in my own, I resolved to be as true to our
host as our positions demanded, yet, at the same
time, to save Gilbertine as much as possible from
premature, if not final suspicion.
I therefore replied: “That is a question I can
answer as well as Sinclair.” (Happy was I to save
him this cross-examination.) “While he was show-
ing this toy, Mrs. Armstrong came into the room
and proposed a stroll, which drew all of the ladies
from the room and called for his attendance as well.
With no thought of the danger involved, he placed
the trinket on a high shelf in the cabinet, and went
out with the rest. When he came back for it, it
was gone.”


THE AMETHYST BOX 273
The usually ruddy aspect of my host's face deep-
ened, and he sat down in the great armchair which
did duty before his writing-table.
“This is dreadful!” was his comment; “entailing
I do not know what unfortunate consequences upon
this household and on the unhappy girl—”
“Girl?” I repeated.
He turned upon me with great gravity. “Mr.
Worthington, I am sorry to have to admit it, but
something strange, something not easily explainable,
took place in this house last night. It has only just
come to light, otherwise the doctors' conclusions
might have been different. You know there is a
detective in the house. The presents are valuable,
and I thought best to have a man here to look after
them.”
I nodded; I had no breath for speech.
“This man tells me,” continued Mr. Armstrong,
“that just a few minutes previous to the time the
whole household was aroused last night he heard a
step in the hall overhead, then the sound of a light
foot descending the little staircase in the servants'
hall. Being anxious to find out what this person
wanted at an hour so late, he lowered the gas, closed
his door, and listened. The steps went by his door.
Satisfied that it was a woman he heard, he pulled
open the door again and looked out. A young girl
was standing not very far from him in a thin streak
of moonlight. She was gazing intently at something
in her hand, and that something had a purple gleam
to it. He is ready to swear to this. Next moment,


274 THE AMETHYST BOX
frightened by some noise she heard, she fled back,
and vanished again in the region of the little stair-
case. It was soon, very soon, after this that the
shriek came. Now, Mr. Worthington, what am I
to do with this knowledge? I have advised this
man to hold his peace till I can make inquiries, but
where am I to make them? I cannot think that Miss
Camerden ** \
The ejaculation which escaped me was involun-
tary. To hear her name for the second time in this
association was more than I could bear.
“Did he say it was Miss Camerden?” I hurriedly
inquired, as he looked at me in some surprise.
“How should he know Miss Camerden?”
“He described her,” was the unanswerable reply.
“Besides, we know that she was circulating in the
halls at that time. I declare I have never known a
worse business,” this amiable man bemoaned. “Let
me send for Sinclair; he is more interested than any
one else in Gilbertine's relatives; or, stay, what if
I should send for Miss Camerden herself? She
should be able to tell how she came by this box.”
I subdued my own instincts, which were all for
clearing Dorothy on the spot, and answered as I
thought Sinclair would like me to answer.
“It is a serious and very perplexing piece of busi-
ness,” said I; “but if you will wait a short time I do
not think you will have to trouble Miss Camerden.
I am sure that explanations will be given. Give the
lady a chance,” I stammered. “Imagine what her
feelings would be if questioned on so delicate a topic.


THE AMETHYST BOX 275
It would make a breach which nothing could heal.
Later, if she does not speak, it will be only right for
you to ask her why.”
“She did not come down this morning.”
“Naturally not.”
“If I could take counsel of my wife! But she is
of too nervous a temperament. I am anxious to
keep her from knowing this fresh complication as
long as possible. Do you think I can look for Miss
Camerden to explain herself before the doctors re-
turn, or before Mrs. Lansing's physician, for whom
I have telegraphed, can arrive from New York?”
“I am sure that three hours will not pass before
you hear the truth. Leave me to work out the
situation. I promise that if I cannot bring it about
to your satisfaction, Sinclair shall be asked to lend
his assistance. Only keep the gossips from Miss
Camerden's good name. Words can be said in a
moment that will not be forgotten in years. I trem-
ble at such a prospect for her.”
“No one knows of her having been seen with the
box,” he protested; and, relieved as much by his
manner as by his words, I took my leave of him,
and made my way at once to the dining-room.
Should I find Miss Lane there? Yes, and what was
better still, the fortunes of the day had decreed that
the place beside her should be unoccupied.
I was on my way to that place when I was struck
by the extreme quiet into which the room had fallen.
It had been humming with talk when I first entered,
but now not a voice was raised and scarcely an eye.


276 THE AMETHYST BOX
In the hurried glance I cast about the board, not a
look met mine in recognition or welcome.
What did it mean? Had they been talking about
me? Possibly; and in a way, it would seem, that
was not altogether flattering to my vanity.
Unable to hide my sense of the general embarrass-
ment which my presence had called forth, I passed to
the seat I have indicated, and let my inquiring look
settle on Miss Lane. She was staring, in imitation
of the others, straight into her plate; but as I saluted
her with a quiet “Good-morning,” she looked up
and acknowledged my courtesy with a faint, almost
sympathetic, smile. At once the whole tableful broke
again into chatter, and I could safely put the ques-
tion with which my mind was full.
“How is Miss Murray?” I asked. “I do not see
her here.”
“Did you expect to? Poor Gilbertine! This is
not the bridal-day she expected.” Then, with irre-
sistible naïveté, entirely in keeping with her fairy-
like figure and girlish face, she added: “I think it
was just horrid in the old woman to die the night
before the wedding, don't you?”
“Indeed I do,” I emphatically rejoined, humour-
ing her in the hope of learning what I wished to
know. “Does Miss Murray still cherish the ex-
pectation of being married to-day? No one seems to
know.”
“Nor do I. I haven’t seen her since the middle
of the night. She didn't come back to her room.
They say she is sobbing out her terror and disao-


THE AMETHYST BOX 277
pointment in some attic corner. Think of that
for Gilbertine Murray! But even that is better
than—” -
The sentence trailed away into an indistinguish-
able murmur, the murmur into silence. Was it be-
cause of a fresh lull in the conversation about us?
I hardly think so, for though the talk was presently
resumed, she remained silent, not even giving the
least sign of wishing to prolong this particular topic.
I finished my coffee as soon as possible and quitted
the room, but not before many had preceded me.
The hall was consequently as full as before of a
gossiping crowd.
I was on the point of bowing myself through the
various groups blocking my way to the library door,
when I noticed renewed signs of embarrassment on
all the faces turned my way. Women who were
clustered about the newel-post drew back, and some
others sauntered away into side-rooms with an ap-
pearance of suddenly wishing to go somewhere.
This certainly was very singular, especially as these
marks of disapproval did not seem to be directed so
much at myself as at some one behind me. Who
could this some one be? Turning quickly, I cast a
glance up the staircase, before which I stood, and saw
the figure of a young girl dressed in black hesitating
on the landing. This young girl was Dorothy Cam-
erden, and it took but a moment's contemplation
of the scene for me to feel assured that it was against
her this feeling of universal constraint had been
directed.


THE AMETHYST BOX 279
But this was more easily planned than accom-
plished. When I had reached the third floor (an
unaccustomed and strange spot for me to find myself
in) I at first found no one who could tell me to
which room Miss Murray had retired. Then, when
I did come across a stray housemaid, and she, with
an extraordinary stare, had pointed out the door, I
found it quite impossible to gain any response from
within, though I could hear a quick step moving rest-
lessly to and fro, and now and then catch the sound
of a smothered sob or low cry. The wretched girl
would not heed me, though I told her who I was,
and that I had a letter from Mr. Sinclair in my hand.
Indeed, she presently became perfectly quiet, and let
me knock again and again, till the situation became
ridiculous, and I felt obliged to draw off.
Not that I thought of yielding. No, I would stay
there till her own fancy drove her to open the door,
or till Mr. Armstrong should come up and force it.
A woman upon whom so many interests depended
would not be allowed to remain shut up the whole
morning. Her position as a possible bride forbade
it. Guilty or innocent, she must show herself be-
fore long. As if in answer to my expectation, a figure
appeared at this very moment at the other end of
the hall. It was Dutton, the butler, and in his hand
he held a telegram. He seemed astonished to see me
there, but passed me with a simple bow, and stopped
before the door I had so unavailingly assailed a few
minutes before.
“A telegram, miss,” he shouted, as no answer


28o THE AMETHYST BOX
was made to his knock. “Mr. Armstrong asked me
to bring it to you. It is from the Bishop, and calls
for an immediate reply.”
There was a stir within, but the door did not
open. Meanwhile, I had sealed and thrust forth the
letter I had held concealed in my breast pocket.
“Give her this, too,” I signified, and pointed to
the crack under the door.
He took the letter, laid the telegram on it, and
pushed them both in. Then he stood up, and eyed
the unresponsive panels with the set look of a man
who does not easily yield his purpose.
“I will wait for the answer!” he shouted through
the keyhole, and, falling back, he took up his stand
against the opposite wall.
I could not keep him company there. Withdraw-
ing into a big dormer window, I waited with beating
heart to see if her door would open. Apparently
not; yet as I still lingered I heard the lock turn,
followed by the sound of a measured but hurried
step. Dashing from my retreat, I reached the main
hall in time to see Miss Murray disappear toward
the staircase. This was well, and I was about to
follow, when, to my astonishment, I perceived Dut-
ton standing in the doorway she had just left, staring
down at the floor with a puzzled look.
“She didn't pick up the letters!” he cried in
amazement. “She just walked over them. What
shall I do now? It's the strangest thing I ever
saw !”
“Take them to the little boudoir over the porch,”


282 THE AMETHYST BOX
telegram has just been sent to the Bishop to that
effect, and while we all suffer from this disappoint-
ment, I am sure there is no one here who will not
see the propriety of her decision.”
As he finished, Gilbertine appeared behind him.
At the same moment I caught, or thought I did, the
flash of Sinclair's eye from the recesses of the room
beyond; but I could not stop to make sure of this,
for Gilbertine's look and manner were such as to
draw my full attention, and it was with a mixture of
almost inexplicable emotions that I saw her thread
her way among her friends, in a state of high feeling
which made her blind to their outstretched hands
and deaf to the murmur of interest and sympathy
which instinctively followed her. She was making
for the stairs, and whatever her thoughts, whatever
the state of her mind, she moved superbly, in her
pale, yet seemingly radiant abstraction. I watched
her, fascinated, yet when she left the last group and
began to cross the small square of carpet which alone
separated us, I stepped down and aside, feeling that
to meet her eye just them without knowing what had
passed between her and Sinclair would be cruel to
her and well-nigh unbearable to myself.
She saw the movement and seemed to hesitate an
instant, then she turned for one brief instant in my
direction, and I saw her smile. Great God! it was
the smile of innocence. Fleeting as it was, the pride
that was in it, the sweet assertion and the joy were
unmistakable. I felt like springing to Sinclair's side
in the gladness of my relief, but there was no time;


THE AMETHYST BOX 283
another door had opened down the hall, another
person had stepped upon the scene, and Miss Mur-
ray, as well as myself, recognised by the hush which
at once fell upon every one present that something
of still more startling import awaited us.
“Mr. Armstrong and ladies!” said this stranger
—I knew he was a stranger by the studied formality
of the former's bow—“I have made a few inquiries
since I came here a short time ago, and I find that
there is one young lady in the house who ought to
be able to tell me better than any one else under
what circumstances Mrs. Lansing breathed her last.
I allude to her niece, who slept in the adjoining room.
Is that young lady here? Her name, if I remember
rightly, is Camerden—Miss Dorothy Camerden.”
A movement as of denial passed from group to
group down the hall, and, while no one glanced
toward the library and some did glance upstairs, I
felt the dart of sudden fear—or was it hope—that
Dorothy, hearing her name called, would leave the
conservatory and proudly confront the speaker in
face of this whole suspicious throng. But no Doro-
thy appeared. On the contrary, it was Gilbertine
who turned, and, with an air of authority for which
no one was prepared, asked in tones vibrating with
feeling:
“Has this gentleman the official right to question
who was and who was not with my aunt when she
died?”
Mr. Armstrong, who showed his surprise as in-
genuously as he did every other emotion, glanced up


THE AMETHYST BOX 285
fascinated enough to long to see it closer, and to
hold it in my hand. But I was ashamed of this
fascination—ashamed, I mean, to have any one know
that I could be moved by such a childish impulse;
so, instead of taking the box itself, which might
easily be missed, I simply abstracted the tiny vial,
and, satisfied with its possession, carried it about till
I got to my room. Then, when the house was quiet
and my room-mate asleep, I took it out and looked at
it, and feeling an irresistible desire to share my amuse-
ment with my cousin, I stole to her room by means
of the connecting balcony, just as I had done many
times before when our aunt was in bed and asleep.
But unlike any previous occasion, I found the room
empty. Dorothy was not there; but as the light
was burning high, I knew she would soon be back,
and so ventured to step in.
“Instantly, I heard my aunt's voice. She was
awake, and wanted something. She had evidently
called before, for her voice was sharp with impa-
tience, and she used some very harsh words. When
she heard me in Dorothy's room, she shouted again,
and, as I have always been accustomed to obey her
commands, I hastened to her side, with the little
vial concealed in my hand. As she expected to see
Dorothy and not me, she rose up in unreasoning
anger, asking where my cousin was, and why I was
not in bed. I attempted to answer her, but she
would not listen to me, and bade me turn up the
gas, which I did.
“Then, with her eyes fixed on mine as though she


286 THE AMETHYST BOX
knew I was trying to conceal something from her,
she commanded me to rearrange her hair and make
her more comfortable. This I could not do with
the tiny flask still in my hand, so with a quick move-
ment, which I hoped would pass unobserved, I slid
it behind some bottles standing on a table by the
bedside, and bent to do what she required. But to
attempt to escape her eyes was useless. She had seen
my action, and at once began to feel about for what
I had attempted to hide from her. Coming in con-
tact with the tiny flask, she seized it, and, with a
smile I shall never forget, held it up between us.
“‘What's this?’ she cried, showing such astonish-
ment at its minuteness and perfection of shape that
it was immediately apparent she had heard nothing
of the amethyst box displayed by Mr. Sinclair in the
library. ‘I never saw a bottle as small as this be-
fore. What is in it, and why were you so afraid of
my seeing it?”
“As she spoke she attempted to wrench out the
stopper. It stuck, so I was in hopes she would fail
in the effort, but she was a woman of uncommon
strength, and presently it yielded, and I saw the vial
open in her hand.
“Aghast with terror, I caught at the table beside
me, fearing to drop before her eyes. Instantly her
look of curiosity changed to one of suspicion, and
repeating, ‘What's in it? What's in it?’ she raised
the flask to her nostrils, and when she found she
could make out nothing from the smell, lowered
it to her lips, with the intention, I suppose, of deter-


288 THE AMETHYST BOX
us all with proud eyes and flaming cheeks, then
amid a hubbub which did not seem to affect her in
the least, she stepped down, and approaching the
man who, she had been told, had a right to her full
confidence, she said, loud enough for all who wished
to hear her: -
“I am ready to give you whatever further infor-
mation you may require. Shall I step into the
drawing-room with you?”
He bowed, and as they disappeared from the great
hall the hubbub of voices became tumultuous.
Naturally I should have joined in the universal
expressions of surprise and the gossip incident to
such an unexpected revelation. But I found myself
averse to any kind of talk. Till I could meet Sin-
clair's eye and discern in it the happy clearing-up of
all his doubts, I should not feel free to be my own
ordinary and sociable self again. But Sinclair
showed every evidence of wishing to keep in the back-
ground; and while this was natural enough, so far as
people in general were concerned, I thought it odd
and very unlike him not to give me an opportunity to
express my congratulations at the turn affairs had
taken and the frank attitude assumed by Gilbertine.
I own I felt much disturbed by this neglect, and as the
minutes passed and he failed to appear, I found my
satisfaction in her explanations dwindle under the
consciousness that they had failed, in some respects,
to account for the situation; and before I knew it I
was the prey of fresh doubts, which I did my best
to smother, not only for the sake of Sinclair, but


THE AMETHYST BOX 289
because I was still too much under the influence of
Gilbertine's imposing personality to wish to believe
aught but what her burning words conveyed.
She must have spoken the truth, but was it the
entire truth? I hated myself for asking the ques-
tion; hated myself for being more critical with her
than I had been with Dorothy, who certainly had not
made her own part in this tragedy as clear as one
who loved her could wish. Ah, Dorothy! it was
time some one told her that Gilbertine had openly
vindicated her, and that she could now come forth
and face her friends without hesitation and without
dread. Was she still in the conservatory? Doubt-
less. But it would be better, perhaps, for me to
make sure.
Approaching the place by the small door connect-
ing it with the hallway in which I stood, I took a
hurried look within, and, seeing no one, stepped
boldly down between the palms to the little nook
where lovers of this quiet spot were accustomed to
sit. It was empty, and so was the library beyond.
Coming back, I accosted Dutton, whom I found
superintending the removal of the potted plants
which encumbered the passages, and asked him if he
knew where Miss Camerden was? He answered
without hesitation that she had stood in the rear
hall a little while before, listening to Miss Murray;
that she had then gone upstairs by the spiral stair-
case, leaving word with him that if anybody wanted
her she would be found in the small boudoir over the
porch.


THE AMETHYST BOX 29I
them, and you will show yourself my friend by not
doubting them either.” Then, with some impetuos-
ity and a gleam in his eye quite foreign to its natural
expression, he pursued, with a pitiful effort to speak
dispassionately: “Our wedding is postponed—in-
definitely. There are reasons why this seemed best
to Miss Murray. To you I will say that postponed
nuptials seldom culminate in marriage. In fact, I
have just released Miss Murray from all obligations
to myself.”
The stare of utter astonishment I gave him pro-
voked the first and only sneer I have ever seen on
his face. What was I to say—what could I say, in
response to such a declaration, following so imme-
diately upon his warm assertion of her innocence?
Nothing. With that indefinable chill between us,
which had come I know not how, I felt tongue-tied.
He saw my embarrassment, possibly my emotion,
for he smiled somewhat bitterly, and put a step or
so between us before he remarked:
“Miss Murray has my good wishes. Out of
respect to her position, I shall show her a friend's
attention while we remain in this house. That is
all I have to say, Walter. You and I have held our
last conversation on this subject.”
He was gone before I had sufficiently recovered to
realise that in this conversation I had had no part,
neither had it contained any explanation of the very
facts which had once formed our greatest grounds
for doubt—namely, Beaton's dream; the smothered
cry uttered behind Sinclair's shoulder when he first


292 THE AMETHYST BOX
made known the deadly qualities of the little vial; .
and, lastly, the strange desire acknowledged to by
both these young ladies, to touch and hold an object
calculated rather to repel than to attract the normal
feminine heart.
At every previous stage of this ever-shifting
drama my instinct had been to set my wits against
the facts, and, if I could, puzzle out the mystery.
But I felt no such temptation now. My one desire
was to act, and that immediately. Dorothy, for all
Gilbertine's intimation to the contrary, held in her
own breast the key to the enigma. Otherwise she
would not have ventured upon the surprising and
necessarily unpalatable advice to Sinclair—an advice
he seemed to have followed—not to marry Gil-
bertine Murray at the time proposed. Nothing short
of a secret acquaintanceship with facts unknown as
yet to the rest of us could have nerved her to such
an act.
My one hope, then, of understanding the matter
lay with her. To seek her at once in the place
where I had been told she awaited me seemed the
only course to take. If any real gratitude underlay
the look of trust which she had given me at the
termination of our last interview, she would reward
my confidence by unbosoming herself to me.
I was at the door of the boudoir immediately
upon forming this resolution. Finding it ajar, I
pushed it softly open, and as softly entered. To
my astonishment the place was very dark. Not only
had the shades been drawn down, but the shutters


THE AMETHYST BOX 293
had been closed, so that it was with difficulty I de-
tected the slight, black-robed figure which lay face
down among the cushions of a lounge. She had evi-
dently not heard my entrance, for she did not move;
and, struck by her pathetic attitude, I advanced in a
whirl of feeling, which made me forget all con-
ventionalities, and everything else, in fact, but that I
loved her, and had the utmost confidence in her
power to make me happy. Laying my hand softly
on her head, I tenderly whispered:
“Look up, dear. Whatever barrier may have
intervened between us has fallen. Look up and hear
how I love you.”
She thrilled as a woman only thrills when her
secret soul is moved, and, rising with a certain grand
movement, turned her face upon me, glorious with a
feeling that not even the dimness of the room could
hide.
Why, then, did my brain whirl and my heart
collapse?
It was Gilbertine and not Dorothy who stood
before me. *
IX
IN THE LITTLE BOUDOIR
Never had a suspicion crossed my mind of any
such explanation of our secret troubles. I had seen
as much of one cousin as the other in my visits to
Mrs. Lansing's house, but Gilbertine being from


294 THE AMETHYST BOX
the first day of our acquaintance engaged to my
friend Sinclair, I naturally did not presume to study
her face for any signs of interest in myself, even if
my sudden and uncontrollable passion for Dorothy
had left me the heart to do so. Yet now, in the
light of her unmistakable smile, of her beaming eyes,
from which all troublous thoughts seemed to have
fled for ever, a thousand recollections forced them-
selves upon my attention, which not only made me
bewail my own blindness, but which served to ex-
plain the peculiar attitude always maintained towards
me by Dorothy, and many other things which a mo-
ment before had seemed fraught with impenetrable
mystery.
All this in the twinkling of an eye. Meanwhile,
misled by my words, Gilbertine drew back a step,
and, with her face still bright with the radiance I
have mentioned, murmured in low, but full-toned
a CCentS :
“Not just yet; it is too soon. Let me simply
enjoy the fact that I am free, and that the courage
to win my release came from my own suddenly
acquired trust in Mr. Sinclair's goodness. Last
night"—and she shuddered—“I saw only another
way—a way the horrors of which I hardly realised.
But God saved me from so dreadful, yea, so un-
necessary a crime, and this morning 9%
It was cruel to let her go on—cruel to stand
there and allow this ardent, if mistaken, nature to
unfold itself so ingenuously, while I, with ear half
turned toward the door, listened for the step of her


THE AMETHYST BOX 295
whom I had never so much loved as at that moment,
possibly because I had only just come to understand
the cause of her seeming vacillations. My instincts
were so imperative, my duty and the obligations of
my position so unmistakable, that I made a move as
Gilbertine reached this point, which caused her first
to hesitate, then to stop. How should I fill up this
gap of silence? How tell her of the great, the
grievous mistake she had made? The task was one
to try the courage of stouter souls than mine. But
the thought of Dorothy nerved me; perhaps also
my real friendship and commiseration for Sinclair.
“Gilbertine,” I began, “I will make no pretence
of misunderstanding you. The situation is too seri-
ous, the honour which you do me too great; only, I
am not free to accept that honour. The words which
I uttered were meant for your cousin Dorothy. I
expected to find her in this room. I have long loved
your cousin—in secrecy, I own, but honestly and
with every hope of some day making her my wife.
I—I—”
There was no need for me to finish. The warm
hand turning to ice in my clasp, the wide-open blind-
struck eyes, the recoil, the maiden flush rising, deep-
ening, covering cheek and chin and forehead, then
fading out again till the whole face was white as
marble and seemingly as cold—told me that the
blow had gone home, and that Gilbertine Murray,
the unequalled beauty, the petted darling of a society
ready to recognise every charm she possessed save her
ardent nature and great heart, had reached the height


296 THE AMETHYST BOX
of her many miseries, and that it was I who had
placed her there.
Overcome with pity, but conscious also of a pro-
found respect, I endeavoured to utter some futile
words, which she at once put an end to by an appeal-
ing gesture.
“You can say nothing,” she began. “I have
made an awful mistake, the worst a woman can make,
I think.” Then, with long pauses, as though her
tongue were clogged by shame—perhaps by some
deeper if less apparent feeling: “You love Doro-
thy. Does Dorothy love you?”
My answer was an honest one.
“I have dared to hope so, despite the little oppor-
tunity she has given me to express my feelings.
She has always held me back, and that very de-
cidedly, or my devotion would have been apparent to
everybody.”
“Oh, Dorothy!”
Regret, sorrow, infinite tenderness, all were au-
dible in that cry. Indeed, it seemed as if for the
moment her thoughts were more taken up with her
cousin's unhappiness than with her own.
“How I must have made her suffer! I have been
a curse to those who loved me. But I am humbled
now, and very rightly.”
I began to experience a certain awe of this great
nature. There was grandeur even in her contrition,
and as I took in the expression of her colourless
features, sweet with almost an unearthly sweetness
in spite of the anguish consuming her, I suddenly
*


THE AMETHYST BOX 297
realised what Sinclair's love for her must be. I also
as suddenly realised the depth and extent of his
suffering. To call such a woman his, to lead her
almost to the foot of the altar, and then to see her
turn aside and leave him! Surely his lot was an
intolerable one, and though the interference I had
unconsciously made in his wishes had been involun-
tary, I felt like cursing myself for not having been
more open in my attentions to the girl I really loved.
Gilbertine seemed to divine my thoughts, for,
pausing at the door she had unconsciously ap-
proached, she stood with the knob in her hand, and,
with averted brow, remarked gravely:
“I am going out of your life. Before I do so,
however, I should like to say a few words in pallia-
tion of my conduct. I have never known a mother.
I early fell under my aunt's charge, who, detesting
children, sent me away to school, where I was well
enough treated, but never loved. I was a plain
child, and felt my plainness. This gave an awkward-
ness to my actions, and as my aunt had caused it to
be distinctly understood that her sole intention in
sending me to the Academy was to have me educated
for a teacher, my position awakened little interest,
and few hearts, if any, warmed toward me. Mean-
while, my breast was filled with but one thought,
one absorbing wish. I longed to love passionately,
and be passionately loved in return. Had I found a
mate—but I never did. I was not destined for any
such happiness.
“Years passed. I was a woman, but neither my


298 THE AMETHYST BOX
happiness nor my self-confidence had kept pace with
my growth. Girls who once passed me with a bare
nod now stopped to stare, sometimes to whisper
comments behind my back. I did not understand
this change, and withdrew more and more into
myself and the fairy-land made for me by books.
Romance was my life, and I had fallen into the
dangerous habit of brooding over the pleasures and
excitements which would have been mine had I been
born beautiful and wealthy, when my aunt suddenly
visited the school, saw me, and at once took me away
and placed me in the most fashionable school in New
York City. From there I was launched, without any
word of motherly counsel, into the gay society you
know so well. Almost with my coming out I found
the world at my feet, and though my aunt showed
me no love, she evinced a certain pride in my success,
and cast about to procure for me a great match.
Mr. Sinclair was the victim. He visited me, took
me to theatres, and eventually proposed. My aunt
was in ecstasies. I, who felt helpless before her will,
was glad that the husband she had chosen for me
was at least a gentleman, and, to all appearances,
respectable in his living and nice in his tastes. But
he was not the man I had dwelt on in my dreams;
and while I accepted him (it was not possible to do
anything else, with my aunt controlling every action,
if not every thought), I cared so little for Mr.
Sinclair himself that I forgot to ask if his many
attentions were the result of any real feeling on his
part, or only such as he considered due to the woman


3OO THE AMETHYST BOX
since entering society that I thought you were kind
to her simply because honour forbade you to be too
kind to me; and under this delusion I confided my
folly to Dorothy.
“You will have many a talk with her in the future,
and some day she may succeed in proving to you that
it was vanity and not badness of heart which led me
to misunderstand your feelings. Having repressed
my own impulses so long, I saw in your reticence
the evidences of a like struggle; and when, immedi-
ately upon my break with Mr. Sinclair, you entered
here and said the words you did Well, we
have finished with this subject for ever.
“The explanations which I gave below of the part
I played in my aunt's death were true. I only
omitted one detail, which you may consider a very
important one. The fact which paralysed my hand
and voice when I saw her lift the drop of death to
her lips was this: I had meant to die by this drop
myself, in Dorothy's room, and with Dorothy's arms
about me. This was my secret—a secret which no
one can blame me for keeping as long as I could,
and one which I should hardly have the courage to
disclose to you now if I had not already parted with
it to the coroner, who would not credit my story till
I had told him the whole truth.”
“Gilbertine,” I urged, for I saw her fingers clos-
ing upon the knob she had held lightly till now, “do
not go till I have said this. A young girl does not
always know the demands of her own nature. The
heart you have ignored is one in a thousand. Do


THE AMETHYST BOX 3OI
not let it slip from you. God never gives a woman
such a love twice.”
“I know it,” she murmured, and turned the knob.
I thought she was gone, and let the sigh which
had been labouring at my breast have vent, when
I caught one last word whispered from the threshold:
“Throw back the shutters and let in the light.
Dorothy is coming. I am going now to call her.”
An hour had passed, the hour of hours for me, for
in it the sun of my happiness rose full-orbed, and
Dorothy and I came to understand each other. We
were sitting hand in hand in this blessed little
boudoir, when suddenly she turned her sweet face
toward me and gently remarked:
“This seems like selfishness on our part; but
Gilbertine insisted. Do you know what she is doing
now? Helping old Mrs. Cummings and holding
Mrs. Barnstable's baby while her maid packs. She
will work like that all day, and with a smile, too.
Oh, it is a rich nature, an ideal nature. I think we
can trust her now.” -
I did not like to discuss Gilbertine, even with
Dorothy, so I said nothing. But she was too full
of her theme to stop. I think she wished to un-
burden her mind once and for ever of all that had
disturbed it.
“Our aunt's death,” she continued, “will be a sort
of emancipation for her. I don't think you, or any
one out of our immediate household, can realise the
control which Aunt Hannah exerted over every one
who came within her daily influence. It would have


3O2 THE AMETHYST BOX
been the same had she occupied a dependent position
instead of being the wealthy autocrat she was. In
her cold nature dwelt an imperiousness which no one
could withstand. You know how her friends, some
of them as rich and influential as herself, bowed to
her will and submitted to her interference. What,
then, could you expect from two poor girls entirely
dependent upon her for everything they enjoyed?
Gilbertine, with all her spirit, could not face Aunt
Hannah's frown, while I studied to have no wishes.
Had this been otherwise, had we found a friend in-
stead of a tyrant in the woman who took us into
her home, Gilbertine might have gained more control
over her feelings. It was the necessity she felt of
smothering her natural impulses, and of maintaining
in the house and before the world an appearance of
satisfaction in her position as bride-elect, which
caused her to fall into such extremes of despondency
and deep despair. Her self-respect was shocked.
She felt she was a living lie, and hated herself in
consequence.
“You may think I did wrong not to tell her of
your affection for myself, especially after what you
whispered into my ear that night at the theatre. I
did do wrong; I see it now. She was really a
stronger woman than I thought, and we might all
have been saved the horrors which have befallen us
had I acted with more firmness at that time. But I
was weak and frightened. I held you back and let
her go on deceiving herself, which meant deceiving
Mr. Sinclair, too. I thought, when she found her-


THE AMETHYST BOX 303
-
self really married and settled in her own home, she
would find it easier to forget, and that soon, perhaps
very soon, all this would seem like a troubled dream
to her. And there was reason for this hope on my
part. She showed a woman's natural interest in her
outfit and the plans for her new house, but when
she heard you were to be Mr. Sinclair's best man
every feminine instinct within her rebelled, and it
was with difficulty she could prevent herself from
breaking out into a loud “No !' in face of aunt and
lover. From this moment on her state of mind grew
desperate. In the parlour, at the theatre, she was
the brilliant girl whom all admired and many en-
vied; but in my little room at night she would bury
her face in my lap and talk of death, till I moved in
a constant atmosphere of dread. Yet, because she
looked gay and laughed, I turned a like face to the
world and laughed also. We felt it was expected
of us, and the very nervous tension we were under
made these ebullitions easy. But I did not laugh so
much after coming here. One night I found her
out of her bed long after every one else had retired
for the night. Next morning Mr. Beaton told a
dream—I hope it was a dream—but it frightened
me. Then came that moment when Mr. Sinclair
displayed the amethyst box and explained with such
a nonchalant air how a drop from the little flask
inside would kill a person. A toy, but so deadly!
I felt the thrill which shot like lightning through
her, and made up my mind she should never have
the opportunity of touching that box. And that is


THE AMETHYST BOX 305
I took her in my arms and gave her my first kiss.
Then I softly released her, and by tacit consent we
each went our way for that day.
Mine took me into the hall below, which was all
alive with the hum of departing guests. Beaton was
among them, and as he stepped out on the porch
I gave him a parting hand-clasp, and quietly
whispered:
“When all dark things are made light, you will
find that there was both more and less to your dream
than you were inclined to make out.”
He bowed, and that was the last word which ever
passed between us on this topic.
But what chiefly impressed me in connection with
this afternoon's events was the short talk I had with
Sinclair. I fear I forced this talk, but I could
not let the dreary day settle into still drearier night
without making clear to him a point which, in the
new position he held toward Gilbertine, if not to-
ward myself, might seem to be involved in some
doubt. When, therefore, the opportunity came, I
accosted him with these words:
“It is not a very propitious time for me to intrude
my personal affairs upon you, but I feel as if I should
like you to know that the clouds have been cleared
away between Dorothy and myself, and that some
day we expect to marry.”
He gave me the earnest look of a man who has
recovered his one friend. Then he grasped my hand
warmly, saying, with something like his old fervour:
“You deserve all the happiness that awaits you.


306 THE AMETHYST BOX
Mine is gone; but if I can regain it I will. Trust
me for that, Worthington.”
The coroner, who had seen much of life and
human nature, managed with much discretion the
inquest he felt bound to hold. Mrs. Lansing was
found to have come to her death by a meddlesome
interference with one of her niece's wedding trinkets;
and, as every one acquainted with Mrs. Lansing knew
her to be quite capable of such an act of malicious
folly, the verdict was duly accepted, and the real
heart of this tragedy closed for ever from every
human eye.
As we were leaving Newport Sinclair stepped up
to me.
“I have reason to know,” said he, “that Mrs.
Lansing's bequests will be a surprise, not only to
her nieces, but to the world at large. Let me advise
you to announce your engagement before reaching
New York.”
I followed his advice, and in a few days under-
stood why it had been given. All the vast property
owned by this woman had been left to Dorothy.
Gilbertine had been cut off without a cent.
We never knew Mrs. Lansing's reason for this
act. Gilbertine had always been considered her fa-
vourite, and, had the will been a late one, it would
have been generally thought that she had left her
thus unprovided for solely in consideration of the
great match which she expected her to make. But
the will was dated back several years—long before
Gilbertine had met Mr. Sinclair, long before either


308 THE AMETHYST BOX
Worthington; but it was not that which led me to
realise Mr. Sinclair's affection. It was a short con-
versation which passed between us on the day my
aunt's will was read. Do you remember my turning
to speak to him the moment after that word all fell
from the lawyer's lips?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sinclair.”
Alas! did I not! It was one of the most poignant
memories of my life. The look she gave him and
the look he gave her! Indeed, I did remember.
“It was to ask him one question—a question to
which misfortune only could have given so much
weight. Had my aunt taken him into her confidence?
Had he known that I had no place in her will?
His answer was very simple; a single word, ‘Al-
ways. But after that do I need to say why I am a
wife—why I am his wife?”


WAs it a spectre? -
For days I could not answer this question. I am
no believer in spiritual manifestations, yet But
let me tell my story.
I was lodging with my wife on the first floor of
a house in Twenty-seventh Street. I had taken the
apartments for three months, and we had already
lived in them two and found them sufficiently com-
fortable. The back room we used as a bedroom,
and as we received but few friends, the two great
leaves of old mahogany connecting the rooms, usually
stood wide open.
One morning, my wife being ill, I left her lying in
bed and stepped into the parlour preparatory to
going out for breakfast. It was late—nine o’clock
probably—and I was hastening to leave, when I
heard a sound behind me—or did I merely feel a
presence?—and, turning, saw a strange and totally
unknown woman coming toward me from my
wife's room.
As I had just left that room, and as there was no
other way of entrance save through a door we
always kept locked, I was so overpowered by my
astonishment that I never thought of speaking or
moving until she had passed me. Then I found
voice, and calling out “Madam !” endeavoured to
stop her.
But the madam, if madam she was, passed on as
3II


3I4. THE GREY LADY
before, and I perceived that her dress was black and
decent.
She was laid on our bed and every attention paid
her. But she had been grievously injured about the
head and gradually but surely sank before our eyes.
Suddenly she roused and gave a look about her. It
was a remarkable one—a look of recognition and al-
most of delight. Then she raised one hand and,
pointing with a significant gesture into the empty
space before her, sank back and died.
It was a sudden ending, and, anxious to see its
effect upon my wife, who was standing on the other
side of the bed, I glanced her way with some mis-
giving. She showed more feeling than I had antici-
pated. Indeed her countenance was a study, and
when, under the influence of my scrutiny, she glanced
my way, I saw that something of deeper import than
this unexpected death in our rooms lay at the bottom
of her uneasy look.
What that was I was soon to know, for catching
up from amid the folds of the woman's grey-lined
cloak a long grey veil which had fallen at the bed-
side, she disposed it softly about the woman's face,
darting me a look full of significance.
“You remember the vision I had the morning
when I was sick?” she whispered softly in my ear.
I nodded, secretly thrilled to my very heart's
Core.
“Well, it was a vision of this woman. If she
were living and on her feet and wrapped, as I have


THE GREY LADY 315
shown you, in this veil, you would behold a living
picture of the person I saw passing out of this room
that morning.”
“I shall not dispute you,” I answered. Alas! I
had myself perceived the likeness the instant the
veil had fallen about the pinched but handsome
features!
“A forewarning,” whispered my wife; “a fore-
warning of what has this day happened under our
roof. It was a wraith we saw. Wilbur, I shall not
spend another night in these rooms.”
And we did not. I was as anxious to leave as
she was. Yet I am not a superstitious man. As
proof of it, after the first effect of these events had
left me I began to question my first impressions and
feel tolerably ashamed of my past credulity.
Though the phenomenon we had observed could not
to all appearance be explained by any natural
hypothesis; though I had seen, and my wife had seen,
a strange woman suddenly become visible in a room
which a moment before had held no one but our-
selves, and into which no live woman could have
entered without our knowledge, something—was it
my natural good sense?—recoiled before a super-
natural explanation of this, and I found my-
self forced to believe that our first visitor had
been as real as the last; in other words, the same
WOman.
But could I prove it? Could the seemingly impos-
sible be made possible and the unexplainable receive
a solution satisfying to a rational mind? I deter-
5


316 THE GREY LADY
mined to make an effort to accomplish this, if only
to relieve the mind of my wife, who had not recov-
ered her equanimity as readily as myself.
Starting with the assumption above mentioned—
that the woman who had died in our presence was the
same who had previously found an unexplainable en- \
trance into our rooms—I first inquired if the black
cloak lined with grey did not offer a solution to
some of my previous difficulties. It was a long
cloak, enveloping her completely. When worn with
the black side out she would present an incon-
spicuous appearance, but with the grey side out and
the effect of this heightened by a long grey veil
hung over her hat, she would look like the grey lady
I had first seen. Now, a cloak can be turned in an
instant, and if she had chosen to do this in flitting
through my door I would naturally find only a
sedate, black-clothed woman passing up the street,
when, rousing from the apathy into which her ap-
pearance had thrown me, I rushed to the front door
and looked out. Had I seen such a woman? I
seemed to remember that I had.
Thus much, then, was satisfactory, but to account
for her entrance into our rooms was not so easy.
Had she slipped by me in coming in as she had on
going out? The parlour door was open, for I had
been out to get the paper. Could she have glided
in by me unperceived and thus found her way into
the bedroom from which I afterward saw her issue?
No, for I had stood facing the front hall door all the
time. Through the bedroom door, then? But that


3.18 THE GREY LADY
lour, and this fact, small as it was, led me to make
inquiries.
The result was that I learned something about the
couple who had preceded us in the use of these rooms.
They were of middle age and of great personal ele-
gance but uncertain pay, the husband being nothing
more nor less than a professional gambler. Their
name was L'Hommedieu.
When I first heard of them I thought that Mrs.
L'Hommedieu might be the Mrs. Helmuth in whose
history I was so interested, but from all I could learn
she was a very different sort of person. Mrs.
L'Hommedieu was gay, dashing, and capable of mak-
ing a show out of flimsy silk a shopgirl would hesi-
tate to wear. Yet she looked distinguished and wore
her cheap jewelry with more grace than many a
woman her diamonds. I would, consequently, have
dropped this inquiry if some one had not remarked
upon her having had a paralytic stroke after leaving
the house. This, together with the fact that the
key to the rear door, which I had found replaced by
a new one, had been taken away by her and never
returned, connected her so indubitably with my mys-
terious visitor that I resolved to pursue my investiga-
tions into Mrs. L'Hommedieu's past.
For this purpose I sought out a quaint little maiden
lady living on the top floor who, I was told, knew
more about the L'Hommedieus than any one in the
building. Miss Winterburn, whose acquaintance I
had failed to make while residing in the house, was
a fluttering, eager, affable person whose one delight


THE GREY LADY 316
was, as I soon found, to talk about the L'Homme-
dieus. Of the story she related I give as much of
it as possible in her own words.
“I was never their equal,” said she, “but Mrs.
L'Hommedieu was lonely, and, having no friends in
town, was good enough to admit me to her parlour
now and then and even to allow me to accompany
her to the theatre when her husband was away on
one of his mysterious visits. I never liked Mr.
L'Hommedieu, but I did like her. She was so dif-
ferent from me, and, when I first knew her, so gay
and so full of conversation. But after a while she
changed and was either feverishly cheerful or mor-
bidly sad, so that my visits caused me more pain than
pleasure. The reason for these changes in her was
patent to everybody. Though her husband was a
handsome man, he was as unprincipled as he was
unfortunate. He gambled. This she once admitted
to me, and while at long intervals he met with some
luck he more often returned dispirited and with that
hungry, ravaging look you expect to see in a wolf
cheated of its prey.
“I used to be afraid he would strike her after
some one of these disappointments, but I do not
think he ever did. She had a determined character
of her own, and there have been times when I have
thought he was as much afraid of her as she was of
him. I became sure of this after one night. Mrs.
L'Hommedieu and myself were having a little sup-
per together in the front parlour you have so lately
occupied. It was a very ordinary supper, for the


32O THE GREY LADY
L'Hommedieus' purse had run low, and Mrs.
L'Hommedieu was not the woman to spend much at
any time on her eating. It was palatable, however,
and I would have enjoyed it greatly, if Mrs.
L'Hommedieu had shown more appetite. But she
ate scarcely anything and seemed very anxious and
unhappy, though she laughed now and then with sud-
den gusts of mirth too hysterical to be real. It was
not late, and yet we were both very much surprised
when there came a knock at the door, followed by
the entrance of a visitor.
“Mrs. L'Hommedieu, who was always la grande
dame, rose without apparent embarrassment to meet
the gentleman who entered, though I knew she could
not help but feel keenly the niggardly appearance of
the board she left with such grace. The stranger—
he was certainly a stranger; this I could see by the
formality of her manner—was a gentleman of ur-
bane bearing and a general air of prosperity.
“I remember every word that passed.
“‘My name is Lafarge,” said he. “I am, or
rather have been, under great obligations to your
husband, and I have come to discharge my debt. Is
he at home?’
“Mrs. L'Hommedieu's eye, which had sparkled
at his name, dropped suddenly as he put the final
question.
“‘I am sorry, she returned after a moment of
embarrassment, “but my husband is very seldom
home evenings. If you will come about noon some
da ?


322 THE GREY LADY
paper, which he handed to her. He was not de-
ceived, I am sure, by her grand airs, and knew as
well as I did that no woman ever stood in greater
need of money. But nothing in his manner betrayed
this knowledge.
“‘It is a bond I give you, he now explained.
“As you will see, it has coupons attached to it which
you can cash at any time. It will prove as valuable
to you as so much ready money and possibly more
convenient.”
“And with just this hint, which I took as signifi-
cant of his complete understanding of her position, he
took her receipt and politely left the house.
“Once alone with me, who am nobody, her joy
had full vent. I have never seen any one so lost in
delight as she was for a few minutes. To have this
money thrust upon her just at a moment when actual
want seemed staring her in the face was too much of
a relief for her to conceal either the misery she had
been under or the satisfaction she now enjoyed.
Under the gush of her emotions her whole history
came out, but as you have often heard the like I will
not repeat it, especially as it was all contained in
the cry with which a little later she thrust the bond
into my hand.
“‘He must not see it! He must not! It would
go like all the rest, and I should again be left without
a cent. Take it and keep it, for I have no means of
concealing it here. He is too suspicious.”
“But this was asking more than I was willing to
grant. Seeing how I felt, she took the paper back


324 THE GREY LADY
she could not prevent a slight smile of disdain, and,
seeing it, he kept his eye riveted on her face till her
uneasiness became manifest. Instantly his suspicion
took form, and, surveying her still more fixedly, he
espied a corner of the precious envelope protruding
slightly above her corsage. To snatch it out, open
it, and realise its value was the work of a moment.
Her cry of dismay and his shout of triumph rang
out simultaneously, and never have I seen such an
ebullition of opposing passions as I was made wit-
ness to as his hand closed over this small fortune
and their staring eyes met in the moral struggle they
had now entered upon for its ultimate possession.
“She was the first to speak. ‘It was given to me;
it was meant for me. If I keep it both of us will
profit by it, but if you ?
“He did not wait for her to finish. “Where did
you get it?” he cried. ‘I can break the bank with
what I can raise on this bond at the club. Dar-
raugh's in town. You know what that means.
Luck's in the air, and with a hundred dollars
But I’ve no time to talk. I came for a dollar, a
fifty-cent piece, a dime even, and go back with a bond
worth ?
“But she was already between him and the door.
‘You will never carry that bond out of this house,'
she whispered in the tone which goes further than a
cry. “I have not held it in my hand to see it follow
every other good thing I have had in life. I will
not, Henry. Take that bond and sink it as you have
all the rest and I fall at your feet a dead woman. I


THE GREY LADY 325
will never survive the destruction of my last hope.'
“He was cowed—for a moment, that is; she
looked so superb and so determined. Then all that
was mean and despicable in his thinly veneered na-
ture came to the surface, and, springing forward
with an oath, he was about to push her aside, when,
without the moving of a finger on her part, he reeled
back, recovered himself, caught at a chair, missed it,
and fell heavily to the floor.
“‘My God, I thank thee!' was the exclamation
with which she broke from the trance of terror into
which she had been thrown by his sudden attempt to
pass her; and without a glance at his face, which to
me looked like the face of a dead man, she tore the
paper from his hand and stood looking about her
with a wild and searching gaze, in the desperate hope
that somehow the walls would open and offer her
a safe place of concealment for the precious sheet of
paper. -
“Meanwhile I had crept near the prostrate man.
He was breathing, but was perfectly unconscious.
“‘Don’t you mean to do something for him?’
I asked. “He may die.’
“She met my question with the dazed air of one
suddenly awakened. ‘No, he'll not die; but he'll not
come to for some minutes, and this must be hidden
first. But where? where? I cannot trust it on my
person or in any place a man like him would search.
I must devise some means—ah!'
“With this final exclamation she had dashed into
the other room. I did not see where she went—I did


328 THE GREY LADY
consulted the clock so often that I tried to soothe
her by remarking that it was not an easy task he had
set himself, at which she laughed in a mysterious
way, but failed to grow less anxious till our suspense
was cut short by the appearance of the janitor with
a message from Mr. L'Hommedieu.
“‘Mr. L'Hommedieu's compliments, said he,
and he hopes Mrs. L'Hommedieu will make herself
comfortable and not think of coming down. He is
doing everything that is necessary and will soon be
through. You can rest quite easy, ma'am.”
“‘What does he mean?’ marvelled the poor
woman as the janitor disappeared. ‘Is he spending
all this time ransacking the rooms? I wish I dared
disobey him. I wish I dared go down.”
“But her courage was not equal to an open dis-
regard of his wishes, and she had to subdue her impa-
tience and wait for a summons that did not come
till near two o'clock. Then Mr. L'Hommedieu him-
self appeared with her hat and mantle on his arm.
“‘My dear,” said he as she rose, haggard with
excitement, to meet him, “I have brought your wraps
with me that you may go directly from here to our
new home. Shall I assist you to put them on? You
do not look as well as usual, and that is why I have
undertaken this thing all myself—to save you, my
dear; to save you each and every exertion.”
“I had flung out my arms to catch her, for I
thought she was going to faint, but she did not,
though I think it would have been better for her if
she had.


330 THE GREY LADY
“‘I have nothing to say to Miss Winterburn but
thanks, was her cold reply, belied, however, by the
trembling of her fingers as she essayed to fit on her
gloves.
“‘And those I will receive below !' I cried, with
affected gaiety. “I am going down with you to the
door.” And resolutely ignoring his frown I tripped
down before them. On the last stair I felt her steps
lagging. Instantly I seemed to comprehend what
was required of me, and, rushing forward, I entered
the front parlour. He followed close behind me,
for how could he know I was not in collusion with
her to regain the bond? This gave her one minute
by herself in the rear, and in that minute she secured
the key which would give her future access to the
spot where her treasure lay hidden.
“The rest of the story I must give you mainly
from hearsay. You must understand by this time
what Mr. L'Hommedieu's scheme was in moving so
suddenly. He knew that it would be impossible for
him, by the most minute and continuous watchful-
ness, to prevent his wife from recovering the bond
while they continued to inhabit the rooms in which,
notwithstanding his failure to find it, he had reason to
believe it still lay concealed. But once in other quar-
ters it would be comparatively easy for him to sub-
ject her to a surveillance which not only would pre-
vent her from returning to this house without his
knowledge, but would lead her to give away her
secret by the very natural necessity she would be


THE GREY LADY 33 I
under of going to the exact spot where her treasure
lay hid.
“It was a cunning plot and showed him to be as
able as he was unscrupulous. How it worked I will
now proceed to tell you. It must have been the next
afternoon that the janitor came running up to me—
I suppose he had learned by this time that I had
more than ordinary interest in these people—to say
that Mrs. L'Hommedieu had been in the house and
had been so frightened by a man who had followed
her that she had fainted dead away on the floor.
Would I go down to her?
“I had rather have gone anywhere else, unless it
was to prison; but duty cannot be shirked, and I
followed the man down. But we were too late.
Mrs. L'Hommedieu had recovered and gone away,
and the person who had frightened her was also
gone, and only the hallboy remained to give any
explanations.
“This was what he had to say:
“‘The man it was who went first. As soon as
the lady fell he skipped out. I don't think he meant
no good here—’
“‘Did she drop here in the hall?' I asked, unable
to restrain my intense anxiety.
“‘Oh, no, ma'am! They was in the back room
yonder, which she got in somehow. The man fol-
lowed her in, sneaking and sneaking like an eel or a
cop, and she fell right against—'
“‘Don’t tell me where!' I cried. ‘I don't want
to know where!' And I was about to return up-


332 THE GREY LADY
stairs when I heard a quick, sharp voice behind me
and realised that Mr. L'Hommedieu had come in and
was having some dispute with the janitor.
“Common prudence led me to listen. He wanted,
as was very natural, to enter the room where his
wife had just been surprised, but the janitor, alarmed
by the foregoing very irregular proceedings, was
disposed to deny his right to do so.
“‘The furniture is held as a surety, said he, “and
I have orders *
“But Mr. L'Hommedieu had a spare dollar, and
before many minutes had elapsed I heard him go into
that room and close the door. Of the next ten min-
utes and the suspense I felt I need not speak. When
he came out again, he looked as if the ground would
not hold him.
“‘I have done some mischief, I fear, he airily
said as he passed the janitor. “But I'll pay for it.
Don't worry. I'll pay for it and the rent, too, to-
morrow. You may tell Mrs. Latimer so. And he
was gone, leaving us all agape in the hallway.
“A minute later we all crept to that room and
looked in. Now that he had got the bond I for one
was determined to know where she had hid it.
There was no mistaking the spot. A single glance
was enough to show us the paper ripped off from a
portion of the wall, revealing a narrow gap behind
the baseboard large enough to hold the bond. It was
near 35
“Wait!” I put in as I remembered where the so-
called Mrs. Helmuth had pointed just before she


THE GREY LADY 333
died. “Wasn't it at the left of the large folding
doors and midway to the wall?”
“How came you to know?” she asked. “Did
Mrs. Latimer tell you?” But as I did not answer
she soon took up the thread of her narrative again,
and, sighing softly, said: -
“The next day came and went, but no L'Homme-
dieu appeared; another, and I began to grow seri-
ously uneasy; a third, and a dreadful thing hap-
pened. Late in the afternoon Mrs. L'Hommedieu,
dressed very oddly, came sliding in at the front door,
and with an appealing smile at the hallboy, who
wished but dared not ask her for the key which made
these visits possible, glided by to her old rooms, and,
finding the door unlocked, went softly in. Her ap-
pearance is worth description, for it shows the pitiful
efforts she made at disguise, in the hope, I suppose,
of escaping the surveillance she was evidently con-
scious of being under. She was in the habit of wear-
ing on cool days a black circular with a grey lining:
This she had turned inside out so that the gray was
uppermost; while over her neat black bonnet she had
flung a long veil, also grey, which not only hid her
face, but gave her appearance an eccentric look as
different as possible from her usual aspect. The hall-
boy, who had never seen her save in showy black or
bright colours, said she looked like a ghost in the day-
time, but it was all done for a purpose, I am sure,
and to escape the attention of the man who had fol-
lowed her before. Alas, he might have followed
her this time without addition to her suffering !


334 THE GREY LADY
Scarcely had she entered the room where her treas-
ure had been left than she saw the torn paper and
gaping baseboard, and, uttering a cry so piercing it
found its way even to the stolid heart of the hall-
boy, she tottered back into the hall, where she fell
into the arms of her husband, who had followed her
in from the street in a state of frenzy almost equal to
her own.
“The janitor, who that minute appeared on the
stairway, says that he never saw two such faces.
They looked at each other and were speechless. He
was the first to hang his head.
“‘It is gone, Henry, she whispered. ‘It is
gone. You have taken it.'
“He did not answer.
“‘And it is lost! You have risked it, and it is
lost!'
“He uttered a groan. “You should have given
it to me that night. There was luck in the air then.
Now the devil is in the cards and *
“Her arms went up with a shriek. ‘My curse be
upon you, Henry L'Hommedieu !' And whether it
was the look with which she uttered this imprecation,
or whether there was some latent love left in his
heart for this long-suffering and once beautiful
woman, he shrank at her words, and, stumbling like
a man in the darkness, uttered a heart-rending groan,
and rushed from the house. We never saw him
again.
“As for her, she fell this time under a paralytic
attack which robbed her of her faculties. She was


THE GREY LADY 335
taken to a hospital, where I frequently visited her,
but either from grief or the effect of her attack she
did not know me, nor did she ever recognise any of
us again. Mrs. Latimer, who is a just woman, sold
her furniture and, after paying herself out of the
proceeds, gave the remainder to the hospital nurses
for the use of Mrs. L'Hommedieu, so that when she
left them she had something with which to start life
anew. But where she went or how she managed to
get along in her enfeebled condition I do not know.
I never heard of her again.”
“Then you did not see the woman who died in
these rooms?” I asked.
The effect of these words was magical and led to
mutual explanations. She had not seen that woman,
having encountered all the sorrow she wished to in
that room. Nor was there any one else in the house
at this time likely to recognise Mrs. L'Homme-
dieu, the janitor and hallboy both being new and
Mrs. Latimer one of those proprietors who are only
seen on rent day. For the rest, Mrs. L'Homme-
dieu's defective memory, which had led her to
haunt the house and room where the bond had
once been hidden, accounted not only for her first
visit, but the last, which had ended so fatally. The
cunning she showed in turning her cloak and flinging
a veil over her hat was the cunning of a partially
clouded mind. It was a reminiscence of the morning
when her terrible misfortune occurred. My habit of
taking the key out of the lock of that unused door
made the use of her own key possible, and her fear


THE THIEF





“AND now, if you have all seen the coin and suffi-
ciently admired it, you may pass it back. I make a
point of never leaving it off the shelf for more than
fifteen minutes.”
The half dozen or more guests seated about the
board of the genial speaker, glanced casually at
each other as though expecting to see the object
mentioned immediately produced.
But no coin appeared.
“I have other amusements waiting,” suggested
their host, with a smile in which even his wife could
detect no signs of impatience. “Now let Robert
put it back into the cabinet.”
Robert was the butler.
Blank looks, negative gestures, but still no coin.
“Perhaps it is in somebody's lap,” timidly ven-
tured one of the younger women. “It doesn't seem
to be on the table.”
Immediately all the ladies began lifting their nap-
kins and shaking out the gloves which lay under
them, in an effort to relieve their own embarrassment
and that of the gentlemen who had not even so simple
a resource as this at their command.
“It can't be lost,” protested Mr. Sedgwick, with
an air of perfect confidence. “I saw it but a minute
ago in somebody's hand. Darrow, you had it; what
did you do with it?”
“Passed it along.”
339


34O THE THIEF
“Well, well, it must be under somebody's plate
or doily.” And he began to move about his own
and such dishes as were within reach of his
hand.
Each guest imitated him, lifting glasses and turn-
ing over spoons till Mr. Sedgwick himself bade
them desist. “It's slipped to the floor,” he non-
chalantly concluded. “A toast to the ladies,
and we will give Robert the chance of looking
for it.”
As they drank this toast, his apparently careless,
but quietly astute, glance took in each countenance
about him. The coin was very valuable and its loss
would be keenly felt by him. Had it slipped from the
table some one's eye would have perceived it, some
hand would have followed it. Only a minute or two
before, the attention of the whole party had been
concentrated upon it. Darrow had held it up for all
to see, while he discoursed upon its history. He
would take Darrow aside at the first opportunity and
ask him—— But—it! how could he do that?
These were his intimate friends. He knew them
well, more than well, with one exception, and he
Well, he was the handsomest of the lot and the most
debonair and agreeable. A little more gay than
usual to-night, possibly a trifle too gay, considering
that a man of Mr. Blake's social weight and business
standing sat at the board; but not to be suspected, no,
not to be suspected, even if he was the next man after
Darrow and had betrayed something like confusion
when the eyes of the whole table turned his way at


342 THE THIEF
not attract enough attention, even, to elicit any re-
sponse.
“I hope his eyesight is good,” murmured one of
the young girls, edging a trifle forward. “Mayn't I
help him look? They say at home that I am the
only one in the house who can find anything.”
Mr. Sedgwick smiled indulgently at the speaker,
(a round-faced, round-eyed, merry-hearted girl whom
in days gone by he had dandled on his knees), but
answered quite quickly for him:
“Robert will find it if it is there.” Then, dis-
tressed at this involuntary disclosure of his thought,
added in his whole-hearted way: “It’s such a little
thing, and the room is so big and a round object
rolls unexpectedly far, you know. Well, have you
got it?” he eagerly demanded, as the butler finally
showed himself in the door.
“No, sir; and it's not in the dining-room. I have
cleared the table and thoroughly searched the floor.”
Mr. Sedgwick knew that he had. He had no
doubts about Robert. Robert had been in his em-
ploy for years and had often handled his coins and,
at his order, sometimes shown them.
“Very well,” said he, “we’ll not bother about
it any more to-night; you may draw the cur-
tains.”
But here the clear, almost strident voice of the
youngest man of the party interposed.
“Wait a minute,” said he. “This especial coin
is the great treasure of Mr. Sedgwick's valuable col-
lection. It is unique in this country, and not only


THE THIEF 343
worth a great deal of money, but cannot be dupli-
cated at any cost. There are only three of its stamp
in the world. Shall we let the matter pass, then, as
though it were of small importance? I feel that
we cannot; that we are, in a measure, responsible for
its disappearance. Mr. Sedgwick handed it to us to
look at, and while it was going through our hands
it vanished. What must he think? What has he
every right to think? I need not put it into words;
you know what you would think, what you could
not help but think, if the object were yours and it was
lost in this way. Gentlemen—I leave the ladies en-
tirely out of this—I do not propose that he shall
have further opportunity to associate me with this
very natural doubt. I demand the privilege of
emptying my pockets here and now, before any of
us have left his presence. I am a connoisseur in
coins myself and consequently find it imperative to
take the initiative in this matter. As I propose to
spare the ladies, let us step back into the dining-
room. Mr. Sedgwick, pray don't deny me; I’m thor-
oughly in earnest, I assure you.”
The astonishment created by this audacious propo-
sition was so great, and the feeling it occasioned so
intense, that for an instant all stood speechless.
Young Hammersley was a millionaire himself, and
generous to a fault, as all knew. Under no circum-
stances would any one even suspect him of appropri-
ating anything, great or small, to which he had not a
perfect right. Nor was he likely to imagine for a
moment that any one would. That he could make


344 THE THIEF
such a proposition then, based upon any such plea,
argued a definite suspicion in some other quarter,
which could not pass unrecognised. In vain Mr.
Sedgwick raised his voice in frank and decided pro-
test, two of the gentlemen had already made a quick
move toward Robert, who still stood, stupefied by
the situation, with his hand on the cord which con-
trolled the curtains.
“He is quite right,” remarked one of these, as he
passed into the dining-room. “I shouldn't sleep a
wink to-night if this question remained unsettled.”
The other, the oldest man present, the financier of
whose standing and highly esteemed character I have
already spoken, said nothing, but followed in a way
to show that his mind was equally made up.
The position in which Mr. Sedgwick found him-
self placed was far from enviable. With a glance
at the two remaining gentlemen, he turned towards
the ladies now standing in a close group at the other
end of the room. One of them was his wife, and he
quivered internally as he noted the deep red of her
distressed countenance. But it was the others he
addressed, singling out, with the rare courtesy which
was his by nature, the one comparative stranger,
Darrow's niece, a Rochester girl, who could not be
finding this, her first party in Boston, very amusing.
“I hope you will appreciate the dilemma in which
I have been placed by these gentlemen,” he began,
“and will pardon—”
But here he noticed that she was not in the least
attending; her eyes were on the handsome figure


346 THE THIEF
the furrow which had brought this wretched coin to
light.
However, the affair had gone too far now for
retreat, as was shown by Mr. Blake, the elderly
financier whom all were ready to recognise as the
chief guest there. With an apologetic glance at Mr.
Hammersley, the impetuous young millionaire who
had first proposed this embarrassing procedure, he
advanced to an empty side-table and began, in a quiet,
business-like way, to lay on it the contents of his
various pockets. As the pile rose, the silence grew,
the act in itself was so simple, the motive actuating
it so serious and out of accord with the standing of
the company and the nature of the occasion. When
all was done, he stepped up to Mr. Sedgwick, with
his arms raised and held out from his body.
“Now accommodate me,” said he, “by running
your hands up and down my chest. I have a secret
pocket there which should be empty at this time.”
Mr. Sedgwick, fascinated by his look, did as he
was bid, reporting shortly:
“You are quite correct. I find nothing there.”
Mr. Blake stepped back. As he did so, every eye,
suddenly released from his imposing figure, flashed
towards the immovable Clifford, to find him still
absorbed by the action and attitude of the man who
had just undergone what to him doubtless appeared
a degrading ordeal. Pale before, he was absolutely
livid now, though otherwise unchanged. To break
the force of what appeared to be an open, if involun-
tary, self-betrayal, another guest stepped forward;


THE THIEF 349
presence upon which I have made so poor an im-
pression.”
Mr. Sedgwick prized his coin and despised deceit,
but he could not let a guest leave him in this manner.
Instinctively he held out his hand. Proudly young
Clifford dropped his own into it; but the lack of
mutual confidence was felt and the contact was a cold
one. Half regretting his impulsive attempt at
courtesy, Mr. Sedgwick drew back, and Clifford was
already at the door leading into the hall, when Ham-
mersley, who by his indiscreet proposition had made
all this trouble for him, sprang forward and caught
him by the arm.
“Don’t go,” he whispered. “You’re done for if
you leave like this. I—I was a brute to propose such
an asinine thing, but having done so I am bound
to see you out of the difficulty. Come into the ad-
joining room—there is nobody there at present—
and we will empty our pockets together and find this
lost article if we can. I may have pocketed it myself,
in a fit of abstraction.”
Did the other hesitate? Some thought so; but, if
he did, it was but momentarily.
“I cannot,” he muttered; “think what you will of
me, but let me go.” And dashing open the door he
disappeared from their sight just as light steps and
the rustle of skirts were heard again in the adjoining
1"OOnn.
“There are the ladies. What shall we say to
them?” queried Sedgwick, stepping slowly towards
the intervening curtains.


35O THE THIEF
“Tell them the truth,” enjoined Mr. Blake, as
he hastily repocketed his own belongings. “Why
should a handsome devil like that be treated with any
more consideration than another? He has a secret
if he hasn't a coin. Let them know this. It may
save some one a future heartache.”
The last sentence was muttered, but Mr. Sedg-
wick heard it. Perhaps that was why his first move-
ment on entering the adjoining room was to cross
over to the cabinet and shut and lock the heavily pan-
elled door which had been left standing open. At all
events, the action drew general attention and caused
an instant silence, broken the next minute by an
ardent cry:
“So your search was futile?”
It came from the lady least known, the interest-
ing young stranger whose personality had made so
vivid an impression upon him.
“Quite so,” he answered, hastily facing her with
an attempted smile. “The gentlemen decided not
to carry matters to the length first proposed. The
object was not worth it. I approved their decision.
This was meant for a joyous occasion. Why mar it
by unnecessary unpleasantness?”
She had given him her full attention while he was
speaking, but her eye wandered away the moment he
had finished and rested searchingly on the other
gentlemen. Evidently she missed a face she had
expected to find there, for her colour changed and
she drew back behind the other ladies with the light,


THE THIEF 351
unmusical laugh women sometimes use to hide a
secret emotion.
It brought Mr. Darrow forward.
“Some were not willing to subject themselves to
what they considered an unnecessary humiliation,”
he curtly remarked. “Mr. Clifford—”
“There! let us drop it,” put in his brother-in-law.
“I’ve lost my coin and that's the end of it. I don't
intend to have the evening spoiled for a thing like
that. Music! ladies, music and a jolly air! No
more dumps.” And with as hearty a laugh as he
could command in face of the sombre looks he en-
countered on every side, he led the way back into
the music-room.
Once there the women seemed to recover their
spirits; that is, such as remained. One had dis-
appeared. A door opened from this room into the
main hall and through this a certain young lady
had vanished before the others had had time to
group themselves about the piano. We know who
this lady was; possibly, we know, too, why her
hostess did not follow her.
Meanwhile, Mr. Clifford had gone upstairs for
his coat, and was lingering there, the prey of some
very bitter reflections. Though he had encountered
nobody on the stairs, and neither heard nor saw any
one in the halls, he felt confident that he was not
unwatched. He remembered the look on the butler's
face as he tore himself away from Hammersley's
restraining hand, and he knew what that fellow
thought and also was quite able to guess what that


356 THE THIEF
the women's voices rose in little cries that were
almost hysterical.
“I knew that it would be found, and found here,”
came from the hallway in rich, resonant tones.
“Uncle, do not hurry; I am feeling better,” followed
in unconscious naiveté, as the young girl stepped in,
showing a countenance in which were small signs of
indisposition or even of depressed spirits.
Mr. Darrow, with a smile of sympathetic under-
standing, joined the others now crowding about the
butler.
“I noticed the crack between these two leaves
when I pushed about the plates and dishes,” he was
saying. “But I never thought of looking in it for
the missing coin. I'm sure I'm very sorry that I
didn't.”
Mr. Darrow, to whom these words had recalled a
circumstance he had otherwise completely forgotten,
anxiously remarked: “That must have happened
shortly after it left my hand. I recall now that the
lady sitting between me and Clifford gave it a twirl
which sent it spinning over the bare table-top. I
don't think she realised the action. She was listen-
ing—we all were—to a flow of bright repartee going
on below us, and failed to follow the movements of
the coin. Otherwise, she would have spoken. But
what a marvel that it should have reached that crack
in just the position to fall in 1”
“It wouldn't happen again, not if we spun it
there for a month of Sundays.”
“But Mr. Clifford!” put in an agitated voice.


THE THIEF 357
“Yes, it has been rather hard on him. But he
shouldn't have such keen sensibilities. If he had
emptied out his pockets cheerfully and at the first
intimation, none of this unpleasantness would have
happened. Mr. Sedgwick, I congratulate you upon
the recovery of this valuable coin, and am quite
ready to offer my services if you wish to make Mr.
Clifford immediately acquainted with Robert's dis-
covery.”
“Thank you, but I will perform that duty myself,”
was Mr. Sedgwick's quiet rejoinder, as he unlocked
the door of his cabinet and carefully restored the
coin to its proper place.
When he faced back, he found his guests on the
point of leaving. Only one gave signs of any in-
tention of lingering. This was the elderly financier
who had shown such stern resolve in his treatment of
Mr. Clifford's so-called sensibilities. He had con-
fided his wife to the care of Mr. Darrow, and now
met Mr. Sedgwick with this remark:
“I’m going to ask a favour of you. If, as you
have intimated, it is your intention to visit Mr. Clif-
ford to-night, I should like to go with you. I don't
understand this young man and his unaccountable
attitude in this matter, and it is very important that
I should. Have you any objection to my company?
My motor is at the door, and we can settle the affair
in twenty minutes.”
“None,” returned his host, a little surprised, how-
ever, at the request. “His pride does seem a little
out of place, but he was among comparative stran-


358 THE THIEF
gers, and seemed to feel his honour greatly impugned
by Hammersley's unfortunate proposition. I’m
sorry way down to the ground for what has oc-
curred, and cannot carry him our apologies too
soon.”
“No, you cannot,” retorted the other shortly.
And so seriously did he utter this that no time was
lost by Mr. Sedgwick, and as soon as they could get
into their coats, they were in the motor and on their
way to the young man's apartment.
Their experience began at the door. A man was
lolling there who told them that Mr. Clifford had
changed his quarters; where he did not know. But
upon the production of a five-dollar bill, he remem-
bered enough about it to give them a number and
street where possibly they might find him. In a
rush, they hastened there; only to hear the same
story from the sleepy elevator boy anticipating his
last trip up for the night.
“Mr. Clifford left a week ago; he didn't tell me
where he was going.”
Nevertheless the boy knew; that they saw, and
another but smaller bill came into requisition and
awoke his sleepy memory.
The street and number which he gave made the
two well-to-do men stare. But they said nothing,
though the looks they cast back at the second-rate
quarters they were leaving, so far below the elegant
apartment house they had visited first, were suf-
ficiently expressive. The scale of descent from lux-
ury to positive discomfort was proving a rapid one


THE THIEF 359
and prepared them for the dismal, ill-cared-for, al-
together repulsive doorway before which they halted
next. No attendant waited here; not even an ele-
vator boy; the latter for the good reason that there
was no elevator. An uninviting flight of stairs was
before them; and on the few doors within sight a
simple card showed the name of the occupant.
Mr. Sedgwick glanced at his companion.
“Shall we go up?” he asked.
Mr. Blake nodded. “We'll find him,” said he,
“if it takes all night.”
“Surely he cannot have sunk lower than this.”
“Remembering his get-up I do not think so. Yet
who knows? Some mystery lies back of his whole
conduct. Dining in your home, with this to come
back to ! I don't wonder—”
But here a thought struck him. Pausing with his
foot on the stair, he turned a flushed countenance
towards Mr. Sedgwick. “I’ve an idea,” said he.
“Perhaps ” He whispered the rest.
Mr. Sedgwick stared and shook his shoulders.
“Possibly,” said he, flushing slightly in his turn.
Then, as they proceeded up, “I feel like a brute,
anyway. A sorry night's business all through, unless
the end proves better than the beginning.”
“We'll start from the top. Something tells me
that we shall find him close under the roof. Can you
read the names by such a light?”
“Barely; but I have matches.”
And now there might have been witnessed by any
chance home-comer the curious sight of two ex-


360 THE THIEF
tremely well-dressed men pottering through the attic
hall of this decaying old domicile, reading the cards
on the doors by means of a lighted match.
And vainly. On none of the cards could be seen
the name they sought.
“We're on the wrong track,” protested Mr.
Blake. “No use keeping this up,” but found him-
self stopped, when about to turn away, by a gesture
of Sedgwick's.
“There's a light under the door you see there
untagged,” said he. “I’m going to knock.”
He did so. There was a sound within and then
utter silence.
He knocked again. A man's step was heard
approaching the door, then again the silence.
Mr. Sedgwick made a third essay, and then the
door was suddenly pulled inward and in the gap
they saw the handsome face and graceful figure of
the young man they had so lately encountered amid
palatial surroundings. But how changed ! how
openly miserable! and when he saw who his guests
were, how proudly defiant of their opinion and
presence.
“You have found the coin,” he quietly remarked.
“I appreciate your courtesy in coming here to in-
form me of it. Will not that answer, without fur-
ther conversation? I am on the point of retiring
and—and 35
Even the hardihood of a very visible despair gave
way for an instant as he met Mr. Sedgwick's eye.
In the break which followed, the older man spoke.


w" THE THIEF 361
“Pardon us, but we have come thus far with a
double purpose. First, to tender our apologies,
which you have been good enough to accept; sec-
ondly, to ask, in no spirit of curiosity, I assure you,
a question that I seem to see answered, but which I
should be glad to hear confirmed by your lips. May
we not come in?”
The question was put with a rare smile such as
sometimes was seen on this hard-grained handler of
millions, and the young man, seeing it, faltered
back, leaving the way open for them to enter. The
next minute he seemed to regret the impulse, for
backing against a miserable table they saw there, he
drew himself up with an air as nearly hostile as one
of his nature could assume.
“I know of no question,” said he, “which I feel
at this very late hour inclined to answer. A man who
has been tracked as I must have been for you to
find me here, is hardly in a mood to explain his
poverty or the mad desire for former luxuries which
took him to the house of one friendly enough, he
thought, to accept his presence without inquiry as
to the place he lived in or the nature or number of
the reverses which had brought him to such a place as
this.”
“I do not—believe me ” faltered Mr. Sedg-
wick, greatly embarrassed and distressed. In spite
of the young man's attempt to hide the contents
of the table, he had seen the two objects lying
there—a piece of bread or roll, and a half-cocked
revolver.


362 THE THIEF
Mr. Blake had seen them, too, and at once took
the word out of his companion's mouth.
“You mistake us,” he said coldly, “as well as
the nature of our errand. We are here from no mo-
tive of curiosity, as I have before said, nor from
any other which might offend or distress you. We—
or rather I am here on business. I have a position
to offer to an intelligent, upright, enterprising young
man. Your name has been given me. It was given
me before this dinner, to which I went—if Mr.
Sedgwick will pardon my plain speaking—chiefly
for the purpose of making your acquaintance. The
result was what you know, and possibly now you can
understand my anxiety to see you exonerate yourself
from the doubts you yourself raised by your attitude
of resistance to the proposition made by that head-
long, but well-meaning, young man of many millions,
Mr. Hammersley. I wanted to find in you the hon-
ourable characteristics necessary to the man who is
to draw an eight thousand dollars a year salary
under my eye. I still want to do this. If then you
are willing to make this whole thing plain to me—
for it is not plain—not wholly plain, Mr. Clifford—
then you will find in me a friend such as few young
fellows can boast of, for I like you—I will say that—
and where I like—”
The gesture with which he ended the sentence was
almost superfluous, in face of the change which
had taken place in the aspect of the man he ad-
dressed. Wonder, doubt, hope, and again incredulity


THE THIEF 363
were lost at last in a recognition of the other's
kindly intentions toward himself, and the prospects
which they opened out before him. With a shame-
faced look, and yet with a manly acceptance of his
own humiliation that was not displeasing to his visi-
tors, he turned about and pointing to the morsel of
bread lying on the table before them, he said to Mr.
Sedgwick:
“Do you recognise that? It is from your table,
and—and—it is not the only piece I had hidden in
my pockets. I had not eaten in twenty-four hours
when I sat down to dinner this evening. I had no
prospect of another morsel for to-morrow and—
and—I was afraid of eating my fill—there were
ladies—and so—and so—”
They did not let him finish. In a flash they had
both taken in the room. Not an article which could
be spared was anywhere visible. His dress-suit was
all that remained to him of former ease and luxury.
That he had retained, possibly for just such oppor-
tunities as had given him a dinner to-night. Mr.
Blake understood at last, and his iron lip trem-
bled.
“Have you no friends?” he asked. “Was it
necessary to go hungry?”
“Could I ask alms or borrow what I could not
pay? It was a position I was after, and positions
do not come at call. Sometimes they come without
it,” he smiled with the dawning of his old-time grace
on his handsome face, “but I find that one can see
his resources go, dollar by dollar, and finally, cent


364 THE THIEF
by cent, in the search for employment no one con-
siders necessary to a man like me. Perhaps if I had
had less pride, had been willing to take you or any
one else into my confidence, I might not have sunk to
these depths of humiliation; but I had not the con-
fidence in men which this last half hour has given me,
and I went blundering on, hiding my needs and hop-
ing against hope for some sort of result to my efforts.
This pistol is not mine. I did borrow this, but I
did not mean to use it, unless nature reached the
point where it could stand no more. I thought the
time had come to-night when I left your house, Mr.
Sedgwick, suspected of theft. It seemed the last
straw; but—but—a woman's look has held me back.
I hesitated and—now you know the whole,” said he;
“that is, if you can understand why it was more
possible for me to brave the contumely of such a
suspicion than to open my pockets and disclose the
crusts I had hidden there.”
“I can understand,” said Mr. Sedgwick; “but the
opportunity you have given us for doing so must
not be shared by others. We will undertake your
justification, but it must be made in our own way
and after the most careful consideration; eh, Mr.
Blake?”
“Most assuredly; and if Mr. Clifford will present
himself at my office early in the morning, we will
first breakfast and then talk business.”
Young Clifford could only hold out his hand, but
when, his two friends gone, he sat in contemplation
of his changed prospects, one word and one only


THE THIEF 365
left his lips, uttered in every inflection of tenderness,
hope, and joy. “Edith ! Edith ! Edith !”
It was the name of the sweet young girl who had
shown her faith in him at the moment when his heart
was lowest and despair at its culmination.





THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
(Copyright, 1905, by The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Used by special permission of the publishers)





f
AN OPEN DOOR
IT was a night to drive any man indoors. Not only
was the darkness impenetrable, but the raw mist
enveloping hill and valley made the open road
anything but desirable to a belated wayfarer like
myself. t
Being young, untrammelled, and naturally in-
different to danger, I was not averse to adventure;
and having my fortune to make, was always on the
lookout for El Dorado, which to ardent souls lies
ever beyond the next turning. Consequently, when
I saw a light shimmering through the mist at my
right, I resolved to make for it and the shelter it so
opportunely offered.
But I did not realise then, as I do now, that
shelter does not necessarily imply refuge, or I might
not have undertaken this adventure with so light a
heart. Yet who knows? The impulses of an
unfettered spirit lean toward daring, and youth, as
I have said, seeks the strange, the unknown, and
sometimes the terrible.
My path towards this light was by no means an
easy one. After confused wanderings through
tangled hedges, and a struggle with obstacles of
whose nature I received the most curious impression
369


370 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
in the surrounding murk, I arrived in front of a
long, low building, which, to my astonishment, I
found standing with doors and windows open to the
pervading mist, save for one square casement,
through which the light shone from a row of candles
placed on a long mahogany table.
The quiet and seeming emptiness of this odd and
picturesque building made me pause. I am not
much affected by visible danger, but this silent
room, with its air of sinister expectancy, struck me
most unpleasantly, and I was about to reconsider my
first impulse and withdraw again to the road, when
a second look thrown back upon the comfortable
interior I was leaving convinced me of my folly, and
sent me straight toward the door which stood so
invitingly open.
But half-way up the path my progress was again
stayed by the sight of a man issuing from the house
I had so rashly looked upon as devoid of all human
presence. He seemed in haste, and at the moment
my eye first fell on him was engaged in replacing his
watch in his pocket.
But he did not shut the door behind him, which
I thought odd, especially as his final glance had
been a backward one, and seemed to take in all
the appointments of the place he was so hurriedly
leaving.
As we met he raised his hat. This likewise struck
me as peculiar, for the deference he displayed was
more marked than that usually bestowed on stran-
gers, while his lack of surprise at an encounter more


372 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
was no ordinary farm-building, but a rambling old
mansion, made conspicuously larger here and there
by jutting porches and more than one convenient
lean-to. Though furnished, warmed, and lighted
with candles, as I have previously described, it had
about it an air of disuse which made me feel myself
an intruder, in spite of the welcome I had received.
But I was not in a position to stand upon ceremony,
and ere long I found myself inside the great room
and before the blazing logs whose glow had 'ighted
up the doorway and added its own attraction to the
other allurements of the inviting place.
Though the open door made a draught which was
anything but pleasant, I did not feel like closing it,
and was astonished to observe the effect of the mist
through the square thus left open to the night. It
was not an agreeable one, and, instinctively turning
my back upon that quarter of the room, I let my
eyes roam over the wainscoted walls and the odd
pieces of furniture which gave such an air of old-
fashioned richness to the place. As nothing of
the kind had ever fallen under my eyes before, I
would have thoroughly enjoyed this opportunity of
gratifying my taste for the curious and the beautiful,
if the quaint old chairs I saw standing about me on
every side had not all been empty. But the solitude
of the place, so much more oppressive than the
solitude of the road I had left, struck cold to my
heart, and I missed the cheer rightfully belonging to
such attractive surroundings. Suddenly I bethought
me of the many other apartments likely to be found


THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 375
apple. Neither of the two had anything to recom-
mend him either in appearance or address, save a
certain veneer of polite assumption as transparent as
it was offensive. As I listened to the forced sallies
of the one and the hollow laugh of the other, I was
glad that I was large of frame and strong of arm,
and used to all kinds of men and—brutes.
As these two newcomers seemed no more
astonished at my presence than the man I had met
at the gate, I checked the question which instinc-
tively rose to my lips, and with a simple bow—
responded to by a more or less familiar nod from
either—accepted the situation with all the sang-froid
the occasion seemed to demand. Perhaps this was
wise, perhaps it was not; there was little opportunity
to judge, for the start they both gave as they encoun-
tered the eyes of the picture before mentioned drew
my attention to a consideration of the different ways
in which men, however similar in other respects,
express sudden and unlooked-for emotion. The big
man simply allowed his astonishment, dread, or
whatever the feeling was which moved him, to ooze
forth in a cold and deathly perspiration which
robbed his cheeks of colour, and cast a bluish shadow
over his narrow and retreating temples; while the
thin and waspish man, caught in the same trap (for
trap I saw it was), shouted aloud in his ill-timed
mirth, the false and cruel character of which would
have made me shudder, if all expression of feeling
on my part had not been held in check by the interest
I immediately experienced in the display of open


376 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
bravado with which, in another moment, these two
tried to carry off their mutual embarrassment.
“Good likeness, eh?” laughed the seamy-faced
man. “Quite an idea that! Makes him one of us
again! Well, he's welcome—in oils. Can't say
much to us from canvas, eh?” And the rafters
above him vibrated, as his violent efforts at joviality
went up in loud and louder assertion from his thin
throat.
A nudge from the other's elbow stopped him, and
I saw them both cast half-lowering, half-inquisitive
glances in my direction.
“One of the Witherspoon boys?” queried one.
“Perhaps,” snarled the other. “I never saw but
one of them. There are five, aren't there? Eustace
believed in marrying off his gals young.”
“Damn him, yes! And he'd have married them
off younger if he had known how numbers were
going to count some day among the Westonhaughs.”
And he laughed again in a way I should certainly
have felt it my business to resent if my indignation,
as well as the ill-timed allusions which had called it
forth, had not been put to an end by a fresh arrival
through the veiling mist which hung like a shroud
at the doorway.
This time it was for me to experience a shock of
something like fear. Yet the personage who called
up this unlooked-for sensation in my naturally hardy
nature was old, and to all appearance harmless from
disability, if not from good-will. His form was
bent over upon itself like a bow; and only from the


THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 377
glances he shot from his upturned eyes was the fact
made evident that a redoubtable nature, full of force
and malignity, had just brought its quota of evil into
a room already overflowing with dangerous and
menacing passions.
As this old wretch, either from the feebleness of
age or from the infirmity I have mentioned, had
great difficulty in walking, he had brought with him
a small boy, whose business it was to direct his
tottering steps as best he could.
But once settled in his chair, he drove away this
boy with his pointed oak stick, and with some harsh
words about caring for the horse and being in time
in the morning, he sent him out into the mist. As
this little shivering and pathetic figure vanished, the
old man drew with gasp and haw a number of deep
breaths, which shook his bent back, and did their
share, no doubt, in restoring his own disturbed cir-
culation. Then, with a sinister twist which brought
his pointed chin and twinkling eyes again into view,
he remarked:
“Haven't ye a word for kinsman Luke, you two?
It isn't often I get out among ye. Shakee, nephew!
Shakee, Hector! And now, who's the boy in the
window? My eyes aren't what they used to be,
but he don't seem to favour the Westonhaughs over-
much. One of Salmon's four grandchildren, think
'e? Or a shoot from Eustace's gnarled old trunk?
His gals all married Americans, and one of them,
I've been told, was a yellow-haired giant like this
fellow.”


378 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
At this description, pointed directly toward me, I
was about to venture a response on my own account,
when my attention, as well as theirs, was freshly
attracted by a loud “Whoal ” at the gate, followed
by the hasty but assured entrance of a dapper, wizen,
but perfectly preserved little old gentleman with a
bag in his hand.
Looking askance with eyes that were like two
beads, first at the two men, who were now elbowing
each other for the best place before the fire, and
next at the revolting figure in the chair, he bestowed
his greeting, which consisted of an elaborate bow,
not on them, but upon the picture hanging so con-
spicuously on the open wall before him; and then,
taking me within the scope of his quick, circling
glance, cried out with an assumption of great cor-
diality:
“Good-evening, gentlemen; good-evening one,
good-evening all. Nothing like being on the tick.
I'm sorry the night has turned out so badly. Some
may find it too thick for travel. That would be
bad, eh? very bad—for them.”
As none of the men he openly addressed saw fit
to answer, save by the hitch of a shoulder or a leer
quickly suppressed, I kept silent also. But this
reticence, marked as it was, did not seem to offend
the newcomer. Shaking the wet from the umbrella
he held, he stood the dripping article up in a corner,
and then came and placed his feet on the fender.
To do this he had to crowd between the two men
already occupying the best part of the hearth. But


THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 379
he showed no concern at incommoding them, and
bore their cross looks and threatening gestures with
professional equanimity.
“You know me?” he now unexpectedly snapped,
bestowing another look over his shoulder at that
oppressive figure in the chair. (Did I say that I had
risen when the latter sat?) “I’m no Westonhaugh,
I; nor yet a Witherspoon nor a Clapsaddle. I'm
only Smead, the lawyer—Mr. Anthony Weston-
haugh's lawyer,” he repeated, with another glance of
recognition in the direction of the picture. “I drew
up his last will and testament, and, until all of his
wishes have been duly carried out, am entitled by
the terms of that will to be regarded both legally
and socially as his representative. This you all
know, but it is my way to make everything clear as
I proceed. A lawyer's trick, no doubt. I do not
pretend to be entirely exempt from such.”
A grumble from the large man, who seemed to
have been disturbed in some absorbing calculation
he was carrying on, mingled with a few muttered
words of forced acknowledgment from the restless
old sinner in the chair, made it unnecessary for me to
reply, even if the last comer had given me the
opportunity.
“It's getting late!” he cried, with an easy gar-
rulity rather amusing under the circumstances.
“Two more trains came in as I left the depot. If
old Phil was on hand with his waggon, several more
members of this interesting family may be here
before the clock strikes; if not, the assemblage is like


386 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
“Hudson Westonhaugh,” she gently faltered.
“My father is dead—died last night. I am his
only heir.”
A grumble of dissatisfaction and a glint of un-
relieved hate came from the doubled-up figure, whose
malevolence had so revolted me.
But the lawyer was not to be shaken.
“Very good! It is fortunate you trusted your
feet rather than the train. And now you? What
is your name?”
He was looking, not at me, as I had at first feared,
but at the man next to me, a slim but slippery youth,
whose small red eyes made me shudder.
“William Witherspoon.”
“Barbara's son?”
st Yes.”
“Where are your brothers?”
“One of them, I think, is outside "—here he
laughed—“the other is—sick.”
The way he uttered this word made me set him
down as one to be especially wary of when he smiled.
But then, I had already passed judgment on him at
my first view.
“And you, madam?”—this to the large, dowdy
woman with the uncertain eye, a contrast to the
young and melancholy Eunice. -
“Janet Clapsaddle,” she replied, waddling hun-
grily forward and getting unpleasantly near the
speaker, for he moved off as she approached, and
took his stand in the clear space at the head of the
table,


388 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
man I met in the doorway told me as much, and so
I am here. If my company is not agreeable, or if
you wish this room to yourselves, let me go into the
kitchen. I promise not to meddle with the supper,
hungry as I am. Or perhaps you wish me to join
the crowd outside; it seems to be increasing.”
“No, no,” came from all parts of the room.
“Don't let the door be opened. Nothing could keep
Lemuel and his crowd out if they once got foot over
the threshold.”
The lawyer rubbed his chin. He seemed to be in
some sort of quandary. First he scrutinised me
from under his shaggy brows with a sharp gleam of
suspicion; then his features softened, and, with a
side-glance at the young woman who called herself
Eunice (perhaps, because she was worth looking at,
perhaps because she had partly risen at my words),
he slipped toward a door I had before observed in
the wainscoting on the left of the mantelpiece, and
softly opened it upon what looked like a narrow
staircase.
“We cannot let you go out,” said he; “and we
cannot let you have a finger in our viands before the
hour comes for serving them; so if you will be so
good as to follow this staircase to the top, you will
find it ends in a room comfortable enough for the
wayfarer you call yourself. In that room you can
rest till the way is clear for you to continue your
travels. Better we cannot do for you. This house
is not a tavern, but the somewhat valuable property
of—” He turned with a bow and smile, as every


THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 393
came to me, and I could but hope that she had
shown by some such movement the natural sympathy
of her sex.
Meanwhile the lawyer was addressing the com-
pany in his smoothest and most sarcastic tones.
“Mr. Westonhaugh was a wise man—a very wise
man,” he droned. “He foresaw what your pleasure
would be, and left a letter for you. But before I
read it, before I invite you to the board he ordered
to be spread for you in honour of this happy occasion,
there is one appeal he bade me make to those I
should find assembled here. As you know, he was
not personally acquainted with all the children and
grandchildren of his many brothers and sisters.
Salmon's sons, for instance, were perfect strangers
to him, and all those boys and girls of the Evans's
branch have never been long enough this side of the
mountains for him to know their names, much less
their temper or their lives. Yet his heirs—or such
was his wish, his great wish—must be honest men,
righteous in their dealings, and of stainless lives.
If, therefore, any one among you feels that, for
reasons he need not state, he has no right to accept
his share of Anthony Westonhaugh's bounty, then
that person is requested to withdraw before this let-
ter to his heirs is read.”
Withdraw 7 Was the man a fool? Withdraw?
These cormorants! these suckers of blood these
harpies and vultures! I laughed as I imagined
sneaking Hector, malicious Luke, or brutal John
responding to this naive appeal, and then found


THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 399
I lit another match. “Look in my face!” I
prayed. “I am a stranger, and you would be show-
ing only proper prudence not to trust me. But I
overheard your words when you withdrew from the
room where your fortune lay; and I honour you,
madam. If food can be got for your little one, I
will get it.”
I caught sight of the convulsive clasp with which
she drew to her breast the tiny bundle she held;
then darkness fell again.
“A little bread,” she entreated; “a little milk—
ah, baby, baby, hush!”
“But where can I get it?” I cried. “They are
at table inside. I hear them shouting over their good
cheer. But perhaps there are neighbours near by.
Do you know?”
“There are no neighbours,” she replied. “What
is got must be got here. I know a way to the
kitchen; I used to visit Uncle Anthony when a little
child. If you have the courage—”
I laughed. This token of confidence seemed
to reassure her. I heard her move; possibly she
stood up.
“In the further corner of this shed,” said she,
“there used to be a trap, connecting this floor with
an underground passage-way. A ladder stood
against the trap, and the small cellar at the foot
communicated by means of an iron-bound door with
the large one under the house. Eighteen years ago
the wood of that door was old; now it should be
rotten. If you have the strength—”


4OO THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
“I will make the effort and see,” said I. “But
when I am in the cellar, what then?”
“Follow the wall to the right; you will come to a
stone staircase. As this staircase has no railing, be
careful in ascending it. At the top you will find a
door; it leads into a pantry adjoining the kitchen.
Some one will be in that pantry. Some one will give
you a bite for the child, and when she is quieted and
the sun has risen I will go away. It is my duty to
do so. My uncle was always upright, if cold. He
was perfectly justified in exacting rectitude in his
heirs.”
I might have rejoined by asking if she detected
rectitude in the faces of the greedy throng she had
left behind her with the guardian of this estate, but
I did not; I was too intent upon following out her
directions. Lighting another match, I sought the
trap. Alas! it was burdened with a pile of sticks
and rubbish which looked as if they had lain there
for years. As these had to be removed in total
darkness, it took me some time. But once this
débris had been scattered and thrown aside, I had no
difficulty in finding the trap, and, as the ladder was
still there, I was soon on the cellar-bottom. When,
by the reassuring shout I gave, she knew that I had
advanced thus far, she spoke, and her voice had a
soft and thrilling sound.
“Don’t forget your own needs,” she said. “We
two are not so hungry that we cannot wait for you
to take a mouthful. I will sing to the baby. Good-
bye.”


406 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
one threatening hand, and every man there seemed
to tremble, while old Luke put out his long fingers
with an entreaty that ill became them. “You want
to hear the letter?” old Smead called out. “I
thought so.”
Putting the bottle down again, but still keeping
one hand upon it, he drew a folded paper from his
breast. “This,” said he, “contains the final injunc-
tions of Anthony Westonhaugh. You will listen, all
of you—listen till I am done—or I will not only
smash this bottle before your eyes, but I will keep
forever buried in my breast the whereabouts of cer-
tain drafts and bonds in which, as his heirs, you
possess the greatest interest. Nobody but myself
knows where these papers can be found.”
Whether this was so, or whether the threat was an
empty one, thrown out by this subtle old schemer
for the purpose of safeguarding his life from their
possible hate and impatience, it answered his end
with these semi-intoxicated men, and secured him
the silence he demanded. Breaking open the seal of
the envelope he held, he showed them the folded
sheet which it contained with the remark:
“I have had nothing to do with the writing of
this letter. It is in Mr. Westonhaugh's own hand,
and he was not even so good as to communicate to
me the nature of its contents. I was bidden to read
it to such as should be here assembled under the
provisos mentioned in his will; and as you are now
in a condition to listen, I will proceed with my task
as required.”


THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 4O7
This was my time for leaving, but a certain brood-
ing terror, latent in the air, held me chained to the
spot, listening with my ears, but receiving the full
sense of what was read from the expression of old
Luke's face, which was probably more plainly visible
to me than to those who sat beside him. For, being
bent almost into a bow, as I have said, his forehead
came within an inch of touching his plate, and one
had to look under his arms, as I did, to catch the
workings of his evil mouth, as old Smead gave forth,
in his professional sing-song, the following words
from his departed client:
“‘Brothers, nephews, and heirs! Though the
earth has lain upon my breast a month, I am with
you here to-night.’”
A snort from old Luke's snarling lips, and a stir—
not a comfortable one—in the jostling crowd, whose
shaking arms and clawing hands I could see pro-
jecting here and there over the board.
“‘My presence at this feast—a presence which,
if unseen, cannot be unfelt, may bring you more
pain than pleasure. But if so, it matters little. You
are my natural heirs, and I have left you my money.
Why, when so little love has characterised our inter-
course, must be evident to such of my brothers as
can recall their youth and the promise our father
exacted from us on the day we set foot in this new
land.
“‘There were nine of us in those days—Luke,
Salmon, Barbara, Hector, Eustace, Janet, Hudson,
William, and myself—and all save one were promis-


THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 409
had homes of your own, I still remained under the
family roof-tree, fed by our father's bounty and look-
ing to our father's justice for that share of his
savings which he had promised to all alike. When
he died it came to me as it came to you; but I had
married before that day—married, not, like the rest
of you, for what a wife could bring, but for senti-
ment and true passion. This, in my case, meant a
loving wife, but a frail one; and while we lived a
little while on the patrimony left us, it was far too
small to support us long without some aid from our
own hands; and our hands were feeble and could
not work. And so we fell into debt for rent and,
ere long, for the commonest necessities of life. In
vain I struggled to redeem myself; the time of my
prosperity had not come, and I only sank deeper and
deeper into debt, and finally into indigence. A baby
came. Our landlord was kind, and allowed us to
stay for two weeks under the roof for whose protec-
tion we could not pay; but at the end of that time we
were asked to leave, and I found myself on the road
with a dying wife, a wailing infant, no money in my
purse, and no power in my arm to earn any. Then,
when heart and hope were both failing, I recalled
that ancient oath and the six prosperous homes scat-
tered up and down the very highway on which I
stood. I could not leave my wife; the fever was in
her veins, and she could not bear me out of her
sight; so I put her on a horse, which a kind old
neighbour was willing to lend me, and holding her
up with one hand, guided the horse with the other


4I2 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
terror which this brought me I went down in the
gathering twilight into the deep valley where Wil-
liam raised his sheep, and reckoned day by day the
increase among his pigs. Oh, the chill of that
descent! Oh, the gloom of the gathering shadows!
As we neared the bottom, and I heard a far-off voice
shout out a hoarse command, some instinct made me
reach up for the last time and bestow that faithful
kiss, which was at once her consolation and my
prayer. My lips were cold with the terror of my
soul, but they were not so cold as the cheek they
touched, and, shrieking in my misery and need, I
fell before William where he halted by the horse-
trough and He was always a hard man, was
William, and it was a shock to him, no doubt, to see
us standing in our anguish and necessity before him;
but he raised the whip in his hand, and when it fell
my arm fell with it, and she slipped from my grasp
to the ground and lay in a heap in the roadway.
“‘He was ashamed next minute, and pointed to
the house nearby. But I did not carry her in, and
she died in the roadway. Do you remember it,
Luke? Do you remember it, Lemuel?
“‘But it is not of this that I complain at this hour,
nor is it for this I ask you to drink the toast I have
prepared for you.’”
The looks, the writhings of old Luke and such
others as I could now see through the widening
crack my hands unconsciously made in the doorway,
told me that the rack was at work in this room so
lately given up to revelry. Yet the mutterings, which


THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 417
door. I might have stalked openly into their circle;
not a man there would have noticed me.
“‘It was a memorable occasion,’” the lawyer
read on, with stoical impassiveness. “‘There was
not a brother lacking. Luke, and Hudson, and Wil-
liam, and Hector, and Eustace's boys, as well as
Eustace himself; Janet too, and Salmon's Lemuel,
and Barbara's son, who, even if his mother had gone
the way of all flesh, had so trained her black brood
in the love of the things of this world that I scarcely
missed her when I looked about among you all for
the eight sturdy brothers and sisters who had joined
in one clasp and one oath under the eye of a true-
hearted immigrant, our father. What I did miss
was one true eye lifted to my glance; but I did not
show that I missed it. And so our peace was made,
and we separated, you to wait for your inheritance,
and I for the death which was to secure it to you.
For when the cup passed round that night you each
dropped into it a tear of repentance, and tears make
bitter drinking. I sickened as I quaffed, and was
never myself again, as you know. Do you under-
stand me, you cruel, crafty ones?’”
Did they not! Heads quaking, throats gasping,
teeth chattering—no longer sitting—all risen, all
looking with wild eyes for the door—was it not
apparent that they understood, and only waited for
one more word to break away and flee the accursed
house?
But that word lingered. Old Smead had now
grown pale himself, and read with difficulty the lines


42O THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
issued in a final pant of horror from the lawyer's
quaking lips! Shrieks—howls—prayers for mercy—
groans deep enough to make the hair rise—and
curses, at sound of which I shut my ears in horror,
only to open them again in dread, as, with one
simultaneous impulse, they flung themselves upon the
lawyer, who, foreseeing this rush, had backed up
against the wall.
He tried to stem the tide.
“I knew nothing of the poisoning,” he protested.
“That was not my reason for declining to drink.
I wished to preserve my senses—to carry out my
client's wishes. As God lives, I did not know he
meant to carry his revenge so far. Mercy!
mer—”
But the hands which clutched him were the hands
of murderers, and the lawyer's puny figure could
not stand up against the avalanche of human terror,
relentless fury, and mad vengeance which now rolled
in upon it. As I bounded to his relief he turned his
ghastly face upon me. But the way between us was
blocked, and I was preparing myself to see him sink
before my eyes when an unearthly shriek rose from
behind us, and every living soul in that mass of
struggling humanity paused, set and staring, with
stiffened limbs and eyes fixed, not on him, not on
me, but on one of their own number—the only
woman amongst them, Janet Clapsaddle—who, with
clutching hands clawing her breast, was reeling in
solitary agony in her place beside the board. As
they looked she fell, and lay with upturned face and


422 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST
IV
THE FINAL SHOCK
Her baby had fallen asleep. I knew this by the
faint, low sweetness of her croon; and, shuddering
with the horrors I had witnessed—horrors which
acquired a double force from the contrast presented
by the peace of this quiet spot and the hallowing
influence of the sleeping infant—I threw myself
down in the darkness at her feet, gasping out:
“Oh, thank God and your uncle's seeming harsh-
ness that you have escaped the doom which has
overtaken those others! You and your babe are
still alive; while they * ,
“What of them? What has happened to them?
You are breathless, trembling; you have brought no
bread ??
“No, no. Food in this house means death. Your
relatives gave food and wine to your uncle at a
supper; he, though now in his grave, has returned
the same to them. There was a bottle—”
I stopped, appalled. A shriek, muffled by distance
but quivering with the same note of death I had
heard before, had gone up again from the other side
of the wall against which we were leaning.
“Oh!” she gasped, “and my father was at that
supper! my father, who died last night cursing the
day he was born 1 We are an accursed race! I
have known it all my life. Perhaps that was why I